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.