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,.

Today, on the day of our Lord’s resurrection,the appams were a disaster. My cooking skills at best, work on the premise of a hit or miss . Unfortunately for me, today’s was a total miss, a terrible disaster.

After many a day, since New Year’s to be precise, the family was looking forward to an appam and stew breakfast, a much awaited change from the daily toast and eggs. After three days of preparation, it was very disappointing that the batter didn’t rise and the appam was flat, without any appeal and totally unappetising.

Then came a thought to mind, a message, why should I worry, when the Lord will be at our table today, the Bread of Life is amongst us and all else will pale into insignificance. Sure enough, my normally very critical , very vociferous family, about poorly turned out food, ate this breakfast with relish, without a murmur but appreciative.

And I think, is it not my Lord Who Is Risen, that makes the most imperfect, perfect. When confronted by my worst hurdles, will He not roll it away like He did the huge stone at the mouth of the tomb? And I know, there is no need to be anxious, no need to fear, however big our problems. Be it a Goliath or a whale, all we need, is to fix our eyes on the Saviour, to stay close to Him, to overcome !

Alone stood the lady in white, in the right corner of the room. Her companions, standing no longer by her side, ‘cause her’s was the word, no one cared to hear .

Her truth they found painful, some even found it hateful, for what they claimed to be the truth was often not her word of truth, which they found rather fearful .

She labelled what she saw, called them out as the truth, which they tried to sugarcoat, making it more palatable. They covered her with tinsel and gold, adding colour to, her otherwise, drab white apparel.

Soon arrived, the lady in scarlet, one most beautiful, most fashionable. Her hair a fiery red, her lips a rosebud pout, her eyes sparkling with deceit, as she spouted words very different.

Though not sincere nor true, yet they fell on ears most receptive, and friends she had many. Promises she made, with extravagance, reality she changed, made it charismatic, more appealing. People around, though confused, chose to believe the one who was, favoured by the multitude .

The lady in white, a silent spectator ,watched the decline of society. Then finally rising from apathy, casting aside her reticence, she strode to the centre. Pleading softly, in just above a whisper, she strove to shed light and unmask the evil. But alas, she was no match for her strident opponent.

In her voice, that was less heard and unpopular, she raised the alarm tried to warn them. But to no purpose, for she was ignored. With sorrow, she watched helplessly, as the people followed the dishonest one, to their bitter end, to their destruction.

Notwithstanding the rejection, persistent she was ! With tenacity, she endeavoured, to discredit the flamboyant one. Slowly removing the colour, peeling the layers, she exposed the ugly face beneath. The decadence , the deception, the dissembling truth, that plagued society.

But lo, no one paid heed, no one really cared, most still enamoured by the lady in red. Was it much too late, was the transgression beyond redemption? No one really knew, until, the Hand of God, was laid heavy upon them, smiting them, obliterating them .

Jesus, rode, not on the best steed, not with an army, nor arms and ammunition. But on a lowly donkey, a humble colt He rode , for a victorious entry into Jerusalem.

The colt He chose, though the least of the animals, was ridden by none and pure. Not a wild wandering donkey but one tied up and belonging to a master . Perplexing though it may seem, it is like He chose you and me, not floundering , not burdened with worldly desires but bound to Him, to rid ourselves of the flesh, so He can dwell in us .

It is said, those young ones, who stood at the gates of Jerusalem with sticks and swords, ready for battle, sheathed their blades, on seeing His Face, filled with Holy Grace. Raising fronds of palm to honour Him, throwing their robes on the ground before Him, they greeted Him. There was no earthly trappings, not a crown of gold, jewelled robe, or a mighty army, but the Light of Glory, they recognised and accepted Him as their King .

Singing Hosanna, Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord, shouting words of praise, they welcomed Him. The One, come to redeem, to set them free, from the rule of their evil oppressors. The Prince of Peace, came not in war and yet a war it was, to fight the evil forces of the cosmic world, to set man free from death, from the waterless pit, the grave.

Leo now all of ninety days, an active puppy he is. In the phase of the terrible twos and threes, a nightmare he surely is . Always up to mischief, scurrying around with an impish look, his only aim now, to try our restraint.

His initial illness, and set backs, have resulted in compromised immunity. Yet to be fully vaccinated, he is not allowed the outdoors, and his boundless puppy energy, is constrained to the limited indoors . Running , with his ears lying flat and tail flying high, he dashes about, causing unimaginable destruction. Knick knacks knocked down, from shelves and tables , puddles left around for us to clean , whether accidents or testing boundaries, is yet to be determined.

My tired legs and creaking knees , have found new strength, new vigour. Chasing after this little minx, trying to discipline and avert any serious damage to him and property, my day goes by. The sedentary life, as it was, with intermittent naps and forty winks, is no more, but active we are, running with this four legged tornado, full of energy .

It hurts to smack him, to punish him for errors, though it doesn’t stop him from repeating them frequently. Consistency, they say, is the key to success, but all that is heard is our rising’ NO’ perfecting the octave. However, after many failed attempts, at training this self willed puppy, we can boast of some improvement, as he shows a semblance of discipline .

Is there not but a fine line, between discipline and control? In our quest to teach him, are we not breaking his spirit, are we not curbing his freedom his puppy days of fun? Curtailing his basic instincts, his desire to run wild, forage for food, roll in the dirt, splash in water, attack when threatened. Training him to adapt to our lifestyle, to our environment, for our selfish needs. Much like we do with our children, when they are young , controlling them, restricting them, making them extensions of ourselves, our thoughts and dreams, taking away the very joy of living.

Come Holi, the festival of colours, to celebrate the arrival of Spring. After the grey winter, a welcome liberation from the confines of a bleak, dark period. From languishing in the oppressive cold, the earth bursts into colours with exuberance, warmth and joy .

No longer the chillblains, no longer the smog, no longer the hanging veil of despair. When we are at the end, like an angel, Spring descends, bringing with her, fun and laughter. The singing birds, the bright blue skies, the balmy nights, as we enjoy the invigorating outdoors again. The earth teeming with the glorious hues of new life, budding shoots, pale green leaves, set off by wild yellow, orange and red flowers .

Locked in we were for two whole years, with not much movement or socialising. Almost like a larva in it’s chrysalis, encapsulated in the dark cocoon of our homes. Finding self, discovering the beauty within, we now emerge as colourful butterflies, much like spring, after the cold, grey winter.

Forced to introspect, drawing on our spiritual inner being, we found paths in the wilderness, springs in the wasteland, of our lives. Forgiving self and others for what we did and did not do, we left behind our past. Talents we discovered, creativity blossomed, lost relationships revived, new ones established, and toxic ones we cast aside. In unfolding mysteries, we recognised our strengths and weaknesses along with that of others.

Now as we are released, back into the world, we test the waters slowly. Knowing more than we did, before the pandemic we use our newfound knowledge, for the good of self and society. Though social skills are impaired, conversations limited, we try to reconnect with one another.

Often making plans, but hesitant to meet and greet, or gather in crowds, as the pandemic is still fresh on our minds. Some grown accustomed to the indoors, rarely want to leave, some overcome by fear of the outdoors, never want to step outside .

The world, as once known to us, will never be again, and we are more cautious. Spreading our wings gingerly, we try to find a new balance. But as we are more tolerant, more humane, we enfold one another, with our newfound compassion. Ready to lend a hand, mend the broken, we are eager to elevate the meek, help the needy and uplift the impoverished .

A simple word, five letters that denote,many perspectives, many meanings. The basic one being confidence in self, to overcome, to subdue any oppression that threatens its existence.

A multifaceted, multidimensional, word it is. Faith in the Divine and in the power of miracles. Believing in the mysteries of the supernatural, the reality of the invisible. Trusting in the Word, the Holy book, and in the many promises. Why, is it not faith that allows sleep at night with the assurance of a new morning, faith, in the conviction of a better tomorrow, that keeps us alive.

But faith as it is, was revealed to me in the form of a plant. A dying creeper, dead in fact and ready for the heap of trash. At first, healthy, growing well, then under attack from pests and the vagrant weather, the poor creeper was soon in distress . Days went by, she strived to stay alive, but the leaves turned yellow, dropped one by one, leaving behind only the branches, barren and dry .

Every morning, I watched this wasting life. Wrestling, she clung on for dear life, with just a shade of hope, a very short length of green. Watering, whispering words of encouragement, playing worship songs that were uplifting, I ministered to her, for the most part of a year. Even when she was given up for dead, I still persisted. Speaking aloud of nature’s wonders, of miracles that were not impossible. Maybe a lesson in endurance for me, than for this little plant.

Seeing her wither and dry, I occasionally turned away in disappointment, but unwilling to accede it was the end, I continued to nurture her and rallied her on. And then one day, there she stood, much to my amazement, greeting me with a small green shoot. A significant change, an extraordinary miracle it is. Though not entirely out of the woods, definitely reassuring it is.

A fulfilment of faith ! Was it the plant’s instinct to survive or my faith in a miracle ? Was it my nurturing or the plant’s desire to stay alive ? Whatever the reason may be, Faith as it is, was made known to me, a combination of beliefs. The most important being, the belief that we belong to the all powerful Creator,who loves and cares for us. His benevolence, mercy and grace will save us from all our hopeless circumstances Belief that persistent prayer, with gratitude and perseverance, will help us overcome, every dire situation.

Along came little Leo , a bundle of joy, brimming with love and energy. His bright eyes and sweet smile, his only disarming characteristics.

When we were still burdened, still weighed down by the pain of loss, he bounced into our lives, this little gift of love, blowing away our sadness.

A handful he turned out to be, keeping the family busy. Taking turns to care for him, we the members were soon exhausted.

Armed with nothing but his ability to love, he brings joy, he brings laughter,he brings a fresh spring of hope and happiness, to a household, that is beleaguered.

Teaching us to be patient, to rein in our frustrations, as we try to teach him simple commands, Leo sit , stay ,eat and drink. Not to mention the basic toilet training.

Putting us through the wringer he did, in the second week, with a stomach infection, that threatened his very survival . There were moments we thought he was lost, which were heart rending. But then with a favourable reversal, the Lord blessed him and now, he is slowly, recovering.

Living through puppy days , the wakeful nights and watchful days, I sometimes wonder what possessed us, to walk this road again. Then I see little Leo ,with a smile on his face .His bright eyes fixed on me, filled with love and trust, no longer fearing abandonment, secure in the knowledge that he is home. And I know we will love him, as we did our beloved Max .

It is that time, when schools and educational institutions, have their graduation, for students passing out, at the end of an academic year . Often celebrated with great pomp and impressive, with one or more, renowned celebrities, from the field of medicines, sciences or arts, to grace the grand occasion.

This year our school, invited one from our fold, to honour the ceremony, to speak words of wisdom, to share her story of success, to the graduating girls. They with their eager faces, listened with keen interest, to her narrative of hard work, opportune moments and they saw in her, dreams realised . What could be more motivating, than to see one from their alma mater, reaching such great heights ?

Sharing a picture on the class group , which brought to mind, to each one of us, that auspicious day many years ago, when we stood on the same podium. Draped in white sarees , holding a candle, we felt the world was at our feet. No hurdle too high, no problem we saw, as we set out to conquer and the candle we thought would never burn out.

Oh there were moments of anxiety, stepping out into the unknown, leaving behind a secure childhood. But they were brief and passed swiftly, as we received that paper, which said we are qualified. With pride and a promise in our hearts to go light our world, we went out .

Today, we are still holding our candle, some with blazing flames, some weak and worn but still casting our light in the shadows, we hope to make the world a better place. We bask in the glory and success of one another, draw strength from every conquest, made by our batch mates, knowing that in their fulfilment we can see our goals achieved.