After a trip to God’s own Country, we came armed with spices and many condiments. One of them was a pod of turmeric to be planted in the ground, and so into a pot of well manured soil, went the little pod. Not much later, almost overnight, there was a small green shoot , which I watered and watched with avid interest .

The shoot grew into green leafy branches and was soon a fairly tall healthy plant. With no knowledge about growing turmeric, not wondering about what went on under the ground, I continued to water and nourish the plant. It stayed healthy and green, for some months, and then suddenly started drying and decaying. But that didn’t stop me from watering the plant .

Then one day, it just buckled, lost its strength and fell to the ground., but I still went on watering it. The dry leaves lay flat in the mud, surrounded by weeds and choked by thorns, but that didn’t stop me from continuing to water the plant. Today we decided to pull it out, uproot it, not really expecting anything, and found to our surprise, the roots held strong. Each end was a turmeric tuber, an amazing abundance of goodness .

Seeing the tenacity with which, the turmeric grew under the ground, not overcome by the weeds overhead that choked, or the dry plant above, but with the daily watering, it stayed nourished and healthy, I was reminded once again, about our faith in God . The Sunday school we attended, when we were young, the Word we learnt, when our mind was fertile, the enthusiasm we had for the stories of the Bible, rejoicing in the love of God .

Then came the time of adulthood, filled with its responsibilities and trials, when we were engaged in the pleasures of this world, and distanced ourselves from God . Our Spiritual life dried up, the weeds of worries and anxieties choked our faith but still we continued to visit church occasionally, to listen to sermons, though distractedly, and yet those words seep in, to nurture to keep alive the seed that was sown, when we were young .

I pray the Lord not take away from us, His Holy Spirit, but continue to nourish us, remind us and remain in us, to teach us, to guide us, even when we grow distant and dismal, even when we dry up spiritually, so that on the day we stand before Him, He will find in us an abounding goodness .

It is with mixed feelings that I look forward to my birthday, hoping it would pass by without much ado, hoping I can cling a little longer, to the yesteryear, wishing I could turn back the clock, and ignore the number they call my age .

But keeping the day away, is inconceivable , keeping time motionless, is unthinkable, and so the day dawns, as it does every year, another candle that has burnt down to the wick, to pass on its flame and fragrance, like a baton, to the next one waiting in the wings .

What the future holds, how the candle burns, I know not. But this I know, the candle will burn, depending on the winds of change, and its brightness is fuelled by my choices. Every dark corner I can erase with the light, every sad moment, i can brighten with a smile, every new experience, i can embrace, to rekindle my spirit .

Thus I will move forward with hope and new dreams, encouraged as I look at the past, in retrospect, giving way to anticipation of a future, and much to aspire for . The chocolates, cakes and sinful treats from bygone days, are no longer my portion, but I now wait for birthday wishes, find joy, in the birthday greetings, the out pouring of love I feel, from family and friends, who take the time to say, ‘happy birthday’ , to show they care .

And I humbly say ‘ thank you ‘ from the bottom of heart ❤️

Barely into the year, still getting over the hangover of Christmas and New year, still not familiar with writing 2024, and we are already in the second month, to celebrate my birthday. In the blink of an eye, I have traversed another 365 days, and it is time to mark the passage of time yet again, and as all creation must grow old, so must I, but my heart begs to differ.

Looking in the mirror I see, my hair has turned wispy, with a lot more grey in it, the once fresh and firm face is sagging, and sallow in colour The indelible laughter lines have deepened into grooves, that can never be smoothed, the meshed web of wrinkles, form a rough terrain and am sad to say, my teeth are not the sparkling white they used to be. The mirror says I am ageing but my heart begs to differ, for she still sees a young girl , one with a beautiful smile .

Rising in the mornings to punishing aches , protesting muscles and creaking bones, each day is a new challenge. My steps are no longer brisk, but slow and languid, my movements, not quick and easy, as it was in the past. I dwell on my lack of enthusiasm for futile merrymaking or daring adventures, and wonder aloud, has age finally caught up with me ? But my heart begs to differ, declaring loudly, that I am still the woman with a zeal for life, ready to take on the world, to ride stormy seas, and scale the high mountains .

My voice, once so clear, has at times, a slight tremor , and the notes of my favourite songs, are often beyond my reach. My eyes are growing dim, my sight is no longer sharp,,and my memory, a feeble reflection of what it was. Names and words flee my mind, even in the midst of conversations, leaving me at times, confused and incoherent. Am not sure – footed anymore, the dexterity of my hands have diminished, and my handwriting can now be best described, as spidery. But my heart begs to differ, speaking reassuringly, that my skills have not waned, and it is not yet time to hang up my dancing shoes .

I have no concern for great matters, nor do I fancy comforts, that once seemed a coveted life style. I have left behind my complaining nature, and am grateful for the life I have, and the dawn of each new day . With no pride in my heart, am no longer demanding, but try to win over people, with love and kindness. I have no interest in magnifying self, or living on the edge, and my dwindling confidence, adds to my growing apprehension, for most everything new . But my heart begs to differ, reiterating I still have sufficient verve, and nothing is over until I conquer my fears .

Once striving hard to become someone, now striving to accept I am no-one, but just an insignificant link, an inconsequential ‘ has been’. Often disillusioned by people, weighed down by rejection and loneliness, my spirit tends to drag low, sometimes settling at the bottom like a rock. Then my heart begs to differ, whispering comfortingly, that I will always remain precious to my Creator, the One Who knew me even before I took seed in my mother’s womb, and He has a plan, a purpose for me.

So it is with my heart and mind, the perpetual dispute, a veritable battle. One, always encouraging and optimistic, the other, cautious and pessimistic, one vouching, am getting old, and time is running out, while the other averring, the best is yet to come, and there is much to look forward to. My heart still sees in the mirror, the reflection of the beautiful young girl within, while my mind accepts the reflection of the ageing woman without, and I go through my days, sometimes high, sometimes low, acknowledging both the idealistic, and the pragmatic, in equal measure.

After the hectic wishes for the annual harvest festival, it was quiet on the school group, until the appearance of a class photograph. A photograph with children so little, dressed in the school uniform, brown checkered blouse and a beige pinafore, their faces shining, most of them smiling in anticipation, some scowling in rebellion, all sitting with the teachers, who moulded our lives .

We were instantly transported, from our sixties to being six again, oh what memories crowded our minds. The most illustrious of our batch was the one who shared the picture and some of us took pride to claim the honour of being seated next to her . There were a few we didn’t recognise, there were others who brought up moments that we did not recollect.

But with each contribution of a small incident to jog our memory, we wove the broken strands , to build, to recreate the tapestry, of our school days . Though our stations are different now, the accomplished ones from the front row, the skilled ones from the back row and the ones from the middle, steeped in mediocrity, yet we were all able to offer a part, to contribute a shred, to mend that fragile canvas of a life, so long in the past .

What is this bond that none can break, a bond that is forged in school, the cradle of knowledge, and carried for a lifetime? Ten to twelve years we spent together, sometimes barely knowing one another, and yet when we meet, whenever or wherever it may be, we feel a bond so strong, a love so warm and wonder from whence it rises? What is this magic of belonging to an alumni ?

Was it the connection of those formative years, was it the shared sorrow of our first separation from parents , was it our desire to find in school, our home away from home ? Was it the many hours we spent in each other’s company , as we learnt our ABCs, as we found our feet ? So what is it that binds us together even if we meet not frequently, why do we in our sixties feel, we have known each other all our lives ?

At all the reunions, we meet and greet with no reticence, and quickly tread the path of our school girl days . Regaling one another, with tales of old , the forgotten jokes, the mislaid mischief, the terrible tricks played, and we feel just for a moment the years shedding, peeling away, to reveal once again, that which we left behind, that which we are always searching for – A bygone age of innocence, a life with no care or inhibitions, where the pain we suffered was only physical, from the scraping of our hands & knees.

It is the end of another year, the dawn of another day, the start of another age, on the morrow. We leave behind 2023, bid farewell to a tumultuous year, and though anxious, we prepare to walk into the new year with fortitude, and tenacity, as we hope for a better year, 2024 .

There are the usual parties, and festivities, to bring in the New Year, but what with the burgeoning city, and the impossible to navigate traffic, we choose to stay home and say goodbye to our old friend, the year that is leaving us, listening to music from the past, and nursing nothing stronger than a hot chocolate drink.

Reflecting on the year that has gone by, the various instances when we were saved by grace. The difficult times, which were not so difficult, but manageable when we went through it, or the things that did not turn out to be as bad as expected. The joy and happiness that came quite unexpectedly, and above all, the gift of good health, that we enjoyed .Oh the reasons are many, for rejoicing and to be grateful .

The old songs in their perfect tune, played in the background as I reminisced, filling my heart with a longing, that only songs can do. Each note plucked from the deep recess of my mind , memories of a time that can never be mine again, and the melodies of old filled me with a deep sense of nostalgia . They marched past, one by one, their haunting tunes and lyrics, replaying each of those moments, some so still dear to me, and some I wished to bury .

Every tear I cried, every light moment I experienced , even the sound of unbridled laughter, echoed in my ears . Every pain that was, every failure I saw, the thrill of unanticipated victory that came our way. The times of distress, the times of elation, they were all there . It was as if the music brought to life, the memories of those bygone years, both cherished and the not so cherished ones too .

The carefree childhood , the awkward teenage days, the different stages of adulthood, from the fun loving, to the sober and dull . I could feel every smile, I could feel every sadness, I could touch the silver lining behind the dark clouds of sorrow. I could see the celebration at large family gatherings, the cheerful faces of each member, faces fading with the passage of time, and hear their happy voices. Oh how poignant the moments, as they danced before my eyes .

As I stand on the brink of another year, the past seems more real than the future, and now 2024 is here . I recall the predictions and projections for the new year, which is nothing short of bleak. Famines and pestilence, earthquakes, and natural disasters, wars and retribution, and the end is at hand. But I am not alarmed, for looking back at my life I think, bleaker times have I not seen, and if my Lord has carried me through it all, He will surely take me through what lies ahead .

It is the end of another year, Christmas is around the corner, almost here , and festivities have begun with great expectations. The windows and doors, decked in red, gold, and green, the favourite colours of the festive season. Christmas wreaths in evergreen, red poinsettias and the bright stars, announce the coming joyful day .

The colours are symbolic, red for the blood of the Saviour, our Lord Jesus Christ, which was shed for our sins, a sacrifice for our Salvation, the Christmas wreaths, berries and pine cones, symbolic of the crown of agony, the ever green colour, for everlasting life, for eternity, the gold for hope ,abundance and peace, symbolic of the Wise Men, who came bearing rich gifts of gold, myrrh, and frankincense.

As we decorate our homes for the joyful season, in the colours of Christmas, as we share presents, wrap them lovingly in red, gold and green, to place under the tall evergreen tree, we seldom spare a thought for the greatest gift of all, one that comes not wrapped or tied with a bow, but one that stems from the ever flowing fountain of God’s grace, His gift of Salvation for the fallen race of mankind, a gift that is enveloped in His immeasurable love, for all who seek Him.

When little children wait for Santa’s sleigh, for the miracle of Christmas to unfold, when young adults and the elderly, plunge into the month long revelry that marks the season of joy, and when we dress inadvertently in the colours of Christmas, red, gold, and green, do we stop to think, that Christmas is about the greatest sacrifice of all, that Christmas is the time when God sent His only Son, to lay down His life, to redeem man from sin, a free gift of Salvation, for all who accept Him.

As I ruminate on this profundity, my eyes fall on a couple of simple packages, wrapped in white. The bags are made of refined cotton, looking white as snow, and yet on closer inspection, it fell far short of being pure white. Though bleached, the small blemishes and spots were visible, a lot left wanting, as it is in its nature. But there was a red bow, a bright red ribbon that saved it, for in its perfect contrast, the red bow turned the bag to a brilliant white, detracting from its flaws .

It that instant it dawned on me, so it is with our Salvation! For none is sinless or worthy however righteous, however refined by the law and good works, to stand before the Holy God, unless washed by the blood of Jesus Christ, and saved by His grace. For it is the reflection of the Son’s untainted purity, that the Father sees in each one of us, when we wear His robe of Salvation. Let us then be mindful, to hold on tight to the robe of Salvation, lest it slip to reveal our blemishes, and condemn us to eternal damnation !

The much awaited Christmas lunch is here, a lunch we look forward to, before we part for the holidays. Am reminded of the first one, over a decade ago, when we gathered at a party hall to joyfully herald the Saviour’s birth . A time when our families , and children, participated in the glorious occasion. With passing time that changed , our spouses and children drifted away but the sisters stayed together.

It has been eleven marvellous years since we met, a group of wonderful Christian women, grounded in their faith, declaring their allegiance, with no hesitation, to God the Father, His Son Jesus Christ our Saviour, and the guiding Holy Spirit . Though a stranger at first, I was welcomed into their fold, into the sisterhood, with open arms, with no reservations, and no questions asked .

It was the start of a friendship a tiny ember, that grew with each passing year, and is now a strong flame . Meeting every Monday, to listen to the Word of God, we gathered in fellowship , as we worshipped, and prayed . Sometimes questioning, sometimes contributing, we supported each other’s learning, as we walked our spiritual path .

Burning like a candle , the flame of our friendship, casts an eternal light . Be it in times of trouble, or in times of celebration, we can lean on one another, for a helping hand. Be it in prayer, or a comforting word, be it in sharing our experiences, we find solace in each other, in all our circumstances, encompassed by the flame of our friendship , encouraged by the joint spirit of a sisterhood .

Oh there are many differences, there are difficulties sometimes, but they are all overshadowed by the burning flame of our friendship. There are no unkind words, no actions that are judged, among this group of gentle, spiritual friends . Gathering to celebrate this season of Christmas, as we share the joy, the warmth of togetherness, we feel the glow of a friendship that burns bright, a friendship that has stood the test of time.

We know not what lies ahead, the years to come maybe kind, or may not hold the best for us, but we know that we can rely on this friendship forged by our love for God and each other, to carry us through life’s perils . Sustaining one another, in thought and prayers, extending a hand in comfort and help when required , we will run this race, nurturing the flame of fellowship , cementing our relationship, with Christ in our midst.

Lord it is another thanksgiving day , another year that has gone by, filled with Your goodness and mercy . It is not with turkey and apple sauce, or the pumpkin pie, that we celebrate, but with a grateful heart, for Your grace, that comes to us unfailingly, each new day ,

Help us never to look with envy at others, never to be resentful for the things You withhold from us . Teach us not to complain, or grumble, but to accept our life and its circumstances, counting the many overlooked blessings, that You shower on us , generously.

Help us Father, to perform, each mundane task for the day , not with rancour, but with joy and a heart full of gratitude, knowing we do it for Thee . Let not every small set back, plunge us into sadness, but help us to rally on, knowing You are our sustainer and we can rely on Your faithfulness.

When we walk through life’s perilous paths, when we are burdened by sorrows and disappointments, strengthen us, by Your right hand, reveal unto us Your plans and show us Your mighty deeds . Through our difficulties, our suffering , show us You are by our side, holding us up ,loving us as we go through it .

Help us never to forget You in sunny times, never to take for granted, the abundance and good health we enjoy. Teach us not to flaunt our good fortune, but with humility, share generously with those who suffer lack and loss. We thank You for all Your gifts thus far, for family, friends and loved ones. And above all, we thank You for our Lord Jesus Christ and for His gift of salvation.

Cricket, a game foreign to us, a hangover from the past, a colonial legacy, in all the countries that felt the influence of a country, once known as Great Britain. A game that stayed in India, a game that is close to the heat of her people, elicits such passion, a game that can bring the whole nation together, irrespective of caste, creed or religion.

The World Cup series 2023, played in India,lasting several weeks now, brought much excitement to the cricket fans . With each match and each new win, India reached the finals, much to the exhilaration of her country men . So it is on the nineteenth of November, that all gathered in their respective homes or at community centres, to watch the Indian team play, to win the cup.

Glued to the television a whole nation watched, the World Cup final played at Ahmedabad , praying and cheering with pride, for the men in blue. The toss, the Australians won, but chose not to bat, but to bowl. The Indian team, with confidence, started batting, and it seemed a sure win, until the quick fall of the first couple of wickets . Undeterred they went on, each batsman fiercely facing their opponent, batting with determination, playing to win the Cup, for their country men.

The score at the end looked good, until the opposition took to the field. When the initial wicket fell quickly, there was much hope and rejoicing, for we thought it was setting the pace for a quick victory. But then their batsman slipped into a slow, steady scoring, sure of each run, sure of each ball that came at them. Winning the match with a great lead, the foreigners took the cup, and the men in blue, ceded defeat, with much emotion.

Though the crowd was despondent, there was some cheering for the foreign winners, with fireworks to celebrate their glorious performance. Congratulations were exchanged, sportsmanship displayed, amongst the players from both sides. The disappointed crowd however, was slow to celebrate with the winners, but quick to commiserate, with the home team, and thus ended an evening full of anticipation, for a saddened nation. Victory is never predictable or guaranteed, even with our best efforts, but it’s wise to remember, it is only the game that truly matters.

November, a time after Diwali and before Thanksgiving, a time with Meilleurs amis, at Cafe Noir, will remain etched in our hearts , until the next reunion . Why, we were even ambitious, to plan a grand reunion for our 50 th year, in 2027.

Catching up with one another, exchanging tales of yore, the ‘meet cute’ in our lives and our experiences. We talked about ailments, the cures, medication and meditation, yoga and Pilates, versus weightlifting and some adventurous ones, suggesting running and dancing . Cutting down on sugar intake and our favourite foods was mentioned only in passing, as we were gorging on the best French cuisine .

We talked about parents, the responsibility, and challenges of caring for them, and wondered aloud about what would be our situation when we grow old . But that was just a passing thought, for nothing could overshadow, the camaraderie we experienced. Some of the stories and incidents, we recounted, drew loud laughter around the table . Those seated close by, saw not eight elderly women, but a young and vibrant lot .

The highlight of the afternoon was, when Swati sprung a surprise. Like Santa, she whisked out bags, with special gifts for each of us . Yes, we need such meetings, with our Meilleurs amis, to renew our spirit, to drink from the fountain of our youth, once again. As we exchange our experiences, share our sorrows with friends, we feel not judged, but loved and the warmth of encouragement envelops us. Some of us meet more often, others far less, but let us always remember to rally each other .