A gift

I feel the sunshine caress my face
I know he belongs to the human race
But this ray that plays with my eyes
Teases me, flirts with me and rejuvenates me
Is mine alone.

To warm me when my heart is cold
To dry the tears my heart can't hold
To lift me when my spirit falls
To give me hope when world seems false
He's mine alone.

And try as I might, logic fails.
A sense of ownership prevails.
A part of the sun is mine alone
And I can't part with this comfort zone
No matter how much I try.

Withering away like the leaves in winter
The dry air brushes across
Taking strands of memories,
Spring waits to see how long will winter continue
Something snaps.
A twig beneath my foot,
Decayed, let not yet ready to die
It registers its protest
A stray leaf falls off a branch
Like a stray thought that wandered into my mind
Or a purposeless game in the journey of life

There was a mad beggar on the road that day. He sat thinking that his left hand was trying to gain precedence over his right hand. To prevent it from becoming stronger, he rolled his left hand into a fist and hit the brick wall he was leaning against. Not only did his comfort get disturbed, his left hand was also broken. Then he kept punching the wall, so that the left hand did not heal and did not become stronger than the right. He did not pause to think that he should just let it heal while the right hand became stronger without challenge. He did not pause to think if a balance could be achieved between the two hands or not. He just went on punching, allowing the blood to stain the wall, and scar it for life.

Love. It seems to be an emotion that brims over when everything is going my way, or is going drastically wrong. But what happens midway?

I've always thought that everything in life, including love, is about give and take. Everything is a simple mathematical equation. You give me attention, comfort and caring, I respond with love. I thought it works that way, at least it made sense that way rationally.

But sometimes, love overwhelms, even when you want it to lie low, when rationally it should be exiled from your heart. It comes and soothes you when people you love fail to understand you, when you fail to explain yourself to them.

It's not conditional. It's not bound by something I get in return. How else do so many people who I have failed in many ways continue to love me despite my shortcomings? How else do I continue to love so many people I fail to communicate with in one way or the other?

Ya, I guess, I was wrong. Love is more than a mathematical equation. It's more than chemistry. Whatever it is, I'm glad it's there and glad it keeps the world going when faith falls short.

much to write about but this keyboard is a real deterrent. more when i get home on monday.

Aruna's Story again

Aruna's story, through Pinki Virani's eyes. The book leads you through the life of staff nurse Aruna Shanbaug, who was brutally raped in 1973. The assault was the beginning of the tragedy her life became.

Through Aruna's Story, we get a glimpse of the person she was, the society she lived and was never really part of, and the people who made her experiences her life. Obviously, Virani has put in a huge amount of effort, time and more than a slice of herself into her book. From the perspective of a reader who is interested in what happened to Aruna, who wants to see her more than just a case and a tragic one at that, reading the book has been an eye opener.

Aruna's life raises a very important question of faith -- Why would God put anybody through what she has undergone? Is there a God then? What is the purpose of such a life? What is the faith we can hold on to in that case?

There are many nurses who have worked with Aruna, before the attack on her in November 1973 -- two days before she was to go on a three-month leave in which she was to get married to a colleague who she was in love with -- and have tended to her since then.

Aruna's zest for life, her positive strength, her faith in herself and her personal God, her determination to carve out a worthy life for herself despite her humble beginnings, when contrasted with her post-rape condition brought tears to my eyes. So many of her colleagues and the generations of nurses who tended to her in the past almost four decades have come up with the same questions.

What's keeping her alive? Cortically blind, with a brain so dramatically damaged that it prevents her from seeing, speaking or communicating, but keeps her alive to pain and fear, Aruna lives a vegetative existence. She will turn 62 on June 1, 2010. Of these years, she has spent less than half the years fighting to become successful in her chosen field. She had dreams, she worked towards those dreams, believed in justice and tried to be fair and loyal to the King Edward Medical College and Hospital, where she worked.

It was, in a way, that very self-confidence that brought her ruin. So many of her senior nurses at one time or the other spoken about the fine delicate balance between man and woman. Many have suggested that because she ticked off a sweeper who stole food allotted for dogs, she incurred his wrath. While nobody ever says so directly, the sweeper's brutal assault on her seems to be in a way justified if I may say so, for her overbearing, domineering persona.

The author brings up the failure of the system and society to punish her rapist, but the matron and other senior nurses blame Aruna's brave demeanour and devil-may-care attitude for what came upon her. One suggests she shouldn't have got into a fight with somebody so far below her status, though she acknowledges her loyalty to the hospital.

Many people have prayed for Aruna's death and deliverance. But there seems to be some sin in some past life she is paying for. Whatever be it, each person relates to a tragedy in their own way. Some believe her spirit is keeping her body alive so that she may see justice done to her, others still believe she is bearing the cross for the sins of others like Jesus Christ.

One can only hope and pray that Aruna Shanbaug finds the peace that has eluded her in life in death and afterlife.

It is ironical that somebody who was so keen on justice that she took on a sweeper who stole food meant for dogs, lived a dog's life because of that same criminal.

Is there something to do with the Bhagawad Gita here, where Lord Krishna tells Arjuna,

Do not think you are the doer. It is me alone who is the instrument as well as the cause.

Still thinking, still looking.

Alu posto and my chef-brother

My brother is a chef, which is a boon for somebody like me who cooks just because she has to eat. But there's a con to his chef-ness too, which struck me across my face this morning.

I usually tend to leave all the cooking and discussions on cooking to my mom, my aunts and my brother. I hold my tongue even when something assaults my limited knowledge of cuisine and cookery. And, in the true tradition of live and let live, I expect others to hold their tongue when it is my turn!! Expectations, they say, are disastrous.

I wanted to make alu posto (khus khus) for my family. There are very few things I know how to make well and this is one of those. So, when my five-star hotel chef of a brother came up with additions, subtractions and alterations to my recipe, I told him to let me have my way. The true gentleman that he is, he politely sidestepped.

But alas, his charm undid my alu posto. My mother, who had been listening to his recipe, internalised it. And of course, she embarked on making the dish his way, setting aside everything I had been telling her through the morning! And then, she also insisted that she thought it was my recipe she was following!

While I just left the kitchen to those who know it best, I also learnt a few lessons. Next time you want to impress anybody with your culinary skills, just follow this dialogue from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly (I think that's the movie): 'When you got to shoot, shoot. Don't talk'

So when you got to cook, cook. Don't talk and leave room for somebody else to hijack your recipe...cos that's a sure recipe for disaster!

Here's how I make alu posto

Chop the alu into small pieces.

Grind/Make khus khus into a fine paste on a sil nada/sil batta (All my Bong friends vouch for the specific taste that comes only if you use the right instrument, and I agree with them)

Heat the oil, put in green chilli more for the flavour than the taste.

Add the alu. Add salt, allow it to cook.

When it is cooked, add the posto (khus khus paste)

Allow it to mix well. It shouldn't be too dry or too wet.

Take it off the heat and dig in!!

It's amazing when it's eaten with luchis!!

Happy dining.

The five-star chef would, in true five-star tradition, want you to add chopped cashew nuts and almonds...You could try that too! After all, my brother cooks really well :) Thank God for that!