Of Uncles and Aunts: Part 1- Kittatten: Our Sakhavu (Comrade)

I have written multiple posts on this blog about my parents, but I haven't even written a single post about my paternal uncles and aunts. 
My uncles, younger brothers of my father, have been highly influential in my life. With their personalities as different as an apple and orange, the two stars in some of the best memories while I was growing up. Now that I have lost my father, both of them are the father figures in my life.
I have been doing the #100DaysofGratitude Challenge since September 23, and this post is the first in a series of gratitude posts dedicated to my two uncles and their equally loving wives.
Often, childhood is when we gather our ideas about the world. The formative years mould our personality. Do we end up as evil brats, nerds, sociopaths or diplomats, gets decided then. 
Many of my friends have traumatic childhood tales to share, of parental neglect, fights between relatives, and stories about abuse and cruelty.
I, on the other hand, led a carefree childhood. I couldn't wait to return home after school. The reason was that I had multiple houses which I could call as home. Both my uncles lived at walkable distances from our house. The only decision I had to make was whether I should head north or west once I returned from school. Often I would make the trip to both houses.

Our Sakhavu (Comrade)

The brightest among my early memories of my uncle, Kunhikrishnan, is one of him clad in a red shirt and khaki pants marching to the band music at the communist party congress in our area. The music, the red volunteers and the fact that the red army wasn't at all terrifying was the best thing of all. I wanted to grow up and wear that uniform and march as perfectly as they were doing. 

Kittatten as we called him, was our comrade or the sakhav. He would be rarely at home on weekends as there would party meetings or works to be done. We would find him speaking on the stage at meetings or public functions and we would proudly point him out to our friends. 

For me, he was a hero mainly because he was not afraid of the dark. He kept his cycle at our home and would then go walking through the village lanes without even a torch to light his way. Whenever my mother or father insisted that he carry one, he would smirk and say no need. Wasn't he scared of the many demons that lurked in the darkness? 

One evening, when I was about six or seven years old, my father had gone to his ancestral home, kulathindadutha veedu which was just a block away from our house. We kids called it by that name as there was a pond in front of the house. And to my disappointment, he hadn't taken me along. I was fully engaged in a bawling tantrum when Kittatten returned from work. I immediately stopped crying. Now I had someone to take me to where my father was. I requested him to take me along and he agreed.  I told my mother off when she tried to stop me. 

But there was a catch. The village lanes were dark, and as usual, my uncle was not carrying a torch. I was terrified of the darkness. He was carrying grocery bags in both hands and hence could not hold my hands to guide me. But then he had the perfect solution. He made me hold on to a rolled up mat he had purchased. The short trip through the dark lanes, guided only by a wobbling mat, felt like traversing a dark tunnel filled with hidden dangers and monsters. I held on to the mat for dear life and breathed easy only when we reached our destination.

Grandma used to tell us tales as to how during the emergency period (1975-1977) uncle was continuously hunted by the police. The Communist party had been banned and all its members were being rounded up and arrested. My uncle and his friends often went underground and many prominent party leaders often took refuge in my father's ancestral home. His sister, my aunts, narrate those incidents with so much pride. How they had even fooled the police many times in a bid to save their brother and other comrades.

Another pleasant memory is the trip we made to New Delhi in October 2003. I had to appear for a competitive exam conducted by Delhi metro. My brother worked in Delhi and he could take me around once I reach there. The problem was the long train journey there. I had almost given up hope when Kittatten agreed to take me. 

The trip was so much fun. The Konkan railway passes through picturesque locales and the food aboard the Mangala Express was sumptuous and delicious. While uncle made new friends with fellow passengers, all I did was eat, read books or gaze at the passing landscapes lost in daydreams. Though I was going to attend an exam, I remember, I didn't even touch my textbooks. 

Once in Delhi, after the exams, we roamed around in Delhi and Agra. Our MP, T. Govindan was close to uncle and we got special passes to visit the Parliament House which was in session. I still remember how the MP himself came to receive us at the parliament gates. e chuckled seeing Uncle wearing pants as he only wore the white or off-white mundu normally. 

 The terrorist attack at the parliament had caused an increase in security. He showed us around and we sat and watched a bill being presented. (Curiously, the bill being presented and debated upon was about implementing metros in Bangalore, Mumbai etc. My husband now works with BMRCL, the Bangalore Metro Rail Corporation.) 

I even cooked while we stayed at my brother's flat and made Kittatten eat my dal curry. A big achievement as he hated dal. 

My Uncle with his Family

As my father was fully occupied with his clinic most of the time, it was often Kittatten who accompanied me to get certificates attested, passport, marriage certificates and any other official documents made. Being a very popular and important member of the party from our area, his presence often made all these tasks easy.

It was with extreme pride that I voted for him during the panchayat elections for the fourth ward of our village. He went on to be elected as the Vice President of our village panchayat. 
There are many many more pleasant memories to share. Perhaps I would fictionalise them and create a novel out of them soon. 
 My son calls him cuckoo-achacha or cuckoo-grandpa because of the presence of a cuckoo clock in the living room of his house. 

Thank you, Kittatten for all the love and guidance. 

Wish you a long and happy life. Continue being a guiding light and the great person that you are. 

Finding your Tribe! #MyFriendAlexa Post 2

Man is a social creature. He needs his tribe to remain sane. Same goes for every writer. We need our tribe. Our tribe is as important as oxygen is for life.

When you venture into writing, so many things happen out of the blue to you.

Some of the usual stumbling blocks that trouble every newbie writer are writer’s block, one-uppers, critics, and psychic-vampires.

1.  When writer’s block visits, you are forced to play the reluctant host till it leaves. You babysit and fret over the troubles it is giving you yet have no clue how to make it leave.
2. The one-uppers will make you feel awful by telling you how they have done it all, before you even thought about it. Well good for them. But it does dim your light.
3. The critic, who has never written a novel will tell you where you went wrong in your novel, which character sucked and why you should pack your bags and leave.
4. The psychic vampires will stick to you and emotionally blackmail you to get things done. You will do their chores fully convinced that you are duty bound to help the poor darling. You will help them to edit their Facebook posts, their blog posts and even the messages to their ex. You are a writer after all!

This is where the presence of your tribe is going to help you. Your tribe is your group of writer friends who will listen to your woes and offer the perfect solution. Their words bring sunshine back into your life.

“Writer’s block? Do something else. Take a long walk, go watch a movie. Give your brain some rest, yaar!”

“Forget about that one-upping creature. She is lying through her teeth. Even if she is true this time, which she isn’t, you too achieved it, didn’t you? Cheer up!”

“Why are you affected by his words? He hasn’t written a single story, he isn’t a literature expert and thinks of himself as a critic! Who told him he knew anything about writing?”

“You are a fool. She is using you. She is no damsel in distress who needs rescuing. She is a psychic vampire. That is what she is. Leave her."

Amazing, right? They will tell you what you need to hear. They have been there, done that.

So how to find your tribe?

• Join a writing group/club.
• Join a Facebook/twitter group of writers who you know and respect.
• Take creative writing classes. You will meet like-minded people.

Once you find your tribe, contribute towards the group and don’t remain passive. Give help, ask for help. Once you rant about your troubles in the group, usually it will vanish just like that. The reason being ‘it was mostly all just in your head alone.’

When the others take a bite out of your troubles, it vanishes within no time. Your tribe will become your guiding light. 

So, go find your tribe.

This post is part of #MyFriendAlexa campaign by @Blogchatter

I want to take my Alexa Rank to the next level with My Friend Alexa.

In Pursuit of Ancient Wisdom

From childhood, I have often had this thought. What would happen if one fine day every single amenity and technology disappeared from our lives? Or just got destroyed? Maybe in a cataclysmic event like a nuclear war? Can anyone of us survive such an event?

Perhaps the only ones who will survive are the tribal people, the hunter-gatherers. These people would then have tales to tell about this one magnificent set of human beings who could travel via air, water and even travel to other planets. The ones among us who survive would try their best to preserve what they had learned so that our future generations could benefit from it.

I think such an event has happened some time in earth’s history already. Do you wonder what makes me think so?

 I am a civil engineer and I am awed by the structures constructed by the Pharaohs, the Greeks, and the ancient Indians. We find so many mysterious, enormous and magnificent megalithic structures spread all over the world that baffle modern architects.

If we dive through the archives of ancient knowledge, we find so many statements which were considered as superstitions. Modern science is now accepting many of them as truths.

In every religion around the world, we have flood myths. About a devastating flood which destroyed the world as it was from which only a handful survived. That these people conserved whatever they could manage and gave birth to a new civilization.

Our epics, Ramayana and Mahabharata talk about interplanetary travel, wars fought in the skies and advanced medical skills like immortality and plastic surgery. Plato talks about the Atlantis which was struck down by the Gods because it was defying the rules of God by playing around with his creation. The Atlantis was submerged in the ocean. So was Dwaraka.

Are these really the products of a highly imaginative writer or a story teller?

I don’t think so.

Have we lost an entire civilization, which was technologically advanced, to some cataclysmic event?

The idea for this post was triggered by many things. The first was a visit to Belur-Halebidu temples which are amazing creations by the ancients.

Belur Chennakesava Temple (Image Source)

 Built in the 12^th century, the beauty and intricacy of the carvings done on rock are unbelievable. Even today, with the latest technologies, it would be nearly impossible to achieve such perfection. They are not as ancient compared to many other structures elsewhere in the world, but somewhere in the stories scribbled in those statues, a lost legacy pleads for attention.

The second was Vedic mathematics. Mathematics always fascinated me, but I was never good at mental mathematics. I rely heavily on my calculator. Recently I came to know about Vedic mathematics. The many tips and tricks make calculations easy-peasy.

The third was Ayurveda. Miracle cures done using Ayurveda baffles modern science. Again, something which has roots somewhere in the Vedic period.

Many historians believe the Vedic period had a scientifically, culturally and medically advanced civilization. What happened to those technological advancements?

The flood myths answer all that and more.  

Maybe instead of dismissing our scriptures and epics as products of a highly imaginative mind or just as belonging to a specific religion, we should dive through them searching for lost knowledge.

The fourth and most impactful one was Graham Hancock, whose documentaries search for lost civilizations of the past. They make me believe that some cataclysmic event in the past of earth’s history, forced man to start everything from scratch.

Graham Hancock believes an advanced human civilization existed all over the earth some eleven thousand years ago. A meteor crashing onto the north American ice-plates caused the ocean water levels to increase and plunged the world into an icy darkness.  Some of the brilliant minds that survived that horrific event tried to preserve knowledge in whatever way they could, yet most of it got lost somewhere in the race to just survive in a suddenly wild and untamed earth.

Recent archeological discoveries proving that such a civilization did exist. In Turkey a huge ancient temple, Gobekli Tepe has been discovered which is 11600 years old. In Gunung Padang in Indonesia a 22000 year old pyramid has been discovered. We all know the ruins of the ancient city of Dwaraka has been found submerged in the ocean.

Can we now really be so arrogant to ignore archaeological marvels, ancient knowledge from the past and wait for science to prove our scriptures true?

Or should we start believing in what our Vedas and other ancient books of wisdom preach?

What is your take on this?

  

Story of My Father's Best Companion

TVS 50 was my father's first vehicle and hence his favorite.

 He would spend hours cleaning it and maintained it with regular service checks.

 During monsoons, its metal parts would get a waterproofing paint, every Sunday we religiously cleaned it. All my memories of childhood have this sweet companion.

Image Source

My father even had a special seat made for me in the front where I would perch and ask questions about anything and everything under the stars.

 I would scream at him to stop if something interesting caught my eye and we would take a detour to investigate it. 

He would take me along on errands in the town or while he was visiting his patients or friends. 

After school, I would get a treat of bread-omelette or buns and biscuits at the small tea shop next to his hospital.

 I would sit at the shop like I owned it and listen to the latest gossip raging there.

Once some controversial VIP was visiting our small town and special peacekeeping police with helmets were everywhere. 

I had never seen them before and while on our way back from school we found a group near the bridge which separated the town from the village. 

When we reached near them I asked aloud to my father what ‘Chatti-thoppi’ police (police with pots as hats) were doing near the bridge. 

 I heard some of the policemen laugh but one glared at me. After we passed their group, my father amidst sniggers told me never to call them that. 

But one had to call a pot a pot, right?

I learned to drive a two-wheeler on it along with my cousin.

 I remember I was the first girl to do that in my quaint little village. Old grannies of the village would chide me and ask me to behave like a girl.

 But who wanted to listen to them? My own grandmother liked what I did. That was enough.

Time took its toll on it and soon everyone and their aunt started asking my father to buy a new bike. But he was reluctant.

One evening, when it was time for my father to return from his clinic, we were shocked to hear a bike thundering down the road to our house with a horribly loud sound. 

We all moved to the portico to check which insane person was making all that ruckus in our normally silent country road. 

Soon the bike entered our courtyard and it was just our puny TVS 50 minus the silencer. 

With a sheepish grin, father showed us the rusted silencer which had fallen off from the bike midway.

Nothing could make him discard his favorite bike and silencer on the road and hence without caring about the teasing stares he was gathering, he had driven it all the way home; a distance of about 2 km.

Though he had grand plans of getting the silencer welded, we all protested and thus ended the reign of a 14-year-old TVS 50.

Many vehicles came and went after it but a TVS rushing past me on Bangalore roads, reminds me of him, the journeys to school and all associated memories.

Why do I Write Love Stories?

When my debut novel was released, I shared the purchase link with my friends in the hope that they would encourage this leap of faith I had taken.

“You and love story? How can you write about something that you know nothing about?” asked one of my friends.

Though taken aback by the arrogance lingering in the question, I asked how she was sure I knew nothing about love.

“You never had an affair in college and you had a proper arranged marriage. What do you know about love?”

Yes! What do I know about love? How could someone who had always been a wallflower, someone who was never called a beauty, someone who hadn't canoodled with lovers in the darkness of movie theaters, write about love? According to people like her, love was something that was reserved for people who were smart, handsome/beautiful and had the guts to go against the society.

But being a wallflower came with its own perks. You went through heartaches and disappointments more frequently than normal. Your crush would never ever look at you. Even if he did, someone would dissuade him saying, “Are you crazy? What did you find in her?” Your Mr. Darcy would look down upon you and ignore you royally. And if you were unlucky enough, he might even end up flirting with your best friend. Yet, I had allowed myself to experience the psychedelic effects of a heady crush and enjoyed it while it lasted.

Though I didn’t live a heroic love story, love did find me eventually. Love came softly to me. I fell in love with the man I married. Truly, madly and deeply. It came with its own share of highs and lows but is progressing steadily from strength to strength.

In addition, I was always surrounded by love stories. My parents had a love marriage, some of my friends and cousins too fell in love before becoming hitched. I was lucky enough to be their confidante, and they were eloquent when it came to talking about their escapades.

What she also didn’t know was that writers were scavengers. The way people dig for treasure, we dig for stories. We eavesdrop, we listen carefully when you talk and we observe.

So when I write my stories, I draw in from the energies hidden in the stories I have heard. I recollect their happiness, their dilemmas, their worries, and the general air of drama that surround such stories. Also, when you write their stories down, some get their happily-ever-after which never happened in real life. For some, frozen in time, their story never loses its charm. No one ever kills 'love' for them.

I will hence always remain in love with love. I will continue hunting for stories, which I will pen down with euphoria. They would work like a drug, releasing a plethora of endorphins making me feel like I am in love again. With every story, I get to live another love story. And when readers tell me, I have written their love story, I smile. Love is so universal and easy to fall in love with.

12 Lessons from 2016

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January told me to hope.

 I was walking through new paths, where unknown fears and strangers lurked at every turn. Strangers who took your words and twisted it to suit their wicked ways, or used it as barbed tools to taunt you. Words once uttered were lost forever; it would never be yours again.

February taught  it was okay to make mistakes.

We make errors in judgment while selecting friends, trust the wrong persons and then suffer due to these errors.

March came with tough lessons and pain.

Yet, it also planted the seeds for a new dawn. I migrated my blog to my own domain. A new website in my name was born. It was also a month of darkness. People I trusted turned against me and shocked me with public vitriolic attacks.

April taught me that nothing lasts long, even pain.

I understood that even pain doesn’t last long. Only those who brave the waves survive to tell the tale. I was fortunate to have enormous support from family and friends.

May asked me to look ahead with courage; every night was followed by day.

 Lessons I have learned from my bellowed father helped me see pinpricks of light even amidst the darkness. I overcame my fears.

June came with drizzles of new hopes, new plans.

 Like the rain brings with itself the pleasant smell of wet earth, June brought with it new friends, inspirations, and lessons.

July came along and filled me with happiness.

I got selected to Anita's Attic, a longtime dream. It gave me a new courage.

August was the harbinger of new beginnings.

Classes at the Attic began and every Saturday instilled in me fresh ideas, a strong belief in the strength of the written word.

September was fun all along, new friends, new lessons, and new courage.

 Words became my friends yet again. They made me smile and taught me to have fun playing with them.

October brought new tidings, new beginnings and renewed some old vows.

I began writing earnestly again and rewards too came instilling in me with confidence.

November said it was time to forget and forgive.

In my birth month, I took an oath to forgive and forget. I concentrated more on self-healing and leaving the past behind. It was time to surge ahead and to conquer new horizons.

December as always brings with itself the hope.

This month always reminds me that even in cold winter, the warmth of a loving soul was the only essential thing required to keep our dreams thriving. Though it is one that brings the year to the end. it also brings the hope of Christmas, New Year and the prospect of a fresh beginning.

Dear 2017, I had a tough yet fruitful 2016.

Hope you will be kinder to me.

Friendship, Blogging, Aliens and Hrithik

Image Courtesy: www.tinabasu.com

November is always a time for new beginnings. Being my birthday month and that of my baby, I always look forward to some quiet family time and travel. November is also the month of vigorous writing, being the month of Nanowrimo. Last year I had registered for it, but couldn’t write as we were mostly traveling. This time I decided to give it a miss for a multitude of reasons.

This #ThankfulThursday I wish to thank Tina for literally dragging me back to blogging. I had put Blogging on a back burner in the last few months as fiction writing had taken priority. I didn’t get much time to blog. If I did, they were just random outpourings from a tired mind.

I believe that people come into our lives for a reason. They might arrive with a lesson or for a season.I had met Tina during the Game of Blogs by Blogadda in 2014. We belonged to team ‘By Lines’ which went on to win the competition. This inspiring lady surprised us daily by being completely involved in the discussions, editing, posts and also the huge amount of research that we did. After all, we were writing Sci-Fi fiction. All this while working at a hectic day job at an MNC. Because we clicked as a team, four from the team came together and created the best-selling anthology ‘A Little Chorus of Love.’ Our chat group on Facebook still remains the place where I unravel my bundle of doubts, troubles and also finds inspiration and ideas. 

 Now she is a busy mom and yet she finds time to maintain two blogs, be a hands-on mommy, cook awesome dishes and yes, she is active on social media as well. She also stood by me during one of the darkest phases in my writing career. I am forever grateful for that.

Being Scorpios, and having birthdays adjacent to each other, we are almost twin souls.We share many common interests. We LOVE Hrithik Roshan and would kill for him. Any Hrithik hater will face our wrath. 😈 We can discuss him for hours and moon over him for days. And yes, we have seen UFOs in namma Bengaluru. Believe it or not! Perhaps our aliens (the very ones who helped us throughout the Game of Blogs with various twists and turns) had decided to visit us and thank us for spreading their message.

I know I will post at least two posts weekly because of her. And I also know I have a friend who will never fail to inspire me, someone who is just a click away. Touch Wood!

Thanks are also due to Amrita and Mayuri for the Thursday and Friday prompts respectively. My blog will be eternally grateful to you three.  

This post is written for #ThankfulThursdays being hosted by Tina Basu and Amrita Misra

We are Starstuff: Thankful Thursday

Image Source: Pinterest

Sometimes in my dreams I fall from a height, spinning across galaxies, passing through tunnels of light, experiencing inexplicable joy. Is this caused by a memory that has been embedded in my genes? Did human beings arrive on earth from a distant place? Are we made of stardust? Is there anyone like us out there in the cosmos?

Such questions often trouble me. While in school, cosmology was one section in science in which I always scored full marks. Even today, I devour any article/video that talks about the universe.

Image Source: www.tinabasu.com

Today is Thursday and it also happens to be my birthday. This #ThankfulThursday, the event that I am thankful for is my birth on earth, this tiny blue dot, as a human being. We are the only species gifted with the capability to think. One who can imagine different worlds and that too I am born in an era which has seen enormous scientific advances!

With every significant leap that science takes, humanity hopes to solve the biggest of mysteries. Where do we come from? Where do we go? We are nowhere near the answer yet.

But isn’t it enough to be grateful for this life, this moment, this birth? When we feel one with the cosmos, all the petty fights, the ego clashes; everything become immaterial. Even the earth we reside is an insignificant tiny blue dot when we consider the entire cosmos.

Let me quote from Carl Sagan, the eminent American cosmologist and astrophysicist here:

“Every one of us is, in the cosmic perspective, precious. If a human disagrees with you, let him live. In a hundred billion galaxies, you will not find another.”

― Carl Sagan, Cosmos

Isn’t this profound? If we can think this way, there wouldn’t be any conflicts in our world.  Being born on this beautiful planet as an intelligent being is in itself a miracle. Shouldn’t we be thankful for it?

This next quote explains how similar we are even though we belong to different races, continents, and nationalities.

 “The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.”

― Carl Sagan, Cosmos

Do pick up the book Cosmos by Carl Sagan where Sagan reveals the jewel-like blue world inhabited by us. 

This post is written for #ThankfulThursdays being hosted by Tina Basu and Amrita Misra

Home Away from Home

This is the view of my husband's house from the approach road. But, this was not the scene that greeted me when I first saw this house more than a decade ago. It had been then hiding behind a decorative shamiana and the plants had been trimmed to perfection. 

I still remember the smells that had greeted a timid bride that day. Fragrances of sandalwood scented incense, jasmines, roses, freshly painted walls, furniture, flavoursome food and petrichor. 

The cool touch of turmeric water to ward off the evil eye, the slight tension that clenched my gut as I took the first step into the house, the heat of the burning wick in the oil lamp, the smiling faces of relatives, the reassuring gestures of my husband, the curious neighbours watching my every step, taking note of my attire and jewellery; this house had witnessed it all. 

In the days that followed, it would nurture a different set of beliefs, customs, cuisine and memories within me. The different seasons would paint it in various hues. Time too would wave its magic wand. Children of kith and kin grew up into adults, some got married and flew away to build their own nests. New members arrived to seek its blessings. The warmest presence in the house, my mother-in-law, left for the place from where no one returns. 

Things changed for us too. For a while, we were non-resident-Indians who longed to return home during those elusive vacations. Then a little guy arrived in our life and made us more responsible adults. Our careers saw dramatic changes. 

Now we rarely visit as we have become settled elsewhere.Yet, whenever we visit, the same warm, secure feeling envelops us.  It makes us pause and take note. It reminds us to step back, enjoy life, nature and ponder about things that we really love.

When we step out of the house to return to our own nest, a strange, yet now familiar, longing grip my heart. I realise that somewhere along the way, it has become home for me. The one symbol for stability and warmth. Home away from home.

If given a chance, would you change your past?

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I have often fantasised stumbling upon a time machine or a gadget like the time turner mentioned in the Harry Potter series that would allow me to visit my past.  I wanted to  rewrite my past. Maybe I could erase that particular incident from my life which gave me unimaginable trauma. Maybe I could avoid meeting that particular person who later on became my biggest foe. Maybe I could change my career. Maybe I could say 'yes' where I had said 'No'. Maybe I could warn someone about how their choice was going to alter all our lives. So many possibilities...

Looking back, however,  I realise I don't want to change anything that has happened in my past. Every single event, person in my past is responsible who I am now. We manifest our realities. Our choices create our experiences. The way we react to the challenges at the various points in our life, carve out our future. 

 More than that, altering a particular event changes the outcome of our life. Imagine we went back and changed a particular event which was traumatic. We might have met our soulmate immediately after that.His/her presence was the reason why you transformed into a strong person. You can't imagine your current life without the presence of him/her. Would you want to change that traumatic incident then? 

I believe, all the changes that happen in our life happen for a reason. If you stop and analyse, you became stronger after every storm that you faced. What didn't kill you, made you stronger.You acquired the courage to face the challenges head on. Nothing can stop you now.

If you have read the latest offering from JK Rowling, you would have read about the effect of choices in one's life. A single event can change our present/future. As we are all connected beings, a change in my life might automatically effect yours. 

All in all,  I feel our past should be left unblemished. It is better off where it belongs, firmly in the past. Let us not allow it to cast shadows in our present or future.

You are the writer of your own story. You can visit your past. Would you change your past?

A Walk to Remember...

Childhood

Do you remember those blissful days of your childhood?

The innocent blabbering. The little discoveries. Silly fights. Misty mornings and enchanting sunsets. My most most cherished memories till date.

I remember many of those cheerful images fondly. Time has diminished their clarity but their undiminished charm enthralls me.

Visiting my village last summer and travelling through those very lanes and fields which held many of those sweet memories was cathartic and in a sense rejuvenating.

My state is known as God's Own Country and is renown for its geographic and biological diversity. My village is a quaint little coastal one with its vast paddy fields and undulating landscapes. Rivers and streams meander lazily in between them. It is green most of the time and mid-May brings in the summer rains which lasts until August.

When I decided to set out on an evening walk along the narrow bunds in the paddy fields, my niece and nephew along with my son were excited to join me. Though my niece and nephew lived there and quite often took these kinds of walks, my son was thrilled to be walking along the serene paddy fields, after the hustle and bustle of the city he was used to.

The view which greeted us was this.

A walk through the paddy fields

My son enjoyed the trip the most as he had a roller coaster ride, cozily perched on my hip. He would squeal and laugh whenever I slipped in the slush and splashed mud all over my skirt. Twice my slippers got stuck in the mud. We somehow managed to reach the coconut and palm grove which bordered the field and from where a pukka concrete road led towards our house.

Coconut and palm grove

The whole trip was reminiscent of my childhood days. Walking through the muddy fields merely for the pleasure of it, chasing each other, mistaking the depths of the waterlogged fields and almost falling. Ah... How badly I wish those days were back again.

The fields mostly remained the same but the wide bunds which used to serve as walkways through the fields are gone now. With concrete roads going around the fields to every nook and corner of the village, everyone avoided the short cut through the fields. But alas, it lacked the charm of the walk through the green fields crisscrossed with small streams, meant to drain out the excess water.

Technology has deprived the kids of the joys of nature these days. Especially the city kids. My son had preferred to sit on the bridge and play a mobile game much to my disappointment, while his cousins had enjoyed catching fishes and splashing each other in the village stream.

  

I sat amid the greenery and meditated for a few minutes. I removed my slippers and enjoyed the cool  caressing breeze and tranquil atmosphere. I think I need to seek out such pleasures every now and then.

Sunset 

The sun had already begun to set by this time and we began our return journey. The kids triumphant as they had managed to catch a few nano-sized fishes.

We returned after our adventure,  tired and muddy but with a rejuvenated mind and soul. 

My brush with Synchronicity

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Do you believe in synchronicity? Have you experienced things happening to you exactly when you needed them to happen? An event which caused a dramatic change in your outlook towards life? You dream of a person and then that person call you the next morning saying she was thinking about you all night?

Synchronicity is a word coined by the Swiss psychologist Carl Jung and describes the temporally coincident occurrences of acausal events. You can't prove it scientifically nor can you predict it.

My first memorable brush with synchronicity was after my engagement. I discovered that every Saturday evening my fiance went to a Shiva temple at his place. I used to do the same thing. He joked that Lord Shiva had played the matchmaker in our case. 

After reading the book 'The Secret' I began to notice my thoughts and how sometimes events occurred that matched my mood or state of the vibrational frequency of my thoughts. I began to notice the way how I usually met people whom I don't like exactly on days when I was going through a low phase. Books or blogs that I had to read began finding me at the right time. 'Heal your body' by Louise L Hay was the perfect example. The Reiki course and subsequent meeting and friendship with Saileela, who would take me through a journey of self-realisation through past life regression, were other significant synchronic events.

Impressed by the book 'Heal your Body' I went to Sapna Book House to look for other books written by Louise Hay. I selected three books and then a deck of angel cards fell into my hands. It was the Messages from your angels oracle cards. 

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I had never seen or heard about oracle cards and hence kept it back on the shelf and continued browsing. When I asked for a particular book the assistant came forward and pulled out a book from the shelf causing the same deck of cards to fall into my hands again. As I was already intrigued and as all esoteric things charm me, I decided to buy the deck of 44 cards that promised to give me messages from my angels.
The year was 2012 and I had lost my father in March 2011. After reaching home, I uncovered the pack and read through the instructions. Then I shuffled the deck and pulled out a card. During the entire time I was shuffling, I was thinking about my father. I can't explain why I was doing that but during that phase in my life, I was always thinking about him as the loss was recent.
The card that came was this!

Needless to say, I was gobsmacked. I ran to my husband and told him about it. He wanted to test them and I asked him to think about something that he wanted an answer to. He got this card.

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He rolled his eyes but confessed he was actually pondering over whether to join the nearby gym or not. I narrowed my eyes. He wanted the angels to answer that? Wasn't my daily nagging enough?  I then asked him whether he would, now that even the angels had spoken. He walked away muttering, "She started again."

Doreen Virtue has become my guiding angel since then. I am a regular visitor on her YouTube channel and Facebook Page.

The most recent brush with synchronicity was during the book release of Niranjan Navalgund's The Lively Library & an Unlikely Romance. There was a lucky draw happening onstage. Names of all the people in the audience were in a bowl and I was watching the chief guest picking the winners. Suddenly I felt that I had to be ready as I had to go on stage next. I removed my glasses and kept them in its pouch and next moment, I heard Niranjan announcing my name. 

I have begun to acknowledge that synchronicity is all around. We just fail to notice it. Next time something significant happens, think back to what you were thinking at that moment.

Have you had a brush with synchronicity?