In the confines of a home, in the comfort of a couch, with everything accessible at our fingertips, we observe the world around us, from behind a wall. No reason to step out, no reason to expose, no reason to deal with the vagaries of life , beyond the wall, of our secure haven.

Whether a virus, or a bomb, whether the wild shooting of the deranged. Whether the lashing tongue of a spiteful one, or even the betrayal of a trusted friend. Safe we are from the perils that exist beyond the walls of our home .

No need of ours is unfulfilled. Be it shopping for groceries, fashion apparel or the latest gadgets. Be it a visit to museums and galleries, all of which we can now view virtually. Even tours and travels are experienced digitally, and food from restaurants, both fit for a king or a pauper, is available on our doorstep, at the click of a button .

Bills are paid, small businesses conducted, financial transactions of great magnitude executed, on the internet. Doctor’s consultations are online, diagnosis and treatment determined remotely, by artificial intelligence. All our data, is now stored in the cloud and easily accessible. Oh, we are so safe and secure, behind the wall .

Close family and friends, available at the end of a phone line, to reach out to, only when required. With video calls, you can see them, breaking the myth of long distances. And there is no expression of love, joy, laughter or anger that cannot be conveyed by those all saying emojis. No hugs, no verbal declaration of love or hate, no altercation, for we are now above banal exchanges, as we hunker down .

In the comfort of our home, we forget the need for others, of living in a society, of interacting physically. With no need to expose our vulnerability, we are happy to lead a life of seclusion. Convinced of our safety, we live alone, unaware of disconnecting and insulating ourselves, until the oppressive silence sets in, that soon turns deafening.

As the walls get higher, we struggle to break free, to re-enter the world outside, to re-connect with society . But to our consternation, we find it has left us behind. Bound in chains of security, we built a wall of isolation, hoping to find peace, we found loneliness. In our quest for tranquility, we lost our sanity, and realise, too late, that we are created, not to live solitary lives, but in kinship with our fellow men .

Built in us there are, four stages of adult life . Spring, summer, autumn, winter, as in Nature, the natural order of creation. The experience of each, to make us stronger and better, to grow in wisdom’s light,

Spring, heady and beautiful , green with new life, a time for fresh starts. A time for chasing our dreams, and at times, to capture them . A time of growth, a time to take chances, a time of life, replete with opportunities.

Summer, arduous and fiery, when life is a struggle and sacrifices are many. When toil is our portion, when success is our goal, and the gratification of reaching our ambition. But not always do we have the pleasure of seeing our effort, yield the expected results, and sometimes in dismay we watch our dreams shatter, with no scope for a better tomorrow.

Autumn brings to us new insights, new perspectives. Judging not our lives, with the expectancy of youth, we appreciate our achievements. Then standing tall and graceful, in the full colour of red, gold and russet, we are an example for the young .

Winter, grey and barren, without much cheer, brings not joy. We slow down, as we prepare for the last leg of our race, not knowing what lies ahead . With very little to look forward to, afraid of what is yet to befall us, we live looking back at the road we traveled, longing for those happy times, once again,

But is it not in the midst of winter, that Yuletide arrives, with warm tidings of Hope and Cheer,, of life eternal. Our eyes then fixed on the prize above relying on the promise of a hereafter, we steer on . The circle of life goes on endlessly, and we know there is always a spring at the end of every winter, a new life on the other side.

Annunciation Day, celebrated as the day when a slight young teenage girl, was visited by an Angel , to be told that she has found favour in the eyes of the Lord, and chosen to be the mother of His Son, The Messiah. Overwhelmed, confused and honoured, she felt both elation and dread, but with unquestioning faith she accepted the news. With tender love she raised, The One who came to save the world , The One who was her world.

It was absolute faith in God’s covenant that enabled Sarah to send little Issac with her husband Abraham, to perform a sacrifice, though the lamb was missing. Honouring Abraham’s obedience to God’s commandment, not questioning his action, she complied. But that did not stop her from seeking the Lord,’s mercy, from falling to her knees praying tearfully, to spare her child . ‘‘Twas her tears, not just her husband’s trusting belief that The Heavenly Father rewarded, and Isaac was saved.

In the desert, banished from home, wandering through the vast ocean of sand, searching in vain for water, the life giving water to quench their thirst, were Hagar and her little son. Under the scorching sun, carrying her dying son, Hagar dropped to her knees and sobbed in prayer, asking God for mercy, to save her child . ‘‘Twas her tears that the Lord saw, answering her with a spring of cool fresh water,spouting from the melting desert sand ,to quench their thirst to bring the boy back to life .

Was it not Jochebed’s faith in the Lord, that gave her the courage to release her infant son Moses, in the flow of the mighty Nile, to save him from Pharaoh’s decree of ‘sword for the Israelite babies, in nothing but a a reed basket ? Was it not her tearful prayers that kept him safe, that found him refuge in the palace, under the guardianship of none other than the king’s own sister ? Was it not Jochebed’s prayers that allowed her to nurse her baby in the royal household, as Moses the Israelite boy was raised a prince and found favour in pharaoh’s eyes. ?

So it is, that the day of Annunciation is set aside to recognise and honour motherhood , a role most sacred. A mother, who from the day her baby takes birth in her womb, sacrifices all, for the well being of the infant, to raise the child. It is the mother’s tearful prayers, which is seldom ignored, even by the Most Divine, that keeps her child alive. In the gospels we see, many occasions when Jesus stops to heal children, to answer the tearful pleas of a mother. It is her beseeching prayers, the tears she stores in Heaven, that saves her hapless children and fills them with abounding grace .

What is joy without sorrow, what is pleasure without pain ? Is there not but a thin line between love and hate ? What is a dawn without a dusk, what is a sunrise without a sunset? Is there ever a day without a night close at its heels ? Does not a bleak winter,turn into a bright spring, is it not darkness that gives birth to light, and is it not a broken heart, that heals .

What goes up, must come down, for is that not the simple law of gravity? How do we grow old, without ever being young,, and what is an end, without first a beginning ? From where comes hope if not from despair and from where arises wisdom, if not from foolish errors, and is it not from destruction that creation emerges? How do we recognise good, if we have never seen the face of evil, for even the demons are but fallen angels, and there would be no need for Salvation, if there never was sin .

How do we know the sounds of melody, if we have never heard cacophony, how could we love harmony, without having known disharmony ? What is the meaning of peace, if there never was war, what is the celebration of freedom if we have never known captivity, and what is stillness, if there never was turmoil ? How can we be sated, without ever knowing hunger, how can we be filled , without first emptying ourselves, and do we not say ‘enough’ , only when we have known excesses ?

Does not laughter lose its flavour, if not washed by tears, does not glory come after much suffering, and does not greatness stem from failures? Is it not from chaos and confusion, that order appears and what is the thrill in gain, if there never was loss ? Could there ever be a demise if there never was a life, and how can there be a rebirth, without dying first ? And finally, there could never be any mystery to unfold , if we had all the answers .

I pray for a friend, on her birthday, the first of many to come, without her darling daughter by her side . It was not many moons ago, at another birthday, when happiness knew no bounds, with her departed daughter. Reflecting on their times together, when birthdays were a celebration of life, she now wishes the day away.

I pray to the Lord, to mend her bleeding heart, to offer solace, as she asks , why her baby is gone, whilst she still remains. I pray she finds the answer, the comfort of a purpose, to help go on. Today she must welcome her birthday, lost and lonely wallowing in grief, as she accepts greetings from family and friends.

So I pray , not for joyous celebrations, but for a ray of light in the darkness, for a touch of peace in her anguish , for a moment of painless forgetfulness, for a sliver of hope in her despair, and for strength to carry on .

With lots of love Valsa, on your birthday💕

With heartache she stands, before her house of old, the place she called home, the place she had hoped to hold on forever, but now must leave, for it belongs to another. One last time she filled her senses, with the warmth that had once been her sanctuary, where she reared her children and gave wings to their dreams. The sloping roof, the red tiles, the polished front door with its knocker so gold, the plants she tended, now standing tall, oh the memories like old friends, came rushing , with every ragged breath .

Walking in, she is greeted by laughter from the days of her past. Looking around longingly, to catch sight of those happy times, all she finds is dust, covering every surface. The dust of a time gone by, a life that could never be visited again . Each mote, whirling around like fireflies, and she heard them say in delight, “it’s been a long time dear friend since you have been away, since you left for another shore”. The welcome she felt, broke her crumbling heart, and she wondered if they knew, she was here to say her last goodbye.

To her ears fall the distant sound of whispers and running feet. Straining her eyes through the dust, she sees them, her children and little they were again. The beautiful girl, her face filled with mischief, the boy following close, trying hard not to reveal their little secret. Dashing around, with no moment to spare, they grew too soon, under their mother’s loving and watchful care. Discipline their father’s forte, as in the evenings they gathered together at the table, for prayers and supper. Looking around that table now, searching, all she sees, is the dust,of those happy days .

In the kitchen she glimpsed those busy school days ! Rising early, packing lunch boxes, attending to last minute homework. The sound of pots and pans as she moved them, like unforgotten music to her ears. The lovely Sunday lunches, and Christmas dinners, came flashing by. Their lives then so full of joyous moments, with no thought for tomorrow or what lay ahead. Sad and forlorn, she longed for those times, to see her little girl once again, the one who had only recently been interred, but all that was left, was the infernal dust .

Her baby, smart as a whip, sharp of wit, and her beauty no less, had always been her mother’s champion. Peering in the bedroom, hoping to catch sight of that beloved face, only brought torrents of grief. The books she read, the music she heard, her favourite dress still hanging in the cupboard. The table with her hair brush, the picture of her first crush, everything untouched , remained the same, but alas, her little girl was no more, and all around was, only the inescapable dust.

Her heart felt like it was torn from her chest, as she looked at her daughter’s possessions, undisturbed. Every room, every space, held her presence and yet she was gone, hidden behind the pall of death . With each wave of pain, came the staggering weight of sorrow, as she bid farewell. Her last connection, the home where her precious child had grown, would soon belong to someone else, and all that was left of her life, all she would carry with her, was the warm embrace of the swirling dust, and memories of a cherished lifetime.

As I walk along life’s winding path, there walks beside me a shadow, like an uninvited guest. Running through the maze, the alleys, through roads unfamiliar, trying to shake off this wily presence, trying to lose this ever present, unwanted companion is impossible and most taxing.

Just as I think I have outrun him, left him behind, there he stands staring right back at me, in the whitening of my rich coloured hair, in the sagging of my tight skinned face . They call him Age, the invincible, the inevitable, the intangible, the truth that cannot be ignored, as he follows each one of us.

He turns the once agile and nimble sluggish, the once untiring and strong limbs weak and weary. The many chores and tasks easily disposed off in the past, become arduous and unwieldy. The unbounded energy of youth fading with passing time, soon to be a distant memory. At times, believing in the age old adage, the hackneyed phrase, ‘age is but a number’, we embark on adventures, that result in painful consequences.

The once bright eyes that shone like beacons, with sight like that of a hawk, when no speck nor spot was ever missed, whether near or far, grow dim with age, and along come those eye glasses to aid, to enhance the dimming vision. Ears once so sharp, even whispers, and remote sounds were amplified, start losing their capacity, and conversations are difficult to conduct.

Gone are the times of robust appetite that determined food intake, and the gut acquiesced. With age the gut dictates, and the tastebuds are less discerning. Food is no longer for pleasure but simply for sustenance. The teeth that once stood strong like sentinels, begin to drop one by one. And as time goes by,, actions and reactions slow down, lethargy assails our reflexes.

To Age waiting in the shadows I say, thank you for all the years when your gifts were many, when my wits were quick, and my senses sharp. Thank you for the experiences that raised me, that lifted me high, and for the ones that now humble me. Thank you for who I am today, for no matter what I may lose, my heart will remain the same, to love, to hope, to dream, to weep and my spirit within will continue to burn strong, to accept that which cannot be changed, and to endure till the very end.

A monarch of seven decades, a woman the world declared, was the longest on a throne. Born in one world, transitioning to the next, she remained the most powerful woman, until the day she died. Her crown she wore with dignity, never stumbling under the weight, laying her hand gently, on all she ruled. It was no fairy tale, no bed of roses but filled with sacrifices and a strenuous round of duties, for seventy long years .

When still a young , only twenty five, her first child barely four, the king her father died, and to the throne she ascended, setting aside her dreams and desires, to fulfil her royal duty. Her prayer, on the day of coronation, was that God grant her wisdom and strength, to serve Him, and her people, according to the promises she made and it can be said, so it was, until the very end .

In the public eye she lived, with grace and poise, from the very first day, carrying out her responsibilities, with diligence. Never one to exhibit emotions, she was always calm and even tempered, some would even say dour and dull, compared to her beautiful and vivacious sister. Friends she had not many, and humour come not easily, to the one who bore on her shoulders, the weight of an empire.

Through world wars , through new governments and prime ministers, through revolutions and industrial developments, through economic prosperity and recession she was the one unchanging figurehead, bringing stability. Family crisis she dealt with, firmly, never allowing any member, though privileged, to flout, the draconian rules of royalty. The scandals she faced, with equanimity, never letting it taint, the heritage of the British monarchy .

World leaders, great and small, statesman and moguls, who made history, bent their knee to the Queen. With respect and grace, she greeted, all visiting dignitaries. Never hasty, always circumspect, without giving in to sentiments, her decisions were objective, for the welfare of her people. On the throne the longest, despite all adversities, she dispelled the doubts of skeptics and those who predicted the downfall of the monarchy, during her reign.

Seventy long years, Elizabeth the II nd wore the crown. Could it be known as the the golden age, as it was with the rule of her namesake, her predecessor ? Though hard to say, but indisputably it can be said ,she prodigiously dispensed her duties as a monarch. Her passing, brings the end of an era, but timeless she will remain, always the queen of hearts, amongst her people.

In the land of green, blessed by the heavens with plenty, in God’s own country is celebrated Onam, an annual harvest festival. Much looked forward to, by the young and the old, a celebration planned months ahead, Onam is the festivities of ages.

Starting the celebrations, with the famous boat race, Vallamkali, preparing in advance, getting gliding snake boats ready . The members, hand picked, each to row in unison, to win the coveted cup, for their team. They row as one, to the beat of a drum, their heart , to the rhythm in their zeal, with no distinction between, the different caste or creed, they heave as one, to win that race .

Decorations with gathered blooms, the Pookalam, adorns the front of each home, in various hues, to welcome the king or the pauper, who so ever chooses to visit. Painstakingly, each petal laid, to form designs most intricate, exceptional, a cynosure of every eye. Food served in plenty, shared among family, friends, who travel from far and wide, to be with their loved ones, on this special day.

The well known Sadya, is an integral part, a meal prepared wholly, from the fruit of the earth, most befitting for the harvest festival .An art form with two to three dozen dishes, all served on a banana leaf . Sambar, rasam, moru curry, thoren, olan, kalan, pulisery, erisery, avial, theil , uperi, sarkaraperti , kadumanga, ada payasam, pal payasam, and of course, the pappadam and many nameless dishes . A meal curated, to satiate the much awaited finger licking and delicious, gastronomical treat.

Competitions held in Thiruvathira, Kathakali and Puli Kali, practiced and performed, to achieve perfection. Parades and floats, depicting the mythological story of Onam, are a common sight. The state cultural festival of Kerala, the land blessed by nature and also the one that bears her fury, is celebrated by all . Governed not by religion, or bias, all come together to welcome Mahabali, a king who sacrificed his life, to save his subjects, from jealous gods.

To be born in this world is to be sure only of death, and everything else in between is what we leave behind . The people we touched, the love we shared, the places we graced, the memories we made, the ideas we had, the joy and laughter we spread.

Often we forget, that we on earth are here to impart our valuable knowledge, to fill it with our virtues, to improve the life of others. To live, never to carry with us the goodness within, back to the dust we came from. Not to enrich the soil, but to empty ourselves, for the benefit of others, such is a life that is most fulfilling.

One such is our dearly departed, one who lived life to the full. There were no half measures, no concessions, for him. Even in sickness, he never gave up, there was no defeat. It was with courage and conviction, that he battled to the very end, with his loving wife, who was willing to walk the extra mile, to snatch him from the mouth of death .

A kind and noble man, a devoted husband and father, a guiding light to his children, always. Entertaining, his panache, he took pleasure in filling his home with family and friends. His sense of humour, witty remarks, lightened every conversation, brought relief, even to those in pain. His keen interest in books and travel, kept his spirit young and alive. Always helpful, his generosity to those in trouble, was appreciated by many.

And now as we say goodbye, we who prayed for Tito, it is with saddened hearts that we think, he is no more . Yet, death we know is not final, but a gateway to a new beginning, a new life in eternity, a brief parting from our loved ones, until we meet again. Why, even Lazarus, though brought back to life from death, had to die again, to pass through the gateway to heaven .