The man who was silent

He was always there. For everything, for everyone. No one felt his presence, because he was there, everywhere, for every need and reason. He turned a deaf ear to his own needs, so he could be available for those of others. A man of all seasons. A man who joked, laughed, smiled, wept, sat by, hugged, begged, loved and lived. No one noticed him because he was always there.

Then one day, suddenly, he stopped being there. Everyone who were used to his presence soon felt him- that he was absent, that he was not there by their side, that he was no more. He made his presence felt, with his absence. But while he could have, he didn't care to make himself prominent.

This truly is what a man can be. To be remembered is what one can achieve the most with one's life. He did it. Through silence. Through suffering. Through smiles that covered up tears. Through laughter that overshadowed sorrows. A man for others. My father- O M Mathews. 'MY' father.

O M Mathews
09.09.1948 - 31.12.2013

When he went away, I was left alone, standing on a cliff in the middle of an ocean of unknown faces. I felt the fall, but didn't care. The shock that crawled into my bones remained till the ocean waves screeched into my ears. Soaked in salty moisture on the cheeks I headed towards the shore, to see if he was still there, waiting with the usual warm hug and smile.

I couldn't see him. He wasn't there on the shore. There were only a few faces with no souls behind. Walking shadows. All of us, walking shadows. Soon we realized that the persons that we were, were not completely ours. Something was missing from our beings. Something was missing now. As for me, the fact that he is not there has not sunk into my understanding. My father, cannot not be. He should 'be'. There is no alternative.

Then I saw him. He was motionless. The radiance of his face had faded, but not the power of that smile that hid sorrows behind. The smile was kept behind a glass cage and it would never fade. Symbolism has to tell us that he cannot not be. And that, that being is not similar to my being now. So far, his presence was present, but from now on, his presence will be his absence. How strange! Life has to play all these scenes to me!

Later when that smile was taken down under the earth and I too threw a handful of frankincense and sand down into his grave. I found another fact- that the self that I have is not mine as I thought. I am a part of him. The way I speak, walk, react, think, live... Everything. My tears told me again and again that he is still here. And I realized that this is how he could still BE. Through me. I am him now.

I pray that I can embody what he was, so that he never dies. May god bless his soul.

Smiles that matter

Walk the road you always walk
Kick the same tin can, you always kick
Wear the same looks that mark you as you
But smile all the while if you want to be different.

Smile is all that matters- want to know why?
Come with me to the city; look at the slum and huts
Poor; still you see joy- fizzing life, bubbling fun
All they have is smiles; and joy is born of smiles.

Try wearing a smile from wake to sleep
Try giving everyone a smile every time you look
Try a smile when all attempts fail in procedure
Smile into joy; see what you get in return.

Smile is an ID card- gives you access everywhere
Acceptance guaranteed if you give one of your smiles
Keep a few always in your heart; so you can give one
to the needy; believe me its contagious.

Smile.
Smile away as you walk in and away
Smile while you can, 'cos you can't once you are away
'Cos Smile is what matters.

Forty days and forty nights

Its forty days. And forty nights. Feels like its forty years. But to count, its just forty days and forty nights. Just over a month. Spread over my mental landscape like a barren desert with distant oases- forty days and forty nights. Forty countable time periods… just forty of them. But if you count the drops of tears that I shed during those forty… I am left with no words to recount what they were for me. But there is a swelling within which always threatens to explore. A swelling so full of pain, agony, love and loneliness. So life-like I guess. I listen to Lionel Richie, Hariharan… and go down into the abyss of reflection about my state.

When I get up in the morning, I ask myself- ‘what's next?’ There’s no answer I know. But what if there is… Forty mornings have heard this question, but none heard its answer.

The forty were spent on trains, buses, dingy lodge rooms, red hot Hyderabad streets, cheap hotel tables, verandas of old buildings, at the ends of long and never ending queues, and lost in thoughts about what is the meaning of all these… Whenever I turned around hearing a ‘no’ or a ‘sorry’, I went back into thoughts about meaning. Of late, I wonder if I am searching for a job or meaning…

In one of my literature classes there were discussions of meaning making, and life as a process of meaning making. Now I understand what it all meant. It is true. Life is meaning making. Whenever I went down the narrow fissure of despair, there came a voice from within that told me to wait till the meaning is revealed. A long wait for a revelation- LIFE.

But it sucks to learn that its not easy to wait indefinitely. While you wait at a hotel table, you know your food is being cooked. When you wait in the railway booking queue, you know your turn is this far. But when you wait for meaning, you don’t know till when or if at all! That’s what sucks…

Once, in a cave-like lodge room in Ernakulam, I was amazed by the dedication with which scores of mosquitoes kept on trying to suck me dry of my blood. I wondered why I lack that kind of enthusiasm about my own life. Then I realized that whatever happened to me was the outcome of what I have within. There is nothing unexpected and unplanned in life. Even death and accidents could be expected and planned. One should be prepared for anything. One should be prepared to attempt till one’s prey is sucked dry of blood- just like those Ernakulam mosquitoes.

So its forty days and forty nights now. Forty days and forty nights of itinerant existence, address-less-ness, anxiety, and uncertainty.

Today, sitting in the chill and heights of my room, I can see these forty days and nights laid out like a collage on the busy streets and tall buildings around. Dark and bright, they hold up their ups and downs for me to see. Forty pieces of them. Forty pairs of them. One for each day and night. I can hear people, smell spoilt food, see frowns and smiles of people I love/d on those forty pieces of collage- sort of jigsaw puzzle I would say. From this height, I can see they take a shape… a definite shape of something which I can’t make out… Probably I will have to wait. For another revelation of kinds.. I am reminded of my literature class again, and the sweetest of all teachers I had… Unfolding meaning. Meaning making. LIFE.

Yes, I realize. It is life. The unfolding. The revelation. LIFE. Life in a crucible of love, pain and loneliness. That’s what it is- Life in forty days and forty nights.

Rains, sugar and a few monsters

Rains! Rains were common for all. For young and old. Rains meant different for different people. But they descended their silver lines for everyone. As for me, rains poured down on my childhood like on lush rain forests. Noisy and cool. Fresh and scintillating. Green and sparkling. As a child, I had seen more rains than many of my age. Rain never stopped when I grew up. I drew strength and inspiration from them- incessant and pure.

One of those rainy evenings come particularly vivid when I think of my growing up years. I was 8 years old. It was July. Rains sang continuously in unison with the beetles and frogs day and night. Rains welcomed mornings and evenings. That evening, I was sent to the grocery shop to get sugar for some hot 'payasam'. 

While walking slowly in the rain with my new two-fold St. George umbrella, I felt fresh and bubbling. May be, I could buy a few chocolates with the balance amount. Splashing water from every puddle on the earthen road, the little boy in me walked merrily to the shop- my heart singing along with rain drops.

Glad to get some chocolates, I walked back holding the sugar packet in one hand and the umbrella in the other. To reach home I had to walk almost half a kilometer through thickly grown cocoa plantation. Even day time would seem like night in there. So dark. And so silent. As I was entering the plantation, rain intensified. And silence vanished. Large rain drops fought with cocoa foliage screaming like thunder. Deafening noise. The sun disappeared behind dark clouds. I couldn't see anything. I was lost. In blinding dark, in deafening noise.

I didn't know from where, but fear started sweeping in. Snakes with round yellow spots on them. And imps with long pointy ears and curly tails! Monstrous creatures! In my mind, I could see all of them behind those cocoa tree foliage waiting to prey upon me. The foul evening's spirits caught me motionless in the middle of dark nowhere. Suddenly it dawned upon me that I was lost, that I might die that night. Smoky and murky figures danced behind cocoa trees, hiding when I looked. 

In fear, I clutched the sugar packet close to my chest and ran. Not knowing direction, I ran to escape from the clutches of devils, imps, monsters, smoky, murky figures. My feet told me that I was running on the road. At least that I was running. I ran faster and faster. 

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

Later in the night my worried and frightened parents found me lying in the plantation- unconscious and weak. There was sugar all over my body. My new St. George umbrella was lost and was never found. May be, monsters of the dark might still be using it while lurking behind cocoa trees in monsoon. 

Parents carried me home. It was raining hard. Like never before.

We are one (Shared Video)

An Inspiring Video.
We are One.
Hum ek Hai.




Thanks to those who made this.