My Tears

 My Tears

I was travelling by bike, and a grain of sand found its way inside my right eye. Almost immediately, my eyelashes began to blink reflexively to prevent further dirt from entering the eyes.

The lacrimal tear glands in my eye gushed water, the mucous glands in the conjunctiva produced mucus, and lipid glands in the eyelid margin produced an oil. The mucus and oil mix with the watery portion of the tears to create a more protective tear film.

My son was on my lap, and my left hand gripped him tightly. The glands worked together to bath my eyes with the salty tears. Moreover, I believe that the antibodies in tears helped to prevent further infection.

My right hand was holding on to the handle on the bike seat. And almost immediately it gripped even tighter. My nose twitched, and the cheek muscles pushed the lower eyelid upwards to squeeze the dirt out.

My forehead stroked itself on my husband’s back to comfort the strained eye muscles. Slowly, my eyelid started batting continuously, and to my relief, the dirt was finally thrown out. The tears stopped, the grip loosened, and I told my husband what just happened.

I wish I knew how many nervous commands had to be passed to the so many different organs and glands in my body to be able to get this job done.

What if I had to think and give commands to each of these functions? What if they didn’t function? I would have resulted in a cornea abrasion resulting in some eye damage, and probably even lost the grip on my son who would have had a fatal fall from a moving bike.

This little incident made me wonder; maybe this is why Christ called the Church as His body?

Each component was working with coordination, solving problems, doing its job, not asserting importance, not asking for recognition, for the common good of protecting my life. Such a perfect unison, each one’s function is so unique, and yet each one is so loyal to me. When the eye hurt, help from every organ pitched in, no backbiting, no personal complaints. It was everyone's cooperative effort.

For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. 1 Corinthians 12:12

If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together. 1 Corinthians 12:26

How great is God that he created an excellent model within each one to show us every day how to function as His body. Maybe that is why We are created in His Image.

Seeshan's Graduation

 My son's kindergarten graduation is today and they are conferring on him the title of Masters of Kindergarten. Such a lavish ceremony is planned (which in my opinion is a waste of money) and cute children adorn a cap, a tassel, a gown and a kindergarten diploma.

My son argues that he does not want to hold the diploma roll rather he wants to hold a helicopter. He is a shy guy and he asks, why he must dress up as a clown and let everyone stare him down.

As he talks in his mazhalai accent, I imagine a future where he would graduate from a prestigious college and be shy to give me a hug. I am a south Indian mother after all.

A famous stand-up comedian whose name I don't remember said, "We, south Indians are so obsessed about degrees that even our coffee is called degree coffee."

I reflect on my own life today. I longed to be a surgeon and spent my school life working hard, I learned to be an engineer and also got a degree in business. Then, I worked with software products.

And today, I am a church worker, and an educator and use the rest of the time learning technology, and writing.

Do my degrees help me constantly reinvent myself to adapt to the changing world? I don't know. I am a perpetual learner but I am not sure if my degrees helped me get there.

I believe in the power of education to make rational decisions and improve the quality of life. However, I have also seen uneducated people making excellent life decisions and triple degree folks wasting away their life. But I also understand that those are complex problems that cannot be solved by education alone.

My dream for my children (the ones I birthed and the ones I teach) is that they will solve the problems in the world. With or without a degree. As an educator, that is the kind of tools that I want to give them. Problem solvers, change-makers - that is the kind of title I want to confer on them.

All the best da Seeshan.

Nostalgia Vacation

 When we were children, our father took us almost every year on a trip to his native village Jayapuram in North Arcot District - Thirupattur. We lived most of our lives in Dubai and we always looked forward to great summer vacation in Chennai.

But My father never missed taking us to Jayapuram. Back home in Dubai, daddy was a home bird. Now, he would plan trips, to his neighbour's homes, his childhood picnic spots, the wells that he jumped in to swim, the family church. and so many other places inside the small maybe 200 families large village.

We were surrounded by excellent people, but it was a primitive home. We had idly and kadalai (peanut) chutney for breakfast, natu kozhi (country chicken) kulambu for lunch and kali and kadalai chutney for dinner. Daddy would relish the food like it was the best in the world.

Daddy would transform into a keen churchgoer in his home church, making sure we are there on time. There would hardly be 10 people in the church mostly from the neighbouring village. But we could see Daddy sing in the church, participate in the reading of the scriptures, and become a keen worshipper.

He would fondly remember his grandfather Chinniah whose name he took after and talk about how his family and another person (who never married) were the only converts to Christianity in the entire village.

I can't speak for Annie Deborah, however, even though I enjoyed most part of the vacation in Chennai. I never liked this trip to daddy's boring village. Nothing happening happened here. I longed to eat food from a multi-cuisine restaurant, sleep with air conditioning and do fun stuff. Accompanying Daddy's walk to nostalgia was not very fun for me. But we did it anyway.

Now the 34 and a half-year-old me became just like daddy. My kids wanted to go to the exciting places in Dubai - the happening towers, and gardens and malls. But I wanted to go to my usuals, and linger around the old boring Dubai. I wanted to eat in our usual places - Pakistani, Keralite and Iranian food places, visit my childhood home, and school, go to all the church services and be around some of the people whom I knew as a child.

I kept looking for the Al shindagha tunnel which was the first manmade wonder in Dubai before all the skyscrapers and manmade islands. It is the only underwater road crossing the Dubai Creek. We had many fun conversations and difficult days as we crossed that road. I was elated beyond measure to find the tunnel and was surprised to read a signboard that said, "Historical Shindaga (namaku avalavu vayasu aayidicha!)

But my children were fascinated by the Infinity bridge that towered above it. But I didn't care. Shindagha tunnel refreshed my heart.

Then I realised that the pleasure of exotic destination tours cannot match the therapeutic effect of nostalgic vacations.

With a changed heart, now, I want to make a trip to Jayapuram.

Solitary Grief

 As May 2022 moves on, the pain and darkness of May 2021 grips us. So many lost parts of their souls. Many survive with a hole in the heart. And live emptiness that is deep and cannot ever be filled.

One of my second grader's mother tells me, "I get a panic attack every time I hear an ambulance. I was so strong when he was in the ICU, and when he died, I was too tired to cry. I miss him so much, I never said goodbye and never gave him a send-off worthy of the life that we lived together." I held the phone silently, as she cried and wailed. I could not cry, nor could I say anything to comfort. I just stayed on the phone line.

It was then I realised that grief is a solitary journey. We think we can support the other, but the truth is that no one can bear the burden of another's grief. They may cry with you but they walk alone. Their longings are hidden, everything around them makes them sigh with a painful memory of the past. We cannot feel that pain no matter how empathetic we may try to be.

Praying that those of us experience God's comfort in the deepest places of loss and grief.

A fan

 A fan.

A thriving Marriage is filled with random acts of kindness.

I was pleasantly surprised to see a fan fixed above the table where I use the computer. Never asked for it, nor did I realize that I needed it.

But the husband figured that the wife needed some comfort as she spends a lot of time writing pointless essays on the internet amidst the roasting temperatures in Chennai.

Now this husband is very electricity consumption conscious. His workplace is lit up like a Chinese restaurant - minimal and sometimes hard to see. No fans when the AC is on. Will set the timer for ac to switch off in four hours. Ac temp is strictly at 27 degrees. No overnight charging of gadgets is allowed.

Despite it all, the gesture of getting an extra fan for the wife's face is praiseworthy indeed.

Thank you, dear husband. This fan is an incredible expression of functional love.

God Help her find her tribe

She: Akka, nee niraya padichiruka la

Me: Yennaku thevayana alavu padhichirukaen

She: Naannum kanaku la 90 mark vangirukaen ka, Aana naalan class ku apparum padikila.

And that’s how our friendship started in the pediatric ICU of a public hospital in Chennai.

We watched videos together on how to take levelled spoons of lactogen, how to measure 30ml in the bottle and how to mix lactogen in water. I found much respect for those who do fundamental videos, which I previously thought were unintelligent.

Most doctors tried to help her, they told her to feed the baby solid food to help him increase weight. They told her to stop using the feeding bottle. They always meant good and gave sound advice, but they couldn’t always understand that she was a lone woman raising her child.

The medical personnel were compassionate enough to understand, but just like me, they couldn’t offer more than empathy.

When one of the doctors scolded her for giving the baby a bottle she fired back at the doctor.

She bomabarded other women in the ICU who told her, “Ivalo naal aachu, innum geti aagarum kudakalaya..??” She hated judgement.

She was bold enough to tell the doctor to change the bed of her neighbour because she was asking too many questions.

She used to call me for support when the doctors reprimanded her. She couldn’t comprehend the advice. She believed that everyone thought that she was a bad mother.

She wasn't adamant, she was clueless and all the instructions were impossible to accomplish according to her.

I showed her videos of how bottles need to be sterilised and washed with soap and water. (Even more respect for those who make basic videos)

Her methods of bottle rinsing will cause infections, ‘kaniku theriyadha poochi valarum’ I told her. That’s why the doctors were telling her to not use bottle I explained.

Anna akka, avan sapita maateengara ka, naan yenna panradhu?

Some children find it tough to transition to solids, and I realised how overwhelming it must be for her. Maybe she's struggling with postpartum depression. But I guess that’s a condition that have-nots cannot afford to have.

Alloparenting is animal behaviour, where an individual other than the biological parent of an offspring performs the functions of a parent (as by temporarily caring for an infant). Alloparenting enhances the quality of offspring care and is especially of much use in vulnerable infants. The human species have always had alloparents in the form of grandmas, aunts, and older sisters.

She had no womenfolk to help her, to teach her, to support her and help her raise her child. Maybe she antagonised them herself, maybe she’s too proud to ask for help, or maybe she’s surrounded by a bunch of selfish people.

When another baby in the ICU passed away, she held my hand and said, “akka, bayama irriku ka, ivan nalla irupaan la..” I told her, “Doctor, pechu keezhpadinja, onnum pirachina illa, don’t worry!”.

She got eager for a moment to follow the doctor’s instructions.

From, the next day we tried feeding the baby solid food, boiled apples, watery idly, mashed kanji, cerelac, and the little fellow was angry, and frustrated, he spat, he kicked , he flung it all. He was a fussy eater. And she was a frustrated mother.

They say women need a tribe. I had mine to watch my back when my son was in the hospital.

My sister sent me baby videos and voice records to cheer us up, my mother sent Seeshan home-cooked food that appealed to his precise taste-buds.

My mother in law ensured that Arpana did not miss a day of school. Also, when I came home to refresh, she made me hot lunch and fried appalams for the side. My sisters in law called and always checked on whether I was comfortable.

But this young mother with an 8-month-old infant did not have her own tribe of women to support her. To add to it, even the simplest medical explanations about her son’s condition seemed perplexing to her.

My friend is a fiery woman, a very young mother, maybe she didn’t have a happy childhood, maybe she faced abuse, and maybe she is hurt, or maybe her executive functions aren’t well developed and gets easily frustrated when trying to do her tasks.

But she was a loving mother, her son would smile at her, and she would hug him and kiss him, and he would laugh.

When it was time for my son’s discharge, she said, “akka, naan poori vaangitu varaen, namma sapidalama ka..” And yes, we broke bread together.

When it was time for me to go, she said, “Yenna ka, yena vitu poreeya..?”

I asked if I can pray for her baby, I closed my eyes and prayed a small prayer for health for the child and help for the mother. I opened my eyes after praying to see her munching on a samosa. But I know that the angels said "amen" with me.

I told her that she can always call me and I’ll try to connect with her as much as I can. Sadly, there isn’t much I can do unless her tribe of women find her.