Meiyazhagan - My Best Friend's story

Disclaimer : Could contain spoilers for the movie Meiyazhagan. 

I just finished watching the movie Meiyazhagan and my heart is full. No romances or tragedies, no long drawn battles or great fables, just a simple story of reminiscences. Still the movie had my eyes locked on the actors through the entire duration, drinking their performances in, not needing to pause or look away. 

Lately I've been feeling calloused and disconnected as I was not feeling connected or empathetic with the characters in recent movies that I've been watching. I feared if this was a sign of me getting older! Thank God for this gem of a movie for making me emote with onscreen characters again.

Aravind Swamy and Karthi's performances touched my heart so deeply with their own uniquely natural performances, that I couldn't help my eyes tearing up every once in a while. And it wasn't only them , though Karthi's innocent, heart warming smile gets me every single time. The uncle, the niece, Karthi's wife in the movie, even the flower seller, I'm moved to believe that they genuinely should be such simple and emotional human beings to be able to heart-warmingly portray that village innocence that almost suffocates you. 

The reason why words tumble out of my mind now is also because the movie took me on a very personal journey down memory lane; through the sparkling smiles of my childhood best friend Paru. My Meiyazhaghi. She was exactly the same way as Karthi's character is portrayed, excessively talkative, overwhelmingly affectionate, always by my side eating my ear off with her nonstop laughter and chatter. Just like in the movie, I had also placed a bet with her to see if she could remain quiet for the duration of a day.  The similarities are uncanny. And like Aravind's character I have also been ridden of guilt when I have pushed her away several times because of my own nature. I just couldn't keep up with her affection and pure love.

Memories flashed in front of my eyes as I watched the movie. As Karthi follows Aravind Swamy to the bathroom, I remembered a hilarious incident that happened when we were in the fourth standard. She was as usual chattering away happily by my elbow, stuck to my side, as I told her I need to go to the bathroom. She continued to follow me and happily chatted on and she even almost entered my bathroom stall not realizing where she was! We laughed loudly and she went back out with an "Oh! sorry!". 

I still remember her lunchbox with lovlolikkas and her small bottle of yoghurt. I still remember her singing the song "Manjakili, Swarnakili" everytime a new teacher came to class and asked the children to introduce themselves. And I remember her saying during lunchtime one day, under the big arch in front of our school, that she did not have the money to buy a Sip-up everyday like me. My heart melted for her and I bought her one. She was such a simple soul that she cried loudly when she realized I had bought it for her. 

My school memories are filled with her affection and simple love. Her laughter and her tears. As Aravind Swamy told Karthi in the movie, I should have told her - Don't ever change. 

I never told her that. Life happened over the next few decades and we have both changed - we are stronger and bolder today. Though no matter how old we get, that sparkle and laughter of her love will always remain. 

Love is not enough

Is Love enough?

One of the short stories we had to study in school was "Love, Love, Love Alone" by V. S. Naipaul from his collection "Miguel Street". The story is about Mrs.Hereira and her abusive husband Tony. Every time she runs to her neighbour, bruised and crying, her neighbour advises her to leave Tony. And every single time she defends him claiming that he loves her deeply. Teenage me believed in the transformational power of love and was confused when love wasn't enough for them and she finally leaves him.

The first time, though, that I seriously considered the question "Is love enough?" was when I sat along with my (now ex-) husband in front of our marriage counsellor. I said plaintively at some point "But we love each other so much!" . She calmly and quietly replied, "Love isn't as important in a marriage as you would think!" Being a true romantic till that point, I was quite disappointed by her statement. I listened on quite sceptically. She said " You have lived together for 9 years. Love will automatically happen. There are however three main pillars for a healthy marriage. Respect, Trust and Care."

I gradually realized that my marriage was a 0/3 with respect to these three aspects. And that was why we were doing so poorly. Of course, if either of us were to suddenly collapse and fall to the floor, the other would be filled with worry and would rush the other to the hospital because we loved each other deeply. But was that enough?

If you have no intrinsic respect for your partner, contempt will creep into your words and actions. Contempt rings the death knell in any relationship, especially so in marriage.
If you don't have a trusting relationship with your partner, you cannot be your authentic self with them. That means that you cannot even heal and grow as human beings.
And without care, there can be no real intimacy between two souls and bodies. What sort of a relationship is it, that you have to collapse on the floor and be dying if you have to be touched with care ?

Caveat - This is of course no reason to give up on a relationship, if both partners are committed to growing and healing. Respect, trust and care can grow too with commitment.

We need to ask ourselves this question "Is love enough?" with respect to all our relationships. I recently spoke to a lady whose brother was showing zero interest in her well being. She was hugely pained by his lack of care for her but she continued to initiate conversations with him, repeatedly wishing him "Good morning" everyday. Seeing her pain, I told her to give him space to understand her role in his life and to let him come back to her if he really wanted her , to stop sending him any more "Good morning" s until he showed any real interest in her. But she refused to stop, because he was her own blood and she loved him no matter what the case was. She failed to realize that with each Good morning, she was stooping lower and lower in her own self respect and in turn, his respect for her too plummeted.

Does being born to the same set of parents automatically amount to respect and care in a relationship? We also need to learn to respect ourselves before we can expect others to respect us. In recent years, I myself have adopted a 3 strike rule. If you don't show the same amount of interest as I do in our relationship, I will try three times - which could mean, initiate a conversation three times in a well spaced period. And if the other person doesn't initiate a conversation even after the third try I let it go. I don't compromise on this for the sake of my own self respect. Sometimes it is also a matter of adjusting the frequency of our catch ups to a more convenient pace for the both of us based on our schedules. No resentment or grudge to be harboured when people don't mean any harm personally, but, there is just a mismatch in schedules or expectations. This is also where we need to give them time and space, so both parties know their place in each other's lives.

The question "Is Love enough" applies even more with respect to our love for our children. I saw this reel the other day that said "Everybody says they would die for their kids but would you - work on your marriage for them ? Get healthy for them ? Learn new hobbies for them ? Heal past traumas for them ? Stop smoking or drinking for them ? Fix your mental health for them ? Be the person that God intended to be for them ?" Love alone will not make them healthy, happy, confident and resilient. While each of us works on our preferred style of parenthood, one thing is for sure. We need to go beyond love, out of our love for them.

Respect

Listen to me dear man child, listen to my tale

I'd like to tell you a story, of this daughter of the Earth

Why does this world clamour for her dignity and respect?
You ask, why is she unique, what makes her rare and special?

She is thirteen or thirty three, but she has one thing in common
The canvas of her life has one vivid undertone
Her eyes may be hazel or blue or black or brown
But the fabric of her body has been woven out of Pain

What pain you ask? It only makes her human.
It is only the story of every other pair of legs
Let me tell you about this pain that only a woman holds
For it is not like any you have ever seen or ever will.

Her cheeks are still soft, almost chubby still
When she stands alone one day in a pool of her own blood
She is confused and scared but for the first time in her life
She is truly alone and she is shivering in fright

She is taught about life but all she feels is pain
The tremble of her legs and the wrenching pull in her tummy
She is too young to understand the science of pain,
but Pain itself, of course, she gets and feels deeply.

In the face of pain, final and cruel
She grapples with the questions of life
Why is life so unfair? Why is this only me?
No escape for me ,while my brother plays carefree?

Then she grows into more pain, for her life is designed so
Pain is her legacy, her birthright and her salvation.

Child, her delicate skin might seem different from yours
But remember, it is not yours to be crushed like paper
She has curves and she has curls but they are not for you to destroy
She is beautiful notwithstanding whatever she thinks of herself.

She is the vessel of procreation, what else would she be?
If not ecstatically desirable like a golden bowl of fruit?

Her eyes might bewitch you, her lips might flame fire
but remember always and forever.. her body is autonomous!
She is Queen of herself and she is beyond her own skin
She is clever and silly and she is brave and funny too!

Respect her my child, for she is Goddess divine.
Treat her like one and she will grace you for life

Every time you touch her or even speak to her,my dear
Understand well she is a product of a cycle of pain and fear
She has gone through hell but she is steel underneath
Know who you are dealing with before you look upon her

For she is formidable and brave, dont you take her for granted, no.

She dealt with blood daily when you were playing your cowboy games
She coped with lechery when you had time to study
She screams through deathly pain when she creates your progeny
And she rises back up, proper Phoenix from the flames, and then she is Mother.

Now let me ask you my child, at this end of this story..
Will you still dare touch her without thinking twice and then once more?
Will you take her for granted and toy with her feelings
Or will you fall at her feet and worship the living sun ?

Summer with Vivian

Vivian,
Sometimes I wonder where you are.

Today I remembered those warm sunny days,
Our endless summer vacation,
Two eleven year olds on our blue and red bicycles,
With wide open smiles, like our pure white hearts.

The roads were wide too, quiet and Serene.
Unexplored and rolling up and down,
New roads, by-lanes, and muddy back roads
Posed no challenge for young hearts and legs.

Our summer was busy and exciting
Nimbly scaling walls of abandoned houses
Peeping through stained dusty windows and cobwebby corridors
Holding bated breaths and jumping at imagined ghosts
And then running away finally
Hearing the beat of the watchman's stick.

Finding innovative ways to make hibiscus oil
Making new games with sticks,stones and leaves,
Reaching home giggling and dirty to find to our great joy
Two tiny little kittens, pawing at each other
Green eyes peeping from under rags in the backyard.
Sheer delight, Happiness, pure bliss.
We knew nothing, yet had everything.

Gang wars with the rowdy boy around town
Bicycle races down the block.
Setting up mock vegetable shops
With French beans collected from the ground
near the neighbourhood vegetable stall.
Being caught and then driven away
Laughing and running away in glee.

Vivian with his never dying smile and sense of adventure,
Vivian with his April Fool's practical jokes,
Vivian with his mother who died of asthma,
Vivian my hero.

"Vivian left last night" Mom said one morning.
"No! No way Vivian would leave!" I laughed,
"You fell for one of his practical jokes!" I scoffed.

I went to his house, knocked on his door,
A quiet lonely silence answered me back.
I went around the house searching for his bicycle.
And all that stared back was an eerie emptiness.

I took my cycle and went to the vegetable stall,
the book club and the road behind it too.
I searched for him for hours in the sun.
No, he wasn't there, or here or there too.

The sun was beginning to set
It started to rain and it suddenly got cold
and easily and without warning, the tears started flowing.
My knees started shaking and I couldn't pedal any longer
And then it finally sunk in. He had actually left.

I reached home softly wailing
at the sadness and finality of loss
Those emotions were pure too
Just like our past joy and glee.

Like a beautiful ephemeral dream, our blissful friendship had ended
Abruptly and painfully, the summer ended too.
Vivian had left our community, his dad had got relocated,
And nobody thought of telling the 11 yr old kid next door.

But Vivian, I still do wonder,
Where you and your mischievous smile are,
But wherever you are, I still do hope
That you remember me and that Summer.

Dad's Blanket

It was dark and light mustard
Not too pretty in fact
Jagged edges et al
But still a warm blanket.

I chanced upon it this morning
In and out of cupboards I was going
Foraging for a sock
Too many deadlines, too much of life .

It stopped me in my tracks, shocked me to my core
When my eyes fell upon dad's blanket
And I remembered why I'd saved it -
It had his scent, his memories and his warmth.

Everything flooded back in a flicker
His affectionate smile and caring love
His laughter and his dad jokes
His big paunch and his kind eyes

There was more of him earlier,
Shirts, ties and jackets too
One by one they'd lost his scent
And only this blanket held him still.

All these years I was deeply scared
To take this blanket out from hiding
Because if it didn't have him too
I'd know for sure, I'v lost him forever.

I slowly held it close to me
To savour an old smell once more
But I had to acknowledge what I already knew deep inside
The scent was long gone and dead.

But then! The hurt was gone, the cut had scarred
New life, healthy and supple, had washed over
Still his witty smile and the twinkle in his eyes
And his bottomless patience and love for me remains.

All that I know now is, Even when its dark
And there's no hope or happiness in sight
Even when I forget .. to love myself
His love drags me back, I'm daddy's little girl

If he could love me,
I know, So Can I.

A Day in the life of a Hospitable Housewife

This sunny school day was no different for Geetha. Chores started from 5 in the morning - starting with rice in the pressure cooker, pressing and ironing the kids' and Ravi's clothes, getting the stove to parallel process as many food items from breakfast and lunch as possible, all the while running around like a mini cargo train, lifting pieces of paper waste from the floor from little Maya's art work from yesterday, picking discarded pieces of clothing from the sofa, the dining table and the beds and finding appropriate landing spots for each item ; Geetha's day chugged along merrily.

In fact Geetha felt quite smart and confident today! She had her morning routine quite under control, everything in its place and a place for everything. Discipline is key. Who said women had to be nags and complaint boxes and perpetually in a bad mood while doing household chores. "Stupid movies always portraying women in a bad light. Hmph!" She thought. She could write a book on how to flow smoothly through the day without a single crease on her face or her clothes!

4 pm. Kids would be home soon after their tuition classes and Ravi too. All was still going well. Today's snacks were banana fritters - the kids favourites.
Just as she was smugly placing them in her fancy new casserole, contemplating how she even managed to make snacks today without ruffling a single feather, she heard the gate clink open.

A man in mundu and shirt seemed to be at the door. She half smiled courteously, mouth a bit open unable to identify the stranger but the ever hospitable host. He entered a bit hesitantly too..."Ravi... is this Ravi's house... Federal Bank Ravi..." "Yes yes...Ravi's house only..Please come..Please come" she said warmly, her body exuding hospitality and friendliness. "My name is Madhavan Pillai. I am an old friend of Ravi's...haha.. I do not even know if he will recognize me now!"  "Ohh...I see I see.. Please do sit. Make yourself comfortable please." and pointed at the cane chairs in the verandah. "You must be so tired. Quite a hot day outside.Tea? Coffee? Buttermilk?" "No no its fine.." "No please dont say that...Buttermilk? Tang?" "Uhh.. ok.. if you insist, a glass of buttermilk would be good".

Smart bustly movements in and out of the kitchen and a tall glass of cool buttermilk appeared in the visitor's hands in the blink of an eye.

He took a sip and looked up at her. She smiled broadly and warmly. "Tell THAT to your friend Ravi who says I dont know how to make guests feel welcome! " she thought and smirked. He smiled back innocently, overwhelmed. What a gracious host Ravi's wife was!

He laid the empty glass down after a few minutes and looked back at her. "You know, Ravi and me used to be best friends in school! His mom used to make lunch for me and mine for him! Because we started exchanging lunch boxes in 3rd standard itself... hahaha" "Aah is it...So nice so nice" she chuckled and replied.
"Do you know what happened once in 5th std. Our Maths teacher Menaka Ma'am..." He went on to relate story after story and she chuckled loudly and politely at the end of every single sentence as politely as was humanly possible.

An hour had gone by. The evening sun beat down on them and seemed to dry everything up including their throats. Geetha's cheeks had begun to hurt half an hour back itself with the strain of artificial laughter. Madhavan Pillai's jovial demeanor had also started to run out along with his repertoire of childhood memories. A fly buzzed lazily on top of the empty glass and flew away. For a second both of them looked longingly at the fly, wishing they had sprouted wings and could fly away too. Suddenly they caught each other's gaze and smiled ingratiatingly again, for the one thousandth time since his entry an hour back. Both grew tired, gave up soon and looked away, she at her hands and Pillai outside at the garden.

" Your garden is maintained so well by the way! I do have to say! Your hands have done nothing short of magic on the rose bushes! What a beautiful variety of colour!" "Ohhh no no no, I hardly have time for flowers! That's all Raviettan's doing. He just adores them! Built the entire garden layout with his own two hands!"

There was a moment of silence. Pillai's face seemed slightly confused. "Oh! Well. I admire his spirit then...to be able to manage so well such physically taxing tasks with the sort of disability he has... " Geetha smiled slightly in confusion " I mean.. Its a wonder how he manages to do gardening with just one hand! Lucky that he has use of his right hand I suppose!" Now Geetha was completely bewildered. " Chetta I really dont know what you mean!" Pillai replied. "My dear of course I am talking about the fact that Ravi lost his left hand in his dad's sugarcane machine at the age of 4! I used to help him with most of his tasks because of that! That's how we became so close!" Geetha was now downright insulted and stood up abruptly. "My dear sir let me assure you. My husband has perfect use of both his hands! He is in fact quite strong too let me make it clear!" 

Pillai rose from his seat, his face completely changed. A drop of sweat trickled down his forehead and his face began to flush. He looked around the room for the first time searching for photographs hanging on walls. He looked back at her and said ... "Ravi... Federal Bank Ravi..." She nodded in agreement.He continued " Raveendran Panicker...from Muvattupuzha...Father farmer..." his voice trailed off seeing her reaction. All the hospitality drained from her face, she pursed her lips slightly and swallowed. "Ravikumar Menon. Aluva. Father had a shop in the junction." she whispered quietly and defeatedly. 

There was nothing left to do. He hung his head and walked out slowly. She stood at the steps leaning on the pillar and looked at his receding figure hopelessly. Then she turned around, walked to the chair and sat on it, resting her head on her palm, contemplating the past hour and other deeper thoughts such as the meaning of life. After a full solid ten minutes she rose quietly and walked slowly into the kitchen.   

 

Memory of a Rainy Day

This little girl
Was ten years old
And this dark cosy room
Had a thin tin roof

The rain was so heavy
It sounded less like rain
And more like a drumroll
On big steel drums

This little girl
Had a book in her hands
Nancy Drew was busy
On the threshold of adventure

A big warm blanket
Loomed over her head
Big enough to bury her
Toes fingers and book

She brought an edge down
Of the warm cosy blanket
Slowly, excitedly
Anticipation peaked

The shriek of thunderous rain
As it beat the roof down
Drove her back inside
Gleefuly to her book

The memory of this day
A perfect Time capsule
Buried in the safety
Of her secure childhood

To be retrieved and revisited
When the Adult experienced rain
When there was time to indulge,
To sink deep in dark cosy bliss.

Goodbye

Our friendship died 

In a box in the past

Reeking of hatred 

But quiet at last

The pastor drenched it 

In Holy Spirit

Coz sprinkling a few drops 

Wasn't going to do it

The body had to be burnt 

Right into the soil

As friends and family 

Pitied the turmoil

So putrid was the stench 

of horrible betrayal 

So infectious the disease 

of unsettled scores

But after it was burnt 

the soil was good

Healthy saplings 

grew shy and strong

Green faith in humanity 

and firm belief in oneself

Took the place of judgement

jealousy and such hell

What was once spiteful 

hateful and bitter

Was replaced with wisdom,

kindness,tolerance and vigour

So all is well, 

You are where you are

I am where I am, 

We exist . Separate and serene. 

Candy

Little Rudra

Eyes shut for just a moment
Lips caught in a playful smirk

Toddler tummy held erect
Chubby feet wrapped around

Ashen blue against a silver moon
Little Rudra knows not His power

A single thrust of this still Trident
Could rip a hole in the open sky

The Great Lord is the immortal Yogi,
Primordial Conqueror of omnipotent Death

Let Him be, let Him play
For when He grows, He has to slay

Let the world wait for Him awhile
Let Him not open His Third Eye.

Adam

Adam's rib and half a lung.
Life without either is less than whole

The cost of new life is just the same
Of blistering attraction, love and pain.

Brown eyes hide secrets in mirthful glee
a surgeon's knife cannot cut through thee

Callous abuse and mindless neglect
Aren't easy childhoods to collect.

Eve can only sin and cry, though
Mature and lifeless Adam remains

For no love can break this rusty fortress
Built from harsh touches and mental messes

Eve looks on and sighs helpless
No serpent new, no new day hopeless.