The curse of the farmer’s wife

The weekend before women’s day was spend in the company of female friends. A complete girls bash-- alcohol, gossip and talk on how all the good men have gone. These were all middle class late 20-something women who had made a living for themselves, no ring around their fingers, but could pay for the apartments they lived in and more. Thirty years back you had to be a rebel or a very fortunate one to be one of those women, but not today, today the country is filled with these independent women.

One of my friends had just got a pedicure done and was flaunting her feet, when she teased another by pointing at her feet and saying, “look at my pretty feet and your feet .Like a farmer’s wife’s feet.” My friend unknowingly was stating the sad truth of reality. That the illiterate lady in the village who toils all day in the field, grazes her cattle, takes her produce to the market, bargains for a fair price is still seen as the farmer’s wife and never the farmer. She does not get the benefits of a farmer, she is not entitled to the same subsidies. All because the Indian government refuses to recognize her. So what happens if her husband passes away, does she cease to exist?

Unholy secrets of the confession box

I love the holiday season for many reasons, but mostly for the visitors it brings. Not, the foreigners or strangers, but residents from the same locality. People who left to do their education, in search of employment, in the pursuit of happiness, to make a dream come true, for a better life. They returned to this serene parish every Christmas, to celebrate with family, and familiar faces. Whenever they came they brought with them a joy of a different kind, long forgotten stories of this land. They brought with them laughter, fine clothes, expensive smelling perfumes, constant aroma from the kitchens, extravagant donations to the church and the usual hustle and bustle.

This also meant more people came to hear my sermon during the mass, especially on Sundays. The mass at Christmas eve and new years was a treat to look at, with everyone dressed as best as their money could afford. The little girls with their frilly frocks with matching socks and hair clips, the boys in their full sleeve shirts uncomfortably buttoned till the first buttons. It was a welcome change to see the young men give their oversized tee-shirts a rest and switch to well pressed striped shirts. Everyone young and old had a smile on their face, some were fake but they still took the effort to fake it.

Even the church looks happier with its decorated ceilings and baby Jesus cozily sleeping in his crib. Yes there were other benefits for me too, those that my patriarchal ancestors would’ve liked to censor out. The Scotch whisky bottle from gulf still lies unopened in my cupboard along with the many packets of Swiss chocolates and expensive perfumes. The glass painting of the last supper from “the holy land” hangs beside my picture with the pope taken in Rome. These were gifts of thanksgiving from the visiting parishes, but I knew as well as them that the gifts also doubled up as bribes. Bribes so that I would keep praying for the families, bribes to the gods through me.

But I hate the holiday season for the secrets it brings with it. I dread the confession box, and my priestly duties that come with it this time of year. The visitors bring in the evils of the entire world into my isolated little church in this sub-urban Kerala setting. They spit out their darkest secrets and their unspoken fears to me with only the blurry mesh to separate their lips from my ears. The mesh was meant to give discretion, but that itself was a lie. I could see their faces as clearly as I remembered. It was ironical.

The boy who went to a metro city three years ago to become an engineer confessed that he was “doing cocaine” now. But his biggest secret of the year was that he had made a mistake” and had aborted his baby after impregnating his college sweetheart. It pained me to hear this, he was one of my favorite alter boys, the one who knew all the duties and always showed up on time, even for the early morning mass.

The eldest son of the church’s sweeper worked in a northern state. His confession was that he had stolen a couple of expensive mobiles. This was because he couldn’t afford gifts for his younger siblings. He told them he had bought it from the city, they showed off with the cell phones even though they still hadn’t figured how to use it. I reminded him of the 8^th commandment “Thou shall not steal”. He assured me that it was only once, he did not want to come back empty handed and let his family think he wasn’t saving enough. His voice dropped as he said the last part. It was then that I asked him what his job was. He dodged the question, said it dint matter. It was these secrets that they dint disclose that worried me, because that only meant that he was doing something “unholy”, but would continue doing it even though he felt guilty. Some of them held back details for a fear that I might speak about it to the rest of their kin.

Then there were the Bible doubters, their confessions started with “sorry father, for I have questioned the authenticity of the word of god”. They would go on to ask scores of questions about contradictions in the bible. Some compared it with scriptures of other religions. They always impressed me, these mavericks, for most of them were young. To read so much and understand was not an easy task. Of all the people I knew that for like every other catholic priest of my time I had to get through the tough teachings at the seminary. This year a young girl who had gone to a nearby town to do her masters in Psychology was the one who questioned me. She mustered up enough courage to say that they thought the Catholic Church was a big lie, and thought the crusades and holocaust was no different from the Jihadis. She was ashamed of the history of the vatican. But as long as she was saying this to me in the confidentiality of the confession box I knew she still believed in the system and felt guilty for thinking these uncatholic thoughts.I knew there was Hope. I would sometimes surprise these scripture rebels by confessing that I agreed with them, to let them know that I was on their side. Then I would go on to suggest books that supported and cleared doubts of Christianity. These were not by priest but mostly by converts and Ex-drug addicts. The young were inspired by controversy and conflict.

The rich widow who still wore colorful expensive saris told me she spend her 2^nd consecutive Christmas alone, both her children claimed to be too busy in Europe. They still hadn’t recovered from the recession they said. For the first time since her husband died of cancer 7 years ago she felt like was all alone, and the unthinkable crossed her mind—SUICIDE . I told her how there was no worse sin than taking ones own life that the lord had blessed us with. She wept, she dint need the advice, she was ashamed even before the thought crossed her mind. Gently but sternly I told her it was time to submit herself to god, and join us for the daily mass. That usually helped the old and lonely in getting back with life. I had witnessed it before my own eyes, old friends would reunite, family rivals would get invited to each others homes for breakfast. I believed that it was the daily visits of these aged men and women to the church that saved the locality of many evils.

The home beside the church was to have marriage this year. There were one of the richer families and among the many visitors that came for the wedding was the boys uncle and family from America. I remember the uncle when he was younger, almost ten years ago when he left for the first time, he sought my blessings. But I never saw him or the likes of his family in my church after that. They now belonged to the new lot—the “Born Agains”, the protestants. The more I saw of them the more I wished they would leave sooner than later. With their fine clothes, heavy pockets, children with thick American accent and sophisticated manners they were a temptation to the hitherto loyal catholic. Everybody wanted to know what they did, how they turned millionaires overnight. To which he had one answer “I was born again.” The truth was even I yearned to know what the real secret was.

Elizabeth and her husband had one great sorrow in their life, they were childless. Her confession was that she secretly visited the Hindu temples, and prayed to a certain ‘godman’ to bless her with a child. A friend of hers suggested it she said. Three years and no conception later she realizes that she was wrong and it was all the devils doing. I was angry, she had disobeyed the 1^st commandment, this was no joke. She said she was desperate but now had decided to adopt, two—a boy and a girl. My heart softened when I heard that. I told her that ‘Jesus’ would forgive her and I was proud of her decision. With a drop of pitch I added that it would be better to pick the children from the convent orphanages. Not that I had anything against the others, for all children were innocent, but it was easy to poison their mind, and who knew what poison the other orphanages drank on. I assured her that convent kids were disciplined and would blend in well.

Jacob was soon to have his 1^st born. His wife was at her house in the next town preparing for the same. His secret was that off late he had perverted thought about his 13 yr old niece who came from Sweden. I was disappointed; Jacob was a good man, a regular in church, in the choir, a front man in the Jesus youth. “Oh what shame you bring? Oh what shame onto yourself, onto your family, the little girl and to your unborn child.” He told me he would do anything to drive the thoughts away, the niece was his favorite. When the girl was born he was in his late teens, since his brother the girls father lived in Sweden right from then Jacob had stayed in the same house . He took her around in his bicycle all around town, taught her to speak too. I did not have to listen to these stories. Earlier I used to cut people short when they went on with their history, but now I had learned better. What he was telling me was to defend himself from being judged too hard, moreover he had to tell someone. But who would listen to the shameful secret? I doubled up as a close friend at times like these. I had no choice but to listen, he asked me if he should tell his wife. I hated when people asked me to make decisions for them, because it was then that I would be as confused as them. I told him not to, his penance I said would be a week long retreat, lest his child be born with his sins. I dint feel guilty at playing god anymore.

Then there was Rose, the smartest of them all. She wasn’t a big fan of the church even as a kid, but the parish remembered her as the first to reach the famous IIT. She worked in a distant land now, and brought with her the most prominent souvenir ever—a foreign husband. A Kenyan, and worse a Muslim. The news had created quite a stir when we heard it six months back. I imagined him to be angry looking with a long unkempt beard. On the contrary he was clean shaven and well dressed well dressed, from the looks of the high school girls I knew they thought him handsome, in spite of his skin as black as charcoal. I knew I would have to work on this, make these girls believe he was the enemy in the Sunday school classes. Tell them stories of doom that hit on young men and women who married out of religion, site example from the bible. Some called this “brainwashing.” But I had to do it, or they would consider her their rebel heroine, and the church would loose many more good young women soon.

The old choir boy with the strongest voice I had ever heard has a rock band in the city now. Four years ago he confessed that he liked men, I told him it was normal at his age to be confused, but it would pass. I would’ve suggested marriage as a solution, but he was too young and unemployed at that time. Even in my boarding school I had seen “boys with boys,” as young an age as eleven. But, that was because there was no other choice. Now those boys were old men with grandchildren . Happily married. But this year the choir boy shocked me, he said he was living with someone—a man he was in love with. He asked my blessings, he wished the state church would let them get married. How dare he say this? That too inside my holy church. How could he call himself catholic anymore? I cursed the gay bishops in the west, this was their atrocious doing. I cursed the internet too.

The girl who had left to do her MBA said she had fallen prey to the evils of drinking and smoking, and she was sorry. Even as she said this I could get the stick of tobacco through the mesh that separated us and I knew she wasn’t sorry. Most people were like her, repeating the same old sins, no repentance, but just like a duty. Me repeating the same penance. The vicious circle would continue.

Now that the holiday season is over they would all leave, to move on with their lives. But I am still left back lord. Left to with their secrets.to take it to the grave. To pray and be their savior. It was difficult to look at their family members after that. It was hard to restrain myself from telling the mother that her son was using her hard earned money not one college, but on drugs. It was hard to smile at the lady whose husband was visiting whore houses in Dubai. It was hard to not be judgmental.

Forgive these stained souls father. And as you forgive them, please remember to help me forget these unholy secrets whispered in the confession box.

How long will we keep fighting?

November 1995

Post-lunch classes were always a drag, so I wasn’t listening to my social studies teacher that afternoon when she spoke about Kashmir issue. Instead, I was looking at the Indian map on the same page of my textbook. I imagined it without Kashmir; I even covered the Kashmir part with my still-growing palm. The image looked weird, like a headless body, I thought with a silly grin.

Was that my own imagining? Or something that was indirectly inculcated into me by my teacher, who just taught us what the book said and didn’t have an opinion of her own? Or from the textbook itself, and from my previous years’ textbooks that told me that Kashmir was a vital part of India that Pakistan tried to steal?

A 9-year-old’s world is simple: You relate to things with your preconceived roles of villain, hero and the helpless soul that needs saving. To me, there was no doubt that India “the hero” would save Kashmir from Pakistan “the villain.” I believed that Kashmir the “head” was an original and essential part of the Indian body, as I was taught. But now as I hear all this controversy about whether Kashmir is an integral part of India, and as I use the “Google god” to learn more, I realised that I was taught a bunch of lies. My conception of the pretty state of Kashmir with the breathtaking mountains and the beautiful valleys was all based on lies.

India's future embracing Section 377

A scene from a TV show I saw a few months back

Channel: VH1

Characters: Chris Adams(American Idol 2009 ), Adam Lambert (runners up) and the VH1 show anchor.

Location: Studio in the US of A

Topic of discussion : The life of the idols beyond the TV show

Somewhere along the conversation a specific part catches my attention

Anchor to Adam : Is it true you have a crush on Chris ?

Adam(puts his arm around chris’s shoulder) : Yes, He is a handsome man..

Chris (just gives one of his heartbreaking cute smiles)

Camera man adds a fake twinkle in Chris white teeth and conversation goes on to discuss how Adam was glad he made his sexual preference clear while the show was still on air. The show ends and is a success for the channel, viewer level is high, the singers shake hands and life goes on for all….

Now picture the same scene happening in India.
Will such a scene get away with no ‘aftermath’?

Will such a scene get away without the church (and the church I refer to is not restricted to any religion) quoting quotations from the holiest books on how hell is reserved for ‘un-natural’ sex doers?

Will such a scene get away without the news channels flooding their ‘breaking news’ with ‘Gay Idol ‘ strewn all over them?

Personally I’ll have to say that maybe we will reach that stage at some point, but not in the near future.

Yes hail the country for rewriting Section 377 and keeping the Homosexual hope of an equal life alive. I will not exaggerate on the change cause I know that even though the ‘outcast’ criminal tag is off legally, I know life will not be all smooth sailing for them.

Every age or every generation comes with their own controversy, and for this generation homosexuality is a highlight. Not that I say that it din’t exist way before the Indus valley civilization days, but never has it been this much of a public song nor has the Indian society been challenged to accept it to the level of normalcy as it is today.

Let’s be honest with ourselves, are we totally comfortable with the same-sex concept?

Well if I was to answer that question I’ll say ‘Yes’, but with my own clause, and that would be that I’m totally cool with it as long as it doesn’t directly effect me. Now this directly effecting me could range from a lesbian making an indecent pass at me or my son coming up to me and proclaiming that he wanted to marry ‘Adam’. Now though most ‘unorthodox’ people wouldn’t admit this is where they all stand .

Off late suddenly every tom, Dick and Harriet is screaming ‘yay Section 377’ or ‘yuck Section 377’. With the recent change to that little law rule we are all going to see one thing for sure, and that is more and more people coming out of the closet, and the society handles it is one thing I’d like to see.

Homosexuality is going to be the new ‘generation gap marriage issue’. Now when the present generation accepts inter-caste, inter-religion, inter-country marriages, the gay and lesbian ones are going to be the unexpected challenge for them. How the church and temples with deal with this I don’t know, but they better gear themselves with more than just quotes, preachers and threats.

The Indian society will definitely have to see a lot of tears, hear a lot of curses, suffer a lot of heartbreaks, ignore a lot of ‘traditions’ , witness a lot of suicides over the gay issue. But change is inevitable and I guess someday all the aunties and uncles around will have to accept this new reality with a straight face. Maybe for all you know we could have new education and job reservations for the LGBT community and their kids.

The Indian mind will evolve for sure. The 1st time I heard of the very homo concept(I was barely 10) it seemed pretty weird to me, but with time the ignorance was removed and now though I am not one to vouch for the community, I’m one to say ‘You don’t know what they feel, so please shut and stop cursing them’. Today if my best friend suddenly realized she wasn’t straight or my colleague revealed he was gay I would not wince or call them queer.

So I hope and pray that so will the Indian society embraces homosexual relationships.

As for me if one day my son does proclaim that he want s to marry Adam and I loss the controversy battle all I can say is ‘I was expecting an Eve but I’ll try not to make a fuss about Adam’ ,and them keep praying everyday that my daughter does not bring home the ‘Eve’.

PS: The references are purely imaginary, I have no son or daughter now and my best friend is very very straight.

Sometimes its better to just shut up and sit quietly!

To combat the Energy crisis that the world is forced to face, the Indian goverment has decided to re-introduce load-shedding. In other words called power cuts. I hate the very idea of it, but no I'm not one to complain as I do realize the whole project is done in common interest of the nation and its future generations.

Now the authorities have also asked the citizens to cooperate in the mission by using electricity judiciously, which in other words means "turn off the damn computer when you are not at your desk and go easy on the AC”

Few days back the electricity board people in my locality forgot to switch off the street lights in the morning. Now a normal person with normal problems in life would've ignored this and continued with the chaos of the day. But not my neighbor.

My neighbor who is a man of right values decided to do something about this. He like a true hero called up the electricity board and notified them on the same. So what do you expect from such an act, I'll say maybe reward him with no power cuts in his house for a couple of days. No, the electricity board thought differently, they decided to punish my neighbor and his whole neighborhood for their stupidity.

Yes they instead of just turning off the street lights, cut out the electricity of the whole locality for the next 5 hours. 5 hours for gods sake, I don't know how I survived it. I mean with no computer or T.V (yeah I know I sound like a moronic slave to technology, but it was too sunny to go outdoors and I wasn't in the mood to read books).

My mom was upset cause she couldn't use the mixer to grind something she needed for a new recipe. My dad wasn't at home when the tragedy happened, though he won't admit it I sense it was good news to him (the logic is lesser the electricity used, lesser the bill he has to pay).

A Family in the neighborhood was renovating their house, they were using some electricity run. Hi-Tech machine to saw a portion of their staircase, this had to be kept on hold due to the power failure. Similarly every house had an interesting sob story because of the cursed power cut.

So I'm just wondering if the damn government was so irresponsible how did they expect us to act. What was going through their mind when they played this lame joke. Maybe they were laughing at us this time, but only to ensure that next time their pee brains with automatic controls forgot to do something they ought to the people who suffered the wounds on this fatal day wasn't going to notify them if it posed any threat to their existence.

In between all this I wondered what the 'Hero' was doing, did he regret the call? Did he try calling them again? Would the incident transform him from the calm gentleman to the angry old man? I don't know. But I do know that next time I notice the governments power being wasted on the street lights in broad daylight the 1^st thing I 'll do is to call my neighbor and beg him not to repeat his heroic act!

MR. CROW FOR NATIONAL BIRD?

Let me launch the two main characters of the scene ‘The crow” and ‘The peacock’. Now no Indian needs an introduction to the crow for haven’t we all grown up listening to poetry and songs about the mother crow and her cheerful little family. Day after day we ignore a million crows that happen to cross on our way and shoo them away on every opportunity we get. Then coming to the beautiful peacock which maybe only 5% of Indians have seen face to face, that too caged in the zoos and which today faces a threat of extinction. Now why bring these two drastically different creations of nature together? For we shall just look into the irony of the fact that the peacock is the national bird of India, when the crow is better suited for the title.

Statistically speaking how many of us have seen peacocks. The last time I saw a peacock was in my childhood during those few visits to the zoo that my father thought was necessary to teach me the diversity of nature. But in the end the total number of this beautiful gift of nature that I have seen is no more than a handful. On the other hand, I like many of my fellow countrymen wake up to the call of a crow and every one knows that the great ‘Kaliya’ is more than just an alarm clock.

The crow has done its share in garbage management for free. Thanks to the crow, many generations of Indian housewives dint need to worry about disposing the little food waste of the household. For all they had to do was to toss it into their backyards and trust our very own hero to do the rest of the job. If it wasn’t for the crow I fear to think what would happen with all those piling dead bodies of rats, unattended decaying garbage and casual trash disposed on our streets. Yes, I agree it’s disgusting to watch that bunch of crows fighting over a rotting carcass but in the long run many such bunches of crow have helped avoid many a epidemic from breaking out.

The crow also plays a vital role in a traditional Hindu ceremony performed for the benefit of the dead. Here, food is offered to the crow which represents the dead ancestors and the acceptance of this food by the crow assures that the ancestors souls are in peace. There is no doubt that the peacock is certainly a pretty bird and the elaborate courtship dance of the male, fanning out the tail and preening its feathers, is indeed a gorgeous sight. On the contrary the crow is a very ugly bird and there is no romance attached to watching a crow go on about its daily activities.

Symbolically the peacock represents an egoistic and stubborn bird, aware of its splendid beauty and too proud to include the other birds in its league for this very reason, while the crow represents a humble, hardworking, modest bird that’s got no complaints. The peacock is a delicate bird that needs to be protected and taken care of unlike the ‘rough Indian’ image, whereas the crow is a tough bird that can take care of itself no matter what circumstance it is put into.

So I would like to ask all fellow Indians, isn’t the ‘national bird’ or ‘national animal’ or national anything for that matter supposed to be the best around, the one that has given us enough reasons to be proud of it. Or is it just a beauty pageant crown given to the contestant that literally shines out in the crowd? I mean isn’t that contrary to all Indian teachings of ‘how inner beauty always beats outer beauty’ and ‘what matters is not what your made of but what’s inside and what comes out of it’. Growing up in India I have witnessed the great activities and thereby acquired a particular respect for the crow and think its high time we honored this legendary hero!

Imagine theres no Religion

"Imagine theres no religion,
it's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace..."
Ok those were just a few lines made famous by John Lennon ( yes the sober Beatles guy) in his song 'Imagine'. Now while we have that on one side, on the other we have people screaming Holy war, jihad, crusades, Holocaust, blah, blah, blah. So that led me thinking, why can’t we just have something in between.

Well talking about Lennon's lyrics I wonder if those were the great words of a realist who could see beyond time and pictured the perfect united world minus the religious controversies or was is just the words of an atheist trying to justify his decision. Growing up in a so called 'secular' country I've seen people of different religions living together in harmony and I've also heard of religious riots break out within the country. Now I've personally witnessed many a 'dialogues' that had every potential to erupt a small scale holy war. For instance take the words of the little boy teasing his Muslim classmate by saying 'hey Paki, are all your leaders terrorists?' or the jokes cracked on the ‘animal like Hindu gods’ , people swearing at the good catholic girl because some priest of ‘her kind’ was found to be a gay paedophile. Not to forget the innumerable ‘turbaned’ Sardar jokes.

Then I would also like to mention the evening talks between college students on whose religion and whose sect was right and whose was the most comical and absurd of the lot. No, this is not something restricted to the religious passionate ones, for even the atheistic Hindu, agnostic Muslim, the unbelieving Christian and the confused Buddhist does not stay away from these adrenaline pumped discussions.

The question is what makes people fight over religion when most religions preach love, brotherhood and compassion? Could it be because the same religions mildly say ‘defend your faith’? Now are we using this ‘defense’ as an excuse to fight or are we just using faith and religion as an excuse to lease the animal inside us. Yes I agree basically we are all animals, but then religion is a product of civilization right, so are we contradicting our ancestors and ourselves?

This ‘fighting to defend’ saga reminds me of the respected martial art, karate. Any idiot knows that karate is supposed to be a technique of defense and not attack, but then there’s no denying that 99% of those seeking to learn karate do it so that they can kick some ass!

Now lets think in Lennon’s frequency and try to picture a ‘religionless world’. I see an end to ‘swearing for god’, along with which I see emptiness, selfishness and an abrupt ending to everything around. We do have good people around, but there’s no denying that most of the ‘goodness’ and ‘selflessness’ comes from a belief of a life after death.

Yes every good deed is seen as an investment to the life to come, every sacrifice a bonus, every charitable contribution an insurance, every forgiving act as a compensation for our own mistakes. All these we do in the hope that the one above, the power, spirit, leader, father, judge, creator is watching and playing the role as the fair referee. Most charitable foundations and peacekeeping institutions do it in the name of god.

So what if suddenly we were to believe there was nothing of the sort and no judgment to come. I fear to think what would to happen to all the good Samaritans, would they think ‘I need to do my job immaterial of whether it’s going to be rewarded so that in the end I can say to my conscience that I lived a good life, or will it be ‘screw all, a bum or a saint is treated the same and rots to dust in the end, so might as well have a good time’. Well even theoretically I can’t imagine what would be the case.

Is that what our ancestors were doing when they created all those religions? Was it so that we would have a reason to believe in something beyond all this, a special friend we count on at all times, something to hold on too when the going seems tough and future looks bleak. If so it disgusts me to see how we have altered their plan to feed our blood thirsty appetites.

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea.

Even as I write this my country is recovering from a Bomb scare. 2 weeks back bombs blasted in different parts of my country like flowers blooming in spring, another stunt from that group of insane sadists better referred to as terrorists. Rumors said that my city would be next (but thankfully nothing came of that rumor). For the same reason my city was on high alert and security during the last week and in between that I had decided to visit my grandma who lived on the other end of the same city. While I was returning home I saw a sight that I had never witnessed or maybe never noticed before.

The bus I was travelling in was going across a bridge that ran over a certain part of the Arabian Sea that I had to cross to get home. Now this was a bridge I had travelled through a million times and as usual I was gazing out the window on my left. I was deep in my own thoughts until I suddenly noticed that the sea looked weird with the water fuzzy and the sky fuming with anger. The air was misty and blurred out all the ship in that direction. This was an unusual sight for me so I turned to my right and ironically the sea was a total contrast here. The water was calmer than ever, the sky was as bright as on any normal sunny day, and the wind just danced with the relaxed mood of the boats sailing across. Now this was a dreamy but boring sight so I returned my focus to the ‘show stopping’ left side. The sea looked awfully dangerous and I slowly started noticing all heads and eyes in the bus turning that way.

I kept looking back and forth from left to right and the calmer it was to my right, the wilder it became on my left. The worst part was it looked like the whole thing (I dint know what to call it) was coming our way. Like the sea was coming on to us with a vengeance, it reminded me of the movie “pirates of the Caribbean”. I had to admit I was scared, I never saw anything like that and I wondered was it a tsunami or a tornado or something worse that my little general knowledge wasn’t aware of.

At that particular juncture it reminded me of life, like heaven was on my right and hell on my left. No matter what you did hell was heading your way and the devil was going to get you some day. No matter if you ran to a safer land (the right) he would still follow you till your forced to surrender.

As the deadly scene kept shifting closer to us the bus conductor started pulling down the sheets that covered the windows (yeah the windows didn’t have doors for some particular reason). We were told to hold the sheets close lest the strong wind take them away and I did exactly that. The thing I saw was the rain coming from that direction, not just ordinary rain but a storm. When it finally got to us, I realized the power of it. The bus wasn’t spared from the drama and water started entering inside through every loophole it could find. I held on to my part of the sheet like my life depended on it and it did save me from getting a free bath from nature. One time I tried to grab the sheet when it slipped from my grip and a speeding bus almost got my hand. But I had no time to get shocked for by now the wind had taken control of the bus too. As the bus swayed to its invisible master people were opening umbrellas to their sides so that the water would stop splashing onto them.

The rollercoaster experience lasted about 10 minutes and then I am not sure if the sea gave up or if it got too tried or got bored or received the intended pleasure, but it calmed down and except for the rain everything else was back to normal.

Well in the end I reached home safe. But if you think of it symbolically you could relate it with the situation I was living in at that point. I mean like the violent sea and the storm represented terrorism. It was almost as if nature was telling me terrorism was going to visit us all, but if we had enough faith, stuck together and had the will to move on we were all going to make it through. So maybe we should all just take the hint and not let this plague eat us!