The Birhday Cake

"Its my birthday next week," said Ammu drawing up a stool next to Grandfather's chair.
"And how old will you be?" asked Grandfather looking at his favorite over the top of his glasses.
"Eleven," Ammu screwed up her nose "that is almost twelve,isn't it grandfather?"
"Eleven cannot be twelve, child" Grandfather smiled. "Don't be in a hurry to grow up. That will happen anyway." He added wistfully .
"I had a party last year when I was at Bangalore" Ammu reminisced, doodling on the arm of the reclining chair."I invited the entire class home. We had cake, ice cream, chips,lots of it."
Grandfather looked up sharply at the note of longing in Ammu's voice.
"What kind of cake?"he asked.
Ammu looked up her face all animated."Chocolate cake! And from Nilgiris. It had Happy Birthday Ammu on it in icing. Oh Grandfather! It was the best cake ever!!"
Grandfather looked at Ammus eyes shining with the memory of that wonderful party. His made up his mind.
"That's it Ammukutty," he said "You'll have your birthday cake this year as well."
"I will?" asked an ecstatic Ammu throwing herself on her grandfather hugging and kissing him."Oh,Grandfather, thank you, thank you!!" She ran singing to her cousin's room down the passage "Sudechi!I'm getting a birthday cake!!"

"And how do you propose to do it?" asked Grandmother when she brought in grandfather's tea. 
"I will ask Gopalan to get it for me. He knows where to get them, bakeries I mean. Ammu is missing the life she had in Bangalore."
"You cannot replicate it" said Grandmother."I like to celebrate it our way with payasam, and neiyyappam and a small archana at the temple. I will be doing that anyway cake or no cake."
"I want to do this for her." Grandfather had an obstinate note in his voice and Grandmother knew that wild horses could not drag him now from this project.
"You talk to Gopalan." she said collecting the tea things.

Gopalan came over that evening and Grandfather told him all about the cake.
"The birthday is only next week," said Gopalan standing respectfully near Grandfather's chair. "There's plenty of time. I'll get it from SLN Bakery the day before or even that very afternoon."
"Can't take a chance. " said grandfather "I want you to get the cake tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" asked Gopalan surprised. "Sir, do you think it will keep till next week?"
"Of course!" said Grandfather impatiently " Here's the money. Get a nice big chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday Ammu  from Grandfather and Grandmother with love' on it in icing."
Gopalan obediently wrote everything down and showed it to Grandfather who scanned the details and nodded his approval.

The cake arrived the next day. It was all that Ammu wanted and more, said Gopalan.
"We won't be opening it now" said Grandfather.

They all stood around the wonderful looking box from SLN Bakery.
"Sudechi! that's my birthday cake!" thrilled Ammu to her cousin who was a sophisticated eighteen studying in college.
Sudha was child enough to be excited at this unusual turn of affairs. "Grandma, where will we keep it? In the pantry?"
"I have a plan," said Grandfather "we will keep in the macrame pot holder in that passage adjacent to Sudha's room."
"Why there?" asked Ammu.
"It's well protected from drafts, that passage. cake won't spoil."

Grandmother's face was inscrutable." I'll get Ponni to do that." she said and quickly left the room.

'Oh! Grandfather!" cried Ammu "I'm so excited! I can't wait for my birthday to arrive! Can't wait for the cake!"
"If the rats don't get it before us." said Sudha laconically sashaying out to her favorite perch on the window seat with a book.
"Rats, Grandfather?" Ammu looked at him anxiously.
"Never mind Sudha, child. She is just teasing you." Grandfather smiled fondly at Ammu. "I'll look after your cake."
Ammu was relieved. Grandfather knows best she thought. "I'm going to call my friends from next door on my birthday. We'll have a party!" she talked to herself running to the wicket gate that separated her house from the neighbours.

Ammu and Sudha watched jealously over the cake, well ensconced in the macrame pot holder. It hung there in the middle of the passage and Sudha 's room was just across it. Grandfather came regularly every morning and night to check the box for signs of vandalism. No signs. So far so good.
On the eve of her birhday, Ammu got a huge parcel from her mother. All kinds of goodies came out of it. Books, clothes, trinkets, not just for Ammu. For Sudha as well. Sudha loved the silk skirt and rainbow colored bangles.
"You mother is very nice." she told Ammu. "She always gets me things."
Ammu smiled happily. Not a jealous bone in her body. There were hand knitted sweaters for Grandfather and Grandmother as well.
"Sudechi, tomorrow we'll eat the cake!" Ammu's eyes sparkled as she pranced around wearing a dress her mother sent.

The next day Ammu had to go to school as it was a working day. She could not concentrate. She saw "Chocolate Cake" everywhere.
She burst in to the house in the evening, and throwing her bag on her bed, she ran to her grandfather. There in the center of the octogonal table  sat the cake box .The plates were all neatly arranged. The knife resting near the box.
Grandfather was the expert in cutting anything. He made an art of it. He would do the same with the cake.
Sudha was back from the college and they all stood around the table.
"Grandmother, shall I call Radha and others from next door?"asked Ammu excitedly.
"Wait till the cake is cut,child" said Grandmother "Don't be in a hurry."
Nobody ever went against what Grandmother said.
The cake box was tied up with a string, and Grandfather untied it slowly and ceremoniously. They all waited with bated breath. Now comes the cake they thought.

The box opened and they were aghast at the mouldy mass that sat inside.
"My cake!" sobbed Ammu "Where's my cake?"
Sudha was in splits. "That's your cake Ammu, with all the mould growing out of it. It's spoilt! "
Ammu turned to Grandfather her eyes brimming with tears "You told me that it would not get spoilt! You told me you would look after it!"
Grandfather looked shamefaced.
"What a lot nonsense!" said Grandmother crisply. "Ammu stop crying like a baby. These things happen. It could have been the cake; could have been the bakery. And then, we've had  unusually humid weather this past ten days. That can definitely spoil anything."
Ammu stretched out her finger and traced the icing on the mouldy cake."Happy Birthday Ammu from Grandfather and Grandmother with love." it said.
She turned to Grandfather."Thanks Grandfather! "she said hugging him "You remembered the icing!"
"I am sorry it turned out this way" said Grandfather "I thought you missed your Bangalore birthday parties."
"Here children," said Grandmother "Come eat the neiyyappam and drink the payasam I made for the birthday." She set the plates and the little cups on the table.
"Ooh! my favorite!"said Ammu "I love neiyyappam. Don't you Sudechi?"
They sat round the table tucking into the food and the cake sat forlornly in the center.

Symbiosis

View from India: The Snake In The Backyard

by Parvathi

You never felt the blistering heat of North Indian summer when you were young. Playing in the shade of the huge, branching Mahua tree, the four children and dog were oblivious to everything except their mysterious game. Nina, the Alsatian, lay near them, tongue hanging out, a loving watchful eye on the group. Mahua flowers, heavy with scent, fell softly carpeting the grass. The villagers would be by later, to pick them. Their potent local brew was made from the Mahua flowers.

The four children were playing in the back yard, and behind them lay the big kitchen garden neatly divided into plots and carefully tended by Bahadur. He sat near the kitchen door, smiling inscrutably, watching the children play, enjoying his little break while Mrs. K. partook of her elevenses inside.

Suddenly Nina stood up growling, and stood protectively in front of the children. Bahadur stopped fanning himself, and stood up, a frown on his brow.

"Children, children, please go inside; Nina, inside, inside!!" Bahadur cried out loudly.

M. looked up. "We are staying here!" she said setting her mouth in an obstinate line. "Why are you disturbing us?"

"Why?" repeated little B. He always repeated what his sister said.

The other two did not raise their heads, still engrossed in their play. Nina growled louder and more threateningly, and gave a short, sharp bark looking at the four children.

"Uf,ohhh! Nina!" said M. "What is the matter with you?"

Nina barked again, and it seemed as if she was trying to draw their attention to something in the yard.

Bahadur was there picking up the toys. “Better you go inside now,” he said. “Play when the sun is down."

B. suddenly gave a cry and pointed at something near the garden wall. The children turned and looked. It was a snake. Long and gleaming stretched out against the wall.

"Snake!" screamed C., already half way to the house, "Mama, Mama!!" The rest hurtled after her. B. stood sucking his thumb, watching this sudden visitor, till Bahadur scooped him up. "Come Chota Babu, let's go inside."

B. had never seen a snake before in all his brief three years.

Nina stood her ground and growled making sure her brood was safely home.

"Mama, Mama! There's a snake in the kitchen garden!" C. shouted, hurtling into the living room where her mother looked up from her tea.

"Snake?" said Mrs. K. startled, spilling some of the hot liquid. "Where? Bahadur, where's this snake? What are you doing about it? The children play outside all the time. God, what do we do now?"

Mrs. K. was nervous and upset. "Where are the children?" she asked, placing her cup on the table.

"They ok Memsaab," said Bahadur. "They watch snake," he said smiling.

"What do you mean?" said Mrs. K. and rushed inside to find the children standing on the deep sill in the bedroom, looking at the snake through the window. Mrs. K. took up a position behind them. Yes, there it was, long, very long, and gleaming.

"I like its skin," said M. "Auntie, is it nice to touch?"

A look of horror crossed Mrs. K.'s face. "Touch?" she said. "You don't touch a snake! And don't you go about doing such things!"

"Nithe!" lisped B., still sucking on his thumb.

They heard footsteps at the door. "Daddy!" sang C. "My Daddy's home! My Daddy's home!" she danced around her father who picked her up and swung her around.

"Hello kids!” he said. "So what's happening?"

"Snake, uncle! There's a snake in the backyard !" said M. swinging her pigtails.

"If I'd known there were snakes around I would not have allowed the children to play outside," said Mrs. K.

Nina gave a volley of barks, putting in her little piece. She simply adored Mr. K. and he likewise.

"Hey Nina! Glad you were out there with them," said K. fondling Nina's neck. "Bahadur..."

Bahadur came to the door. "It’s alright, Sahib. It’s only that cobra that lives in the back yard."

Mrs. K. could not believe her ears! "Cobra that lives in the back yard!?” she said incredulously. “Well, I never! …and with children running around?"

"It’s like this," K. said, sitting down with the children and Nina all around him. "It’s been there for a long time. I forget how long. It dug itself, or found itself, a long tunnel that starts in our back yard and comes out after little B.'s house. Sometimes it comes out and just lies there enjoying itself. It’s very peaceful.

"I sit there and read in winters. I think he knows I will never harm him. They know, animals do, you know. They know who means to harm them and who does not. They only attack in self-defense. They do not plot to kill; nor do they kill for pleasure. That sort of behavior is only from us". He winked at them.

"We don't harm animals, uncle," they chorused.

"Good," he said. "This snake likes to live in peace, and he likes my backyard, so we live in symbiotic harmony." This was addressed to Mrs. K. who stood listening with a puzzled frown on her face. "Bahadur knows about the snake. That's why he watches out for you in the back yard."

The four turned to Bahadur. "You know all about the snake! You are not afraid?" They crowded closer to K. "Tell us about the snake, Bahadur; tell us about the snake!" and they got up and trailed behind him on his way to the kitchen.

"All right," K. and Mrs. K. heard him telling the foursome and dog. "Now all of you sit quiet and I will tell you the story of the snake in the kitchen garden."

K. smiled at his wife gently, "Don't worry. The snake has been here ever since I moved into the house. Some say he's been here ever since they can remember."

He parted the curtains and looked out into the backyard. The snake was still there, long and gleaming.


In fond memory of Kipling's "Rikki Tikki Tavi."

Wake Up Call

That was unexpected, the killing of Osama. In the sense, we were not aware of how hot the pursuit was. And it all supposedly took place without anyone knowing. That fact though is hard to believe. Either way, Pakistan is absolutely miserable about  its public image. America's favorite, not being told bout the operation taking place just miles from its capital? Or worse, did Pakistan trade Osama in for a deal with America for Afghanistan?

Strangely enough, Osama bin Laden did not anymore have what it takes to evoke any great emotion. In the ten years after September 11, Al Qaeda has morphed and metastasized into a movement where Osama is no longer central. It is an ideologue, a social movement say some, and that cannot be easily wiped out. Who knows maybe Osama hiding in Pakistan hated his miserable life. Whatever, the most suspicious thing about the whole operation was the repeated statement to the press about Osama's burial sea with Islamic rites. Burial at sea when he was killed inland? Islamic rites? Someone seems to have slipped up on their homework. Was it Osama that was killed at all? Or was it all staged to boost President Obama's sagging public image? He goes down in history as the man who avenged the carnage of 9/11. What about Osama's image as a martyr to the cause? What about the backlash for not giving him a proper inland Islamic burial? Who knows? Time will tell. My committment to politics is only from the armchair; I see only generalities.

But the Islamic faith is an unique one. For one it speaks of an abstract God. God, who is beauty, who is truth---no image to focus and pray. Islam also recognizes that all men and women are equal. The beginnings of Socialism here? I had this wonderful experience of staying with a Hyderabadi Muslim family, years back when I was in college. The men and women ate separately, sitting round a low table. What fascinated me was this:their house helps also ate with them. Something I had never seen anywhere else. These people were very rich upper class traders, but at the table all were one. I saw this again while watching a Bergman movie about 19th century Swedish middle/upper-middle class. Of course here the men and women were not segregated as in the Muslim household I visited. The segregation did not seem unnatural either, to me then. It has always stayed with me, this wonderful feeling of community that they gave forth.

This morning while walking on the beach I saw an ongoing beach party. A big group of young people were celebrating someone's birthday with cake and candles.They were busy cutting pieces of cake, feeding each other, drinking fizzy soda pops and all the rest of it. Standing on the fringe of it all and watching avidly were two beach urchins. The smaller one was asking his big brother questions: what are they eating, why the candle, how does a cake taste? A man stood watching the two kids. He had a prayer cap, and sported the traditional Muslim beard. He walked up to the group and indicated the two boys and said something to them. The young people cut up a couple of pieces and the man went up to the boys with the pieces of cake. The older one said he did not like cakes, but the younger one just grabbed and ate it, and looked ecstatic. The older one, then shamefacedly took the other piece. They thanked the man with the prayer cap. He said, "Allah is just, beautiful and true." and walked away. The beach urchins turned and went their way.

I never thought of  telling the group to share their cake with the two kids.

A Beginning And An End

Last week saw a beginning and an end. The beginning was the wedding of Kate and William, the current sweethearts of Britain, and the end was the death of Sathya Sai Baba, spiritual guru to millions around the world.

Both sparked endless chatter on the tube and on the virtual networks. My son told me in disgust "They are still showing the wedding on most of the channels !" and it is now two days after the event. Well, there are enough and more people who want to watch it! "Colonial hangover" you might call it, but no it is something much deeper than that. Sai Baba's funeral was watched live over the television, again, by millions who mourn his passing like they would their own kith and kin.It is time now to ask why, and let us then like the Red King  says  "Begin at the beginning."

Kate and William stand for romance and love both very elusive values in this increasingly rushed present life styles where only money really calls the shots. Anything that simply exists for the pure beauty of itself is quickly swept aside for gains, so there go love and romance unless they come with the grinning sidekicks of power and pelf. The royal sweethearts are dream symbols that "love will find a way," in the tradition of Diana who turned away from a cold, loveless marriage. Princess Katherine, Kate as the Brits are wont to call her in their very Anglo Saxon way, is a commoner and therefore the romantic angle gets another boost. Then of course there is the done to death pageantry of the House of Windsor. Rationalization seems to have slowly killed the joy of celebrations in the developed world. Not so in this part of the planet, we still have much to hope for and more to celebrate in hopes of better things to come, and therefore we are a celebratory people. Good for us. Every festival is a huge celebration of colors, smells, sound and taste. Religion is a living breathing tradition and God ceases to be an abstract entity but part of the medley of life: a young impish boy, a dutiful son and husband, a faithful and beautiful wife, a lovable glutton ...the list is endless. They all fit into the normal register of life, and therefore the transaction with God on a personal basis.

This is where Sathya Sai comes in. The tirade against him has been there for decades and it is mostly from the rationalists who seem to hate his guts for performing miracles. What's wrong with miracles? Does it only have a rhetorical value? Don't we all want miracles one way or the other? And also, if Sathya Sai had not performed miracles could he have manged to catch the attention of the masses? The miracles are NOT important inasmuch as the loaves of bread and the water to wine at Cana are not the pivot on which Christianity turns. People get curious, they come to scoff, see, and  as we saw, remained en masse to pray.When there is darkness at noon, you need faith that the sun will surely come out again, and that is the surety that Sai Baba gave millions around the world and they are the better for it. Better because there he was a living breathing, smiling, talking entity you could tell your troubles, and he had an answer. What is faith if it is not a psychological crutch? Why berate it? Look at the practical efficacy of confession among the RomanCatholics. It does good to go every week and confess everything to the good father in the confessional. The wonderful thing about it is that you don't see each other.Anonymity helps clear the air. So, you confess, and are pardoned , told to say a dozen Hail Marys and you come out having got it off your chest. Never has anything more practical been ever thought of. They knew, those crafty cardinals and popes the psychological angle of faith. Today the confessional has been replaced by the psychiatrist, but are there enough takers? Does it really help?
Do the rationalists bother to mention Sathya Sai's charity? What matters the most is that Sai Baba gave enormously back to society.

His epitaph would read:  "You receive but what you give."