It is with a heart on fire, that the rich man enquires, what he needs to do, to gain eternal life . Jesus’ reply a simple one, forsake your riches and follow me, quickly lost its appeal. It is with a heavy heart, that Jesus watched him walk away. The rich man’s love for earthly treasures far outweighed his desire for heavenly treasures.

It was with a heart that is grieving , that the young man stood in the crowd. Jesus said to him, follow me., the answer was not a simple yes, for the young man wanted to bury his dead father first . His love for tradition, to fulfil the duty of a son was far stronger than his love for Jesus and His kingdom.

Yet another, captivated by Jesus’ teachings, one who heard the call, was willing to follow Him but chose to bid farewell to his family first. Do we not each hear that call, but hesitate because of our various other calling . Be it family, be it riches, be it tradition, be it the past ,we struggle to let go, the life as we know it .

In our discipleship, are we defined by our name, our gender, our religion, our wealth, our country? Or are we known only as the followers of Christ ? Are we peace loving, kind and selfless, do we forgive and forget, are we inclusive, do we reach out to the lonely outcast? Do we see through the eyes of those suffering, do we perceive and offer help to one who does not seek? Do we gloat at our enemy’s downfall or offer a hand to lift them up , do we encourage those who are downtrodden?

As believers, the question we need to ask ourselves is – Who are we ? Are we ready for the Master, when He comes, be it morning, noon or evening, have we toiled the earth sincerely and are we ready for His return ?

Thirty two strong we stand, the soldiers in white, our shield of enamel, glistening. Thirty two strong we stand undaunted, sixteen in a row, on either side of the gorge. guarding the entry for many years, masticating, all who dare to enter. Our ranks, no one can break or escape, without a once over and some unfortunate ones, we cast out rather unceremoniously.

First we were just twenty and they called us the milk teeth , not nearly so strong, not so remarkable. Our opponents then, mushy and soft, were easy to crush, easy to devour . Then within the first few years, we dropped out one by one, to be replaced by our unbreakable self, the thirty two strong . The four holding the posterior ends of each row, two up and two down, are considered the mantle of wisdom, and arrive rather late.

Our names you may find interesting, they describe our role in the unit . The incisors come first, eight of them in the centre, four in the upper row and four below. Woe to the one, who takes a peek, for biting and cutting, is our main task. Flanked by our fellow soldiers, the canines four of them, standing sharp as a blade, come to our aid when we fail, to slice and tear .

Our brothers in arms, the premolars are right behind, eight in all. After our cutting and mincing, they wait ready to chew and grind. Finally the twelve molars distributed equally on either side, like mortars in waiting, further crush and grind, to make consumption easy. What you consider a simple task, chewing and eating is by no means child’s play. Therefore, our armour of enamel, is by far, stronger than any bone .

Thirty two strong we stand, sheltered by a set of lips, that at times, is decorated in colours most wild . When they part in a smile, displaying our beaming selves, we bring great joy to those around us. But with age, we grow old, the mastication slows down, the smile becomes less brilliant. The gleaming white, fades to a dull yellow, we lose our edge as we become worn and thin.

We are not so tightly packed anymore. There are gaps in the ranks, chinks in the armour, cracks that are formed, which the enemy exploits. Rushing in, they lodge themselves, and attack us from within. Those slippery ones they call bacteria, are soon knocking us down. It is with sorrow, we bid farewell, to our brothers, as we cave in, as we succumb, each in his time.

The thirty two strong, soon destroyed, we fall, mangled, with a thud . Debilitated by age and wear, the weakened line of men, are no longer strong or effective. Each passing one, we grieve, awaiting our turn. Though thwarted, with fortitude, we continue, to discharge our duty, until the last man standing.

The road to Emmaus,the Road to Redemption! A story told very often, of Jesus’ appearance to a couple of followers, on their way to Emmaus, from Jerusalem. It was, after the crucifixion,but not having heard of the resurrection, the two followers, walked stooped and despondent. Their hope in the Messiah , the One born to save them, was dashed, lost, for they had witnessed His death.

It is then that the Lord appeared, unrecognisable, yet a friend . Walked with them,enquired about their dispirited disposal, and listened to their woes. Comforting them with passages from the scripture, about the suffering and glory of the Messiah, He walked along with them .

On reaching the village, the followers requested He spend the night with them as it was late, which the Lord did. When at the table, He broke bread ,their eyes were opened, to see His glory, for He is none other, than the Bread of Life. Soon after He disappeared, leaving the two followers strengthened in their belief and comforted,

I often wondered, why this narrative was important. The two followers, seldom mentioned, did not belong to the twelve disciples or the close group that surrounded Jesus. Yet, it was to them, He appeared, when they were distraught, without hope . Today’s Bible reading and message, has opened my eyes, like that of the two, on the road to Emmaus.

It is when you and I are without hope, standing alone, with no way out, that the Lord appears. Unbeknownst to us, unrecognisable, He appears, to lead us from darkness to light, to comfort us when we are hurting . To walk with us, through our deepest sorrow , to change our mourning to rejoicing, guiding us from a place of despair, to new hope and redemption.

Each day we come before Him, let us remember, He is never far. Whatever our circumstance, however hopeless, let us remember His promise of hope, as seen on the road to Emmaus.

It’s Mother’s Day an annual celebration of a daily routine, unending chores, ever increasing demands, scarcity of time, the bane of every mother.’s life. Often rising early, just a brief moment for herself, before devoting the rest of the time, to her family. On this special day, the role remains the same, but for a small reprieve, maybe .

What is it that drives a mother, to give her life to nurturing ? What is it that makes sacrificing for her children, so easy ? Is it in the DNA or is it in the order of life ? From the moment her baby is born, she swears undying love, a love she feels almost like a pain. From its first cry, she makes a covenant, to love and protect, the little one . The urge to nourish and shield her baby, fills her very being .

Her unconditional love, is often tested. The babies grow, into demanding young ones, and before long, they are intolerable adults. Many a time wondering, what possessed her to make the choice of motherhood, especially when overwhelmed by the responsibilities, of protecting a child in this world. Each fall, each grazed knee, their first day at school, the bullying, broken friendships, and loneliness, rejection and heartache, their failures and errors, all she would like to bear, but can only watch in agony, helplessly.

And yet, it is the most sacred relationship, that of a mother and her child. The most divine and blessed by God Himself . There is never a moment, a child is far from the mother’s thoughts. Never can a child stray, without feeling the tug of her cord, a cord that binds them for life. Be it in distress or ecstasy, it is mother’s embrace that offers solace.Even in the face of the strongest temptation, it is the cry of her heart, that saves.

The love of a mother can be likened to that of the Most High. A love that is so pure and vast as the sky above. A love that diminishes not with shortcomings, judges not faults, holds no account of wrongs, punishes not as deserved, but forgiving always, no matter how harsh the deed. As the saying goes, ‘a face that only a mother can love ‘, a love that words can never describe .

It is with a heavy heart, that the family gathered to bid farewell, to their beloved child. The wake most taxing, as they stood greeting and nodding, to the many who poured in, to express their condolence. The one in the casket, watched with sorrow the misery around. Saying goodbye to those who had nurtured her, was more than heartbreaking . But why would they not cheer up, be happy for her , as she transcends, from the earthly realm to the heavens above?

To her mother, weeping inconsolably, she wanted to pour out all her love . To the one who had given her birth, nourished and raised her, to the one who sustained her, with undying love and faithfulness. To the one who had taught her life’s values, her first teacher, her best friend, she wanted to say that life on this earth had been worth the living, only because she had been her daughter.

To her father sitting , slouched and feeble, she wanted to hold up, hug him tight. To him who had given her life, doted on her from the day she took birth, treated her like his princess. To him who had taught her to face life’s challenges, to chase her dreams , not to give up even when defeated. To him she wanted to say, you are the very best Father, and it was an honour to be born your child.

To her husband who was lost and lonely, she wanted to comfort with a kiss. To him she wanted to say her life was made full, more joyous because he walked into it . To him who had taught her to be free, helped her develop her many talents, to him she wanted to say, though married for a short while, yet those were the best years of her life. To him she wanted to say, be strong and be happy, until we meet again.

To her dear brother, trying so hard, to maintain a semblance of normalcy, she wanted to reach out and say, dear little brother, I will miss those long hours we spent, in conversations, both light and serious, drawing strength from each other through our trials and joyously celebrating our many success. I know you will be strong now, be the support our parents need, as they grieve, my absence.

And she says, life sometimes short sometimes long but nevertheless the greatest gift of all , though not tied with a ribbon, is to be cherished, lived to the full, and not to be squandered in grief . Enjoy every moment, thanking the Lord above.

You may see me no more, in this world but in your hearts I will remain, you will see me in a beautiful sunrise or a lovely flower, hear me in the chirping birds, feel me on the gentle breeze. In the myriad memories we made, memories we shared , I will live on. A piece of me, I leave with each one of you, as I go to a better place called eternity, where we will meet again . Until then my loved ones, my dearest family, take heart and be of good cheer.

Gone are the days, when the circus came to town, wide open spaces where they pitched their tent and performed. Artists of repute and skill, exhibiting their prowess, showcasing their myriad talent. Their audience, the enthralled little ones, waiting to be amazed, by mind boggling acts.

Summer months and vacations, when a trip to the circus, was an occasion, anticipated with much exultation, by every little child. Adults, dreading the prospect, the crowd, the heat and the dust, were more circumspect, less enthusiastic. But that by no means, was an excuse, or reason enough, to avoid the annual outing.

The years roll back to when we were little, as I recall, the excitement of a promised visit to the circus. Counting the days eagerly, to the date, to the weekend set aside, flyers we collected, advertisements we cut out, daily pored over the exciting acts. But a lot we had to do, in the form of chores and maintaining discipline, to earn the much awaited reward .

Arriving at the grounds, we found the jostling crowd, the bustling activity, thrilling and little did we notice the heat or the dust. Walking, with a spring in our step, we took in the amazing sights. The adults already wilting, slowed us down, but to our vexation, we were not allowed to run free. Savouring our special treats, the cotton candy, and the popsicle, which turned our tongues pink and orange, we dragged our parents to the circus tent, laughing all the way.

Ready for the show, we waited with bated breath, for the curtain to open and when it finally did, our excitement knew no bounds. Oh my, it is the wizard, in his multicoloured robe, performing magic like we had never seen before. Is that the man on the stilts, his head almost touching the roof of the tent and that there the little dwarf, so tiny, smaller than I, maybe ? The gravity defying acrobats, trapeze artists, and the man on the tight rope, performed acts that had us spellbound.

Along came the clowns, ah so funny, a Laurel and a Hardy. Each time they smacked one another, the tent rocked with laughter. Ooh, it is the elephant, squirting water at the crowd, kicking a football on stage. When we saw the ferocious tiger, we cowered in our seats and at his roar, we trembled with fear. Flame throwing, fire eating, each act more sensational than the other, as we watched, enthralled. Before long, it was the end, much to our dismay, the show was over .

But to our delight, an array of sights and sound, still awaited us on the outside. Stalls displaying gaudy baubles and toys, some of which we were soon proud owners of. The Ferris wheel and the roundabout, rides we enjoyed with glee. At last, walking on legs too tired, we were ready to go home. What a day it was, a visit to the circus, and much to talk about in the days to come.

Years went by, we grew up. Times changed, the circus lost its charm, was no longer much fun. The clown act, not so funny, the animals that once struck terror, just scrawny and undernourished. The man on the pole was too old and the acrobats no longer so daring. The spaces grew too small and the circus came to town, no more. Everything that was once thrilling, lost its appeal, lost its magic as innocence faded away, and decadence set in .

Oh how I yearn for those by gone days, when a trip to the circus meant the world to us. Vacation was, riding a train drawn by a steam engine, to grandma’s house , our home town. Time spent with favourite cousins, the exuberance of the outdoors. Running with the wind, fishing in the streams and feasting on grandma’s delicious food. A time when the library, was our sanctuary, for reading and research, instead of a google search. A time long gone and never to be again.

A time when a trip to the mall, was unthinkable, surfing the net, unimaginable. Disneyland and Cirque du Soleil were unheard of and in faraway lands. A time when the florist, was a woman with a basket of fresh summer flowers. A time when small pleasures were our joy and a simple life our pleasure.

I cried for a mother today, who lost her precious daughter. Helpless she stood as they took her away. No loud prayers, no wild protests, no offers to give up her life, to save her child, could keep her baby, from the jaws of death. Then she was resigned, broke down and cried, wept tears that seemed, would never cease. But when she stops a moment, the ache is still monumental. I cry my tears, to help wash away her suffering awhile and pray the Lord holds her tight, in His comforting arms, until she meets her child, in the hereafter. .

I cried for a father today, who lost his darling daughter. The subject of his unconditional love, his hope and joy, from her very birth. Never could he have imagined, a pain so gut wrenching, yet so paralysing, as he looked upon that dear face, his very life, lying lifeless . No one can fathom the misery, of a parent who has to bury a child. Kissing her one last time, he bid her farewell. I cry my tears, as he stands tearless, to help reduce the pain awhile and pray the Lord blesses him with abundant grace to endure this terrible tragedy .

I cried for a husband today, who lost his loving wife. She who had filled him with joy, his best friend. The one to whom, he had given his heart to keep, had left him, to be with the Lord. Standing there so lost, without his beloved mate, the one with whom he had hoped to spend the rest of his life, the one with whom he wanted to grow old, he was heartbroken. I cry my tears for him to help mend his heart and pray the Lord gives him peace and strength in his sorrow.

I cried for a brother today, who lost his dear sister. The one who had laughed with him, taught him right from wrong .The one who had been his strength and support, his champion, always. Who would he turn to, in his troubles, who would encourage him, when he was down ? His heart breaking, as he felt the pain of separation, he stood there so desolate . I cry my tears for him to alleviate his anguish and pray the Lord gives him comfort as he mourns.

Come April, summer is here. The frangipani and laburnum in bloom, the strong scent of jasmine and roses, rising in the air. The riotous bougainvillea draping most balconies, adorning their homes. The resplendent colours of jacaranda and Gulmohar, lining the avenues, enrich the city. Green leaves and colourful flowers everywhere, a delight to our eyes.

The earth, dry under the blazing sun, waiting to be watered and nourished, welcomes the April Showers. The accompanying cool breeze, a respite for us, from the scorching heat. Feathering their nests, hatching their eggs, the birds are busy, tending to their young .Their song, each unique, their notes so different yet so perfect in harmony, as they fill the long summer’s day with a beautiful symphony.

The trees are heavy laden with an exotic array of fruits. Avocados and mangoes, are commonly seen, in most gardens. The laburnum in my small patch of green, is an unimpressive , midsized tree, yet a shade to many, growing under her canopy . Home to little birds and chipmunks, she stands there, braving the strong sun. For eleven months in the year, unassuming and ordinary, with nothing to boast about .

She knows every little bird that comes to roost, or rest awhile on her boughs. Every colourful butterfly that alights, every bee and wasp that buzzes around.. Her worst nightmare is the month of March, when her leaves drop, leaving her bare and ugly. Yet still she despairs not but strives to offer shelter for those who depend on her.

She may stand unappealing and unattractive, for all but one month. But she knows that is no reason to give up . She continues to cast her shade, to house the homeless and feed the hungry. She relies on her strength and the knowledge, that the splendour of her bloom is yet to come ,her golden globes that can be compared to none !

She envies not the towering palm that bears fruit, all through the year, nor the mango tree that bears the king of fruits and whose leaves are sought, for every occasion. For when April comes, she is aglow! Clothed in silver green and the golden globes, she is the cynosure of all eyes, not ignored anymore. She is after all the winner, the winner of The Golden Globe !

Easter Monday, at the Only Place , a lunch date with friends again. A restaurant from old Bangalore, from way back in the ‘ 60s, serving delicious American food.

For those from the city , it is part of our old memories. A quaint place in central Bangalore, the most popular street, where all the fashionistas and wannabes gathered, to eat, to meet, to make friends . The dapper, neatly dressed man, who once owned the place, circulating among the tables, entertaining customers with interesting stories, while they waited on their fare.

Sizzling steaks, juicy burgers, scrumptious barbecues, grills and vegan salads, not to mention, the delicious desserts. As young ones, we frequented the place, to indulge in their famous apple and cherry pies. Stretching our meagre allowances but still out of reach and if we managed a one by two, it was often a great luxury.

Dressing for the occasion I realised, that time, that wily old serpent, had turned my once trendy and fashionable clothes, to dowdy and old fashioned, rendered me a has-been, as it did the restaurant. And yet when we gathered for lunch, it was not appearances that mattered but the conversations, both innocuous and serious .

Ordering as recommended by the chef , sharing with one another, and tasting all our favourite dishes, we ate a hearty meal. Talking and laughing, we enjoyed another beautiful Monday afternoon, with food for our belly, and food for our soul .

It was another Easter, another summer’s day, another day in time, not so long, but just a year ago . We spoke for the last time, wished one another, great blessings on the Lord’s resurrection day . With a promise to meet soon, we ended our conversation.

But life had other plans. The second wave set in, hit us hard, banishing us to our homes, imprisoning us once again, you in your house, I in mine. Little did we imagine, you would not live to ride the wave, to see the end of the pestilence.

A year later, since you have been gone, the pandemic, they say has ended, the plague is no more. People leading their lives, almost like normal. Stepping out I see, the streets don’t look any different, the world is the same, yet so changed .

For you my dear brother, breathe no more. The light is dimmer because of the shadow you left behind. The days less full and the nights longer. Time, though they say is the healer, has not diminished the pain or filled the emptiness, of your absence.

I know we will meet again, in the hereafter, the tales we tell each other, may yet bring laughter, but in the hours, in the days, in the years between, I seek respite, from the sorrow of separation.

Pain like an unhealed wound, lies beneath the surface. A word, that is familiar, a picture in a frame, can still bring a deluge of tears. Memories creep in, wrapping its icy fingers around my heart, leaving me longing, for those shared moments of our childhood . Shutting out the grief , putting it behind, is much like trying to shed a part of me. Every image, like a ghost from the past, rises to break through my shield .

You, on the other hand my dear brother, are in the fold of the departed, basking in the glory and love of the Most High. I pray you plead with the Almighty, the One who is merciful, to look upon with kindness and grace, on your grieving sister. And when my time is at hand , I know you will be there waiting, to welcome me and take me home,.