15/ 3/2024

 for the artists amoung my FB friends.... these lines by Tagore in his poem 'The Dream' would make a pretty picture...this lovely lady has flooded my mind but would fail to capture on canvass....." Far, far away, at the dream-city of Ujjain, by the bank of the river Sipra, I go searching for my beloved of a former birth... Her face pollen-powedered, a pink lotus in her hand, white lotus buds stuck behind her ears, and crimson amaranath in her hair; her lithe body enwrapped in a crimson sari, her ankles tinkle shyly...."

 Amma was the face I searched for in a sea of adult faces at my annual school concert, christmas carols, prize giving and sports meet. Seated in the midst of a hundred others but hardly part of a chattering group of mums. A sweet but dignified presence.

Amma was my plate of rice served and kept covered, which I hungrily looked forward to after school,  the mug of warm milk last thing at night. 

Amma is my memory of endless hours of story telling with each mouthful of rice she fed me and my younger sister. Bob and Sally and the fairy party, Jack and the beanstalk, Blue Beard, Three little pigs, Goldilocks,Ciderella and many more  with which she fed our childhood fantasy. 

Amma to me were those late nights when we gathered around the kitchen table chopping up ingredients for Cristmas cake, the bottles of Thambili wine being  strained on white filter paper and Ham cured in the fridge. Amma was the fragrance of Christmas cake being baked, of polished floors, New curtains and Pinus of the Christmas Tree. 

Amma to me was to  wake up on Christmas morn to the deep voice of Jim Jeeves as he sang  'We thank thee'  and sounds of a busy kitchen.

She  was the letters to Santa, Santa's elves and Santa Claus. The bonus gift apart from the long list I asked for simply because I had been 'extra good' that year.

Amma was the trolley laden with Christmas cake, butter cake, milk toffee, mung etta toffee and kokis.

Amma was always and always Chocolate cake... 

Amma was a suitcase full of night dresses and house coats, bed sheets and lace edged pillow cases in every shade of pastel and white, prepared before the marriage of each of her six daughters, and suitcases full of baby shirts, towels and baby napkins prepared for the birth of each of her grand children.

Amma was the delicate lace edged white handkerchief on my wedding day.

Amma was that warm sweet dark coffee in the early hours of morning when I lay exhausted in the Labour room after delivering my son.

Amma was also the quiet presence by my side in the months that followed , visits to the Doctor or a warm massage when my toes cramped from a chill.  

Amma is sweetness, amma is flowers of every pale hue, she is the fragrance of the sweetest talcum powder.... of lavender and English Rose.

Amma is the patterns in the clouds, the early evening star and the beautiful sunsets of my childhood.

 Amma was everything gentle, quiet and mainly every thing that was consistent.

 Amma was the unfailing birthday card and telephone call on my birthday and Amma was the anniversary card every year on the day...never mind and come what may...

Amma most of all was that sweet voice that taught me to keep quiet if I had nothing nice to say. 

Thank you sweet angel you are resting now with Jesus after a long and fruitful life. I hope you were happy with us your loved ones, I hope you were not sad...all I can say is thank you for the wonderful gift of your life and hope something of your beautiful self would remain in me... 

 Last night it rained. I lived that storm in my senses. Felt in my bones that inevitable hush....The calm before the storm. Listened to the distant rumbling of thunder and watched distant flashes of lightening illuminate the night sky. I steped out to feel the breeze that preludes the storm and on my upturned face the first sweet drops of rain... watching and waiting as the storm approached. To recall these lines 'in order to have power one must live with power'. Here I was experiencing absolute power in all its harsh and wondrous splendour. The storm was upon me. I felt rather than watched the relentless onslaught of rain, ever increasing amidst a barrage of thunder and incessant flashes of lightening illuminating my surroundings. I watch the silhouettes of trees dark against the silveryflashes of light and the bejeweled leaves heaving helpless and succumbing to the mighty forces that were alive in that moment.  Watching in awe and with a sense despair as the forces of nature unleashed its glory and majesty around me and then cease. Imperceptible in its waning....distant rumble, flash of light and a gentle rain, almost apologetic and a soothing balm on wounds left in its wake.

 The deafning sounds of silence...Little did I realize how loud quietness was until my phone fell silent. The steady magnetised hum of the universe... vibrations of a beginning of time fills my ears.... Sounds of eternity picked up in silence... the never ceasing sound of crickets, incessant croak of frogs, the earth whispers when the Porcupine treads its regular path... gentle breeze and a rustle of leaf.. A sleeping dog wheezes and scratches its ear adding to the din of silence....this night sings its heart out ....only if you listen...