Mindymoon Works

She is a one in a million. A girl with such a big heart that opened out not just for her near and dear, but also for Gods creations that walked on all four.

This takes me back to the days to the college grounds where I studied. Along with the thousands of students marching like an army to face the battle of the day, I could always see a couple of stray dogs aimless wandering about or stretching out in the cool tree shades to escape the scorching heat of the mercilessly burning sun.

These dogs were accustomed to the daily routines of life around them. During day, cuddle up in their dens, and emerge out full of life at night. They could be seen near the food stalls where they all would patiently wait. Some lucky days, someone would show a little mercy and throw them a few crumbs .other not so lucky days, their hunger had to pleased with a hope that they would get food tomorrow.

It was one such day this girl noticed one dog. It looked emaciated with all its ribs crying out for food thru it starved chest. Her heart melted at its plight. without a second thought, she fed the cup of  ice-cream that was there in her hands to the creature which licked it all up and dint even spare the last drop tat clang stubbornly to the cup. “Sam” became his name.

She dint stop with an ice cream. Dinner time, I noticed that she had taken a small bag with her. I wondered why. All my questions were answered when I saw her slowly smuggling a handful of rice and meat from her plate into the bag, while her eyes were sharply fixed on the orange clad waiters who paced up and down like cops.

This she would then take to the dark grounds where “Sam” used to come running to have his only meal of the deal. He used to bring who we supposed was his wife and his little puppy along. They too got names “Sweetie” and “Goldie”. We all stayed with the girl, watching the family quietly having its supper.

This went out for a month or two. ”Sam” went missing and she was left with his kid to take care of. The little puppy, was a vibrant creature that could sniff us a mile away and would come running at the speed of light for “the bag”. It became her new friend, and would follow her everywhere she went.

Was what she doing wrong?? Was it theft to sneak out food for the stray dog?? Hmmm but How can it be wrong when a life was going on just because of her. They would never even have a noticed the little amount of food that escaped their costs, but it made a difference to that creature.

Now that she’s no longer in that old place, I still wonder, if it’s still alive. I wonder if it found some other loving heart that was ready to risk her dignity just to keep its heart beating.

All I can do is wonder.

Sweet, bitter, white and dark…people??No…I’m talking chocolate..Well..It’s almost like a person….and a rather exceptionally good friend who always kept our little group together…and brought out the 4 yr old kids from within us.  I still remember, every time someone bought a chocolate, everyone’s love for that someone would suddenly peak up…but just for a few seconds till the last piece of the bar melted away in our mouths.

In some cases, these 4 yr old kids would actually fight with each other to get the biggest piece while other times, they used to be sweet, well behaved kids each holding out his palm to get a piece from that someone who eventually ended up with just a tiny bit of the suddenly vanishing bar.

But the worst happens during birthday times, when boxes of chocolate meant for the entire class, would suddenly disappear into the bags of one of these chocolate cravers.

Something which I must not forget to mention is the Ferrero lover who fortunately for the rest of us dint love anything but Ferrero Rocher. This was someone to whom those golden spheres of chocolate were a drug. A drug she hid so discreetly from the noses of the chocolate sniffer dogs those were ever ready to pounce on her, even when in the slightest doubt.

Whether it be chocolate from across the borders, or just measly local bars, injustice was never shown to the latter. Neither did the time of the day matter.  Early morning or late night…never made a difference for our tummy’s craving for a little chocolate. It was our medicine for happiness and our money for bribes. It was our gift for good deeds and our side dish with coffee.

And at the end of the day, after we all parted ways, I realised I was so used  to sharing , that having the same bar of chocolate all by myself never tasted as good as before.  It was then that I wished, I could really turn back time to those melting moments of love we all once had together.

Here I was, yet another day on the beach.
Breathing in gusts of briny air from the heavily salt laden sea.
I felt clutched in the arms of Poseidon who dragged me aimlessly in my life, a boulevard of rejections, turmoils and regrets.
I walked along watching each step of mine,
Burying little graves into the golden lawn of finely sprinkled sand,
Swallowing the loud silence that echoed around me.
My heart felt at home with the solitude of the place.

The weary sun was turning in,
With cheeks so red after the long day’s drudgery.
Sinking into the vast blue abyss from which life first arose.
Though now changed in a sinister way, a threat to life itself.
The gutsy waves slammed angrily at the sharpened rocks and the grains of sand flew about as if despised by the very earth it belonged to.

And it was just then that I saw him.
A lone artist,with a brush in his hand and a scrawny dog at his feet.
He was lightly stroking a faded canvas before him,
Eyes on the cherry glazed ocean swallowing the burning ball of heat.

I walked to him and stood before him.
His sparkling gaze still perched on the horizon.
On his visitors arrival, a warm smile bloomed on his crooked lips,
On a face all wrinkled by the sands of time.
There was something about his eyes, something that made me feel he had seen it all.

“Aye! A beautiful day, don’t thou think so son?”
I noticed the peculiar accent right out from a Shakespearen play.
“The warm crimson sun burrowing itself into the motherly embrace of the emerald sea. The tranquil waves gently kissing the rocks and the golden speckles of sand dancing around making castles in the air! Aye, it indeed is a beautiful world and the Lord sends thou with a beautiful life to live in it. But I must be off now son, and aye, yif the Lord wills, we shall meet again!”

I bitterly swore to myself, a green envy taking over my despaired heart.
How could God be so biased making this world so perfect for him, and the very same world so resentful for me?

The next few moments turned my life over.
He whisked up his brushes into a rugged brown bag, so feeble like it was taking its last few breaths.
I glanced secretly over his shoulder like an owl prying silently over its prey.
A bolt of shock and grief shot through me when I saw the contents in his bag.
A few worn out clothes, some torn papers that looked like some unsettled court case, a broken watch and a frayed scarf were cramped into the little moth eaten bag.
As he started folding the canvas, my eyes fell upon the tiny specs of bright colours strewn haphazardly on the sheet. Colours which eventually seemed to be engulfed by a treacherous pool of thick black strokes.

It was then that I realised that green,red,blue and yellow, they were all the same ‘black’ to him.
It was then that I realised what a blind man’s sunset looked like.

He picked up a black stick with one hand, the other hand holding the little that he had.
He tapped the dog gently and whispered “forward”.
And that was the last time I saw him.
A man with so little, and yet it seemed as if the whole world was his.

I watched him walk away, the dog faithfully guiding him along the shore, until they soon became two tiny grains of sand that swirled around in the dusk breeze.

Yes, here I was, yet another day on the beach.
But this time, for once, even the charcoal dipped night sky, with grey clouds hovering around with ghostly white eyes, seemed to have never been more beautiful.

Kathakali, a language of gesture, originating from the state of Kerala in the 17th century, is truly an extra ordinary theatre form performed in the temple vicinity.

This colourful presentation, a katha(story) through kali(actions) , based on themes from Hindu mythology mainly the Ramayana and Mahabaratha, is a performance in which the audience indulge themselves from late evening till the breaking of dawn.

As the years go by, this tradition is losing its value. This  great art form has been humiliated and mocked through advertisements. Recently a TV commercial showed a Kathakali actor complete in costume and make up, offering a soft drink to a girl on the road and dancing to a mixture of fast beat music from an audio system including even rock and roll. This is an insult to the hundreds of Kathakali actors and a great disappointment to the thousands of tourists who come to watch the auspicious performance.

Don’t let this be just another source of fun. This ad has not just pulled us down but also showed how illiterate the modern day ad makers can be. Its upto the youth of the day to save our heritage and not let it sink into the swamp of sheer entertainment.

The day begins with a long struggle, fighting with laziness more than gravity to lift myself up from the bed and put my bare feet down on the frosty floor, chilled by the night’s icy breaths. I pull myself together, dragging myself to face the next battle with the frozen water that comes out from the solar heater that itself battles with the everlasting rain to get few rays of the hiding sun. After an hour of endeavour, I find myself on a long dreary walk to the bus stop, a place a bus hardly ever crosses, and if it does, hardly ever stops. As I walk, I half heartedly open my eyes, and my glance immediately falls on the innumerable  cows and pigs and dogs hovering around the petty little street .The  distinct smell of dung thereof wafting through the morning breeze, makes me crinkle my nose and carry my legs a little faster at least for the sake of my lungs. Reaching the bus stop, I spend yet another hour, aimlessly watching the people passing by. Wealthy officers in their Audis, young mothers dragging their yelling tiny tots to school, college studs on their powerful Royal Enfields, daily wage earners on their rusty old cycles, health conscious joggers on a run to catch up with their dogs, and finally people like me devoid of a private vehicle, who end up at the never ending wait at the bus stop. And here comes the next battle . Once in a week, the bus magically appears, and I get carried into the bus like a sugar cube by millions of ants crowding around me. The ten minute journey seems to last an unbearable hour, sandwiched between strangers and their atrocious stares. The rest of the week, I give up on the wait at the stop, and walk to the auto stand for a ten minute quarrel with the drivers who charge me like I own several gold mines. Eventually, they agree with a grumpy face for a slightly reduced charge and take me to my second home, complaining the entire way. The rest couple of hours fly away keeping me busy with pointless work, half my mind wondering what would be on the menu for lunch. After a quick lunch that burst my bubbles of all the food I had imagined earlier, I walk back disappointed back to my den.  The rest of the evening drags along with me gazing at my wrist every second minute, to see if it is time that I could ask my guide, if I could retire for the day, without ruining her impression about me being a hardworking and enthusiastic girl! *wink*

And yet another struggle comes on the way back home, with the morning scenario of infinite wait repeating itself again. Another wait, another quarrel, another journey brings me home, a place I love the most as soon as soon as leave it in the morning. And remembering what someone said “beggers cant be choosers” I happily face the final battle of the day, my dry dinner, everyday a replica of the previous. My heart unwilling to eat, but cries from my stomach forcing me to gulp it down. After which, following a  few minutes of sobbing, I fall into a deep long sleep letting my dreams take me into a beautiful trance, a place where there are no battles to fight and I find myself smiling happily away from all worries.

And in this way, the days in a week go by and the weeks in a month go by. But I do know, that a year later, as a reward for the sacrifice I did, giving up time with my loved ones, I will indeed a emerge a brave soldier who has won a million fights in the battle field of life.