Dark is Beautiful

http://www.ndtv.com/video/player/news/dark-is-beautiful/225800

http://www.ndtv.com/video/player/news/on-womens-day-no-complex-over-complexion/225824

http://www.ndtv.com/video/player/news/why-this-colour-veri-di/225927


Just so, I can show my kids someday!

A tribute to Appacha

For those of you who do not know i’m the eldest daughter of K.V Thomas’s eldest daughter Mrs Madhu Abraham.

Technically my mother should have inherited my grandfathers sense of humour and wit. 

But for some reason it skipped an entire generation and i’m very happy to say i’ve inherited a double dose of my grandfather’s humour, wit, love for life and fondness for good food.

Just to give you a taste of my grandfathers sense of humour i’d like to leave with you a few episodes featuring my wonderful Appacha.

Apparently when i was born there was a family discussion on what to name me? After much thought Appacha wickedly smiles at my parents and says “ We could take the Bu out of Buji and dhu of Madhu and name her Budhu." Needless to say amongst peals of laughter and the good common sense God gave my parents and much to my relief i was quickly named Sapna instead of Budhu.”

Another story i remember being told is that My grandmother used to go to St Thomas care home to spend 2 weeks at a time with the boys and leave my poor grandpa to fend for himself. One evening my brother in law Timmy at that time not yet married to my cousin spots my grandfather leaning against the gate all alone and forlorn. So he stops and says ‘Hello uncle, how are you?" With suppressed laughter and a fake seriousness on his face he tells Timmy . "You see  i have a pain over here.......one pain left and another came back.” (in reference to my grandma) Needless to say Timmy and all of us who heard this story were in splits.

Appacha loved to surround himself with laughter, and even till a year before his stroke would give us a run for our money  with his endless number of jokes or as we grandchildren used to fondly say, ‘Appacha, blade joke Appacha’ it never stopped him from chuckling away at his own jokes no matter how old they were. He loved to laugh...so now you know where we’ve in herited our loud laughter from.

Appacha’s jokes used to help break the ice and help visitors get comfortable at home while Ammachy was busy preparing all kinds of goodies in the kitchen.

He used to enjoy hanging out with people young in spirit. As i can almost hear him say his favourite phrase “Who’s old? i’m only 83 years young.” As he grinned away.

Appacha was groovy and good looking and was able to charm the socks of anyone irrespective of age or gender.

I’d like to thank Appacha for leaving behind with us, your children , grandchildren and great grand children your groovy looks, your sense of humour and wit, your love for life, your fondness for good food and laughter. And we cant wait to share many more good days when we meet again on that distant shore.

God bless and catch up with ammachy until then.

Again I Question

Now there comes a point in every persons life

When they have to choose with out a strife.

A life where they maybe wanted or not.

Or where they’ve given or they’ve got

But when year after year you stand and see in absolute vain

That you’ve been passed over, avoided or rejected again

You’re heart might be hurting from the rejection of friend or family

But because its you, People expect you to grin and bear bravely

You might be chosen over fairer maidens laid in gold.

None care about your skills, talents or if you’re brave and bold.

The older people don't want you cause you’re too young.

The younger people accuse you of being dumb and unsung.

Who do i ask to give me a chance, to be liked to be loved to be a friend.

Why must I allow people to drive my breaking heart to this bitter end?

Is there an answer for me from a friend, family, untold love or God?

Does his holiness bear no love upon a child, but a flaming rod?

Can i ask such a question does God love me?

Must i not be grateful that i can breathe so free?

That thankfully i got my arms, Limbs and individuality.

Therefore i’m supposed to believe that love is not for me?

Have i not received grace and blessings and much more?

Is it difficult to accept the bitter cup of whats in store?

But yes it is i believe, only human that i am, a woman that's me.

Were i not created with a heart, That would be broken with tragedy?

Juke Box

(Dedicated to the memory of Handel Jim and to those who loved the old Juke Box)

Whenever there were people around.

There was this music playing its sound.

The rhythm and beat that swayed over all.

Always caught people unaware , in a trip and a fall.

Spirits high, melancholic or pensive it could be.

The juke box made its music and all could see.

Guitar strings and notes in perfect harmony.

Over every soul it wrapped itself magically.

No writer, voice or even tambourine.

Could capture the soul of this jukebox routine.

Never ceasing constantly fluid and twanging a rhythm on.

Stirring the soul deep within even after the music was gone.

It was time for the old jukebox to play one last magical song.

But, when he beautifully ended it nothing seemed more wrong.

But all of a sudden that old jukebox was all done.

Mid song he stopped, leaving his audience stunned.

And as every heart shuffled on knowing the last song they had missed.

The old juke box laughed knowing every last captured soul was his.

I got a rasberry with love

Last week the theme at school was fruits. Also last week ..... I was at my sickest. I had a full blown head cold and my sinus was not making it any easier for me to breath.....Now there's a little guy in my school .....He's just 10 months old but i'm telling you that kid's gonna a be an awesome stand up comedien some day.So i've been keeping away from the kids cause, I reallly did not want to be passing my cold on to them.....Actually I caught the cold from them...my immunity against babies is still pretty weak considering ......I'm just a month old in my exposure to ......crawlers, boogerblowers, toddlers and bug-eaters. So my teachers were teaching them strawberries....When i stepped out of the room to observe the show and tell classes in session; and at that moment my nose completely clogged .....so..... I had the urge to blow hard into my handkerchief. So i did ...a nise big...trumpetty snort.....the kids burst out laughing....the teachers were shocked and were covering their embarrasment with errs and ahem's and tried to get their attention back to strawberries. When little Pranav....the 10 month old kid was asked what a strawberry was......he just pointed to me...stuck his tongue out and blew out the the biggest rasberry i ever heard....thrrrrrrrrup! At first we were all taken aback.....then we burst out laughing...this 10 month old baby actually poked fun at my snorting.....oh wow i nearly died laughing....after that, every time i blew my nose he'd blow me a rasberry...lol i guess he had more fun seeing me burst into laughter evertime he did that. Well that week while my kids learned about fruits....I got rasberried with love.

Beauty from Rags

“ANNIE, ANNIE!!!! I’LL MAKE ANNIE!”

Sandhya hopped around me dancing her tribal dance. Her curls twirled around her little hot face. I had to keep my fingers from pinching her chubby cheeks. Every time I plucked her dimpled cheeks she would complain in an adult tone. ‘Don’t do it Amma. I am 6 years old what would others think?”

Suddenly she froze and her eyes sparkled, ‘Amma you can help me with my art project.” I thanked her graciously and asked what she had in mind.

“Everybody has to make a gift and the bestest gift will be given to Mrs. Joyce Madhan on her birthday.”

I wondered what possible gift a 6year old could give the headmistress of a school?

“ANNIE, ANNIE!!!! I’LL MAKE ANNIE!” she repeated.

I never doubted my daughter’s lung power. I raised a questioning eyebrow but was silenced in my attempt to speak as my highly energized daughter dragged me into her room. And within minutes there I was sitting cross legged on the floor with my daughter snuggling into me as I caught her sweet baby smell. She tilted her head to a side as she eyed the heap of scraps and bits piled in front of us and in complete faith said, “Make Annie, Amma.”

I looked heavenward, sighed, rolled up my sleeves and got to work. We stuck and glued, stitched and tied, plaited and stuffed. Little pudgy fingers got in the way. An hour later I was startled by a gentle snore. I smiled and gently woke my sleeping angel.

“Annie is ready.” I whispered.

Sandhya was up like lightning as she stared at the crudely shaped figure sitting before us. Her big eyes widened like saucers until I feared that they might pop out.
She oohed and aahed over her Annie.
Annie the rag doll that she created.
She beamed with pride and puffed up her chest as she introduced me to Annie.
Polite ‘How do you do’s?’ were exchanged.

All was fine or so I thought until the next day my baby walked in crushed and in tears. It tore my heart to see my little one so sad. She ran into my arms as I hugged her sobbing body. Her hot tears and breath ran down my neck as she wailed on and I helplessly held on willing my heart not to break into pieces.
“Th..they made….f…fun….ammmaaaaaa” she howled.
They ….sniff…c…call…ed….hic…her …st…stupid.” She sobbed on.

My anger mounted as murderous thoughts flashed in my mind. How dare they do this to my baby. And what was the teacher doing when my baby was teased. Wait till I give that woman a piece of my mind. She seems in capable of teaching children to appreciate their peers…..My vision blurred as my temper rose and my mind kept raging. Suddenly soft pudgy hands held my face, tears streaming down her brave little face. “ I don’t care Amma. I will always love Annie. She is mine and she is beautiful.

I eyed the little rag piece. I smiled; it was quiet shaggy but Annie definitely had a charm. I carried my little one saying, ‘Let’s show daddy. He’ll love Annie?’

‘Really?’ asked my little on uncertainly as she dried her eyes with the back of her palms.

‘Most definitely!’ and I carried my angel to her father for some comfort and much needed cuddling.

Bastards

Wafts of pungent air seemed to drift in and out of her senses, she could hear a buzz of voices, but they were distant. She lapsed into darkness again. She felt gentle hands lift her.

She hazily remembered a voice so strong that called out to her, “Seema, Seema, can you hear me? Seema open your eyes child.” She grunted a tearing pain. Nausea hit her and she retched. Her mind was reeling. What happened? Confused and tears running down her cheeks. She recalled in flashes. To her horror her memory was in tact. A heart wrenching cry tore from her lips. Shock. She started getting hysterical. The doctor gave her a sedative.

Seema woke to the sounds of gentle sobbing. She opened her eyes and saw her mother weeping over her. Seema attempted to smile, but it froze and died on her lips. The police walked in wanting to take a report. That was the last time anyone could remember her smiling.

Raped! She was gang raped. She was returning home from college through her regular route. It was dark. That spot always made her nervous. But she had to walk through the dark. She needed to get home, when a group of men pounced on her and tore at her body. That was all she could remember.

In a dull haze, numb to everything that went around her. She lived her life. At the medical check ups, she was pregnant. How did that happen? She sighed anything was possible. At the police station they caught the hoodlums. At the court the criminals were convicted. At home she left her family to hide her shame. At her new job curious eyes wandered to her swelling belly. A young girl, with no mangalsutra and no signs of a husband whatsoever, but very pregnant.

Then one day Seema was back at the hospital. A boy, she was blessed with a son. She named him Pavithre which ironically means pure and unadulterated. Her bastard son.

She watched as the baby slept on. An overwhelming wave of pain, sadness and love washed over her. She sighed and wondered why an innocent babe should be called a bastard for the random wicked deeds of men? Her anger mounted as images of their wicked deed flashed at lightning speed. Her jaw tightened ….Suddenly she felt a tug as she watched her baby gurgle and chuckle over a matter of great importance. And then Seema smiled. She knew everything would be alright. Because Pavithre her son had made her smile.