Overnight rendered null and void, the thirty years of toil, since the start of ,our small enterprise. The inflation and rising costs, making it most unworkable, and garments out of India now they say, costs an arm and a leg .

Simple economics it is, the selling price going up in the market, lack of sales resulting in discounts, profit margins reduced to negligible, dropping the budget for new stocks. Soon there is a gap, that is widening, between the buying and selling.

Small vendors are the first to be cutoff, in this vicious game of survival . To accommodate the increasing raw material and production costs, manufacturing soon becomes unviable and they are slowly edged out of the race. It is one such perilous act, of quoting a few cents more, that now deemed us a non participant in the trade of export business, this year.

With one stroke, making the labour of four decades worthless, a fruitful career lost in an instant, leaving us feeling, fruitless. The connection of thirty years, ties developed, nourished by mutual benefits, now broken with no misgivings, leaving us wondering, are we defined by our profession, is that our only recognition, in a society that judges, only by success ?

Anxious about, what then becomes of us, if our profitable employment comes to an end, are we deemed useless ? Are we no longer contributors, do we become a burden to the economy? Like aimless, untethered kites, do we live, with no path or purpose, to surf the rest of our lives, with no gainful labour ? Saddened by the prospect, of leading a futile life, not beneficial to us or society, we wallow in the misery, of hopeless tomorrows .

Overcome by the fear of turning from indispensable, to dispensable, we retire in total despair. Then comes to mind a verse from the Bible, Psalm 139: 14. For we are created, fearfully and wonderfully, by our Creator, in His very own image. No matter that the world rejects us, sees us as unwanted, we will still remain to Him, precious, a priceless possession, from the womb to the tomb. And I know, if this is the end, He has a new beginning waiting for us and I am poised for the change!

Not long after the last reunion, we were planning a get together, for yet another dear friend, who announced her visit, with great excitement. Her short stay, though packed with urgent things to do, accommodated a lunch with her old school mates. And we were pleasantly surprised when one more friend, from overseas, joined us.

Those who left the city when young, to seek their fortune, often return eagerly, with a longing to relive the past. Hoping to revisit old memories, they expressed a desire to dine, at the much acclaimed Koshy’s restaurant, and all of us concurred .The iconic Parade cafe, known for it’s famous brunch, appams and stew, still has people waiting for a table on Sundays, several decades later.

Reaching the restaurant brought to mind, an age gone by. The early days, when young women in gowns, with parasols, women in Kanjeevaram sarees, decked in gold, men in their Sunday suit, a hat and a pocket watch, strolling down those quaint old streets, for a scrumptious meal at Koshy’s, after the Sunday mass.

More recently, the times when we were young, a Sunday brunch at Koshy’s, a treat only to celebrate special occasions and festivals. Followed by ice cream, kwality’s or Lakeview, depending on the significance of the celebration. After which came the much awaited trip to cubbon park, the train ride. Oh those days, were not so long ago, only half a century ago !

Today we seated ourselves, expecting to be taken back in time, to enjoy those moments we left behind. After relishing a delectable meal, we walked down Church street, trying to retrace our steps, trying to find the footprints of our youth, on the street that once belonged to us.

A moment, when time stood still, when we were in our teens once again. The familiar shops selling their wares, the knick knacks and the bric-à-brac. The smiling faces we once recognised, the exhilarating freedom, of being masters of our fate. A time when each moment was fun, with precious little to do, but enjoy, a time when the world was still ours to conquer.

Walking now on the sidewalk, to a rhythm long forgotten, we felt momentarily displaced, from another age. The faces that swarmed, no longer friendly, the shops we once frequented, nonexistent, the small cafés and eateries we patronised, vanished. The once lazy, quiet streets were gone, replaced by the grating noise of traffic, why even crossing the road, was a great challenge.

Time, an ever flowing stream, brings constant, inevitable change. We occasionally step out of the flow, hoping to recapture, memorable moments of the past. Often disappointed, at times even despairing,, we find not that which can never be again . But it was just a brief misstep, a passing one. Soon we were back in the flow. Sipping coffee at the new and fashionable RCB cafe, laughing and talking, enjoying ourselves, we were once again, stars of our time. We maybe sixty plus, but definitely adaptable.

A cliché for some but a miracle for most, a miracle that is mentioned, in all four gospels. Jesus always alleviated hunger, be it spiritual hunger or physical . As it is said, in John chapter one, the Word became Flesh ! It is thus, that when Jesus broke bread, He first broke the Spiritual Bread – The Word and then the physical bread.

No one who comes to Him, to His table, will leave un-satiated . After the sermon on the mount, though there were 5000 or more, He did not send them away hungry, but filled them with hope, of deliverance from the fetters, of the peace enjoyed by those who embraced the Word, the coming Kingdom of God. He also gave them food for the stomach, multiplied by the five loaves of bread and two fish, offered by a little boy .

Today, it was interesting, that the focus of the message, was shifted to the little boy . As instructed by his parents, he was upfront, to listen to the great teacher . He carried with him, nothing but a meal for himself, which he was not afraid to share, maybe a consequence of his right upbringing. When the crowd was asked, if anyone had food to offer, none rose but this little boy., who gave up all his food. Only because of his offering, was Jesus able to perform, such a great miracle .

When Jesus asks, what do you bring to the table of the feast? What do we say ? What do we have to offer, in a relationship that we need, with the Lord ? It is not bread or fish, not wine or cheese but our brokenness, which He can mend, our faith, which He can grow, our weakness, which He can strengthen. Humbling ourselves, let us lay at His feet, our joys, our sorrows, our failures our success, our worries, our disappointments, our sickness and our health, let us give to Him our all, so He can work His miracle.

Gratitude, not a simple, attribute, not one that comes easy, to us living in a society of entitlement and instant gratification Appreciation, a difficult task, a burden mostly and a thankful heart is scant and hard to find .

Rising in the morning, feeling low, faced with endless chores and responsibilities. Prisoner to thoughts and worries, with no exit path, and engulfed by a feeling of hopelessness, I stop not to think of any blessings, or be grateful.

Looking around, only disorder, I see, with no relief in sight. The dark clouds, adding to the gloom, I am beset by a sense of doom, for nature it seems, is weeping alongside my soul within. The peeping rays of sunlight, nor the chirping birds, can lift my spirit, and gratitude is no where in sight.

The cup of coffee that should cheer, is just a cup of dregs and a murky despondence, takes over . The unfulfilled objectives, the carefully planned future, an empty shell, dreams dreamt, that remained just dreams, some lost beyond memory. The haunting past, swamped by regrets, the weight of futility, heavy on my heart, life is not favourable, to induce a grateful heart.

All around, pain and suffering , current affairs not encouraging either. With no occasion for celebration, and frequently made travel plans shelved, there is not much to look forward to. Each passing moment, dwelling on misfortune, there is only a complaining heart. How can I ever be thankful, I wonder, if all I do is weep about my adversities?

It is then I see a message, on a WhatsApp group, a message from a friend, with an update on her ailing family. It has been several weeks, since the day her dear husband was taken seriously ill, but with determination, and faithfulness she daily posts an encouraging update. There is no thread of resentment, no hint of rancour or angst, only thankfulness, as she accepts God’s will .

Trials and tribulations, she faced daily, some heavy enough to break her but resolute she is to see only God’s provision and His grace. Day after day, week after week, watching her fight against defeat, we who find mundane problems challenging, are soon heartened. The regular update of healing, of gradual improvement, is uplifting and fills each one of us with hope .

Suddenly , the half full cup, is no longer depressing. Stirring it up with a grin, I found joy jumping in . Not to be left out, happiness swirled and in a twinkle, there was a creamy froth, my cup was overflowing. My heart no longer complaining, but thankful, for inspite of the troubles, my blessings are immeasurable and more than enough !

Recently, it was that a friend of ours, visited from afar. Crossing the seas, travelling on land, she arrived, excited about meeting her childhood mates.

From weeks before, we in the city, planned for a fun get together, but a lunch is all we could manage. After much deliberation, though we said the food don’t matter, we finally arrived at a consensus, the eatery and time established.

All looking forward to the meet and greet, we gathered to welcome our schoolmate, the one and only PL, the founder of our WhatsApp group. It was her initiative, that re connected friends, some who we had not seen, since leaving school .

An afternoon of enjoyable company, speaking at the top of our voice, sharing the food, was like old times again. Catching up on one another’s life, laughter flowing, along with the iced tea. When it came to the desserts, it was the dividing of the sweets equally, down to the very last spoon, that displayed our bond of friendship.

With promises of more such meetings, we parted . A time well spent, filled with fun, why even the rain couldn’t play spoilsport. Our bodies nourished by good food, our souls nourished by the love of friendship, we left feeling renewed .

The last advice from PL, one that tugged at all our hearts, never mind what life holds for us, make time for friends, meet often and let the bond of friendship grow. For, it is said, friends are those who are better than us, not smarter, but more generous, more kind, more forgiving , more appreciative and more loving .

Second to none, a father to his daughter, the one she adores, more than anyone else. It is to him she turns, when in trouble, to fight all her battles, to wipe away her tears. In his arms she feels most secure and him alone she trusts, with her very life. It is to him, she swears her allegiance.

To a son a father is, the hero he worships. The one he looks up to, the one he fearlessly steps out with, the one whose shoes he tries to fill . It is to him he takes his problems, with him he explores and discusses, his plans for the future. A father is his son’s best friend, the one who guides him, through the labyrinth called life.

A constant comfort and strength to his wife, as he helps nurture their offspring. protecting them, watching over them from birth, their safety his prime concern. His love for them demonstrated, not with hugs and kisses, but by working and toiling tirelessly. A father will sacrifice his very life, to fulfil the needs of his children, to fulfill the promise he made to them.

Though a disciplinarian, he is kind and merciful to his children. Never hasty to reprimand or rebuke, he pardons their mistakes, however great or small, forgives their misdemeanours, committed knowingly or unknowingly . Providing for their every need, he holds them close and each time they stumble or fall, his arms are ready to catch them .

It’s not long, before the children grow and leave home, to seek their destiny. The father now old and weary, having given his all to raise them . His once strong hands, wizened and weak, his once tall frame , stooped and bent. The once confident, successful individual, now lost and lonely, reaches out to his children, for love and comfort.

Life then has come a full circle I say, when the one who nourished and cherished, becomes a dependent, on the one he nurtured . Blessed are they who honour their father and mother, holding no grudge against their fallacies , forgiving them their failings, for falling short at times . Accepting, that the hero they worshipped, is but human with clay feet, and caring for them when they are most vulnerable.

It is with deep sadness, that we bid goodbye, to a favourite teacher. Many a year later, all of forty five, we still remember her with great fondness. Her classes she made most interesting,, though a dry subject it was. Navigating through the world with us, she taught Geography .

The hemispheres we knew, the time zones she made simple. The winds that blow and the seasons that follow, she made known to us . Names of oceans, names of continents, names of countries and their capital cities, she drilled into us, until we knew it like the back of our hand. Considered strict, some even called her a harridan, she looked upon slackers, not too kindly.

Always neat and tidy, she abhorred untidiness, both in our work and our appearance . The maps we drew, not always the best, caused her immense distress. The outlines crooked, the places we marked were askew, but it was with patience, that she corrected our shoddy assignments. A woman of exceptional discipline she was, and our tardiness caused her much grief.

And yet, with diligence she chose to educate us who were insufferable, like all the educators we were honoured to have. With great tolerance, she taught us simple etiquette, to talk softly and still be heard, to be polite even when we are irked, to mind our language, to sit with our knees together. She turned us who were unmannerly, into perfect ladies and watched proudly, when we graduated.

Goodbye , Ms. Saldanha, rest in peace, you have carved a place in our hearts and will be remembered, for generations.

Posting songs from our childhood, we were asked by our classmate today, to name our favourite song . Listening to them, those old friends, revisiting those happy times, I wondered, do we have a favourite song or are we just slaves to those old melodies ?

The sweet songs of the seventies, Leo Sayer’s ‘ More than I can say ‘ , Lionel Ritchie’s ‘Hello’ , Boney M’s ‘Ma Baker and Rasputin’ The Eagles’ ‘ Hotel California’ ,Eruption’s ‘ One way ticket to the moon’, John Lennon’s ‘ Imagine’ all of them bringing back a tide of memories. Songs of our youth, songs that belonged to our carefree days.

Tunes to which we kicked our heels, danced to the rhythm, to the beat, and sang along. The crooning love songs,stirring in us emotions, yet unknown, songs that brought a tear to our eyes,. Songs of distant lands, daring us to explore, giving rise to soaring dreams, songs of enslaving temptations, that we chose to resist.

Overwhelmed by nostalgia , we listened to those old songs . What is it that makes those memories, indelible, why do we cling wistfully, to the past ? Is it that we remember only the good times of old, or was there never a moment, when we were sad ? Seldom with any negative thoughts, of times gone by, we dwell on the joyous, longing sentimentally, for ‘those days‘.

What of today, then I ask ? Will it not be the yesterday of tomorrow, will it not soon be the past, the good old days ? And I say, let us embrace our present, along with it’s good, bad, and ugly, for tomorrow may not be ours, to reminisce about today. Let us add value to our days, let us revel in the present, make it worth a mention, in the memories of our tomorrows and for those who remember us .

A day full of trauma, watching her beloved suffer, a night filled with confusion and uncertainty, for the healers had informed, he may not last to see another day. With tears in her words, she informed near and dear ones, the possible imminent demise of her loved one .

The day stretched long, the night anguishing, besieged by doubts and fears, yet she stood brave, not giving up . On bent knees, and with folded hands, she sought relief, from the Lord above. She requested, friends and relatives, to join in prayer, to save her suffering partner, a request all complied.

She saw death, waiting in the wings, but refused to accept this is the end . She saw the doctor’s reports, heard their bleak prognosis, but her faith in her God overrode, all that was negative. She believed, death could reach out its cold fingers, snap at her husband’s heels but could never snatch him, from her God’s everlasting arms.

She prayed on..When morning dawned they came, rolled him out for various tests and treatment. It was with a heavy heart she kissed him, not knowing whether he would return. But undaunted, she rallied on, praying constantly,her faith unshaken. Giving updates,with a courage hitherto unknown, she mustered ardent prayers from family and friends, from all who cared .

Up above, God smiled. Much pleased with her undying faith and of all those praying with her, He spared her love, from the jaws of death. Today, with joy, with great relief, she proclaim, that God in His mercy, has answered her prayers and worked a miracle. It is with thanksgiving, that all who heard, received this wonderful news.

A great learning, for each one of us. No matter how impossible our situation, no matter the giant we face, with faith and prayer, we can overcome every hardship. The answer may not always be as we desire, may not always be the miracle we seek, but His Grace will always abound, which is sufficient for us.

Fifty days the Lord’s resurrection, from Easter Sunday, is the day of Pentecost, the day when God’s spirit is poured out, on all the disciples waiting, as instructed in the upper room, for the Helper. On receiving the Holy Spirit, Jesus’ followers lost their fear, had a better understanding, of the teachings, and their faith was renewed. They were impassioned and ready to go out and preach the Good News.

Penta, meaning, having five, it dawned on me, that Pentecost maybe a derivation from this word, as it falls on the fiftieth day from Easter or seven weeks after the resurrection, the seventh Sunday . In the Jewish culture, the Feast of the first fruits comes first and seven weeks later, the Feast of the Harvest. The first coinciding with Easter and the latter with the Pentecost day .

Pentecost Day for us Christians, is an important day. The essence of our faith is based on the Holy Spirit dwelling within each one of us ,without which we are damned, lost, sure to fall into darkness and sin . The Holy Spirit, opens our mind and gives us a better insight and understanding , of the Word .

It is the light that guides, that shines, helping us to walk the path that is aligned to God’s plans, strengthening us against all temptation. Our daily prayers to God, should include, a plea for mercy, forgiveness, healing, protection against evil attacks, and above all, for the Holy Spirit, to remain with us always .