After marriage , I used to enjoy the bed tea.

Times changed and she became aged. My daughter Leena began to scold me:”Papa , why don’t you make tea?”

Then it became my habit , to make tea and go to the computer.

Now in Delhi , Sudha wakes me up with hot tea!




I live near the very old Shiva temple and go there daily to offer prayers. There is a big pond in the east ede of the temple , where the villagers take bath.

I bathe there and , without changing cloths , go inside . First Lord Shiva and then Ganeshji on the left side , that is our habit. Give five rupees and the poojari , a Namboodiri gives sandal paste and flowers offered to the idol (Prasad)

One day I saw a young man , not seen before , sitting in the dais (mandapam) before the Lord , where only Brahmins are allowed. He was very young and fair like an Englishman . There is the sacred threat and a tuft of hair on the shaven head indicating that he is a Brahmin.

I enquired of the poojar:”Who is he? From where did he come?”

“No one knows . He does not know Malayalam and I do not know English. He spoke in Samskrutham also, but who knows it? I saw him sitting and meditating , when I came to open the temple .”

My curiosity was roused and I came back from home , after break fast . He was still there. When I went near , he asked in english:”What can I do , fair lady?”

“Namasthe! I am a teacher living here . I wanted to know about you; your native place , the purpose of your visit etc. If you like you may come home and have something to eat.”

He came with his bag which contained many papers , apart from his clothes. Father welcomed him . He said he is an Assamese , did his Doctorate in Temple architecture . He has already been to Tamilnadu, but was more impressed by Kerala style temples From Coimbatore , he came to Trichur .

I said:”There are many Namboodiris here. In their houses there are granthas written in palm leaves; most of these are in Samskrutham which no one knows.”

Mother brought dosa and sambar . After eating it , he praised her cooking. I said:” I have to go to school. Stay here as long as you choose. Of course we are not Brahmins .”

“I am not orthodox. But I have to cover the whole of this beautiful land. When you come back , I will be hear.”

My sister was standing very near to him . I told him:”This girl will take you to Namoodiri homes”.

Thus a unique friendship developed between us . Did I love him ?


He left after a month . I had not seen him since . Months became years and I almost forgot him. My marriage with a man of our caste proved a failure , though we never talked of divorce. The sort of companionship , which I felt towards the Assamese gentleman , did not exist between us.

So I returned home , from my husband’s house. A tragic event turned all things upside down . There were heavy rains and storm which destroyed the eastern part of the temple . Even the stone pillar with wick lamps fixed around it fell in the pond , because the earth underneath gave way. Continuous rains had made the mud pulpy and amorphous . We were all shocked . I do not know how my Assamese friend knew about it.

He called me on phone and talked to me in Malayalam:”Do you recognize me ?” “Yes but how did you learn our language?”

“It is easy; there are books . I have some urgent message for you. I shall deposit five lakh rupees in your account . Organize the people and carpenters to begin work tomorrow itself . The wood work must be in the existing style ; no change should be introduced. I may reach there within a week.”

So the atmosphere got electrified . All people were surprised at the man , whom all had forgotten , who took so much interest in this god forsaken temple .

My sister became excited. She used to get letters from him. She could not reply because he had no permanent address. But they were in touch. He used to call her on phone. One day she blamed me for not expressing my feelings for him:”I know you loved him ; why did you not tell him?” I now regretted it. I asked:”Sister, tell me frankly –do you love him?”

“Yes, I do. But it is you whom he loves.”

During the subsequent months , all saw how near we were emotionally. People assumed that we are going to marry.

When I mentioned this , he smiled:”Let it be that way, “ he said.

It was then that I mentioned my unhappy marriage . He looked at me for a long time . It was a moonlit night . Then he slowly pulled me to himself and said in a serious tone:”Life is precious. We should not fritter it away. Mistakes can and should be corrected.” He kissed me …



If our train is late , we cannot leave the station. So there is the waiting room. Same is the case at bus stops too.

At the ration shop or the post office , we stand in the line , waiting for our turn

AIn Bombay , there will be a very long line for each bus.; there will be a number of such lines . Aome people carry books which they read , to while away the time. Once you are inside the train or bus , you wait for the destination. Once our train was disabled because the driver found that the oil was mixed with water. We all waited till another engine arrived.

One can go on narrating such experiences.

There is another type of waiting. An expectant mother has to wait for nine long months . The worst type is for waiting for a job. Children wait for examination results , candidates wait for interview call .

Poor patients suffering from terminal diseases and culprits sentenced for hanging wait for death,

All life is a waiting game



Onam is on 28th of this month; but the Kerlites of Mayur

Vihar Ph 2 celebrated it at Ganesh Mandir in Ph 2’

In the morning I went to that temple and prayed there. Apart from Ganeshji , there were Subramanian , Shiva and the navagrahangal like sun, guru , shani shukr etc.

At noon I went again to partake in the dinner. It was very sumptuous and included two sweet puddings.

One fellow came to me and said:”I do read your blog”.



It is the quickest mode of transport here in Delhi. But it is as overcrowded as the suburban trains in Bombay. It has special seats for senior citizens and people are courteous . In Bombay no one cares .

DTC buses are crowed only during peak hours . The journey is more comfortable and I prefer it for short trips

SNAPS FROM MY LIFE-hundred rupee note

SNAPS FROM MY LIFE-hundred rupee note
Many of us are in the habit of keeping ready in hand , the money required for our bus ticket.
The boy sitting in front of me had one hundred rupee not in his hand , waiting for the bus conductor. Suddenly it flew away from his hand and fell on the road . The fellow immediately asked the conductor to stop the bus and ran back till he collected the note . The conductor obliged him by waiting for him.
I wondered what I would have done , had I been in his place. I think I would just cursed my fate and taken out another note!

SNAPS FROM MY LIFE-cheek cut open before my eyes

SNAPS FROM MY LIFE-cheek cut open before my eyes
I was in Delhi , travelling in DTC bus. I was sitting near the front seat.
A man came hurriedly from behind and slit open the cheek of a tall person.
Within seconds the fellow got down , as the horrified driver stopped the bus.
The affected man also got down , holding his cheek with one hand. The travelers were saying , it is old rivalry