Echoes in Joy and in Ashes

What does hope look like? In a conference, we were each given play clay and asked to shape an object that symbolized hope for us as individuals. Everyone set to work with much excitement. Most of us a little unsure about the task, looking around at what the early starters were making, some small discussions and giggling as we each set to decide on an object to shape. Eventually, we all finished and with much delight looked at what each of us crafted.  Hope may appear different from person to person but having hope is a shared phenomenon. Losing hope is also a sad reality, but that is for another time. Our symbols of hope may also change as we grow and gain richer and deeper experience in life. One of the poems that I now resonate with a little more is William Butler Yeats' A Prayer For My Daughter . I look at this as a prayer of hope that Yeats expresses for his daughter as a storm, symbolising a chaotic world she would grow up in, rages on. Like Yeats, I have the joy of being a fa...

The last two years, 2020 and 2021, were swept away as the world was engulfed in a pandemic. While the last century saw the outbreak of two world wars, the pandemic in this century was a war of another kind. In the last century the heroes were those who went out to fight, in ours the directive for the larger majority was to stay at home as part of the fight. We have all gone through much as individuals, as families, as communities, and as nations. The virus has since mutated and continues to mutate and even as we begin a new year, we are left hanging under a cloud of uncertainty if things are really getting better. The years that have been, for all its ups and downs, will not be had again, but what about the year at hand, the year that will be? What if the year that will be becomes a repeat of the years that have been? Just a few days ago, a fresh set of directives were issued again in the light of fresh cases of transmissions. I daresay the year that will be, will also be q...

As I sat in a funeral  service many years ago, the sister of the deceased said "Grief is never easy and we are never prepared enough to meet it." These words became much truer for me a few years ago; grief is indeed never easy and irrespective of the many fore-warnings we may have had, when the moment comes it unleashes its pain and all emotions are let loose. But I suppose this is the natural way for us to deal and cope with grief for I can only imagine what will happen in the absence of the ability to respond as such. This pandemic has been a season of grief as people we know either succumbed to COVID19 or passed on in their appointed time to the next life. However the pandemic has made the sad event of death doubly painful as most are either not able to pay their last respects or say their goodbye in person. While we have been hearing about deaths around us it was not too close and so the news came as a shock. My wife's paternal grandfather and the father o...

Ever since the lockdown was initiated, the big question has been "When is it going to end?" How long till we can get up and about the normal life we are so accustomed to? That is still the question today as we carry on through a second extension of the lockdown. If I may say so, it is like further extending the ticking time on a bomb waiting to explode. Just that in this case, it is a desperate bomb of people waiting to run out into the streets and immerse themselves in the business of life again. I will leave the analysis of such a scenario to others though I do hope that the eventual lifting of the lockdown does not throw the town into a frenzied celebration. I want to rather think of how I am living in these days. Am I living well (with a good spirit) despite the inconveniences? Am I living with gratitude (for I know many are not as fortunate as me)? Am I living with fortitude (rather than complaining and getting dragged into some long winded discussions)? Am I living w...

December is upon us again with its chills and there is a hint of joy around even in the cold. My own excitement for this month has changed over time. It is this time of the month that the cakes seems to be at their best. A decorated cake received is opened with much excitement. A plain cake is still an opportunity to have something to eat with tea. Of all the cakes, I remember a flavour which is now no longer received. The dear aunt who gives them is no longer around to celebrate with. I remember the rush to the card shop to choose and select cards: each picked with a person in mind. Cards anticipated,  given and received. The carols have faded away; carols where the whole lot of people went around singing and spreading joy. And there is the "cree" to be decked up. An old story in the Book tells of when one night an angel appeared to a group of common strangers. It says that the luminous glorious light of God shone around them. It is to this story that we owe all the celebrat...

As I made my way through this last week, I reflected on what had happened exactly a year ago - my weekend visit and stay at home and my dad's passing away at that visit. This particular week (with its days and dates), this year too is lined up very similar to last year's and it has been a week of retracing last year's steps as I made my way home to be with the family. To our father who is now in heaven! A year has gone by and it has been an "unusual" experience to have to do some of the year activities without you. As much as we'd look forward to the visits to our home, the realisation that you're not there has been saddening. We have sat around the dinner table and felt "one more of us" should come only to realise it will not be so. We mourned and grieved, but the best thought has been that you're home and at rest. The Book tells of the ancients who passed on to the next life as being "gathered" to their people. That expression o...

Broken. Crushed. Shattered. Smashed. Not the very best words to add value, in fact they will "devalue" anything that is associated with it. Something broken, crushed, shattered or smashed is thrown away, no longer valued or treasured. What more can we expect from broken things? Why waste our efforts on them? Get a new one. My broken cup has done its service, it's now time to move on. But then, in every "brokenness" is also an opportunity for restoration (a not-easy process). Yes, the flawless perfection will not be achieved again. The cracks can be healed but the lines will probably show, the scars may not altogether go away.  It will probably be a little harder to appreciate the "restored" look in comparison to the "perfect ones."  It's very sight will remind of the broken state that it was in. It will be a little more harder, a little more trying to keep things together, a little more effort to overlook the scars and to consider it ...

(on the occasion of a man humiliated and condemned) Yesterday marked a black day in the history of humanity. It will probably not be given the weight of leaving an imprint in the larger history but it will be forever one in my memory. And today is my day of lament for we have shown that we are no better than the “other,” no different from the “other.” We have rushed to the aid of justice and destroyed its very ideal in the process. We have “delivered” justice but within the prejudices of our "assumptions" and "affiliations." What if he was "one of us"? Would we seek the “same” justice? What have we achieved today? That at the very core of us lies a “barbarism” that can be unleashed fed by the fuels of our own rash actions though we could well pass off as sensible and civilized people. I mourn this day, not because I will condemn whatever “wrong” has been committed but more so because of the “wrongs” we have done without flinching, without remorse, without...

The cherry trees have bloomed, winter is here and the "new" year is almost at its end (strange that though every day was a new day and will be to its end, the year suddenly feels old). This is the festive season - Christmas and everyone is joining in. For the greater part of the people here, we will once again gather by the fireplace, around dinner tables with family and friends; we will once again walk the "old town" with its new look - adorned and with the sound of music in the air and the blazing horns of the traffic, melodious noise fusion at its best. Yet all is solemn at the manger where the greater part of us will go, to revisit a story that's over two thousand years old and pay our respects (I imagine though, that the first "manger" night might not have been as solemn or dignified). What is the "manger" story all about? A touching scene of a baby with his parents and animals around? Of inquisitive shepherds who come to see what they...

I saw him once by the path running between the row of houses playing with his friends - a seller stones and leaves. The people passing by paid little attention to these little merchant and buyers of stones and leaves and they in turn did not bother the big ones. I guess all they wanted were "little customers" just like them who would know the worth and bargain for their "precious merchandise." They carried on their merry play in that narrow lane and perhaps till dark until they were called home. Then again there he was as I walked home through that lane, all by himself with a piece of wood for a sword battling imaginary foes. Slashing the bushes and the hitting the rocks he carried on his battle and reminded me of my own little battles in the backyard just like him. The lid of a tin-container was a "strong and mighty shield," a broad piece of wood was a "sword," a long piece of bamboo with a pointed end was a "lance." Bushes were cut...