Enthralling Trails

  That which does not kill us makes us stronger.― Friedrich Nietzsche It was an online Google Meeting to discuss the updates, after addressing a few of the issues, the Head of the Department called out for Santosh. He had been unwell for the past ten days yet he switched on the camera. The image that was screened showed a frail, weak and mentally disturbed man, depressed with the Covid Pandemic. Everyone wanted to greet Santosh and wish him a speedy recovery but he said nonchalantly, ‘I have been advised to take Remedivir and the injection isn’t available anywhere. It is ten days now and I feel hot, feverish and unwell, the Pandemic has spread to my wife and child’. He also added, ‘I need to get admitted to a hospital for cure but there are no beds available for patients'. The Head added some words of advice and spread the message about the requirement to everyone. The word spread like fire within no time, the whole family of colleagues came together and by the end of the day, Sant...

“Time is an illusion that passes way too fast!”― Ana Claudia Antunes  My in-laws belonged to Thiruvalla, a small town in the Pathanamthitta district of Kerala in India. The town has remained just the same for three decades, perhaps, it has remained unchanged for ages. It lies on the banks of the rivers Pampa and Manimala and is known for its characteristic narrow roads and rickety bridges on irrigating streams and rivers. It has beautiful paddy fields lined across the rivers and lakes and a highly-populated central area called Thiruvalla town that bustles with activities. The long road near my in-laws’ house leads to Mepral that leads to Azhiyidathuchira which has a century-old Government High School. My mother in law had worked here as a teacher for more than 35 years. She had joined the school as a primary teacher after her Teacher training and a Visharad in Hindi at the young age of 18. I had never heard her speak in Hindi at home, she and my father in law would often speak in M...

  A mother gives you a life, a mother-in-law gives you her life Recently we lost my mother in law due to multiple organ failure. The loss was a quick one, but we are sure she is surrounded by lots of love, healing and peace. My husband and his family members were with her during her last moments, we flew to attend the last rites. We were received cordially but I missed seeing my mother in law who would always come out into the green spaces of the house to welcome us. After we settled down, we went to her room. The room was a cosy one and had been rearranged. I stared at the empty wooden framed cot carved with a strongly raised headboard, she would often rest and sleep here. Close to the cot was the old wooden table that we had used for ironing our clothes. Today it was covered with a pale white tablecloth with printed green and yellow flowers. At the end of the table were two photographs mounted in maroon and gold lacquered frames. One was my father in law’s and the other was of my...

  “It is an absolute human certainty that no one can know his own beauty or perceive a sense of his own worth until it has been reflected back to him in the mirror of another loving, caring human being.”― John Joseph Powell, Swami is a trash picker who joined our housing society last year. The name Swami, ‘master’ is paradoxical to Swami’s actual personality. Swami is lean, feeble, boyish statured and sports grey hair on his head, he wets and slaps his hair to cover a part of his forehead. He has a warm smile that is hidden by his apprehensive, shy demeanour. He has a characteristic bend that makes him look much older than his age. Swami had superseded Ranjit the trash picker. Ranjit was brawny but sluggish in his behaviour. He followed erratic timings of work. We could sometimes hear him sweeping the housing complex at 5 in the morning with his long noisy broom, and on many other days, he wouldn’t begin even at noon. He would take a couple of days off a week, and his usual answer ...

Begin to See the Light “Stories are light. Light is precious in a world so dark. Begin at the beginning. Tell Gregory a story. Make some light.”― Kate DiCamillo ‘Do I have a story for you at the end of the Pandemic year? It has been a year full of stories, some painful, some inspirational, but they have touched us each day. As the year ends and the new year sets in, numerous incidents will move you and perhaps leave a beautiful song of strength, poise and peace. ‘Ma’am, we have a lower portion of Grandma’s house vacant. The tenants have left, and we have been playing there?’ They then showed me a large room, ‘Is this the empty portion of the house?’ The girls yelled in joy and said, ‘It is our room, we have separate cots to sleep, ma’am. We used to share our bed earlier to this. I peered deeply into the house and asked the girls, ‘Where are you now?’, they immediately used my screen to present the whole house. The little girls jumped, giggled, and ran down the stairs. They focussed...

The corner most row house in the housing complex had been lying vacant for quite some time. People were baffled by the rent the house owner quoted for it. It was not palatial but was an independent bungalow lying nestled amidst the numerous flats in the housing society. It was close to the security booth near the main gate. The backyard of the house had a large space which was close to the gate. The front end was on the inner end of the housing complex. One day, a you n g man, a local Politician moved into the house with his wife and two school-going kids. The man was middle-aged, dark, not very tall, he sported a beard and had long hair that fell on his shoulders. The lady was slender, slim and young-looking. They had a daughter who seemed twelve years old and his son nearly sixteen. They attended an English medium school whose school bus picked them on the road just beyond the main gate. The man drove a black Scorpio car and parked it inside the row house. Each day numerous people ca...

Bahadur stood near the gate to greet us with a Salam Sahib. He was extremely short, just around five feet tall with the beginnings of a paunch that was quite contradictory to the post he held. He not very fair, but he had long hands, kind brown eyes and straight black hair. He resembled an Indian in his features and was in his late thirties. The first time I met him, I asked my husband who he was though the uniform he had adorned spoke about his occupation. He said, ‘Bahadur’. I asked him, ‘Wasn’t Bahadur the tall fair man who managed the office’. He said, ‘That Bahadur has gone home and this man is a replacement’ I said, ‘Is this one a substitute or a permanent employee’. My husband was getting annoyed by the wholly of questions, yet he said, ’None of them is permanent, and they are all Bahadur’ I said, ‘Are they brave or are they christened ‘Bahadur’ at birth’. My voice got drowned in the shrill sound of the traffic as my husband walked down the parking to drive the car that we had p...