Pen mightier than the Sword?!

Whoosh! Phhatt! The newspaper fell with a thud in the stairway of my third floor flat. Rolled up tight, shaped like a baton, secured by a black elastic band, were two newspapers the Malalyala Manorama and the Times of India. I stooped down to pick the baton up, removing the band, I smoothened it flat.
Both papers had diferent headlines, whereas the Manorama carried a huge picture of the assassinated ex-PM Benazir Bhutto, the TOI chose to pay tribute to Dhirubhai Ambani, for reasons best known to them! Ofcourse Reliance must have bought the space, after all they have the money to buy this entire country if they like!!! Ambani smiled at me from the first page; but to stay politically correct, the newspaper placed its masthead on the first as well as the third page where original news began, in a feeble attempt to show parity.
It angered me to see that a newspaper of prominence should choose to relegate the news of the assassination of a great leader to the third page. Agreed, there could be justifications for placing the advert glorifying Ambani Sr, in fact, even I would have accepted it as front page news on any given day but not on a day when terrorism raising its ugly head chose to murder a symbol of democracy for a country that is experiencing the pain of trying to restore a just government. After all, she is our neighbour. This is the time to show solidarity. She needs us now!

Yesterday's assassination was proof enough of the fact that terrorists are fighting their own selfish war and not to emancipate any one community or trying to bring about justice for anyone. Their methods are gruesome, their acts ruthless, their purposes mindless.
And the media, the media that ought to wield its pen, supposedly mightier than the sword, to condemn this gruesome act in the strongest of words, chose to deal the blow softly. As a student of history, I recall what a mightly role the newspapers of the time played in igniting young minds to fight the Freedom Struggle for this country. But sadly today's newspaper, seeks to ignite young minds to believe that only Money can get you anywhere.
Aren't the first words of a baby's, the first rays of the winter sun, the cry of the rooster at the crack of dawn, the most memorable and impactful, heralding a message, a Truth? The truth of today's TOI edition was a huge disappointment.
The truth that Money is stronger than Ideals. That the same Money can be used to buy space in the newspaper and to buy the guns that killed Bhutto.
I wonder what happened to all the attempts to make peace with the Neighbour, the Samjhauta Express, the ' friendly ' cricket matches, Pakistani bands playing in India and gaining both acceptance and popularity. The assassination of Benazir Bhutto is an attack on their democracy, on justice at large. it should create a fear in our minds that soon Freedom may be a distant dream, that this is an assassination of our own dreams, ideals and free opinions. And therefore we must speak out. Our headlines should scream contempt towards such dastardly acts. And the Media should responsibly create that empathy, that passion, that conviction instead of falling prey to economic strength...Jai Hind!!

Corrigendum: This may not be a well-written piece..but it sure is heartfelt...dear readers, we all need to use our minds and hearts to understand the Cause for which we stand...Let us stand for Something or we will fall for Anything.

For her!

A powerful woman though frail in frame, what can I call her? u give her a name!

A maze of thoughts and emotions, is she, she feels many things at once and yet her demeanour never reveals,

Decades of life she has seen, with its twists and turns, some bizarre, some real,

Her spirit was bruised, beaten and broken, yet she reminded herself, she was broken for a reason.

She is beneath all the layers of let-downs, heartache, expectations and fears,

Revealing herself to none, sheilding her sorrows, she cannot let her guard down

Inside they stay, all bottled up, clogging her Soul, threatening to get her down,

The mirror smiles at her reflection, the lines seem to speak of a story - real not fiction,

She has often wondered what dreams and desires are made of, for she cannot seem to remember her own.

Dreams she has seen for those around, her own dreams?!... well they don't seem to count,

Look deeper, those lines she calls wrinkles have stories to tell,

Of a life less ordinary, lived with extraordinary courage,

Death, birth, union, discord, insult, hurt, love, laughter, tears,

Yes! those wrinkles have stories to tell

The mirror smiles at her reflection, the lines seem to speak of a story - real not fiction,

Grey hair playing hide n' seek remind her of the times gone by,

Carefree days of childhood, food on the table, friends in the park,

Summer hols, Enid Blytons and playing after dark

Country music, a game of darts, jaunts after dinner, chocolates and tarts,

Those days were of Peace, of finding Joy in things small,

Of cosy banter with friends, neighbours et al,

those days of yore, shall never come back, those days she does not want 'em back anymore,

what she longs for is the Joy, the Peace, the Carefreeness that her days now seek,

Would she wish upon a star for a life different?

would things have been better, if Life gave a second chance?

The mirror smiles at her reflection, the lines seem to speak of a story - real not fiction,

Those thin lines etched deep speak of a silent resilience and a steely resolve,

Yet at the sight of her Man and her brood, the resolve, dissolves.

Her brood is hers, her identity, she sees her Self in them,

yet there are days of doubt and despair, when losing her own identity, she feels that their lives have no room for her,

She fears that she hasn't done much for them, no contributions, no tall claims in building their lives,

Franctically she searches for traces of her share in their growing up... disappointed to know that there isn't much she did>

Not realising that her Presence, just her presence always healed, always mended, always reassured...yesterday.. today ..tomorrow...everyday

Dark circles around bright eyes are witness to the sights she has seen,
They are much like the outline of her life, Bolder and darker and deeper with each passing day,

The mirror smiles at her reflection, the lines speak HER story - real not fiction,

The story of a young girl, who blossomed into Womanhood albeit, prematurely,

Whose wisdom and counsel are much sought, a wisdom gained having experienced things rare,

Whose kindness and benevolence are praised sky high, but these virtues she gathered in her ordinary life,

Patience, compassion, goodness and grace , " an attached detachment " her Life's phrase

Now She speaks to her Self in confident voice, she will fight the fight, she will not give in.

A powerful woman though frail in frame, what can I call her? u give her a name!

She smiles at the Mirror, assured and strong, knowing that Surely God could not go wrong.

My Restlessness...His Rest

Feel listless today, restless and sore, the brain is all fuzzy, it don't work any more,

Don't feel His presence, He seems faraway, there seems to be none who has time to care,

all are busy with their million tasks, all seem to say - 'you don't have a part'

loneliness sets in though strangely i am, surrounded by a crowd of a hundred and nine.

where is my space? can i carve my niche? my voice within goes unheard, though i screech

All i can hear are the whirring PCs, click-clacking keyboards, Mouse and machine!

somedays are like this, dull and sore, where fake smiles and handshakes are such a bore,

competition's strong, it can get you down, welcome to the world of ' fury and sound'

I feel fear within, i wish to hide, but I want to feel secure, I wish to feel ' at Home',

I plug my ears tight and block out the noises, I close my eyes shut and hope the world pauses

And then through the Solitude I hear a sweet voice - lean on Me, my little one, hold on tight,

Learn from Me, Trust me, My burden is light.

I am your Friend, you're carved on my Palm, surrender yourself, experience My calm,

Believe I have plans, plans for your good, situations and circumstances, I can use for your good,

You need to rest, let your murmurings cease, give me your sorrows, feel happy- at peace,

Peace fills my soul, I am washed in His love,

His are the Everlasting Arms I call Home.

The Empty Manger

The stage was set, the lights aglow, she added the finishing touches to the 'show'
The manger looked real, so beautifully done, but where was the Baby, he was not to be found,
'Who would notice?, ' what was the need? Last year too none had paid heed.

"Get on with it", yelled a Committee Member, ' haven't got all day, for you to play with hay.'
"He'll be here any moment!'', growled another, ' Who? Jesus? ', she asked, with an innocent smile
' No, the Chief Guest you silly, with a bio-data as long as the River Nile! '

Quickly she started to clear all the hay, motioned to a young man, to help her make way.
He ran up to her and tried to chip in, " here, clear this mess before the Chief guest is in'
From the corner of her eye she peered at the stranger, 'do you come to this church? ', her question seemed stranger.
' I live around here ', he cheerfully replied. ' Haven't you seen me, with my smile so divine? '
' That's a bit queer, for I thought I knew all, but you I haven't seen ever... at all.'
He looked crest fallen at her sudden repartee, she guessed he was hoping she'd be more friendly.
'You are not the only one who's going to say this , ask any member, he would never have noticed.'
'Who has the time or the intention, to look out for me or seek my intervention? '
'That's not fair ', she said with a frown, ' This church is the warmest amongst all in town.'
You would say this , you're part of this crowd, but tell me how many really care about Christ.
'Christ is the one whom we celebrate, Why, Don't you see our labour so great? '
' I can't hear your carols in the din of the committee voices, the egos, the tempers, they are all loud noises.'
'You fought over what the programs should be, you didn't include everyone, even the Nazarene! '

' The manger you so carefully arranged, has left out the Saviour ', he said with pain.
She cringed with embarrasment, she couldn't deny it, it truly was a cause for disdain.

Who are you? she asked indignantly, 'I am Jesus who you left out of your manger, completely.'
' Isn't this my birthday, you so proudly celebrate, with lights and gifts and wine and cake?' ;
Yet your manger is empty and so are your hearts, for there is no room for me in whole or in part.'
'I am just a variable, changing every year...but "Xmas" is empty without Christ in it, dear.'
What He said was true, as I turned around to see, everything was about Santa and the Christmas tree.
Everyone was busy with the preparations, but Christmas isn't only about festivity and imagination,
Wasn't it just a ' show' she thought, the Christ child was not born in any one's heart.

her heart sank within her, there was a sudden lull, Christmas without the Christ child would be so dull.
Suddenly her eyes settled on a pile, tucked between festoons , was the figurine of the Christ child!
She picked it up with nimble fingers, held it up for Him to see. He smiled and said ' now Christmas is complete.'
' You will find Me but only if you seek, amid the pile of your festivities.'

Now the stage was set, the lights aglow, she turned to see Jesus but He was there no more,
but Christmas was born in her heart that day, and she knew it was no longer... a ' Show'

Like it bothers me!

The post below is something i wrote earlier this year..sometime in April/May.

I don’t need to watch it. It is of no use to me. Why should I even care about them?....The media frenzy over the Abhishek-Aishwarya wedding this year was frenetic, fast paced, fastidious and made national news for most of April. But why the hype about two people from tinsel town getting married? Here were two regular individuals who did nothing but their jobs of looking good and entertaining people. No personal connections, no ties to bind the audience to them except their work on the silver screen (their onscreen chemistry resulting in more misses than hits!) and yet everything from the menu to the guest list, to what fabric Aishwariya was draping on her toe! - made national news and was headlines. It was being discussed all over, her mehendi, her clothes, his look, and his clothes, will his beard be there or will it be shaved off? Will she wear a sari or a lehenga? Perhaps this one event helped the public take their minds off the colossal loss of Team India at the World Cup 2007, an affair better forgotten. The Bachchans and the Rais tried to keep most of the event that was meant to be “Strictly Private’ so to speak, under wraps, but this Big Fat Indian Wedding had generated more interest than a news piece on the Iraq War!!

And so I watched it – more and more and more of it. I scoffed at it. I loathed it, I secretly enjoyed every moment of it and I surfed virtually every channel to know….what was going to happen next! Watching this small, non-descript piece of news gave me a high, I wanted to catch every word, every move, every sneeze and at the end of it all, when I really didn’t see anything substantial in this coverage, I chose to be happy at the tidbits!

In the aftermath of it all, there is still a debate as to whether the media was doing a great service to a nation that worships its Bollywood heroes or was it a disservice to a lot of other news that deserved coverage. I am yet to make up my mind.

Bridges

Not too long ago, a motley group of youngsters brought out the first issue of their magazine. It was an appreciable effort and a couple of issues did see the light of day but what began with a bang ended with a whimper and the enthusiasm died a natural death. Enthusiastic efforts such as these require long standing patience in order to make it big in the literary world. The magazine may no longer exist, but something that stayed with me was the title of the magazine –BRIDGES.

I don’t know what the inspiration was for these youngsters to choose a name such as this – what gap were they trying to ‘bridge’? Was it just a name only to attract attention? Or may be to be considered ‘different’? Or did they noticed a large gaping hole widening the relationship between the Self and the Soul, the Self and another and more importantly the Self and Jesus. Whatever the reason, knowingly or unknowingly the magazine’s name has a profound meaning, at least to me.

Essentially a bridge is meant to connect two places, usually over a gap. Whereas cement, steel and bricks make a physical bridge, a bridge between people is made of compassion, love and kindness. Bridges fill gaps, bridges connect people, bridges remove negativity and stretch a helping hand. But who needs a bridge anyway?

The Life and Times of ‘ME’: My world is essentially a race, I race against time, I race against opportunity, and I race against myself, not knowing what I truly want from my own life. I wake up in the morning, with the nagging thought of what it is that I must do next; life is largely a time table, a mechanical existence; the urge to stay ahead of myself. I belong to the generation that is just a cog in the wheel. We rarely stand for anything and we allow everything to be okay with us, even when it may not be so. We believe and strongly advocate, comparative morality – what may be okay for me may not be for the significant other. But that’s okay; we all have a right to our own choices. We are flooded with choices from fast food to phone options, brands and labels of clothing to even our sexuality - there’s a range of options. But there is an inherent danger that lies ahead; to me that would be lack of clarity of what is WRONG ; the nagging question I ask myself, if everything is okay then what is wrong with anything, isn’t it just the degree. The picture is dull and hazy and darkens with each passing day. It is a dark, fearful emptiness that threatens to engulf me and suck me into a deep abyss if I don’t take heed now. What are my values? What do I think is worth to lay my life for? Is it my career? Is it my clothes? Is it my status? I can see the deep gaping hole widen…confusion sets in…’ME’ needeeth a bridge!.

‘ME’ and YOU: - my world also has the Significant other. But who is the other? It could be a parent, a friend, a teacher, a neighbor, the Church. At school we learnt Man is a social being. Simply said I need companionship. But the world’s rule book tells me – ‘To each his own’. I laugh at it and deep down, agree. Blame it on the Generation gaps, a bad education system, incomprehensible religious traditions, the ‘I, ME, Myself Syndrome’ and whatever else…there is still a widening gap….’YOU and ME’ need a bridge!!!

‘ME’ and YOU and GOD: God is (meant to be) faraway, once a week for about 2 hours is fine, can’t think of having Him around 24x7. His work began and ended with Creation. Now it is up to ‘us’ to deal with everything, be it our lives, our relationships, the environment, everything. So I guess that explains the steep rise in the number of divorces and suicides and Mother Earth going berserk, unable to decide if it should rain in March or should it be warm in December! From the hole in the Ozone Layer, to Climate change conventions, Man has ‘manhandled’ God’s creation. If the Earth had a voice and we were to ask her if she trusted us, the answer would be a resounding NO!! The gap is definitely wide and a cause for concern. So shall we just give up? Let the gap widen till all we are left with is nothing but a gaping hole???

So where is the Bridge over these troubled waters? Who can lay himself down that we might cross over to the other side where wisdom abounds, where love is the only language spoken, where sacrifice and not selfishness are applauded, where being a friend is more important than being successful, where ‘I’ grow with ‘You’, till ‘We’ are ready to get back to the Garden of Eden and live in harmony with the rest of Creation. I know One, who laid himself across troubled waters, not the ‘one’ Simon and Garfunkel sang of in their famous song; but One who gave up His very life that I might find sanity in this confused world, who has loved me before I began loving Him, who is so powerful that He can even still the storms that threaten to rock my Boat of Life, who healed my broken heart, kissed my tears away, who loves conversing with me, who created everything, from the crawling ant to the leaping antelope, who made me, ME. He is the Rock of Ages, the Lily of the Valley, the Rose of Sharon, the light at the end of the tunnel, the very essence of my existence, the One who completes me. He is the bridge called Jesus….The Cross, I know, is the ONLY way of getting across. Are you ready to Bridge the Gap?

Note: My article published in Y-Space.

Jesus is the Reason for the Season

In keeping with what I had said in my post yesterday, this month is dedicated to Christmas. The title of my post is a line I heard from a friend whom I respect a great deal and have lost touch with. 'Back then', it sounded more cool than profound, the rhyming was great - 'Reason' n 'Season', there was this zing to it! It sounded like a line from a nice Cola advert, but its meaning was empty much as the fizz of the cola; 'back then' was exactly a decade ago.

Today, 10 years later, i am compelled by the sheer simplicity of this one liner, to apply it to my Christmas!

The birth of this unusual baby was not marked with Christmas trees, sweets, trinkets, Christmas sales, cake and wine or the elaborate dinners. His birth was in a humble manger, his guest list had farm animals, shepherds, 3 wisemen. the gifts he received were not toys or clothes but were symbolic of his life and the events of his life here on earth ; Gold..signifying his royalty as King, Myrrh...significant of His painful death on the Cross and Frankincense...symbolic of his exaltation as High Priest.

His name too was again reflective of His Mission...a very serious mission of redeeming the world from the shackles of sin.
Mancha (my dear husband) in one of his beautiful sermons on the Christmas story, reflects on the fact that all the events leading up to the birth of the Christ child were serious events with dangerous consequences. I especially liked the part where Mancha says that its not a "Merry Christmas but a Worry Christmas." How true!

• Mary was worried, a teenager becoming an unwed mother!
• Joseph was worried, his fiance pregnant before marriage, she would surely be stoned to death if the community got to know.
• Shepherds who first heard of the news were worried and puzzled.
• Wise Men were worried about choosing between the heart and the head. the 'head' telling them to fear Herod and tell him where the Saviour was born, while the 'heart' telling them to go their way without saying a word.
• Herod too was worried because as King, he did not want a contender to his position.

Clearly this baby had caused a stir and that's what I think Christmas is meant to be. not to remain relegated to the festivities but to cause a stir in our lives, in our mundane existence. it must stir us out of our complacency, our comfort zones, make us uncomfortable. it should make us sit up and think.

but that would happen only when truly Jesus is the Reason for the Season. I think it is great that Christmas is so closely connected to New Year's. The 'stir' that He will cause in our lives would help to amend ways, turn over a new leaf and make resolutions that we will stay true to.

Afternoons in the December Sun

I love Delhi during this time of year. the afternoon temperatures are just right. the Sun isn't scorching down and there is this light breeze too, which makes the whole environment so pleasant. The sun is at its best behaviour during this time of year.

Balmy winter afternoons remind me uf old times. When I was at school, we used to be a group of about eight walking back from the bus stop, a cackling bunch usually delirious with excitement at the thought of reaching home, especially if it was a Friday afternoon, our heavy bags on our shoulders, our sweaters comfortably knotted around our waist, black shoes brown with dust.
Once home, Bro and I would change out of our uniforms, eat our lunch and then sit in the verandah to soak in the sun and do our homework. Naniji, our neighbour with a perennial smile (and a golden heart) would be invariably knitting a sweater for one of her kin and there would be freshly washed genhu (wheat) spread on the charpayi drying in the December sun. Since our homes were 20 steps apart there was constant interaction between the homes. I remember munching on the grains of wheat, picking up handfuls of what Naniji termed 'chocolate'. I remember their chewy texture and warmth as they baked in the December sun.
In college, there were days of basking in the Andrews Court at St. Stephen's my alma mater. Where humans and dogs were equally loved and respected and were 'entitled to find their place in the Sun' - so usually one would find a lazy dog, stretched right beside a group of us basking in the warmth of the glorious December sun! Law college days and marriage and exams coincided so some December afternoons were dedicated to poring over constitutional law, contract act, also cutting vegetables for evening supper, folding dried up clothes and falling asleep in the middle of those times in the glorious December Sun. Then work happened and I could savour the warmth of the December Sun only on and off. But i try and make the most of it now. Enjoying the memories of those moments spent in the glorious December sun, its rays warming my sweater, causing my brown cheeks to turn red. So i will go for my stroll tomorrow after lunch and enjoy the warm December sun and relive my memories of it.

Reminiscences of Christmas

Hello! Folks!! It is that time of year again when you smile without reason, when your heart is happy without cause, when Jesus is the Reason for the Season.When thoughts of chocolates and cookies and the aromas of chicken biriyanni, mutton stew, candies, wine and cakes make you go weak in the knees….cakes! Did I say cake...Plum and rum, fruit and nut, icing and chocolate. Mmmm!!!! Its Christmas, folks and we the Kerala Christian Association are back with a bang, bringing to you once again from our very own home kitchens – the delectable, irresistible, Christmas cake.Filled with rum-soaked raisins, cashews and dates, jostling for space with juicy black currants, candied peel and an extra dash of that secret Christmas spice, this cake is guaranteed to tingle and tease your taste buds and make you beg for –“One More Slice’Baked with Christmas love in the warmth of our hearts, this delightful treat from the KCA kitchens is sure to appeal to your sweet tooth and add that ‘zing’ to this Christmas Season…..ho! Ho! ho

The above is from an advert I wrote for the KCA cakes and suddenly I am thinking of Christmas. So I dedicate (most of) this month's posts to Christmas. Twinkling lights, tingling bells, Christmas trees, gifts, cakes,carol singing.. and above all the Christ child. That little baby wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in a manger, blissfully asleep as all babies are. Unaware of the huge responsibility that awaits Him to redeem the world...the greatest wonder of Christmas will always be the Christ Child

Blanco Carro saved me

I am not a major movie buff but i do read the reviews of some promising flicks , with great ardour and usually a strong storyline excites me and then i make plans to watch the movie. hubby dear isn't too much into movies either but once in a while we both enjoy a good flick. I would like to believe that we are sensible cine-goers and don't usually end up watching every other movie that hits the box office. i take pride in the fact that i can critique a film well (often without watching it!) and therefore can be relied upon for an honest opinion on whether to watch or not. But sadly even the wisest of cine-goers ends up making errors of judgement and sometimes ends up watching not one but two stupid flicks in a row, despite knowing that the second one is a sure shot damp squib.
the other day, the husband decided to be a do-gooder and came to pick me up and so my little brain cooked up ideas on how to convince him to watch a 'good' movie. it wasn't too tough, he was in a good mood, happy about his latest possession, his white car and very unsuspectingly, said yes to a seemingly harmless request.
As the drive progressed, he began to realise his folly; traffic was quite heavy and he was worried about his 'baby' in this case his 'car.' So i heard some heavy sighs, mutterings under his breath and monosyllabic talk for the rest of the way. Part of me wanted to say - Ok! what the heck, lets not have you fuming this way, and go home....But i didn't say a word.
Reached one of the huge malls and the husband, was eager to first find parking for his little white baby, who must be 'tired' of the drive! (I was getting a bit jealous of this now, for she seemed to usurp the precious little time we had together)

So we parked her into a cozy space in the underground parking lot and grumpily, he got out...I shot him one of my 'trademark' glances that said- Now that we're here let's just enjoy the movie... he shot back a forced- watered down smile...still muttering under his breath. But love makes you do strange things and so, reluctantly, he started to 'enjoy our time together.'
As we reached the ground level in order to cross over since the movie of choice was playing in a theatre across the road, we realised that thanks to the construction work, it was next to impossible to get across and so we settled to watch- Om Shanti Om at the theatre in the same mall where we had parked.
Decision made, i thought it would bring a smile to hubby dear's face since he quite likes SRK! A slight smile, I did see. All along, I was thinking about another disaster that we had wasted time upon -'Saanwariya.' We were yet to get over the extreme shock, (even hurt) and boredom of that 3 hour ordeal. ' This one can't be bad, won't make the same mistake twice', I convinced myself.
we strolled through the mall to kill time. And then i got hungry!! Again a bone of contention for hubby who likes to indulge me most times, but is of the opinion that whenever we decide to 'spend quality time together' we end up 'spending quality money', gaining extra calories and worrying about cholestrol and fat. I agreed, angrily and thought that perhaps ordering 'steamed' momos would help. 'Atleast it wasn't fried', I reasoned within me, though not convinced.
hungrily i polished off the plate of momos, ordered for some (more) noodles and it was time for the movie.
The hall was, well, almost empty. so we had seats of choice (the only thing good in the entire three hours, i realised much later.) OSO turned out to be like sipping on tea gone horribly cold. An extremely juvenile take on the cinema of the 60s. A spoof that went poof!
It was trying its best to be entertaining, but it was far from it. Hubby dear sulked and sulked and sulked and sulked and I dare not look at him. Through the corner of my eye, I could see him slunking deeper and deeper into the seat, looking with complete disgust at the screen, cursing his stars. I tried my best to 'laugh' at every possible joke, but all i could manage was a weak, make-believe giggle. For it was such an effort to even laugh. So I giggled and he smirked... at my giggle. And I ...I cursed SRK for letting me down and blamed him for the - 'I told you so Fight' that I knew would follow. I imagined the discourses on how stubborn I was about wanting something; how i knew how to throw a tantrum like a child to have my way.
Three torturous hours over, we stepped out quietly with the other, equally bored and stunned movie goers with us, towards the lifts. Intentionally avoiding his piercing gaze, I told some arbit female in the lift how boring the movie was. I knew I sounded stupid.
Well, it didn't help. But once in the parking lot, all he could think of was of his White Baby. He was happy when he spotted her. He seemed to have forgotten the ordeal. Then something magical happened, instead of him nagging me about how bad the movie was and what a stupid idea it was to watch it, he spoke about the car! In fact the journey back was less about my folly and more concentrated on some sound that our Blanca (Spanish for white) Baby was making. Truly, I felt a twang of guilt for being jealous of her...after all she turned out to be my lifesaver.

Calling 333!

Liza had just finished with an official meeting with the Boss. She was into a new job for close to 3 months and the training time had been like a dream. Loooong....Light and relaxed, it was as though the company was in no hurry to get her to start work. But somedays, coming to work seemed a little disheartening because everyone else seemed so sure of what they wanted/had to do. And there were some others who worked with her, who seemed to know their way a lot better. They seemed to know what to say and how to get their way. "My turn will come too", she quipped and reasoned with her doubting heart that seemed to say otherwise. There was a lurking fear too as monotony was setting in. What when real work starts? Would she be ready?
She hated the fact that she was still nervous. How many times had she told herself to take it easy? That everyone else was just like her., though some walked as though with a chip on their shoulder.

The session was simple and yet complex, with theories and jargon and terms straight out of a book on management strategies. why did Professionalism have to be suited and booted, with its stiff upper lip in place? Liza's mind was like a jigsaw with the pieces of the puzzle strewn all across her head. She had always dreaded management theories and jargon and here she was right in the middle of it, wanting to make sense of everything, wanting to shake her head vigorously to state that she understood it all.
She wanted to sound smart and efficient, like everything was making sense. she wanted to prove she was good too. that they had made no mistake in picking her. the boss talked and talked. she realised with fear that she couldn't really grasp things. Panic was setting in! Where was she heading? what was she thinking, when she took this up? the familiar enemy called Self Doubt crept in...and then all of a sudden her eyes settled on the clock - 3:33...Jeremiah 33:3: Call to me and I will answer you and tell you a great many things you do not know."

Suddenly, familiar Peace swept Liza's heart. She was going to be fine, for her Saviour was with her. He was going to tell her innumerable things she did not know. that was the whole point...she was going to be taught the things she DID NOT KNOW.