Edgar Allan Poe,

Your stories are full of woe. 

When I read your books,

I am on tenterhooks,

Whether to read you,

Or bid your stories adieu!!

Oh Poe, you are full of woe,

That if the walls could read

They would then understand the need, 

Why we want to be freed from this melancholy! 

Edgar Allan Poe wish you could

inject some humour into your stories and poetry, 

Instead of being macabre and morose 

Chin up! And in heaven where you reside, 

Write merry stories! 

Bhavani Ram 

13/11/22

The Random meanderings of an ordinary soul.

As  I sit on my rickety chair in the balcony, watching  the cool morning pave way its to a sunny bright day,the breeze wafting gently and bringing in the essence of the dewy earth and the rustling of the trees reminding you of anklets on a maiden's feet,gently clinking a sensual rhythm. Far away, the clinking of the temple bells and the discourses takes you to the road of spirituality. How beautiful it is, when these three essences of life blend together to satisfy your restless mind. The subtleness is pronounced,the mind is integrating each bhaava into one. Each element powerful in its own, blending to bring about a semblance  of spirituality and tranquility. 
The cooing of the Koel along with the raucous cawing of the crow is again a  blend of the soft and the harsh,but oh ! so beautiful in being what they are,devoid of  any ego? Both species from the same fraternity yet what remarkable differences in  their voices. One soothes your restless mind, the other drives away your mental lethargy. Each and every creation of God is  his way of letting his presence known,felt. Spirituality in every waking hour through these wonderful creations.

Digressing from the philosophies and spirituality of life, I bring you readers back to stark reality.
We came to our new apartment ( the apartment that abodes the balcony with a rickety chair) in the year 2013 on December the 30th, a rainy, dismal weather and to top it faulty bathrooms at home was like an icing on the cake. We were trying to walk in between the cartons plonked by the overly insensitive packers and movers,couldn't, so had to literally hop,skip and jump around or over them. The thought of Olympics came into mind, ahhhh!! yeah the Obstacle race.. okay, I guess I am digressing, one of   my favourite hobbies of all the unwanted hobbies I have in plenty,like procrastinating and uummmm,digressing yet again.  We were so caught up with our woes and miseries that we failed to appreciate the beauty around us, the  chirping of the birds with their melodious cooing and trilling,cool breeze rendered by the trees surrounding the apartment. Sometimes we don't appreciate these essences of life and plod on with our misery which overpowers the beauty of small pleasures around us or simple.. within us. Well having passed the philosophy of life,I get your mind back to where I had left.

Off late our house has been the recipient  of frequent visitors who come on and off to grab some tidbits provided by us. Three to four squirrels,few pesky pigeons constitute the dining area in the balcony. I love the way these squirrels bob up and down our balcony and nibble at the food kept there . Initially it used to be few squirrels who used to feast and fight among themselves for their rightful portion but slowly the pigeons joined them and I term them uninvited guests with terrible table manners( free pooping session included ugh!!)
They were extremely aggressive when the squirrels ventured near the food. One time a very bold squirrel ,braving the pesky birds ,aggressive behaviour fought for its rights ,succeeded in driving it away and enjoyed a  good repast. 
We look forward to their visits with eager anticipation. These beauties enjoy hot steamy rice,Adais ( dal Dosas),crispy dosais and papads. If you keep cold rice, they would come,sniff and scamper  away with great show of disdain,yet the dining area is clean of any remnants of food,because the shameless pigeons peck away, confident of not having any competition from the bushy tailed four legged species .

This very same balcony also abodes a mish mash of pots  of various colours and sizes. Each pot has something sprouting or none at all,yet I a loyal gardener water them regularly and speak to the non existent life to start breathing and grow,futile efforts I agree. Two pots,two kinds of seeds,planted 20 days ago,showing no sign of life,inspite of me giving them so much love,really I tell you...still no sign of life. Well that's how life is too..something grows ,something doesn't, yet we all live in that hope that all will be well and something springs up ,something good..

The Thing called fear!!

THE THING CALLED FEAR

It was a dark windy night. Shyna was hurrying back home from her coaching class. The road wore a deserted look and the street lights weren’t helping either and her home was a good twenty minutes walk.

“Damn” she muttered, “today of all days my bike had to let me down, and to top it my tutor was in her elements, “totally ruthless”. Darn!! Darn!!Darn!!

Suddenly she stopped. A noise? Did she just hear a noise? What was that? She wondered a bit nervous.  Footsteps? She was scared to turn around fearing of what may be lurking behind. She faltered for a second and then started walking faster, as fast her legs would allow.  The Footsteps too followed suit.  They impersonated her kind of walk. If she walked faster whoever it was did the same. If she slackened her speed it did the same. By now Shyna’s fear had escalated to a new dimension so much that she started experiencing breathlessness and dizziness. She stifled a sob and started running as fast as she could, knowing it was a futile effort. Whoever was chasing or following her seemed stronger and faster.

“Oh Hanuman, Oh Vigneshwara!! (by the way they are the names of our beloved gods) please, please help me!! I will break 10 nay, nay 20 coconuts at your respective temples if you get me out of this scrape I have landed myself into. Please help me Oh Rama.” Three gods, three temples, not to forget 60 coconuts.

Well the humour having slowly faded out in to the oblivion, we turn our attention back to our hapless heroine Shyna and the mean ole thing that was chasing her.

20 minutes must have lapsed already by now i guess but how can it till we get to the end of this thoroughly scary situation. Now Shyna mustered up all her energy and doubled her speed. They say fear instils a kind of energy which never surfaces during our normal course of day to day life. So she ran. And so did the mean thing..

“Help! Help! , somebody, anybody please help!”

No one heard her pleas. She didn’t stop running, knowing in 5 minutes she would be home. Home.  How wonderful it sounded to her ears, HOME!!

“Let me reach home soon oh lord!!” Her lungs were on fire. She would’ve expelled fire but, she wasn’t a dragon was she??

Suddenly she heard a yelp. A yelp? She stopped and her supersonic ears heard the faint sound again. What in the dickens was that?

She turned slowly. There in front of her was a..... And she screamed

The rest is left to your imagination.

What was it she saw??

Rasam Escapade.

Rasam.... the very word brings such lovely memories, the hot peppery taste with a blend of tomatoes and lentils, garnished with fresh curry  and coriander leaves , tempered with mustard and asafoetida in clarified butter. The heady smell of asafoetida adds to the flavour of the rasam.

I remember the first time I prepared this dish with disastrous results. 21 years ago, Year 1995, Age 20, newly married, an ordinary cook. My spouse a typical Iyer “Mama” who loved his sambar, rasam and rice....now what? The story begins from here my friends. New kitchen, I thought of making simple dal, chawal, roti, sabzi... “Can you make Rasam?” asked Ram...whoa what? Rasam? How? Why? I simply stood rooted to the ground and looked absolutely blank, Rasam? How do I make it? I managed to nod my head and walked back to the kitchen, shelving the romantic thoughts of Dal, Chawal, roti and sabzi. I had a hazy memory of my mother making this dish with Sambar powder, but my mom in law made it rather differently. Her Rasam had a reddish tinge with succulent tomatoes floating in it, tempered with asafoetida and mustard seeds... How to get that red colour? I took out few Red chillies (20), a tablespoon of pepper corns and some cumin, roasted them and ground them well and good...out came the vessel, cut two juicy tomatoes added tamarind water and set upon making the dish. The dish looked fiery and had a pungent smell, which wasn’t there when my mom- in- law prepared it. Shrugging away that niggling doubt, I proudly presented the dish to my husband who looked at it rather dubiously. “What’s this?” he asked. Rasam I replied.

“Doesn’t look like it”.

“I made it just the way your mom makes it Ram”. Not wanting to disappoint me he took two ladles of Rasam and mixed it with rice, had a mouthful and froze.

His face turned red, saw his ears turning a deeper shade of red...wow !!he looked like a red goblin and his eyes  literally popped out of their sockets...sum of all disasters = RED RASAM.... he rushed to the washroom. I was absolutely petrified and stood there wringing my hands and crying at the same time, unable to do anything. When he could speak, his first question was “what in the heavens name was that?” “Rasam” I replied.

“It was more like a liquid time bomb” he said. I was awfully shaken after that disastrous adventure, but I didn’t give up hope. Gradually under the guidance of my mother in law I excelled in making this dish.

Like the saying goes “where there’s a will there’s a way” the same way each experience is learning and each failure is a stepping stone to success.