Compassion?

It was, I suppose and I admit, a pleasant, beautiful and a busy Saturday evening. Having had a close look at my eyes one could have seen the reflection of MG road in bangalore getting filled with people, occupying very less place than vehicles. I kept me rested in a wooden bench under a shady tree with a cup of hot Irish coffee. May be, I should've waited for my friends. I left my eyes to brush the scenes around me either good or bad.

The road was filled with colour. The late evening sunlight brightened the scene by adding temperature to the natural colour. How many different expressions? How many different dresses? How many different types of people? All the expressions read more of happiness, a few normal and very few dull faces. I swear bangalore is one of the main place across India, where financial smiles are more to keep us in comfort. Chanda maama peeped herself out of the clouds and was smiling at the beauty of bangalore. She started spreading her chillness on the city. I had my lips dipped in the coffee cup, to take a sip, wah, what a coffee...? hmmm...

A slight drizzle started to trigger the earth's fragrance, taking off Gucci, Dior and Ardens. `Anjali Anjali Anjali`, my sweetheart gave me a sweet alert with her pleasing ringtone. It made my pupil shrink. "Hi, Where are you?... ... ..., How much time will you take to come here??? It'll hardly take 30 mins... ... ..., ok ok, try to come soon, I am in front of Tiger Bay'. Traffic, Traffic, Traffic... Traffic hell is bangalore, the IT heaven.

My eyes again got widened when a small kid, happened to cross my eyes with dirty clothes and with few scars in her face. The smile curve got straightened. Yeah, this part of this world had produced people who rang bells in NASDAQ and also produced people whose stomach rings for hunger. Many traffic signals would've captured BMWs and Mercs on a end and begging kids on the other. Do these kids deserve it? While others in their cadet goes to Carmel, cottons and st. John's?

I stood with few, sorry many questions in my mind... I checked my pocket, few tens, a fifty and also a hundred smiled at me. Just got up from the bench, approached the kid and gave her ten bucks. She didn't smile back, she didn't say thanks. I didn't expect, rather I smiled at her. In a while, before I could come out of that black mood, a few more kids like her surrounded me. They were touching my feet and pleading for money! Should I have to shout at them to leave me alone? I didn't have other choice...

Is it a illusion? Beauty and dirt are in the same place. At times I could feel the beauty and also at times I am seeing the dirt. Am I angry or under compassion?

My grandpa...

I want to dedicate this blog of mine to my late grandpa.

"My dear grandpa, I enjoyed each and every minute, you had spent with me. You'd always tried and succeeded in keeping me happy. I love you."
– Me.

My life's first asset is given by him. He invested his time with dedication to give me the one, which is my virtual identity. He crowned me with 'name'... the eternal identity virtually carried by everyone and also do I.

Many decades back, when India was ruled by British, there lived a young lady and her husband in Rangoon. Rangoon was a part of India before independence, later owned by Burma. They had a happy life. The love and happiness they shared, gave them a lovely kid. The kid looked so cute and active. The kid never had realized that he'd born in a slave country... May be that's the reason, he always held smile in his face. My mom took much care on me; all our mom would have taken extra and special care on us. That is where the blessings from god, start on us. This kid is one among the hundreds and thousands and lacs and crores of unlucky kids born in this planet. He lost his mom after his first few breaths in this beautiful world. When my mom gave a pause while telling this, I asked her, "who dressed him?, who combed his hair?". These few questions changed her mood and she laughed with me with her eyes watered. But, I very well meant the questions what I'd asked my mom. It never went of from my mind.

I waited for my grandpa to come home. I asked him the same questions, by sitting in this lap. I never knew that it would have hurt him a lot. He smiled and stopped writing something which he was doing that time. He made me sit on the table before him. I saw his face and he should have noticed me, keenly waiting for answers. So, he started... My mom's cousin sister had taken good care on me. She feed me with good dishes and milk. As I grew up, I lost my father before I reached my first year in this beautiful earth... before he could continue anything more, I jumped from the table and again sat on his lap. This time he just hugged me and stopped wording. Adoption of orphan kids is a good thing. But, feeling the meaning, rather than knowing what the word orphan mean is, is a pain. The pain struck the root of my family tree, when it was so tender. When, he was less than a year old. When, he couldn't even understand what it means. No kid is deserved to be an orphan, but sometime The Majesty God, makes kids and made me many a while to run out of faith on him. Thankfully, thou gave good guardians to regain the faith in him. He did his primary school in Rangoon. He was the only one got educated, in his step-mother’s family! Yeah the way he had solved maths and the way he had written his diary are those which proved us he was intelligent, but when he was no more. I remember the day when he cried to me when I was fifteen, being in his death bed… Gone are those days when he used to encourage me; that day I took the position to encourage him without courage in me to take up the moment…

He moaned,

“I am suffering a lot, I had suffered a lot. I couldn’t sustain the pain. Have I done anything wrong to deserve this punishment? I always had hoped to fight my life; I had fought and I am successful; now I am not able to gather my energy to fight this pain. Please help me.”
– My Grandpa.

I didn’t have had enough heat in my blood to utter a word.The worst words a grandchild could bear from his lovable grandpa. I couldn’t help him in anyways. I stood helpless in front of him. I came on a special permission from my hostel to see my grandpa in death bed. He went out of this beautiful world on a Christmas Eve. I cried… I cried… I stopped my loud cry when I realized his pain in life… Heaven would’ve been a better place for him rather than earth.

I went back to my hostel… with a bit of knowledge about life… “On my way to the hell…” writing my next blog…

A grand festival, in front of my eyes for the first time...

May be I was hardly 5 or 6 years old when I saw a great festival in my hometown. It was a hot summer season. Ten hot days were frozen for the great grand festival.

I saw my relatives at my home with full of smiles in their faces and sweets in their hands, many a while. I was so happy as whoever comes in my home, lifted me in their hands, kissed me and were giving their blessings and wishes to me. They all asked about my school, somebody asked me, "who's your best friend?"... I really didn't had a friend at that time. All I could remember was augustin, and so I pronounced his name. His thought stayed not more than a minute as I was asked to do many other things like telling rhymes and to sing some movie song. Someone recorded my songs in a cassette and played it back. I went to some heights of happiness. Again I started singing with some more efforts, but this time Siva also joined me.

Siva is one of my cousin. He's just one year younger than me, so mostly our frequency matched each other's. We shared many things like our time passes, interests, hobbies, likes and dislikes. He used to tell about the pets he was/is interested in and about his day outs in his hometown. I taught him my own lovable running game and also I happily showed him how I run up and down. I remember that is the first time I met Siva. We spoke lot. Even now there is a complaint in our family that we spoke a lot to each other. We'll speak in such low voices that no one can listen or make out what are we speaking about. But I wonder even now, why did we hide ourselves as we never spoke anything other than pets or games. He had lots of friends and used to spend most of his time outside his home. I am straight opposite to him. Till today I never had day outs or friendly meet with anybody in my hometown.

Well, coming to the festival... All the ten days the festival is celebrated in the two temples placed on either side of a river, running without water in our very town. So, almost many of the families in our town used to make their presence in those temples and spend some time in that river. My mom dressed me up late in the evening as she does everyday, but I felt a bit different on the very first day of our visit to the temple. Some unknown happiness got spread over me. My mom was busy in taking some shawls for my brother, as he was too small and can't sustain the cold. This time I didn't had possessive thoughts on my mom, as I started liking my brother. His name is Anand. He was small, heavy and could speak to his level. Everybody had an eye on his cheeks and so they pinch him on times they cross him. So, we all were ready and waiting for my grandpa and my father to come home.

That day, minutes were going like hours. I sat by the window side facing the road. On every family that pass by my eyes, I ran to my mom and asked when are we going to go and see god. Mom had the same answer, "We'll go once dad come"... But every time she said that with smile. Without smiling back, I kept my way back to the window side again and again. That didn't bother me as it resembled my game of running. Instead of wall to wall, this time it's window to mom.

Finally we all started walking. My curiosity of seeing god went up and up. I, surrounded by a group of kids from our family kept ourselves in the front of the crew. Our parents followed us discussing something. I could somehow understand that they were speaking about god. I had already heard in some stories that god will pinch, if we do something wrong. I was bit scared as I used to do all kinda mischief at home. I could still remember, I asked for sorry inside me, to god, as we were nearing the temple.

The full way was colorful and filled with lots of new shops on the roadside. They were selling dolls, balloons, sweets and other stuff. There were some stage programs going on the side. Many kids were running across the road and playing. All those were very new for me, so I backed of myself and came near my parents. Also I saw siva sticked to his mom. My dad was carrying my brother and he was so happy. My eyes were wandering between the toy cars on the road side shops. I don't know why, both me and my brother have interests mostly towards car toys. I asked my mom for a toy, she in turn asked my dad. He said he'll get me one on the way back to home. All of us are here to see the god, so first we've to go to the temple. I agreed as I too had the interest on meeting god.

I was rolling my mind up and down to meet god. Finally we went into the temple and after a long queue and a heavy rush, we were in front of the god. All my expectations were ashed, when I saw nothing but a statue. That too a small statue, smaller than me. I joined my hands, closed my eyes... but I didn't pray. All I was thinking was the pooja room at my house. We had many gods, both in pictures and statues. I never had seen any rush there, only our family members used to go there and pray. We came out of the temple. I had 'viboothi' in my forehead. Me and siva took some 'viboothi' and were tasting it. I only taught him that it tastes good and he too liked it. On the way back I asked for and got a balloon. We were playing with our balloons in that waterless vaigai river. My balloon got bursted!!! I don't know why it got bursted, but I felt like crying. I came and sat near my mom, aunty and dad. My aunt asked me to tell rhymes and show my proficiency to my other relatives, but I was not in a mood.

We came back home. I forgot my balloon as I got a new toy car. I was rolling that car all over our house. I showed my new toy car to my grandpa and also told him about the balloon and god. He somehow understood my wavelength, came down to my level and was giving answers and comments for all my questions and issues. He's the best grandpa in this world.

My grandpa... writing my next blog...

My life... as I remember,

January 11, 1983 - I smelt this world.

Days went as I opened my eyes, cried, giggled, turned myself, crawled, stepped and walked... But i don't remember anything other than the light pink bowl in which my mom used to feed cerelac to me and the silver spoon in it.

On my first birthday, I got a new pair of shoes as my first known gift. The best shoes I'd ever worn are those. It alarmed for my every little step. I walked with it, I ran with it and I played with it.

Then I grew older...! When I was old enough, I stepped into my first school with fear and only with fear... yeah, for the first day felt like I was intentionally pushed in. Started my first day in school with a normal cry and that cry tree grew with the tears I shed. As days went on, the loudness increased. I discovered lot many reasons to cry. I cried saying, "I don't like the uniform color", "the tie knot is making me difficult to breath", "My legs are paining coz of the shoes", "I'll sit only in the top of the rickshaw", For the hot water given by amudha miss, for the loss of my pencil, when my hand towel got torn, when I was asked to stop crying,... and the list went on. The pace got slowed down when I felt a warmth. Yes, I got a friend... without my knowledge I got a friend. I never felt nor celeberated for my first friendship. Augustin is his name. We walk by keeping hands on each other's shoulders. That was what we knew to do as friends apart from sharing Biscuts and chocolates. He did a big sacrifice for me, when he stopped playing in sand, as I don't. We walked in the ground with pride. Our days went on without any pressure or responsibility. My part time LKG went happily. I stopped LKG after five months and took break for seven months. May be I would have got tired of learning. That was the end my friendship with augustin. After that I'd never met him in my life. I don't even remember his face. All that seven months I was completely trained by my Vasantha aunty. She thought me to write, to speak, to sing songs, rhymes and dance.

After the break, I directly stepped into my first class when I was less than four years old. Years went on happily. The first sadness hit me when my brother was born. I was so scared as my mom stayed in hospital for a day. I was so sad when everybody were so busy in their activities and I felt the loneliness for the first time in my life. I cried alone without any reason. The sadness went on only till I saw my brother, my new born brother in hospital. I was the first person to feed him with sweet water. I felt so happy, when my father's brother lifted me and asked me to do so. I told all who I know that I got a new little brother.

My mom used to tell stories, lot of stories. Me and my brother used to sit side by side and listen very carefully. Everyday our food goes in only if there is a story. It became a habit. My mom had never scolded me or my brother for being adament for stories; not even shown a rough face for it. As all moms, my mom is also so sweet. Almost in everything we both are spoon feeded. I was happy without even realizing that I am happy. I don't know the meaning as I didn't had much chances of experiencing anything other than happiness.

I never go out to play. I didn't even had a single friend to play with or to speak to. I'd never felt bad for it. I used to play of my own. All I used to do, to entertain me is, run within our house limits without stepping in sand. Ours was a pretty big house with more than 9 big rooms. I'll run from one end of our house to the other, touch the wall and again run back to the starting point. I don't know why, but I used to feel so much happy on doing it. I don't watch TV wherein me and my brother will go n sit on our mom's lap and ask for story.

A grand festival, in front of my eyes for the first time... writing my next blog...