Brass & Bronze Days...

When my mom gave away all her bronze and brass utensils that were adorned with traditional state-of-art craftsmanship and had endowed our generation till-date with a consummate feel-of-belonging to the rich and popular dynasty that roots back to the most renowned “Appaji” of the Krishna Deva Raya’s era, I was mostly unfeeling and insensitive to these things that were getting out of our generation, which had been for so long (that no one can easily track-back) dwelling with us, constantly reminding us of our ancestral origin and also making us get accustomed to clean these heavy utensils every week with a sparkling “pink and yellow” to pass the spick and span test conducted by the elderly lady(s) of the family. This would usually be mothers or the in-laws.

When I was young, it used to be fun on every Thursday evening as mom would be busy cleaning all these utensils and would pay less attention to me and my brother, the kids.
She used to slog herself or with the maid to give the best shot to get these vessels to glittering brightness.

During those days, after playing for a longtime with my street friends and enjoying the bonus hours of a Thursday evening when I went to our backyard for freshening-up, I used to see the array of these bronze and brass utensils cleaned to perfection, shining to glare my eyes at twilight, arranged neatly one after the other size-wise kept upside down to dry out the wetness. I vividly remember cursing those vessels to have remained more dirty so that it took more time for my mom to invigilate the cleaning process or do it herself, which would in-turn give me more time at play!

Every festivity was an opportunity that awaited the finest exhibit of these vessels to the best of their utilization with the beholding contents of food cooked deliciously and offered to god before human consumption. This caught the attention of the neighborhood families in the street easily and middle-aged women who were daughters-in-law of joint families or mothers of 2-3 kids like my mom used to stream in to our home to calculate the worth of the bronze/brass utensils and their beauty and take-in the picture-perfect glow of these vessels with a shade of jealousy, that usually ended up in muttering “Why use all these vessels when there’s glass and stainless steel that the world is reaching out for!?” … mind you this was nearly 20 years ago!

An indignant grandmother of mine, used to retort with skilled tyranny “if you cannot stretch yourself to manage precious little possessions such as these, don’t you dare discourage my daughter-in-law who does it with whole-heartedness!”

That saved my mom’s time for one thing that those ladies always kept quiet for the rest of the times they visited my home for the Navrathri Doll Festival or Varalakshmi Vratham days!

Navarathri days used to be utmost fun with the dolls of plaster of paris, ceramic, good-old-mud and wooden dolls artistically dressed in glad rags and trinkets festooned with glitter papers and other eye-catching substances to enhance the beauty of these hand-worked dolls echeloned in a vast gallery with mounds of cereals and grains arranged in front of them in those cute-looking miniature cups and bowls made of brass and bronze, what an ecstasy and a delight to the eyes those were……

From the place of birth, we had been traveling although not too much to keep the things we possessed very light, but at least to an extent that we had to forcefully dispose off the stuff that weren’t of any use to my mom with her graying her and menopause knee-pains reminding her of her aging process, she finally had to brace herself for this decision of giving away all that she had been possessing for more than 35 years now.

All that glittered and glowed in our home when I was a kid, taking advantage of all of those to play, to boast, to fool-around….. is all gone now!

Nothing that’s bronze or brass except for a small lamp and a tumbler are left of the huge range of collectives and possessions that were passed on to the later generations from long, long ago by my great, great grandfathers!

“Sorry, Ma… I couldn’t even give a proper valedictory speech to honor our buddies when they left us”…I thought when my mom asked me to clean the lamp and the tumbler placing a small knoll of tamarind, for the month of Shravan is round the corner.

Soul Searching!

On a fresh Saturday morning in July 2007, I paid a visit to TTD Balaji temple at T.Nagar - Venkat Narayana Road, Chennai. I simply love the ambience and serenity of that place and the peace of mind and mental tranquil that I derive out of it every time I go there. With the impending load of work looming large in front of me in the coming days, that place was the only pressure-free-zone where in I could exercise my transcendental patience practice which was dancing on the edge of getting obsolete in me. Although I wasn’t a super-observer of patience and its assorted comrades like tolerance, persistence, lenience, forbearance and staying restraint, I wasn’t way too out of control with my anger too. Well I at least never used to shout at people with lack of discipline and manners - as often as I did these days.

It makes me feel like these people are strict followers of profanity and I am the one against this loathsome sacrilege. Displeased with my mental disability of temper-watch, unable to put-up with my disintegrating graciousness (although, its so only with the wrong-doers) and in a bit of soul searching with in and inside me alone, with the hope of trudging on with even a small fragment of the desolated equanimity that would lead me to be a bit poised, if not for anything miraculous.

Thwarted was I when I went this time to the shrines' rafting away all those alms-mongers, cursing-under-the-breath-tulsi-garland vendors, repeatedly yelling archana basket vendors, ear-jarring horns of the traffic, unbearably loud clamor of a bunch of fellas who are fighting over each other to take care of your shoes while you are inside the holy place. More maniacal hue & cry of the junta that has come to see the god and in desperate measure to make it as quicker and in a shorter way as they can by cutting across the Q-lines and being yelled by the throng that’s been tending to move so very lazily and haphazardly giving no room for movement in the Q-line that had formed literally two streets away from where the almighty stood all graceful and charming at his devotees. The congregation that had assembled in that early hours of a Saturday morning made me ponder how many others apart from me, were probably in a much worse state, perhaps possessing the most uncommon turmoil in their life, was there to seek consecration from the deity.

Something suddenly changed in my whole being. I felt a rush of fresh blood flowing through all my veins starting from the brains. I decided not to seek for anything this time around from God except this sanity that he has gifted me with. Determined, I kept my cool and moved forward slowly with the crowd, missing out totally, but with full-heartedness of my usual set of prayers, seeking for happiness, seeking for promotion, seeking for wealth and health, seeking for peace of mind at home and work. I wasn’t feeling guilty for my act. I was rather happy and contended, for the first time in my life, for I had asked the god for nothing, absolutely N.O.T.H.I.N.G at all.

After taking the holy prasadh, I prostrated in front of the powerful omnipotent lord seeking for not anything for I was a nonentity in the vast plate of petitioners that God had to attend to and get busy with.

With a revolting surge of new found happiness and fulfillment slowly overruling my rather inordinate demands of a naïve mind I unlocked my legs from the prostrated from in front of the God and landed myself to a sitting position.

There was girl in green salwar sitting next to me. She looked too disturbed and was persistently uttering Stotras with her eyes closed. I watched her as my heart voluntarily sought god’s help to resolve whatever that lady’s problem was. As I unfolded my palms in front of me and opened my eyes after praying for this unknown lady who was sitting next me, I craned my neck to see that she was no more there. But in her place was a Titan watch that belonged to her. Instantly I picked it up, pushed away the crowd that were standing in front of me to leave the temple, yelling out “excuse me” as loud as I can and leaving a bit of the crowd flummoxed in the process.
Finally, I found her near one of those shoe-guarding guys and tapped her on her shoulder as I was breathing hard with the fresh-sprinting I had done and extending her the watch with a euphoric smile on my face.

“Thanks a lot; it’s my lucky watch and my only priced-possession presented by my dad, who’s no more” said she.

Tears trickled down her cheeks leaving me completely bolted to the ground for few seconds and then I gathered myself consoled her and wished her good luck in all her endeavors and left my card with her incase she needed any help.

I stood there watching her gait and her mouth continuing to mumble:

“Vina Venkatesam na natho na nathah Sada Venkatesam smarami smarami,
Hare! Venkatesa! prasida prasida Priyam Venkatesa! prayaccha prayaccha.”

When I walked away, I whispered to myself, “Lord, I solicit nothing to be bequeathed!”

The Sign

She was sweating profusely. The sweat beads had formed a peculiar design like a row of tiny & minuscule due drops filled on the grass during early winter mornings, on her upper lip, on her long sharp nose, on her forehead a little below where the hairline begins and around her eyebrows. She was breathing heavily. Her nervousness was pretty obvious with her quivering voice and trembling hands. She was totally shaken. This was not what she wanted to do. No! Never, Ever!

Slowly, she bent down to feel her stomach with a wave of her right palm and felt the butterflies inside. There wasn’t a total denial from her side. She had resigned to what fate had to offer her for the kindness personified that she always is. She tilted her head sideward to see him watching her; who was in a better state than her. For a split second, a fleeting moronic thought rose in her mind; of jumping off the window sill of the 9th floor that they were in. She felt dying would be a better choice than to make up a mind over a decision to be made which was as grave as this. But she couldn’t muster the much needed guts to do that even.

The damage was done already. No use lamenting about it. Any discussion or debate over spilt milk is not gonna gain her (or him for that matter) a penny.

He decided his home would be the best place to bring her in; as his parents were away for a while. He was very confident about persuading her into it once again. For he knew how kind-hearted and sweet she is; although she might get agitated and worked up in the beginning.

He moved a little closer to her on the couch at his living room and held her left hand. Slowly stroking her upper palm, he told her that it was all going to be okay soon and she need not have to really worry so much about it, these days this isn’t a big deal at all. He braced her up stating that it would be over once for all, if she agreed to do what’s being instructed to her and that he would really be grateful if she did it for him just once – this one last time.

Still unconvinced she looked up at him with a pool of confusion blinding her eyes and a cluster of wrinkles conquering her forehead. Inside her, frame by frame, images kept flashing by of the mistake that she committed of getting closer to him, of her not wanting to be a part of it, of how he deliberately dragged her into it, of how scared and agitated she was if her parents ever came to know about it…. All for trying to be nice to her only best friend, which was him.

She never really wanted to hurt him and that was the sole reason why she had to end up being party to it.



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As always, that morning Beulah rode her bicycle to school at 7.45am. On the way, she met Paul who was on his bicycle to the same school that she studied in. Paul is a very talkative boy and would do anything to keep good company of people around him who would joke, tease and love to have too much fun, all in good spirits and healthy attitude.

Paul always had a liking for Beulah as they both grew up together since their childhood as neighbors’ at Mussoorie until they were 12 and then Beulah’s dad got a transfer to South India and they had lost touch for about 3 years. When Paul saw Beulah join him in the same class as he studied, he was pretty much surprised and it was a dream come true for him for he never wanted to part with Beulah or her friendship.

But the three years after Paul had left; Beulah had grown up to be a gorgeous, beautiful, charming and a stunning girl in her early teens looking extremely attractive for her age. But she had turned out to be very quiet and more of an introvert sort, which was a striking difference from what Paul, had known her to be three years ago, as an argumentative person who was busy with her mouth full of words and a renowned chatter-box kind of girl in their avenue. Paul did like this flavor of Beulah as well. He rather liked her this way much better than her older self, especially because this saved him a lot of energy in the form of refutations that he always had to come-up with, every time Beulah started out with a new argument!

Paul’s teenage considered, getting closer to Beulah as a potential challenge and an issue of cachet and esteem for a boy of his age among his friends for he had uncontrollably spat out all about his childhood friendship with Beulah the Beautiful (BB - as she was fondly called in her class) and her family and so he was decided to go for it at any cost.



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Beulah didn’t want to be late to school. But Paul had stopped her on her way. Pleaded her, begged her to come with him to his home to do some catching up for the lost 3 years. Beulah refused vehemently. After a lot of coaxing from Paul, at which he was very skillful, Beulah had to agree to go with him.

At his home Paul offered her sweets, cakes, sandwiches and confectionaries for munching on while they got busy in the talk and Beulah slowly opened up talking about the three years when Paul wasn’t around.

Slowly the rapport that was lost between the two returned to the best of forms leaving the two totally more curious to know more about the other person.

When time was not failing in its duty; they both were yapping away to glory.

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She kneeled down on the floor with both her palms folded together in front of her chest she prayed to God. She confessed everything to god and sought forgiveness from the almighty. This was getting him restless for she was delaying the time more and more instead of just getting it over and done with. But he didn’t have the nerve to disturb her prayer either. So he kept pacing up and down biting his nails very hard.

After praying she slowly opened her eyes. There was a bit of calm and peace in the once confusion squirming eyes of hers. Decidedly she got up and walked up to him who was now at the verge of tears.

With out a word Beulah took the card from his bag and signed as “Mark Stevenson” on the “Parent’s Signature” column above which stood the single digit marks of Mr. Paul Stevenson in all 7 subjects of the recently held Quarterly Examinations for the (Second Year’s) Higher Secondary Education underlined brightly with red sketch and evidently filled with scornful remarks in the “Teacher’s Comments” section by his class-teacher.

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