A Beautiful Tradition

Heard about a beautiful tradition practiced by many tharavaads (traditional homes) in the Kerala of a bygone era. The elderly lady of the house would ensure after dinner each night, that one of the younger women go near the gate & look around for anybody who may be in need of a meal.

She would then loudly call out in Malayalam : “Athazha pattinikar indo?” (“Are there any hungry people out there?”)

She would say this once or twice & in case there was someone hungry, they would be given food.

The family which practiced this would be known in the area so there would also be the regulars waiting for a meal.

It was only after this, that the gates would be closed for the night.

What a lovely tradition.


Stop this plague called rape

I’m greatly distressed just as several other right thinking citizens across this country are, as I read & hear of the growing incidents of children being raped & sexually molested across India.

I hope & pray this deadly plague of rape which destroys millions of children around the world will come to an end.

I hope the people who indulge in this perversion understand how utterly wrong, debased & filthy it is. Raping children is nothing short of demonic and is a terrible abomination.

I hope these people understand  the implications of their barbaric acts on the innocents who are traumatized & scarred for life – physically, mentally & emotionally.

I hope & pray this plague will end. Soon.

Wrote the poem below after recently hearing about another innocent child who was raped & her happy life forever altered…

 For no fault of mine

Loved & happy
Free as a butterfly
That’s who I am.


I am a little girl
My family loves me
That’s my greatest strength.


I go to school to learn & play
It’s a new world out there
That’s what I love to do.


I made many friends
We laugh and we play
That’s how I grow.


The teacher uncle I trusted
Tells me he cares
He holds me & does things
That’s when I know its wrong.


He rapes me.
A word I didn’t even know
And my happy childhood he brings to an end.


A butterfly I was
That was then
Now I lie sad & wounded on the ground.

Taj The Beautiful

A beautiful poem by my niece Eden.

Taj The Beautiful

A gem in white
A gift of love,
It sits amidst clouds of fog.

One will stare, in awe,
Marveled by its beauty
Fascinated by the intricate patterns that are engraved in the precious stone.

A ray of light will appear from behind
As the orange morning star emerges
It sheds light on the truth,
The reason this artistry exists,
Making her death, seem the most beautiful part of life.
Making their love seem immortal,
Which it is.

The tomb, is a symbol of passion,
The structure’s excellence, powerful enough hold it, through anything,
But not as strong as the passion that created it.

So it stands,
Protected by the everlasting devotion,
It is the Taj Mahal.