Hampi tales

There are some places that you can visit many times over a lifetime and never feel that you have explored them to their fullest. Hampi is one such place. She has many facets and layers that pull you in close and make you see her in a different light each time you choose to visit.

Our recent trip to Hampi was better than the first one. On the first trip ten years ago, we were struggling with two very active kids who were 5 and 2, one of whom fell so ill because of the heat that we had to cut short our trip made during the Diwali holidays. Ten years later we chose the off-peak season to make a quick trip. July is simply perfect if you want to visit this wondrous place. Sepia toned skies, brisk breezes, the total absence of crowds, the occasional drizzle – all make you feel that the magic of Hampi was created for you alone to enjoy.

The Vittala Temple where we started our exploration still possesses an awe-inspiring grandeur. Parts of the temple are supported by newer construction which makes it look rather like a patched-up structure in places. The area around the musical pillars is currently under renovation so we were able to experience music from only a few of the famed pillars. The carving on the pillars is exquisite and the sound that is produced when you tap on them takes you back in time to the days when Krishnadevaraya’s second wife would dance to the rhythm meted out by tapping these very pillars with sandalwood sticks. The famous Stone Chariot has pride of place in the entrance yard of the temple with the stone wheels firmly locked in place and the horses in front of it now replaced by stone elephants picked from elsewhere. If you look carefully however, you can still see the tails of the horses that once stood before the chariot.

The Hazararama temple, the Krishna temple, the Virupaksha (Siva) temple, the giant Lakshmi-Narasimha statue, the softly glowing Badavaling Siva, the Mustard Ganesha, the Queen’s Palace, the Lotus Mahal - all are unforgettable in their splendor. So many of the statues are monoliths and the sculptures that abound in the temples have such beautiful attention to detail that you can only stand before them in awe. Many of the carvings on the pillars are 3 in 1 and even 5 in 1 meaning that at different angles they appear to be different forms. We spent hours wandering through these temples and palaces losing sense of time and place. We clambered atop the Royal Enclosure which is so beautifully laid out that it brings tears to your eyes to imagine how grand a city Hampi must once have been. There are marketplaces close to the main temples where the traders sat displaying their gemstones. Horses too were traded here as were a variety of other items. The thoroughfares are broad and from every place of import, the views are magnificent.

What hurts your heart is the fact that these ruins are the remains of a once powerful capital destroyed by the repeated attacks of the Bahmani Sultans. How I wished I could have seen Hampi at its peak with the marketplaces abuzz with traders and buyers, with the dancers performing on the dance mantaps and regaling all with the power of their performances, with the ornamental public baths open, with the elephant stables full of the royal elephants – it would have truly been a sight to behold. Even now if you close your eyes and take a deep breath, especially when Hampi is so quiet, you can see the past come alive before you. When you touch the stones of Hampi, they thrum with memories. I only wish that Hampi was given the care and attention it needs so that it is showcased and not neglected. This beautiful city by the mighty Tunghabhadra is a place that you must visit – at least once in a lifetime.

One day at a time

There are days when you think that you will not succumb to the need to put your thoughts down in writing. You are afraid of what someone else will say. You are afraid of being judged as vulnerable or weak or opportunistic or overdramatic or anything else under the sun. It might be that no one at all reads these words but even then putting them on my blog is never an easy thing. I keep wondering if sharing my thoughts will actually benefit anyone. I usually write about the difficulties faced almost daily simply because I have gone through much alone and there have been days when dragging myself out of bed to face one more moment of doing what I do seems too much for me to handle. I keep thinking that if I can manage that, others who are struggling with similar or even different problems may find in themselves the strength from some remote place within to pull through as well. I often depend on words to inspire me, to keep me sane, to fire up memories or even to just be soothed. Perhaps my words have done something like that for one other person or persons. Perhaps they may actually pull someone away from the brink of utter hopelessness. Believe me, more people teeter on the brink than you would believe.

Today was not much of a happy day for me except for the news that my husband has managed to get a week off after a month of stay abroad. So we finally get to spend some time together as a family. Being alone for two months with a gap of three days in between isn’t very easy when you have to deal with a child with autism. His sibling is a great help. Appu is a darling but without little Mahi to shore me up, I don’t know how I could have held on so long. So today when after days of wrangling and changing minds, her sleepover plans finalized, she was thrilled. Her exams will be over tomorrow and she plans to go to her friend’s house directly from school. She is back the day after.

I see her happy face as my heart feels a bit heavier. She is growing up and going away from me so soon. And then Appu pipes up “Amma, I want to go on a sleepover too.” And my heart just breaks. My son is fifteen and he wants to do things like anyone else. But where are his friends? Whom can he hang around with? Where can he go on his own?

It is hard to explain the hurt. It is hard to control my too-swift tears. But I say cheerfully “ Appu, you are having that awesome Holi party and lunch at school day after. You don’t need a sleepover!” He grins back at me and says “yeah I’m going to have a lot of fun! Mahi, I hope you enjoy yourself and have lots of fun too!” He then proceeds to tell her what to pack and how she must not forget this and that. Mahi turns to me with a stricken expression “Amma, I feel bad now. I wish he could go on sleepovers too!” I try to smile. I tell her its okay. He has his own fun. And besides Acha will take all of us on holiday pretty soon.

And then I run upstairs, close the door of my room and cry. I know its silly but then sometimes anyone can be silly. I wish for ridiculous things. I wish for miracles. I finally wish that my tears can stop so I could go back downstairs and act normal again. They do stop. They always do. I wash my face and practice smiling one more time as I stare at my image in the mirror. And I go back down and help her pack. Its just another day after all.

Summer Heat

The air is still – so very still. I can feel its weight on my bare shoulders as I sit to write. My wayward tresses are tied into a knot and set atop my head so that they don’t bother me in this heat. My arms are bare as well in deference to the rising temperature. I sip water from my glass every few minutes to stave off the dryness in my throat. The blades of the fan can barely pierce the thick miasma of heat that envelops the room. I look out the full length windows at the wayward pumpkin creeper sprawled on the grass. I look at the tiny and all too scarce mangoes on my mango tree. I look at the grape vine which tries to grow year after year but manages only a few spurts before losing all ambition. I see the ginger cat and the striped gray one and the mottled black one in various poses of relaxation on my cane chairs and even on the tiles of the porch. They are not my cats. But they do seem to like my house.

The plants and my tree look fresh in their green attire. Even the cats who should technically feel worse than I do, look quite comfortable in this stifling heat. They simply stretch out a bit more, open their mouths and drowse off in endless sleep. I envy them sorely as I recall my failed attempt at a nap earlier this afternoon. How do they do it I wonder.

The heat seems more oppressive because there is a promise of rain somewhere in the distance in both space and time. It is always thus before the expected relief of a few hours of coolness. Such is life as well after all. It is usually just before a breakthrough or the first sighting of success that things seem the darkest and the most difficult. The tough part is hanging on, waiting in hope that the heaviness will ease. Most people,I suppose, give up just before things get better. How would they know that if they had held on just a little while longer that things would indeed become better?

The heat will get worse as the summer starts in earnest but just when we complain the loudest, the weather will turn and the rain will come in to cool the evenings and nights. Here in Bangalore we see rains mostly in the evenings. The rains are more civilized somehow with their polite pattering and sometimes slightly louder drumming. Back home in Kerala, the rain is a mad passion inciting in watchers the desire to revel in life, in lust, in creative productivity of the highest order. The rains are never tame in Kerala.

I have to get back to work and making dinner soon enough. The heat has made me a dull, lethargic and rather lazy creature. For now, I sit right under the fan whose sounds are more soothing than its actions. I type away, my mind on auto pilot as I steal glances at the lawns just a few feet away so I too can feel as cool as the pumpkin plant with its bright yellow trumpet flowers resting on the just-watered grass. Even the heat has its pleasures after all…

Losing friends

-->

She has a little face that sometimes gets lost when her thick tresses take over. She has a hesitant expression which marks a departure from the careless childish confidence that was her hallmark when she was younger. At twelve, Mahi is changing. She is not yet on the cusp of womanhood but she is getting confused about why her body is more girly and why she suddenly likes a bit of prettiness about her. I watch her without her knowing. I don’t have to look to know what she’s up to. I am her mother after all. She sits there lost in thought dreaming of something that I have no part in. If she feels my eyes on her she will smile. Sometimes she will come and give me a hug. Then we both get back to what we were doing. She doesn’t have to talk or hear me talk to feel loved.

The other day she came in looking unlike her cheery self. She had just gotten back from school and was tired and hot. I was brushing my hair and she plonked herself on the chair and watched me. I asked her if her day was alright. Why was she looking sad? She replied that no, it was not alright and the little face crumpled into tears. I didn’t go hug her. I only let her talk for a while as she followed me downstairs while I made a snack for her.

She told me her best ever friend in school was leaving. The friend who was so like her that everyone thought they were sisters. The friend who took care of her in school when she had a tummy ache. Her friend didn’t want to go. She didn’t want her friend to go. Everyone including the most popular boy in class was crying. She was heartbroken. Her skinny frame shook with the force of her sobs. I stroked her back and listened for a while. I then told her that yes it was very hard to lose a friend. It always is. It always will be. I asked her to imagine for a moment how much harder it would be on the other child who would lose not one, but all of her friends at a stroke. Also if they were very good friends, then they would find some way to keep in touch. They could go to each other’s houses. They could chat on the phone. They could go to other birthday parties together. And if she didn’t end up doing that, then she should accept that they both had learnt to make new friends. Even growing apart over time was okay. That was all part of being a big girl.

I don’t know how much of it she understood but she sat obediently and listened. She ate her food and went out to play. I checked on her as I sat working with Appu and doing my writing. She was still blue. I was also trying to finish making dinner and she followed me around the kitchen desultorily till I told her to sit on the counter. We would make ourselves some juice and talk. And that’s what we did.

I told her I wished I could take the sadness from her eyes because I could handle it. I told her that life would throw more painful lessons at her and I would not be able to protect her from that. I told her if I could I would keep her with me and fight all her battles for her but I could not. She would forget to be sad soon, despite how bad she felt now. In time, she would make more friends. In time, she would not feel hurt anymore. In time, she would have lots of memories with her friends to keep her smiling. And since she was so little, it would not take much time at all.

She was smiling halfway through our chat. She gave me a big hug and trotted off to set the table with her reluctant brother. Later at night when she came to hug me good night she thanked me and said “Amma, you always know how to make me feel better.”

I felt a sweet ache in my heart as I watched the lanky child go up to her room. I don’t know why that day my heart was as full as hers was. Perhaps I too was thinking of lost friends. Perhaps it was because I wanted so badly to make her feel good again that I wondered how long I would possess that magic. Would she not grow up very soon and see me as ordinary instead of this wonderful creature she loved to bits? Would I be able to sit and let her deal with her hurt herself when she grew into a young woman? It hurts to hold someone too close and it hurts even more to sit back and watch them learn. I hope my little one grows up to be strong and confident. That would be the best legacy I can leave her…

Thought,word and deed

-->

Your thoughts are incredibly powerful. Have you noticed that often it is what you fear most that comes to be? Thinking of anything in fear actually fosters strong attachment to those thoughts. Those thoughts then become more powerful and create the reality you dread. And you start believing in that reality thus fuelling more fear-based thoughts. The cycle is endless and can only be broken if you consciously choose to do so. There lies the key word – choice – you must first be aware that you are creating most of the problems that annoy you and then choose to be free of it. This is no panacea for all ills. And yet, believe me, changing how you look at something goes a long way towards handling rather difficult situations. Some problems are here to stay of course but at least your ability to accept that they are there for life does help in lowering stress levels.

If your thoughts are powerful, what of the words that you speak or write? One word can destroy a relationship. One word can also heal a broken heart. Words are deceptive in their strength because we think we have control over what we say or write. Often times we speak without thinking. A few times we even write without thinking. This leads to irreparable harm unless you are willing to put in effort. Now if you aren’t willing to patch up the wounds in a relationship that are of your making, the relationship was definitely a dead one anyway. If you are willing to reach out, the right words can go a long way towards healing. So use your words very carefully. Second chances are hard to come by. Silence is a better option than slinging words about without knowing the consequences.

Actions are the result of your thoughts and words. All the positive thoughts in the world will not make an iota of difference unless you are willing to do something about it. Get off your behind and act. Don’t believe that you have been placed on this earth to pass time. A miracle such as life has not been given you just so you can exist. If you exist with true awareness, that is a different thing. If you exist only to figure out how to get from one moment to the next so that you don’t have time to think, its rather a waste. The spark inside each one of us needs energy to flare into flame.

I have not written all of the above because I seek to preach - I have not experience enough. I write merely because when one reaches a state in life where change is the only option, reflection brings about a certain awareness. Anyone who is looking to understand themselves better needs to  introspect. I know for a fact that for many years I have let my fears rule me. I also know that my lack of awareness about my strengths has led to some people using me with no respect whatsoever. I now feel the urge to act on matters I have let lie fallow. The time is now. Do what you have always wanted to do.

For 2015

Days go by fleetingly and not so fleetingly. Thoughts vanish and come back entwining themselves around each other tighter and tighter. People pass through your life like water through a sieve. Others care enough to hold your disparate selves together and create depth and fulfillment. Family is perhaps one’s strongest motivation to keep going. Friends too keep your spirit charged long after you thought you would not have the simple courage required to face the same challenge in its myriad forms day in and day out.

Last year and indeed every year so far has taught me lessons that I hope I internalize enough to grow wiser. This past year was both amazingly good and achingly tough. There were months when nothing seemed to go my way. There were also months when I could feel burdens lifting from my weary shoulders so that the relief was pure heaven. I finished writing my book. Of course I have yet to polish it. I am far too lazy to do that bit. And yet I did write the book I have been promising myself I would.

I also stood up for myself a lot more this past year. It was hard for someone more used to doubting herself to actually say “I am right. I won’t compromise.” There’s a simple lesson anyone would find useful – don’t let anyone make you feel small. If you work with all your heart, if you have given everything to a relationship, if you have invested time in anything – you are worthy of respect. Anyone who does not know how to treat another with respect, deserves none in return. There are many instances when those that disrespect you are from an older generation – the best you can do when that is the case is to ignore it and keep your distance. This goes for both your personal and professional life. Regardless of the engagement, respect is essential – everything else builds on it.

I found that silence is a friend and helps in dealing with so many different situations. There is a silence to deal with hurt, there is another sort to deal with deliberate efforts to put you down and there is a silence to deal with boorishness. People cannot use your words against you if you keep quiet. Always see if the recipient deserves the words that are yours alone to give. Weigh what you say and stay away from those who belittle your words.

Another lesson I learnt was the power of words to lift another from a really bad place, to paint the other in the colours in which you see him or her so that in that moment when they feel their worst, they get to see how special they are to someone else. It is love that can help your loved ones grow stronger. It is what gets you over rough patches. It is what you should be true to, love for your family, for the children that count on you to shape their lives and for the work that you have been put on earth to complete.

If the past year taught me anything at all, it was that everything passes on – the good, the bad, the painful. What remains is your belief in yourself to stand tall. Here’s hoping that 2016 brings my friends a renewed sense of purpose, the ability to love simply and the art of being grateful for the blessing that is your life.

My roses...

I got up today and stepped out to pick up the newspaper. It was a beautiful, crisp winter morning – the kind of morning when you can’t help but take a deep breath and immerse yourself in the scent of freshness. Next to the pillar of my front porch grows a rose bush that I had planted 12 years ago when we first moved in to this house. She had brought forth a half dozen roses of a red so stunning that it brought a smile to my face. I gently tug at a stem bringing down the rose close so that I can inhale her scent. It is subtle but all-pervading and I don’t want to let go. This is also the only rose plant I have with hardly any thorns. I love it because it is my one success story when it comes to flowering plants. I love it because it is a rose plant like no other.

I think back of myself as I entered my shiny new house all those years ago. I was excited. I was also pregnant and very skinny. Despite being tired nearly all the time (I never fare well in pregnancies) I took delight in choosing things for the house. I planted a drumstick tree in the backyard, a little mango sapling and curry leaf plants. There were days when I couldn’t do more than lie down after the incessant throwing up. All through it I felt it was the house that gave me strength. Within its walls I was safe and through its windows I would watch and see how my garden prospered.

When the baby came, she was a delight. She slept through the night from the moment we got her home and grew up with her brother in as much harmony as one could expect. They played by the rose plant running barefoot on the grass. I still have a picture of Mahi as a baby smiling next to a huge rose that seemed to be smiling too.

My rose plant is like another child to me. She is always there – in any season. I cut off her withered blooms inexpertly. I don’t feed her well but I do water her. I stroke her. I talk to her. In turn she gives me such joy with her mere presence. I have been told she is lanky and not bush-like. She climbs too high. She tries to peek in through the bedroom window. She looks awkward. But I don’t want to cut her too much. To me she is tall and stately and every single branch ends in a rose that is nothing less than perfect.

When you love someone or something, don’t try to change them or it. Leave them be to grow as they like. Watch them blossom. If they love you back, you will never feel the prick of thorns. If they don’t, then you move away but you never stop loving them for a moment. Let them grow without you. Stay away from the thorns. They will only draw your blood to grow stronger.

My roses are as red as blood itself but they are the red of unselfish beauty. I hope they bloom for me as long as I am able to see them.