The Revival

Once upon a time, in a hamlet far away,
There lived a young man, who said had found The Way.
He prayed morn and night,
And never picked a fight.
And all day long
Would walk the mile or two
Through the path that led from his hut
To the mount against the blue.
He never spoke a word
Nor ever smiled
As men and women watched
His hunched up figure pass by.
His hut was near the village gate,
Was nothing much for a sight
With a little garden in front
That was fenced up from thieving tykes.
The flowers were his companions
To whom he talked everyday
When he came out each evening
With water in a kettle to spray.
None would question his uprightness
As there was none to match his
But all he lacked in him
Was friends of his likeness.

There was another man
Who was his long time neighbour.
He was the son of a rich merchant
Who left his wealth with his only son
And died a sudden death.
The son had many friends
Who stuck to him like flies
And helped him use the riches
While they helped themselves in the guise.
Laughter ensued every evening
From the wallowing within
And dragged into the night
As the carousal went on.
His Godly neighbour as he watered the plants
Often thanked the Lord for what he is
And would pray to the Father,
With all his might but scorn on his face
For a change in the prodigal son.

Days and years flitted past
And died like fireflies...

One morning the godly man awoke
To an unusual racket that arose.
Irked he was, his sleep dispelled
And yet he felt curious in the head.
The noise seemed to come
From his rich neighbour's abode, he guessed!
He peeked his head out of the door
And was struck with wonderment
At the sight that he beheld.

The village on the whole
Had gathered around the rich man's house
Cries and murmur mingled together
And someone from within was speaking aloud.
Our godly man hurried
To the scene and for the first time
He spoke to a man beside him.
"Tell me man, he said, what's the big rush?"
The man looked at him for long
And as he understood him to be the lone
He spoke thus, " The man of the house is changed!
He travelled many places
And spent as if he was the king.
Then he lost his wealth in a flash
And with maladies untold was rooted to the bed.
Then he cried unto the Creator with all his heart,
His cry for pardon was heard at last
And now he is well in his body and mind.
He came running out of the his home,
To the village square
And shouted and danced for joy,
To hear his story and to seek God
Now all from far and wide
And have reached his home today morn
It is a miracle, for us all!!"

The young man staggered
As he heard the amazing tale
And couldn't hold his ire for a while
It was he who had prayed for change in them
He had fasted and prayed
His knees were frayed!
He had called on God for a revival
But only through him may it start, he had asked.
And now this...
As he swayed back to his home,
Still dazed at the drama, now behind him
A still small voice said, "My son,
Revival is nothing but a change in you alone..."

"A bruised reed He will not break, And a dimly burning wick He will not extinguish..." (Isaiah 42:3)

Such comforting words that most part of my life that I have lived after knowing the Lord, these words have upheld me through thick and thin. It always reminds me that God is a God of a second chance. Yes, I have been broken, in my body, when I was sick and was dependent on others, broken in my mind when depressed and discouraged by my own follies, broken in my heart when earthly love failed me and broken in my spirit when I failed God and that too many times over. But yet these words have always helped me get back to life. It sort of adds oil to the almost burnt out lamp that I was in troubled times so I can burn brighter. These words support the otherwise limp me, unable to confront anything or anybody, so I can stand up and walk and take life as it unfolds before me.

And Thats How Papa Cured Me Off My Fear Of The Lightning

Right from the days I started to know the world around me, I had an untold fear of the lightning and of course the thunder that followed. I have met many who actually(to my amazement) enjoy watching those flashes of light sometimes behind the clouds and sometimes like twisted fingers of light reaching out from high above to the earth down below.

I come from Kerala, a land that has seen only two seasons, rainy and no-rainy. So be it June-July monsoon or the September-October thunder showers or the filler rains that come in between, I would automatically move away from the windows, huddle in my bed and await the worst while it rumbled and flashed outside.

I was no brave heart but did so badly wanted to overcome this fear that I once asked my mother the reason for these bright flashes in the sky and the drum roll that followed. I concluded that if I were ever to get over this dread, I might as well know it better. My mother, a very pious woman, bent on bringing me up in the paths of righteousness explained to me that God looks down from behind the clouds at all the humans down on earth, watching our every action. If we go astray, He gets angry and there is fire and whip lashing, which is what is lightning and thunder all about. Whoa! I listened open-mouthed, swallowing every word, after all I was only 6. The next time, the sky grew cloudy, I was quite sure that this was of course due to my misbehaviour and I started praying, confessing, asking forgiveness, vowing never to repeat the mistake in quick succession, the frequency and fervency proportionately increasing with the raging thunderstorm with pink, white flashes of light that illuminated my room from the latched window!!

Then I happened to hear about a song to sing (Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens...you know) when the thunder-lightning drama unfolds outside. I did try it a few times but instead of my favourite things, all that came to my mind was a huge flaming sword, a whip with hooked ends, trees on fire, more clouds with bright veins of light branching out in all possible directions, wet, dripping leaves shaking in the wind and occasionally brightened by the blinding light from the heavens, a wet puppy sitting somewhere in the rain howling and sounding altogether miserable...

I learnt in school that lightning and thunder happen together and also the real reason behind this phenomenon. Yet the fear would never leave me. My teacher told the class about her grandmother who used to clear the kitchen off all metal objects when there was a thunderstorm and I followed suit at home throwing away every knife and fork I could find in the kitchen when the clouds gathered. My parents weren't quite pleased about this.
Then I would take all the precautions, just in case, which sort of became a ritual before a thundershower; close the windows, unplug cords, remove my gold earrings, sit in the middle of the room and shiver!!! As I learnt the speed of sound, my mind would involuntarily start calculating the distance from where the lightning struck when you hear the thunder.

I was too embarrassed then to confide to my friends this weakness of mine (but now I have thicker skin, I guess) and imagine their shock when in school, as a class was in progress, they hear a shriek from me when a lightning almost struck the building followed by the loudest of thunders I had ever heard in my life!! My fellow bench mate had the joke of her life when I went under the desk with my ears tightly covered!! This was 11th std.

Now I was determined to get over this morbid fear once for all and I asked my father, the once rocket engineer, to help me out. He smiled, gave a shrug and said, "There is nothing to be afraid of this lightning stuff. Just understand this, the clouds are charged up before a storm and they have to discharge the electric charge somehow. If they have negative charge, they have to give out excess electrons to the ground earth and if they have positive charge, the earth will feed the required electrons back. For this, they use air as medium or sometimes, if they find something as a better route maybe a tree or a building it will use that. Thunder happens just because the air that gets heated up owing to the discharge and cooler air just pushes in. As for lightning, it is only a few kilo volts of electricity that is discharged each time and during that, it will build concentric rings of magnetic fields around it. Only if you are in that field and the potential difference between your two feet is few kilo volts, you will be electrocuted. See, it is that simple. So there is nothing to be actually scared off."

I was silent for a long time and when I came to my senses, Papa was already deeply engrossed in the morning paper.

So that's how Papa cured my fear of lightning and thunder. Now I am not scared but just get petrified and benumbed when the first of the grey clouds start gathering in the sky.

Twilight Zone

Well this has nothing to do with supernatural or the bizzare or close encounters of the 3rd or greater denominations of any kind, I just thought of the 'end of the day' and came up with this name.

But one thing that does come up in my mind when I say twilight is the routine followed by my wonderful thoughtful neighbours. My neighbourhood is not a posh one but the one luxury most of the residents have not denied themselves is to have a pet and that too a pet dog. You can see huge Labs, silly Pomeranians and skinny terriers in the twilight near our apartment. Did I say a Chihuahua? No way, could be a mongrel. They all come with great punctuality for a walk and mainly for that one necessary thing, to do their toilet for which they have unanimously chosen our gate and the front face of the wall. So if anyone would visit us at this twilight zone, I would definitely like to remind them that "The Poop is Out There!!"

I do ramble a lot these days! Last week our family went through a loss of a loved one and though I could never could attend the funeral, our prayers and well wishes were always with the family of the lost. The best thing is they could understand our situation pretty well...

This got me some instances where twilight had hung over certain families.


My mother once went with her prayer group friends to attend a funeral of an old lady who was our neighbour and a regular at the local prayer group. She was a lovely cheerful prayerful lady who had made many friends during her stay in Trivandrum. She hailed from central Kerala and hence her funeral was to be held in her home there. After a long drive through countless rubber plantations, Mommy and her friends stepped out of the car and were ushered into the home of the deceased. She couldn't believe her eyes as she saw more of a happy family reunion than a mourning family. Cousins were flocking together to play tricks, aunts were talking about their house under construction or the latest design in their sari, someone was trying the perfume, others arranging flowers in their hair while some were getting dressed up for the 'occasion'. As mommy took sometime to get used to the unusual spectacle, one of the grandchildren of the sweet lady, who is now lying down peacefully in her deathbed, came running to mommy and urged her to follow as they were about to take pictures. What followed was more fitting for wedding or engagement as relatives flocked near the coffin to strike pose for the pictures. Video camera too whirred with flashlights and the whole scene proved too much for my poor mother!

My brother once told me that his friend was excited that it was his grandfather's funeral. The reason he gave was he could play movie songs throughout the night in the tape deck as part of the function!!

Then there was another occasion where the daughters and daughters-in-law took it upon themselves to prove who is more affectionate of the deceased. They eyed and outcried each other while the prayer went on with their mother in the coffin. They were also heard judging each other based on the decibel level they each could achieve!

The other day, I visited a friend of mine and as we chatted over tea, she brought up few photo albums to update me on her life. I flipped through the snaps and she explained the context or introduced her extended family. As I was going through an album of a fun trip, suddenly the picture of an old frail female, eyes closed, body stiff, swathed in white clothes, lying in a coffin with cotton balls stuffed in her nose appeared among the snaps. I stopped, was taken aback but my friend unabashedly told me that its her husband's favourite grandaunt who passed away recently. And for her memory's sake he had it put up in the album!! Incredible, I thought, I would have wanted a smiling cheerful snap of my favourite whoever for keepsake, even if they are no more, not the one that would daily remind me of the demise. Looked more like a soothing reminder of the end of a tyrant to me!!

Show Time

This was way back in 1999 ( I already feel like a war veteran recounting his tales of valour to his grandchildren, the twenty fifth time), Manoj and I were in that state of bliss a.k.a ignorance when one is newly married.

We were staying in Kochi, Manoj helping Pastor Jacob in the church and me accompanying him everywhere. As in any church, much discussions were going on regarding the events to usher in the time of Christmas. After much considerations, an outreach was planned out with singing and a sermon but the main attraction was to be a play penned by one of the church members. Kalpana was such a gifted person that she brought the next Sunday, the entire script for the play. The theme sounded pretty interesting. And the programme was named "Reason for the Season."

The play was split into two acts, Act1 shows Joseph and his wife Mary (with a huge belly and frequent shrieks) searching for a place to stay. They would meet three inn keepers and the third inn keeper would agree to accommodate them in the stable after much persuasion by his wife. Second act would show a resurrected Jesus knocking at the 'heart's' door of three persons; only the third person receives Him. This was to be followed by a dramatisation of the song Via Dolarosa (the way of the Cross) and then the rest of the crew would do a slow dance to the song "You laid aside Your majesty..." Sounded good to everyone.

So, soon after the service, the church gathered to decide on the cast. The third inn keeper and his persistent wife were filled in by Commander Varghese and our pastor's wife Suja. The other characters were identified and Ben and his wife Princy were zeroed in to play Joseph and a very pregnant Mary. For the song Via Dolarosa, Manoj was chosen to play the suffering Christ who had to carry a wooden cross across a tortuous route across the stage and then be crucified.

The enthusiasm was too much to hold and every evening we got together at pastor's home for practice. We had fun acting, dancing, mocking, making props and finally feasting. Everything went on well and the only thing that was lacking was the costumes for the Big Show. This problem was soon solved as someone promised to arrange for it and that was soon forgotten in the atmosphere rip roaring with excitement.

And the D-day arrived with the whole worship team from Trivandrum arriving to perform for the show (The play was to start after a time of singing). The Fine Arts Hall in Kochi, the chosen venue, saw some early activity in the late afternoon as all of us were scurrying about getting things ready, but the greatest of all the thoughts that was nagging each of us was the costumes. The man who gave word to bring all the required dresses was still at large. Then word came that he has finally arrived and was at the men's changing room giving out the outfits and soon will be at the women's room with the gowns and stuff...

The waiting ended when finally through the door a box was hurriedly handed over followed by a command to get dressed up as fast as we could as the first set of audience were already seated. Suja was the first to get her hands on to the dress and she gave a yelp! The dress that was given to her for her role as the inn-keeper's wife was a gaudy, fluffy, frilly, eye-blastingly coloured frock that could be worn only by those brightly coloured faced Yakshagana troupes (Yakshagana is a folk art form) . Soon all realised that if they had to use those outifts that were just delivered, they would end up looking like a bunch of multicoloured balloons. Except for Princy who played Mary, who got a respectable gown of light colour out of the collection, the rest had to think of innovative methods to look like Jewish ladies. Someone (I wouldn't want to name to avoid any amount of defamation) had a wonderful idea of retaining her salwar top and an underskirt, usually worn inside a sari, and a head scarf as her costume for the day. Looked great to me until at the end of the show, some old lady spoke disgustedly to another "about a woman who was shameless enough to stand on stage in her underskirt!!"

There was greater confusion ensuing in the men's room as the dresswallah who boasted to be the supplier for Malayalam movies brought out tunic after tunic which would fit none of the men around. There were at least five male characters and he had brought only one set of beard and a wig!!! The moustaches were missing and there was no white tunic for the character of Jesus to wear. Finally Ben who was playing Joseph thankfully forfeited the beard and the wig which was then to be shared between Commander Varghese and Manoj. All settled and the show began...
After an electrifying time of singing, the play started. The first scene, Joseph (devoid of beard, sporting crew cut) and Mary (appropriately attired) go in search of a place. Two inns past, they get shelter in the stable of the third inn.

Scene two, the risen Jesus enters...and this Jesus looked really different. He was wearing an electric blue tunic that barely reached his knees and the wig was a shock of brown fur that was propped on the head. As he delivered his dialogues, the onlookers waited anxiously for the brown mop to fall off. Someone asked another, "What is John the Baptist doing here?" Then the next terrible thing happened. The beard that was pasted on to his face gave way but Commander Varghese was a man of quick thinking and held on to the beard for the rest of the Act (looked very thoughtful indeed before each line was uttered) and (almost) saved the day.

Back stage, the next Jesus (Manoj) was getting readied for the Via Dolarosa song. Manoj being too tall had to be content with a small white frock that our costume man fished out of his Pandora's box. And as luck would have it there was no moustache for Manoj (he was clean shaven unlike Com. Varghese). And here comes our innovative dressman with an eyebrow pencil to draw a moustache for Manoj! The beard, which was now split in the middle was duly attached and the wig, now more like a storm-hit nest, was fitted with a twisted ring of twigs which served a duel purpose - it held the false hair in place like a lady's bow (Abhishek Bachhan had this idea much later) and it was also to be the Christ's crown of thorns. Manoj suffered much on-stage to balance the cross on his shoulder while adjusting his drooping beard. The moustache, a masterpiece with the eye-brow pencil, was never visible to the naked eye.

Scene three started and the suffering Jesus followed by His mourners entered stage. All went well and the play came to an end.

Then as we trooped out at the end of the day's events, relieved that nothing else went wrong, I heard someone say, "I have seen many Jesus plays but I have never seen a cross-bearing Jesus look like a Mulla!!"

Another women's day and the media flooded us with images of fiercely independent, daring , baring, cellphone wielding, hep females with the right vital statistics, working in the corporate world, working out in gym, chatting, shopping, riding bikes, mountaineering, parenting, partying, catching up with friends at a trendy restaurant, staying single against all odds, living with a boy-friend without being legally bound and so on... But as I reflected over this much praised, often criticised 'new face of woman hood' especially in our country, I saw another face peeping from behind the curtain. The not-so-praised, the less-known face of a woman, who has been the backbone of a majority of families, whose absence would have brought many of us to naught.

They are of a different genre: silent, purposeful in their own respects, passionate for a cause that seems important to them alone, often taken for granted, hands rough and bruised from hard work yet gentle when they stroke you with love in their eyes, faces tired yet cheerful, who has never visited a beauty parlour or a spa and yet are the most beautiful to behold when you get back home. And when they vanish, it is as if a blanket that covered us in the dark has been removed or the veil that protected us from the harshness of life has been lifted...

I know a kind, maybe two from my own life, who spent their lives as youthful and full of desires as any of us, to bring up their children single-handedly when fate took away their life partners from them. They neither chased independence all their lives nor strove to drive a point or two about woman power, but lived independently in dignity, working hard, never complaining, never keeping a score of their good works... and when their children grew up and left home in their adulthood, these women silently let them go but still kept watching and waiting for their footsteps at the threshold...

I know another kind, who left all for one and kept their word to follow the one person no matter what. In richness and poverty, in sickness and in health, in worse and worst they gave back love never asking back anything. They never chased fame or glory but pushed all who needed help to move forward and felt proud in their endeavours. And I too learnt a lesson from this kind that it is not for me that I need to live but for others.

There is another kind who went against all odds to be schooled and then worked hard for a scholarship to get into a college; not to be a free bird and try out life, but to stand on her own feet. To be employed, to feed the mouths back home, to repay the debts of their fathers. They never are aware of the thrills of earning one's own salary or splurging, all they remember are the drawn faces waiting for thier money every month.

Here is a kind, who barely get to go to school but are thrown into life's currents and learn to swim to keep afloat. They either stay single or get married as their higher-ups decide; but in whatever state, they toil and they toil hard. Doing laundry in three households, cooking in another and babysitting in the third; only to earn enough to keep their children or parents from starving. They do dream some nights, when they are not too tired, that their children would one day rise above their own plights...

There is another kind who is quite fierce and indomitable. They do not take the hardships of life to their bed. Ending one's life is never on their agenda even when the whole world is against them and they have the strength to voice the injustice done them.
There are many more; but I think I better stop and let you find them by yourself.

I do believe in creation; and as for humans, the rough draft came first then the masterpiece. :)

Childspeak

During a long sermon in a very ornamental church building where the priest went on and on and the congregation lost sense of time and place and were gradually transported to tranquility, a small voice rang out loud and clear, "Momma, enough! I want to go home. I am hungry!"
And when it was over, another angelic voice rang out, "Finished!!"

Abhi and Kia were given bowls of snacks, Abhi quickly finished his and grabbed at his sister's bowl and she screamed in protest. Mother scolded him for being ill-mannered and he replies, "No, Amma, I was just sharing!!!"

All are watching a movie where the heroine, in a strapless knee-length dress dances with her lover and the boy asks his mother startling everyone, "Momma why is auntie shame-shame?"

Son to mother, "Mommy, didn't you say that aunties get babies when they marry? Then did Abhi's mother marry again for she is going to have another baby."

A 6 year old couldn't understand the complexities of relationships. He had earlier watched his parents' wedding on DVD and asked his grandpa, "Grampa, when is your wedding?"

Abhi and his sister Kia were fighting over a toy and in anger he says, "Baby, you are like a donkey". Shocked to hear that, his father tells him to apologise and tell something nice to her. He says, "Baby you are like a tanker truck", which was ofcourse his favourite toy!

A 2 year old is often told not to scream in public by her parents but never listens. Once in a shopping mall, she starts to scream as her parents try desperately to quiet her. Then she stops on her own, walks to her right and puts her finger on her lips and tells "Shhh...stop!" to a boy whimpering near her!

Not wanting to get out of the car 'again' to shop, Abhi tells his parents that he is too sleepy, reluctantly joins them when promised an ice cream, but walks with eyes closed to show the extent of sleepiness. Mother asks him, "If you are so sleepy, how come you are walking?" He answered, still eyes closed, "I am not walking, I am sleep-walking."

As parents waited outside the school compound waiting to pick their kids after school, the bell rang and kids piled out. A few minutes later the bell rang again and the school staff were visibly confused trying to find out who rang the bell the second time. Abhi ran to his mother with a big smile and said, "Amma, I bell the ring". Always ready to correct him, his mother corrected his speech after which he shouted aloud, "Ok, I rang the bell!" Realising danger, his mother quickly whisked him away.

Abhi wrote in his exercise book about the things he would like to do as this, "I like to eat apples because it is good for me. I like to sing songs because it is good for you!"

Abhi is singing worship songs as usual and pretending to preach as well, his sister Kia is watching him closely. She doesn't know songs but desperately wants to do something to impress momma. So she walks up near Abhi and starts to do a "twist" to the Hallelujah song!

In a kindergarten classroom, foul smell filled the small stuffy room. The teacher already at her wits' end, said, "Now you better tell who it was and be honest about it". Touched by her 'sermon', one girl shot her hand up and said proudly, "I did it." Before the teacher could react, more hands went up, all claiming responsibility!!!

Abhi loves dogs a lot and kept pestering his parents for a dog to keep at home. His mother always said no for lack of space in the apartment. One day, he went to stroke a seemingly docile Pomeranian and was visibly shaken when the dog turned, snarled at him and he got a scratch on his hand. On the way back from the clinic after a TT injection, his parents were relieved that for atleast sometime, he wouldn't think of having a dog for a pet. Abhi said, "I don't like dogs anymore" and they smiled knowingly. He added, "I like only puppies."

To a four year old Abhi, his father is trying to explain how poor the boy nearby was who was cleaning up the table in a restaurant. He said, "He is so poor, he doesn't even have slippers to wear." At home, he hears his father tell his mother, "I cant find my slippers anywhere, can I borrow yours for a while?" Abhi comes running to his mother yelling, "Oh no, Papa doesn't have slippers, he is so poor."

Almost high

The other day Abhishek was singing a worship song, he usually does preaching, singing sessions at home. The song was "Blessed be the name of the Lord" (not the slow one, the other one with name of the Lord being a strong tower). I never watch him closely as he would stop it altogether being shy, so I just went about the housework but was listening intently. And then I stopped, did I hear it right? what was he singing? He sang, "....blessed be the name of the Lord, almost high!!" in place of "Most high". I gently corrected him and continued cleaning up. Then it struck me as curious that he sang those lines. How often do we sing with all those right expressions (lifted hands, eyes closed, emotionally choked voice, swaying et al) "You are God most high" and yet in our actions, thoughts and words, it is "you are God almost high"!! I have always believed that worship is something beyond wonderful songs, music and beautiful words, it lies in our obedience, though I confess I have been so often disobedient myself.
Sometimes God uses a child to teach us a lesson or two. Lets keep our eyes and ears open :)