For the love of words

I have always struggled to put my thoughts into words. I seriously envy people who can express themselves in a calm and composed manner. Even while writing I can sense the struggle to find the right words. Quite often I find people telling me wasn’t that too harsh? Or what was the whole point of it? I am unable to find the perfect sweet spot where I sound both poignant yet convey what I had in mind.

Off late I have come to realise that I am a mediocre writer. I used to think I was good until I entered this world of writers and poets. But the sad truth is that, I simply don’t have it in me to move you to tears or make you laugh heartily. My words may occasionally move you to give me a teeny tiny thumbs up but that is it! And I gladly accept my shortcomings. Like any introvert, written words have always been my best friends. If it weren’t for text messages most of us would be sad, lonely people with no healthy relationships.

Writing helped me find my place in my classrooms. I enjoyed language classes and was desperate to impress my teachers. They were all genuinely surprised and taken aback that I wrote well. The quiet girl in class was indeed a good writer.

The name has stuck with me through all these years -the “quiet one”. But my words gave me a new identity-“The girl who writes”. For that I am eternally grateful to words. For making people understand I am much more than what they see!!

Words may not love me. But I will always love them for making me this socially responsible and sensitive person. I might not be the best out there, but I will definitely continue to write what comes to my mind. I may stutter, I may not be clear but aren’t shallow ponds clear and the deep ones usually dark and murky?

The Voice of Restraint

The ground crackled in the joy of an unexpected shower. We had just stopped for tea at a little shack on the highway. It has just started drizzling and our driver was beginning to get very impatient. He honked the horn twice to get us in the car soon. 

The tea was bland but the hot fluid flowing down my throat was the only time I could have some uninterrupted bliss. My mind had still not reeled back from the horrible accident I had witnessed a few hours ago. I had become very squeamish about blood and accidents off late. We scurried in to the car and left the place as fast as we could. 

This news package was due tomorrow so I decided to take advantage of this commute and get it done. 

My cell phone rang loudly startling my camera man who was in deep sleep. It was my Dad.

“Where are you now? Didn’t you see my messages?”

“Sorry Appa! I couldn’t pick up your calls. I was in a remote area for an assignment.

“Field work?? What happened to entertainment beat?

“This is nothing serious Dad. Just the usual education stuff. There is no controversy here. I promise”

There was a long pause. I gave him time to take it in. It had been a difficult month for both my family and I. 

“I don’t know what to say! I will never be in peace while you are there in that vicious job and that god forsaken city.”

 “It’s a long weekend and nobody was available at the office. I had to take this one. This will be the last time. Don’t worry”

It was a lie but it was also the only thing that would let him sleep at night. That phone call lingered in my mind for a long time. Finishing my article was not going to happen so I decided to catch up with some much needed sleep.

 

“You have got to hold on sir! Just keep talking.”

I kept repeating as I applied pressure with both my hands on his gut. I had no idea how many bullets were in there but blood was spouting from every direction. I was panicking and my hands shivered even as I dialled 108. I could barely get the words out to the person on the line.

“You will be alright. The ambulance is on the way.”  I scanned the room for some sort of shawl to hold the wound but could not remove my hands. 

I yelled for help hoping some neighbour or passer-by would hear me. But Vasant Vihar is definitely not Karim market. The roads are deserted by day and night. Applying pressure required a lot of strength and I was not going to waste it by yelling at empty roads.

My wrists began to wear out. The pain was excruciating but blood gushed out even with a slight movement of my hand. My hands were definitely sprained, I was only hoping they wouldn’t be fractured. By the time the ambulance arrived, I had almost passed out.

But this is the fastest I have seen an ambulance arrive in Hyderabad. 17 minutes. I counted every second to keep my mind off the pain. 

“Madam remove your hands slowly. We can take it from here” The para medic tried to tug my hand. But I wasn’t ready to let go. 

“Mam are you conscious? Can you hear me?  I want you to let go off him. He needs to be in surgery soon else he is going to die” He repeated again. Blood rushed in to my brain. I looked up at him. He repeated his instruction again by gesturing. I pulled away my hands and blood just rushed through every hole. The paramedics put on pressure tourniquet.  I was soaked in blood .The woman para medic helped me off the ground and put my hand in a sling .Throughout the way I kept looking at his eyes. I knew he was dead. The machines were beeping and the oxygen mask intact. But I knew he was gone. Maybe I knew even back at his home but I just wasn’t ready to accept it. 

But now I was sure he was gone. I said it out aloud like a news broadcast, just the way he taught me to.

“Gauri Ranjan Sir is no more”

The paramedic turned to look at me and adjusted the morphine drip.

I woke up startled. Pearls of sweat had begun to form on my forehead. My driver had swerved to avoid a lorry and hit a road divider and my phone had 18 missed calls from my editor. I didn’t know which needed my attention first. I called my editor, my driver was talking to the traffic police to sort out the issue.

“Sorry I slept off in the car. I am on the way to the office.  I am not on schedule today for the 8pm news broadcast. Is someone on leave?” 

“Where is the driver? How can you be so cool in this situation?

“What situation? We just had a small accident. The driver hit a divider trying to avoid the lorry.”

“Are you serious? Where are you guys exactly? I am sending another car right now!

“It’s not a big deal Arun. I will be there in an hour”

“You have no idea what’s happening here. We had a raid in the morning because of a bomb threat”

I laughed a little. Bomb threats were an all new high even for a news channel. It was usually pelting stones at the windows. 

“So we go from breaking news to blasting news?” 

“Is any of this funny to you Ananya Sridharan?” He was only a few years senior to me and one of my closest confidantes at work. When he mentioned my full name, I knew I was in trouble

“I am sorry sir.”

 “Do not stop anywhere. Come directly to the office”

By then my driver and camera man had sorted out the issue. He was a little jittery after the encounter but narrated his heroic tale with pride once again for me. I mentally ruminated Arun’s words. What did he mean? Where these accidents meant to occur to me?

 

 “Madam please tell the incident to Rajan sir and get me compensation! Else I will have to shell out the money from my pocket!”

“Sure Bhaiya. It’s not an issue”

Suddenly I had an eerie feeling of being watched. The driver went on about his other accident stories but my mind was elsewhere.

 Inhale Exhale Repeat- I did exactly like my therapist had told me to. The car took a sharp left to enter the office campus and I felt a little safer. This was my home away from home and in the last 3 months I slept over in the office lounge on most days.

 

“Who asked you to take this assignment? What if something had happened? You should be more responsible than this! Surely Gauri Sir taught you better” Arun yelled at me as I swiped my ID card at the door. 

“It’s been 3 months Arun. I’ve had enough.” I yelled back at him. “Can we talk in the conference room?” The entire floor had their eyes on us but the news was going on live so they quickly returned to their work.

“You are supposed to lay low until the next hearing. You can’t go gallivanting like old times. Who signed off your unit?

“I did. This is not any huge case. Just the routine educational stuff. I am fed-up of this desk work. I can’t take phone interviews and mailing questions to celebrities anymore. I wanted to get out of here just for a few hours.”

Of all the people in the office, Arun was the one person who understood my work nature after Gauri Sir! His voice suddenly became compassionate towards me.

“I know this is hard for you. You are just like Gauri. He wouldn’t sit at the desk even for one day. But you should know we received a threat in the morning. It mentioned some personal details about you. I think someone has been watching you at home and work. It mentions your entire schedule. The guys involved in this have deep political connections. We can’t take these threats lightly anymore. After what happened to G.R Sir.”

Threats and Abusive messages had become very normal for most journalists in the last few years. The first few times, I had gotten furious and taken it up with the police department. But later it just became so tedious, we would pick just the really funny ones and have a laugh with my friends at the office.

It had become an inside joke for us. We kept count of who had most threats and gave away awards at office events. 

But nobody could beat Gauri Sir. He criticised every corrupt government official, private baron and politician. His news reports overthrew governments and put so many criminals in jail. He received death threats every single day. He paid no heed to any of those. None of us had even seen his family until his funeral at their ancestral home. I had always assumed he was a widower or unmarried.

 

 “I’ve asked someone to pick up some clothes from your house. You can stay in the office tonight” Arun pat me on the back with an all understanding smile. 

One of the interns peaked in through the glass door. “Sir. News night is on in 10 minutes. We have to run through the script”

“I will be there in a minute Varun.”

 “Get some sleep and call your Dad!” He repeated it as he walked out of the conference room. This is how most of the conversations had taken place between us in the last 3 months. 

Immediately after the funeral, I was given compulsory leave and asked to leave the city until the charge sheet was filed. I stood in this very same glass room with Arun and the HR manager arguing how I can’t just run away from everything. 

 “This is not PTSD. I am not going to sit in front of a shrink and talk about my feelings when I can go on field and expose the truth about this case. This is what Gauri sir would have wanted me to do” Tears flowed out of my eyes as I mentioned his name.

“Well he is not alive today is he? We can’t afford to lose any more people on our side. Yesterday they were pelting stones at your house, tomorrow they will be sending masked guys to kill you. You are an important witness in this case. The only way we will be getting justice for him is by keeping you alive until the hearing. Take a small break and go home. Once the hearing begins it will be difficult to leave the city

 And…

You will be allowed to work here only after you have completed your mandatory therapy sessions. Usha Please make sure of it” He stormed out of the room. I slumped in to the sofa in the conference room unable to cry or swallow my tears. I hated the hurt puppy like sympathy my colleagues were giving me. 

  I returned stronger 15 days later after therapy and some home town love only to be put on the entertainment beat because it was the best for my safety

.After weeks of requesting to be changed to the hard news beat, they put me in the education beat but I wasn’t cleared for field work. I had contemplated quitting my job several times in the last 3 months but I simply didn’t have the heart to betray Gauri Sir.

I only hoped things would change after the final hearing. With the accused behind bars, I could do justice to both G.R. Sir and my career. I moped around the office for a couple more weeks. I was escorted to my own home with a private security guard. 

There was only more thing left to do. I had to deposit my testimony before the police before the final hearing. I recollected every single second of that night.

 I had just dropped him off at his house just a little past midnight. He had a pamphlet in his hand. It was about a workshop to master voice to text technology for journalists. 

“In those days, it was compulsory for journalists to know short hand. So that they can take notes quickly during press meets. When was the last time you manually wrote something on a paper with a pen?” 

 I loved listening to his old time stories and pegged him to elaborate more.

“You should write a book Sir! It would be so useful for journalists like me” He laughed again sarcastically.

“Sure! Tomorrow we shall do it” 

He walked towards his apartment. I waited until he disappeared inside the grilled door.

I reversed the car to enter the main road and that is when I realised that he had left his cell phone in the car. The office had only recently convinced him to upgrade to a smartphone. I tried calling his landline number feeling lazy to go back again. When I finally got out and walked back to the house. The iron grilled door was flung open with a thud and one of the three guys had climbed over the wall. It was all happening too fast for my brain to process. They latched on to a bike and it sped away. I was able to barely catch a glimpse of the number plate and rushed in to the house. I felt paralysed in that moment of seeing him on the ground surrounded by his blood.

The police looked like he was about to interrupt me

“Is anything wrong?” I didn’t wait until he was ready to question me

“Are you sure about the order of the events Mam?”

“Did the three men come out of Gauri Ranjan’s House or the next one?” The other official chimed in like they had discussed it beforehand.

 Because there are 3 bachelors living in the next house too!” He looked at my eyes to gauge if I was telling the truth

“I have gone through this at least a 1000 times in my mind since that day. This is how it happened. I only have one regret. I wish I’d been there earlier. It might have made all the difference. So all I can tell you is why he was murdered. I think you already know that don’t you? ”

I finished the rest of my deposition and walked out of the interrogation in visible agony but was also relieved because I had done everything in my power to get justice for my mentor.

 

The final hearing was only at 11 A.M but I stayed back at the office after my night shift. Nobody in the office had moved an inch since the hearing started. All the eyes turned to my manager as his phone rung. His expression was blank like it had never been before. In a few minutes, the news flashed. 

“Due to insufficient evidence, the hearing has been put off until the next quarter. The police have been instructed to investigate if Gauri Ranjan had any personal enmity with anyone in his family and friends circle.”

The entire news room was in a state of despair. Tears welled up in my eyes too. I walked up to Arun and the rest of the E.P’s who were in a discussion.

“Sir. I want do the news segment on Gauri Sir’s case tonight” Arun shaked his head wildly in disbelief. 

“Are you nuts? I don’t think you are allowed to do this news segment. You are involved in this case.”

“What case? This is a dead end. Let me at least give my tribute to that man”

Arun was still unconvinced but he knew it resonated the thought of every other person in that room.

 

We are going live in 3 2 1…”

“This is my first live segment. Probably my last too. There was only one other person who wanted me to excel as badly as I did. G.R. Sir. This is only for you. 

In a few days the courts may even tell you that Gauri Ranjan killed himself. But it is partially true.”

“Ananya! Stick to the script” Someone blared in to my ear piece I looked at Arun. He nodded and I continued with my speech.

“Gauri Ranjan is dead due to his own actions. His actions that spoke for the voiceless people in every nook and corner of this country. He killed himself for helping so many downtrodden people.” 

“The same noose hangs around every journalist in this country. Whenever they begin to write the truth, criticise the government. The noose tightens a little. We scratch off some names, throw away some papers and it becomes alright. But Gauri Ranjan was not one to compromise. Bribes or threats didn’t deter him from his work and that is why he lies somewhere in a burial ground with bullets on his body.

In a few years, somebody would dig up his case and an award may be instituted in his name but the injustice meted to him will remain.

Finally I say this on behalf of the entire journalist community.

“You can keep throwing bullets, grenades and sickles at us. You may wound maim or even threaten us. You can take away our cameras and pens. But you will never stop us from writing, reporting and exposing the truth. Because when all is said and done only the truth will last”

Some people think we did it to boost our channel views. Others think I wanted to get some popularity. But only I knew it was the only thing I could do for the man who made me.

  

  

    

The little white flowers

Ashokan put down his pen, closed the diary partly and gazed up at the ceiling trying to recollect things from the past. He had been wanting to write a diary for so long since he retired. It was Kamali who dug up this unused diary which had a picture of Thirupathi Lord Venkateshwara all shiny in his brightest attire. Even during her sickness and failing memory she frequently asked if he had started with his diary. Venkateshwara was a little yellowed and damp now but the letters in bold black ink shone like the black crystals in Kamali’s chain.

Usually Ashokan would sense the paper boy even as he was entering their street and wait at the door. He hated making people wait. Years of waiting around for lethargic Ministers and officials had finally ended with his retirement. But today was different. Selva rang the doorbell twice. Ashokan’s cloud of thoughts burst and he came back to reality. He walked up to the door in a quick stride

“ Thank God” He said thrusting the newspaper in Ashokan’s hand.

“Why do you look so worried?” Ashokan asked with fake curiosity. He knew very well he was asking a question for which he already knew the answer.

“I was scared sir! “ Selva hesitated and his eyes widened. It gave out that he was hiding something

“You always stand at the door” He was afraid Ashokan would scold him for thinking he was dead.

Ashokan laughed aloud. Selva was a little startled but he put down his bag of papers and wiped off the sweat from his brow without asking him the reason for his untimely laugh.

“Are you well Sir? You seem very tired! “He pointed to the bags under his eyes

“It’s nothing Selva! I was writing some letters. Personal ones”

“Letters? “ He exclaimed as if Ashokan mentioned a nuclear bomb.

“Who writes letters in this day and age? Didn’t Roshan sir buy you an ipad when he visited last time? Just send it through whatsapp sir! Even I have whatsapp” He flashed his small red coloured cell phone proudly!

“These are not messages to be sent Selva! They are for people far far away”

His words were suddenly cut-off by the sound of a purple sun bird pecking at its own reflection on the opaque window. He was suddenly reminded of the peacock blue sari that kamali wore at their wedding. Roshan had framed a picture from their wedding in a glimmering silver frame for their 25th anniversary. It now hung in the living room wall right between Roshan’s childhood picture and a picture of Ananya their granddaughter. His gaze was nailed to the bird for a few minutes. His mouth curved in to a gentle smile.

Like a punctured tyre, his serenity was pierced by Selva’s frantic measures to get attention. He had that worried look on his face again. Ashokan gave him a smile and a pat on his back. He helped place the newspaper bag on the cycle and strapped it safely with the cord. Selva continues on his paper route.

He proceeded to the living room and put on his shirt. It was 8 a.m. Ashokan’s day usually beginned much earlier. He woke up at 6 a.m sharp without an alarm. Put on his scarf and went for a walk that ended at his usual breakfast place Kamakshi mess for black tea and flat unshapely idlies. Today as he walked out to the door he found the mailbox overflowing with unopened mail. Most of them were promotional but one yellow envelope stood out. It was a greeting card for Kamali’s birthday. He bit his tongue in embarrassment like every other year while she was alive. Years back Kamali had signed up for them to make an annual donation to a children’s orphanage. In return they got greeting cards made by the children for each of their birthdays. They had stopped donating a long time ago when they shifted their residence. But the cards kept coming every year. Sort of made kamali guilty but somehow he never found the time to go to the orphanage. Kamali would sigh every year on Roshan’s birthday and give a whole lecture about karma and who charity can even save your life sometimes. Ashokan a staunch atheist would shrug her off saying, find a karma place that is nearby. I can’t travel to and fro to that area.

Roshan usually reminded him of Amma’s birthday and Ashokan would cheekily ask her “What is the special menu today?” with a twinkle in his eye.

That was Kamali’s cue to make Carrot Kheer. They never exchanged birthday wishes in their 29 years of married life. Carrot kheer on birthdays was the fixed menu in the household though in the later years it became a sugar free version sans ghee.

He read the envelope out aloud even though there was nobody around.  “Happy birthday Mrs Kamali Ashokan. We at Aradhana illam wish you good health and prosperity on this occasion.

With love

The children

Ashokan sighed. He re-read the letter. He was slightly angry at fate or god or whoever ran this world for taking away kamali. He tucked the letter in the pocket his loose shirt and walked down to the end of the street. Kamakshi mess had been his only solace after kamali’s demise. After breakfast, he usually stayed back at the makeshift tea shop in the front up until late morning. The tea master would bring him a black tea with a dash of lemon at frequent intervals. Ashokan would spend his mornings flipping through every single of those newspapers and only went home at time for lunch.

He went inside the mess. He smiled mechanically at Chandru on the cash register and walked to his spot on the left corner. The mess was unusually packed. A bus carrying sabarimala devotees had stooped for breakfast at the mess. He looked across the table to chandru. He was busy tallying the bills due to the overflow of customers. Ashokan didn’t want to bother him, so he took a single seat, the table wasn’t cleaned up yet but he didn’t want to complain. The server boys were overworked as it is. An old couple entered the hotel, they were also on their way for sabarimala. They were looking around for a space to sit. They had heavy beddings and bags which they lunged with difficulty. The husband quickly scanned the place for any seats. There was one next to Ashokan. He asked his wife to sit there and took the bags from here while searching for another seat. Ashokan felt a lump in his throat.  Ashokan offered his seat for the husband and walked to the standing area. The couple was elated to finally sit down after a long tiring travel.  The wife beamed with happiness and gratitude for his gesture. He couldn’t be more amazed at the coincidence of events today. Kamali had pestered him for so long to take Pilgrimage to badrinath and Kedarnath. Ashokan’s permanent reply was “which idiot would go willingly in to a snow storm? “He would quote statistics of people dying during pilgrimages from newspapers and go on to lecture about how god if he really existed is omnipotent.

“If he’s really there. Going to the temple is also a waste of time. Pray to the things at home. Your God will be listening. Isn’t he there in pillars and even in specks of dust?”

Ashokan would smile proudly at this perfect logical explanations. Kamali was fedup and soon she stopped asking.

Ashokan was perplexed with his sudden string of epiphanies. He was no more in the mood to have breakfast. His own thoughts suffocated him He wanted to go out and get some air. Chandru was still busy collecting money and issuing change. He was buried within a huge crowd of people standing around the cash register. The entrance was blocked but some of the boys made way for Ashokan. The entire place smelled of garlands and sandal paste, it reminded him of the temples that his mother forced him to visit during his youth. He couldn’t correctly place the memory though. He couldn’t remember what the last time he had visited one was. Chandru caught a glimpse of Ashokan leaving and called out for him. But his voice died down in the chaos of the customers

He was feeling faint but wanted to do something meaningful for Kamali. He fished his pocket for change. He wasn’t sure how much bus tickets costed now. It has been quite a while since he ventured out of Kasturi Nagar. He walked to the bus stop. Ashokan’s had forgotten how the sun blazed in the month of april. The wrinkles in on his hands sizzled and sweat began to peak out. The bus thalted a few feet before the bus stop. It was mildly crowded but Ashokan was determined to get in. Roshan would be really angry if he came to know he was travelling alone in the sun. But Ashokan felt this was something he had to do alone. The conductor asked one of the kids to offer him a seat.

“If they put on headphones. These kids will forget the entire world.  Get up and give him the seat. Don’t make an old man stand”

Ashokan asked for a ticket to Karna Market. The conductor was doused in sweat but he didn’t have time to wipe the sweat of his brow. The conductor was happy Ashokan paid for the ticket with exact change. 9 rupees. His conductor bag jingled with the happiness of new found change.

The guy got up reluctantly but smiled fakely at Ashokan and asked him to sit down. Ashokan patted him on the back.

“Just few more stops to my destination. You sit down”

The guy asked a few more times as he felt guilty about not offering the seat immediately.

Ashokan assured him that he had no issues with standing and forced him to sit down.

Ashokan’s memory was a little faded but he looked out through the window to see if the bus stops were still the same. There were 6 stops before karna market. He mentally repeated each one of the names as the conductor announced them. Then he moved towards the exit as the destination was nearing. The bus jerked a little and threw him off balance but he got down safely. His legs still shivered from the possibility of an accident as he walked. He was beginning to think this guilt trip was a mistake.  A hot gust of wind, showered a whole lot of dust into his eyes. He finally remembered what he hated so much about this place. Karna market was their earlier residence. It was a rented house but their first home in the city. Kamali and Ashokan started their life at this place 29 years ago. A cramped little apartment right in the middle of the market. Water scarcity, garbage, power outages- the place was nothing short of a nightmare. But Kamali loved it here. She was like a creeper plant. Even in a dark place she always managed to find her sunshine. He wanted to go visit their old house but he wasn’t like kamali. He hardly knew any of the neighbours back then. He carried on with the purpose he came for. His eyes began to look for Aradhana orphanage which used to be right next to the government school for girls. The place had changed a lot. The market was still a shabby mess but tiny and large buildings had cropped up everywhere. It was Sunday, the entire market was flooded with people and produce. All sorts of makeshift shops from banana leaves to sugarcanes and an array of meat shops had cropped up blocking the entire road.  He walked up to a vendor who was busy chopping up the banana stem.

“ Aradhana orphanage”

“What?” He was reluctant to help people other than customers to his shop

Anadhai Illam (orphanage)… children home. It used to be here right next to a statue of Gandhi.

But Ashokan stressed once again and he was obliged to help.

“Gandhi statue was removed . Must be a year ago. I don’t know about the home. Wait. Let me ask around..

“ Velu Anna.. Where’s the children home here?? Do you know about it?”

“It got shut down Thambi! Few years back. Some property dispute between the owner and the trust. They moved to another place near Thirupuram. That’s what Viji told me. He used to work as a night watchman there.

Ashokan was distraught. It was the one thing he wanted to do for her.

“Wouldn’t it have been a poetic ending to our relationship?” He thought. By then the sun was at its harshest and Ashokan began to feel very weak both physically and mentally

His eyes began to swoon and his legs faltered a little. He caught hold of a pillar for support. His legs began to feel like squishy jelly and he suddenly put all his body weight on the pillar. The bamboo pillar of the makeshift shop couldn’t support him and it began to collapse the entire structure. Two of the guys in the shop came forward and helped him up on a chair. He was drenched in sweat within a matter of few seconds. One of the ladies from the bunk shop got him a glass of sherbet. A little lad began to fan him with an old calendar sheet. He drank the sherbet, as the sweet tangy syrup flowed down his throats. He began to see much clearly why this place was so close to Kamali’s heart? It was the people. “Despite having been a public relations officer in a government setup for so long. I never really captured people but she did! My wife who never saw the insides of a college was so adept at working her way through people.” His mind began to reminisce

His thoughts were interrupted by a young puny boy. He offered to drop Ashokan at his home on his bike. Ashokan had regained a lot of strength by then. He assured the boy that he would go home safely in an auto.

Ashokan put on his chappals that had come loose and thanked all the people who had helped him. He offered to pay for the sherbet but the lady refused. He began to walk to the bus stop. It was only a few hundred metres away. But a fleeting fragrance shook him up. Tiny hairs on his wrist tingled with the powerful aroma that the wind brought in. It was a very familiar scent. It used to fill their old house in karna market. He followed the scent in to a temple. This used to be Kamali’s happy place. She would not miss one Puja, Bhajan or a chance to help out in the temple. In a corner of the temple was huge Maramalli (Jasmine) Tree and scores of Panneer flowers strewn across the corridor of the temple. Kamali would bring these flowers to decorate the idols at home.  The entire place reeked beautifully of the Panneer flowers. The entire floor was covered with these little white flowers. It was like a cloud had descended on earth.  Ashokan tried hard not to step on the flowers but they were everywhere. People stepping on them only released more fragrance in to the air. It was almost closing time at the temple but ashokan wanted to sit down under the tree for a while. He tried to control his tears but couldn’t.  Maybe it was a divine intervention or the high pollen content in the air. He sobbed until his heart was light. As he tried to get up, a cool wind brought down a shower of Paneer flowers over him. He looked up with gratitude. He knew in his heart that she was looking down on him too!

That night he wrote

“Today would have been her 52nd birthday. The one thing that has surprised me in the past year is that my house has remained the same despite her absence. The pots, pans, her precious porcelain dolls, the washcloth on the window sill. Even the ring of dust on her old tailoring machine hasn’t grown. The wick of the lamp facing east which she believed will bring us good fortune still continues to burn. The mosquitoes still fear the neem oil spray she used to shoo them away. They don't know she hasn't been around. But I know. The emptiness that haunts my house is breaking me down.  I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop. But I have to cope with whatever I got and I hope she gives me the strength to continue ahead.

The kids in the neighbourhood still call our house Kamali Aunty's house and every time they refer to her, a warmness spreads in the insides to my stomach. I make up some ritual or Puja at home to invite Kamali’s favourite little helpers at least once a week. They help me understand Kamali in ways I couldn’t have imagined in all these years. They tell me that Kamali aunty used flowers from our garden only for her favorite vinayaka idol. Rest of the flowers were for the girls who wanted to braid it on their hair.

These tiny things that don’t seem like a big deal are the ones that makes everyone miss her.

 The first 3 months after she passed away, every other day I had somebody close to her visiting the house. The postman, the vegetable vendor who used to have a shop in our locality years ago, our old maid’s daughter who lived in Bangalore.

I never imagined she made so many friends. Maybe I was the only person who she didn’t make friends with.”