The Tree that gave

Tree of Plenty

Its origin, nobody knew.A stray seed scattered by a stray crow fell on a house property. Unlike many scattered seeds which  for various reasons never make it, this one seed however took root. It grew  first into a plant and then a beautiful, bountiful mango tree, lush and green, giving luscious, delicious  fruit. In peak season, its branches were weighed down with golden mangoes. Tall and majestic, bringing forth endlessly and abundantly, year after year the choicest fruit, it was indeed the owner’s Pride and Neighbour’s Envy. “ Do you know?” the lady of the house would start while talking  to visitors and guests and then go on  to recount the story of how a stray seed had grown into a full-fledged Alphonso Mango tree. Everybody would then troop out to admire the mango tree, gape at its fruit- laden branches while the tree stood by graciously and loftily, basking in all the admiration. The tree needed no special care and yet gave abundant fruit. Year after  year, the mango plucker came with his stick and basket and brutally knocked down the exotic fruit, which was then ripened under the watchful eye of the lady of the house and packed in crates to be sent to near and dear ones in distant places. Did the mango tree feel sad? Did it  feel any pain? Nobody knew. Nobody cared. Everybody was interested only in its fruit which it gave  endlessly and countless year after year. The only truth which the tree knew was to bear fruit and give  to all those who asked and all those who sought. Then the son of the house married and the lady of the house brought her brand new daughter-in -law to the tree and proudly said, “ This mango tree is the pride and glory of our family”. The mango tree, waited by for some acknowledgement of its prowess but none came. Maybe the city-bred daughter-in-law  did not care about the mango tree or was too pre-occupied with other concerns. She merely looked at the tree and moved on.”Never mind”, said the tree to itself.” She has just come; she will learn to like me”.

Years passed and the tree was now almost forty years old.Other than watering,it was not given anyspecial care. Old it may have grown  but its fruit was abundant still.  As with any city, things including a regular gardener had become pretty expensive and the odd “gardener” who came along hardly bothered about the tree. But the tree stoically bore fruit, eaten and relished by the family. In the peak mango season,  the tangy smell of raw mango penetrated nostrils, bringing in its wake memories of spicy, succulent pickles and chutneys.    Human beings become old and the comely bride of yester-years  was now a matronly homemaker, with creased brows and furrowed forehead. But the tree never tired of bearing fruit  andwas forever green and always fresh. Then a strange thing happened. The bride of old, as if in a sudden burst of enlightenment, wrapped her arms around the tree and cried, “ Oh great tree, how green and fresh and generous are you. Oh! how I wish I had realised your importance when I was younger, clambered on your branches and plucked your fruit. But now, my arthiritis prevents me from enjoying nature’s simple pleasures”.

Tears streamed down the tree’s cheeks.Her bountiness had at last been acknowledged, at last she had won a place in the bride’s heart. her sacrifice had not been in vain.

Let us turn a new leaf in our lives-like the tree,let us give without asking and without end.Let us return manifold both to nature and society. Like the tree, we have to recharge both society and ecology to serve posterity.

The Calendar goes On for Ever

The New Year has  been ushered in with the usual frolic and fanfare, albeit celebrations this time have bee a little low-key, what with  economic and other problems attacking from all sides. Nevertheless greetings have been exchanged among friends and relatives most probably in the most prevalent technological form of communication - the e- mail.

That technological wonder, the computer has taken over human lives, regulating our daily routine and tasks  totally and completely. Gone are the days when  people made telephone calls to exchange New Year Greetings. Old fashioned they may be  but definitely those greeting cards containing pictures of lighted candles, changing seasons, landscapes, a decorative Santa Claus or Christmas tree are getting to be increasingly scarce. Along with Greeting Cards, another New Year accessory-  the calendar and the diary are also not very visible  these days. My father was and is still an avid collector of calendars and diaries The gift of a calendar or diary makes his day; he is pleased like a child with a box of chocolates. There is something very endearing in the manner in which senior citizens do the rounds of shops and departmental stores at the turn of the New Year to collect a calendar or diary.

However there is probably nobody like inimitable Gayatri Patti, my grand mother who was obsessed with collecting calendars. Gods and Goddesses big and small descended from past pages of history into her Puja room to perch on the walls as mute witnesses of the present,  All the gods of the Hindu pantheon- Devi and Saraswathi, Balaji and Shiva, Rama and Krishna, Hanuman and Garuda in their various avatars  colourfully bestowed their benevolent gazes on those who entered the Pooja room. Patti’s favourite pastime was to snip out these pictures from old calendars and paste them on cardboard squares with devout piety. The jeweller, the grocer, the neighbourhood departmental store were solicited in turn by Patti for the annual calendar Not only this, she would also send out requests for the "Daily Sheet calendar", where you daily tore off a sheet bearing the day and date. This  also served as the almanac for the faithful. But Patti’s favourite was the  Sridharan Finance calendar, which she liked for its bold, clear markings and glossy sheets

Now Sridharan Finance was a popular Lease Finance Company in the South whose annual calendar was even more popular. In fact , procuring the annual Sridharan Finance calendar was an activity that most TamBrams looked forward to very eagerly. Sridharan Finance had the practice of distributing coupons to its deposit holders which were to be exchanged for calendars issued from their branch offices. Patti’s son Venkataraman advised Patti to open a fixed deposit with Sridharan Finance and Patti promptly agreed.  Usually she had her own views on how to invest her money. But as, Patti’s daughter in law Meena remarked,”  Like a carrot dangled before a horse, it’s probably the thought of a  calendar that has tempted Patti”. Meena was probably right - it was not the return on her investment but the calendar which attracted Patti. “ No more will I have to ask  my daughters Sathya or Usha for Sridharan Finance’s calendar”, reflected Patti. “I will own one in my own right”.

Patti’s FD receipt arrived in due course along with a coupon for the annual calendar.  There was a slight hitch, however. The instruction on the coupon was that the calendar had to be collected from Sridharan Finance’s branch office in Trichy. Patti however lived in a nearby town Thanjavur where Sridharan Finance did not have an office.  “Don’t worry”, Venkataraman said in a comforting tone. “  I will ask Bhama (incidentally Bhama was his daughter) to collect  the calendar for you Just give me that coupon”. “ Be careful”’ warned Patti. “ Send it immediately to Bhama otherwise you will misplace it”. A couple of days later, the nagging started. “Did you send the coupon?”, Patti would ask petulantly. “Of course, what else did you think I would do with it?”, Venkataraman would reply impatiently. “Then why is Bhama taking so long?” “ Amma, Bhama has so many things to do than to rush off to some office in the outskirts of the town to get a stupid calendar. She will get it for you in due course”

The matter would not end there. After  a few days, Patti would come up with, “ Call Bhama on the phone and remind her about the calendar She is very forgetful”. “ Okay, okay Amma , I’ll ask her when I call her next”. “ No, call her right away. i would not depend on you and your daughter for all these things had I been younger. My hearing is not too good, otherwise I myself would have spoken to her on the phone”. Patti would fume. Venkataraman would not reply and Patti would depart in a huff.

A few days later, the volleying would start again. “ The calendar has not come yet. I’m beginning to wonder whether you have sent the coupon at all in the first place. Perhaps I should myself go over to Trichy to collect it ”, Patti would say. Venkataraman would carry on as if he had not heard anything. Then one day, Patti announced, “ Venkataraman, I am going to Trichy tomorrow with Manickam, our farm manager”  “ Amma, are you out of your mind? You are eighty five and are you going to gallivant around town for the sake of some stupid calendar”, Venkataraman exploded.  Patti was not put down however, "Venkataraman, enough is enough. I have been very patient right through. I have to act now or never. Arrange for a taxi to take me to Trichy. I will first visit the Uchhi Pillaiyar temple and break a coconut to seek Ganesha's blessings and then proceed to Sridharan Finance's office to collect the calendar”. Venkataraman’s jaw dropped. He was too dazed by the speed with which Patti moved that he could do nothing but comply with her instructions.

The next morning,Patti left for Trichy. She visited the Ucchi Pillayar temple and enjoyed a New Year feast at granddaughter Bhama’s place, complete with payasam and vadai. “ Aha “ thought Patti, “Bhama has taken good care of me. Now remains the difficult part of my project - getting the calendar”.

Patti arrived at Sridharan Finance's office without much of a problem. The Receptionist appeared surprised to see a regally dressed octogenarian walk in and politely enquired, “Madam, Can I help you?” “I am coming from Thanjavur for the calendar”, Patti announced quite bold and plain, The perplexed receptionist came back with the Branch Manager, who probably had been apprised of the situation.  “ Namaskaram Maami”, the manager gushed. “ An elderly customer like you should not have taken so much trouble. A word from you and the calendar would have been delivered at your doorstep.” With that he handed Patti a calendar. Patti returned to Thanjavur triumphantly.

 

 A few days later, Patti received a letter from the Head Office of Sridharan Finance based in Chennai. It mentioned that the Company was compiling a profile of its committed and loyal customers and that the Trichy office had  recommended her name to be included in the list.  The trouble she had taken to procure their calendar indicated the high esteem in which she held their company.  The Management of Sridharan Finance was pleased and honoured by her sentiments. They had decided that Patti would directly be sent a calendar every year. The letter concluded with a request that  a good colour photo of hers be sent to their office.

Venkataraman sent  a photo of Patti to the company. The next year , the calendar arrived promptly. Lo and behold, the first page carried a full-blown, lifelike glossy  photo of Patti because the calendar theme that year was, “ Our  loyal customers” Below was the caption, 

 

Ready and steady in her trust,

For New Years may come and New Years may go

But Gayatri Ammal and our calendar go on for ever.

 


Glossary

• Patti-Tamil word meaning grandmother.
• Uchi Pillayar- a temple for the deity Ganesh.
• Amma-Tamil word for mother.  
•  Maami-Respectfully address in Tamil for  an elderly lady. 
• Payasam-Apudding like Kheer.
• Vadai-fried savoury.  

Bangalorean on the Road

Life is not a Walk in the park

Coles Road and Mosque Road are fast emerging as the Commercial street of our peta. From Dominoes to Empire Restaurant,from Reebok and Adidas to Bata , national and international brands of retail super-markets, cosmetics, watches, garments, et al  have found their way to this hip and happening commercial space of our part of bangalore.

Old houses and bungalows are coming down faster than the blinking of an eyelid, giving way to glitzy, sleek complexes. I don’t own a vehicle and I pass through Coles Road almost every day. Second guessing who is going to open shop where has almost become some sort of mental game for me. What should actually be a pleasureable walking experience is far from the reality. As child, we used to play a game called, “On the bank, In the Water” , where you had to alternately jump from a raised area on to a lower level even as someone called out by turn “ On the bank, In the Water”. Whoever did not react fast to the commands was declared out. This was a noisy, boisterous game where the caller would sometimes repeat the same command in order to trick the players who would be expecting only an alternating of the commands.

Coming to the present, navigating  Coles Road is something similar to “On the bank, In the Water” game.The only difference is you have to reckon with potholes and  gaping manholes, dirty streams of water, whose origin is as remote as that of Talacauvery; not to speak of the rows of two and four wheelers parked haphazardly and hazardously ( only to the pedestrian). Every time, a new complex comes up, the foot path  running in front of the building is swallowed up to serve in its  new avatar as the parking lot of the spanking new complex. As you turn the Petrol Pump bend into Coles Road, stone slabs of the foot path jut out at awkward angles to rise and fall precipitously,giving you the feel of trekking up a hill. Just as you think that your troubles are almost over, you  almost walk into a tree right outside The Canara Bank! Miraculously the pavement has disappeared much like mythological rivers and streams and you find that there is no space for you to go around the tree ( because the pavement is cluttered with parked vehicles almost cartwheeling and balancing on the next  one). So you have to do a High Jump and land into the middle of Coles Road only to come up against a monstrouc BMTC bus, so cloce to you that you are terrified that it is going to mow you down. You close your eyes and wait for the inevitable. But lo and behold! you open your eyes and find that you are still alive! Nothing short of a miracle but the monster has spared you to be on its way merrily to hunt down some other hapless pedestrien like you. You can give yourself a pat; you have walked on Coles Road(there are many such roads in Namma Bangalore) and you have remained alive. 

Just as you are breathing a sigh of relief, You turn around to hear another bus- driver swearing at you. Time to do another High Jump; this time out of Coles Road!a 

The Light Of a Candle

Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, And the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.- The Buddha.

She  did not recognize my friend as she opened the door but she had a benign expression  that comes so easily to  the old even as she let us in. “Hello Marian”, said my friend Sushila. “ We came over to see you and your brother, whom you said was not well when we last met. I hope you remember me”. Sushila and I were  paying a visit  to Marian  and her brother, who were inmates of a Senior Citizens’ Home in the neighbourhood.  Both were single, with no families to look after them. Despite Sushila’s  introduction, Marian still had a perplexed, almost dazed look. For all Sushila’s prodding, Marian could not recall her meeting with Sushila  but it obviously did not matter. She  was overcome by the fact that  somebody had remembered her enough to come over to meet her.  With a disconcerted look on her face, she said, “You are Sushila, you say.  For a moment, I thought you were Rupa, you look so much like her”. She was totally disconcerted, a natural response when one has been living a lonely life for a long time and unexpected visitors spring unexpectedly.  

“ How’s your brother”, asked Sushila as she handed over the fruits that we had taken for them.” That’s him”, and she pointed out to a man, with a shock of white hair sitting on a cot further into the room, watching TV with an indifferent, almost blank look. It struck me suddenly with great force that  perhaps nobody had visited them in a very long time  and loneliness was an integral part of their lives. Marian went on gushing, “ You shouldn’t have brought so much. We really can’t eat so much, anyway I can  go out to do my shopping”.Her exuberance almost embarrassed me  as I also realized that nobody  perhaps visited them and brought them gifts for quite some time. Marian’s brother Donald still continued to watch TV indifferently, with his back to us, as Marian continued to chatter,. “ It’s hot. Let me switch on the fan”, and she switched on a rickety pedestal fan. “  My nephew Roy gave us this fan. He would visit us occasionally but now he is dead and gone. Wait a minute, I’ll show you his photo” and she delved into a  purse to produce a photo of an young  smiling man,   with a smug, content expression. Marian continued to sing Roy’s praises.”He was a good boy, Roy was but lost his job because of an injury in the leg”. Suddenly Donald, piped up with a, “ He was sacked because he drank” which made Marian look indignant. Changing the  topic, she said, “ I must offer you  something. Let me see....... I think I have some chocolates. And don’t say no, you must have some”, and she thrust some chocolates into our unwilling hands. “Today”, she chirped, “ I’m going to make a chicken and cauliflower curry; Donald simply loves it. At least today he ‘s looking okay; so I suppose he should enjoy it. Sometimes he looks so ghastly that I think he’s going,” she concluded darting a nervous look at Donald still  engrossed in the TV. After some chit chatting on this and that and looked into family albums, with Marian excitedly pointing out a sibling or uncle, who was special to her in some way. “ Now, however they are all dead and gone, she would end with a morbid flourish. As she chattered on and on nervously,  a sense of sadness swept over me." How lonely she must have been to talk like this to strangers"!

I came away, weighed down by my thoughts. I had not done anybody a service or favour, yet the few moments that I had spent with two lonely people had made them so happy because  somewhere somebody had cared for them. The gifts were not expensive in the material sense, but the love and care that Sushila had shown while buying them  had reached across to them.Our society is full of Miriams and Donalds  who are not asking for pity and charity but love and acceptance and the freedom to live and die with dignity. As I walked, I asked myself as will others whether I had it in me to  do my bit for the old.

Let each one of us light a candle. The flame will spread by itself.  

 

Phenomenal Woman

PHENOMENAL WOMAN

Once upon a time there was a woman, a wonder woman.

 A phenomenal woman for

 SHE 

rose at the crack of dawn,

to draw a kolam,

bending at her hips, feet apart.

Splashing water on her face,

a hurried kumkumam on her brow,

coaxed reluctant twigs to kindle a fire

and boil water for  the family bath.

SHE 

dashed off to have a ritual bath,  

and juggle between filter coffee and finnicky husbands,  the maid and the milkman, an eclectic  menu to suit the  tastes of a grumpy family.

SHE

Whirred and whirled relentlessly,mechanically.

had time only for a  cold, coagulated sip of what was called coffee

made  steaming hot breakfast and lunch  to be packed into tiffin boxes 

carried off to distant schools and offices

where the husband  made a face and said, “ O! how cold is this food!”

where her children screwed their faces, “ It’s cold and boring!” and threw it away.

Nobody knew what passed her, nobody cared.

Back at home,

SHE 

swept and swabbed,

washed the family clothes over the washing stone,

shopped for staples and veggies,

rushed home for a quick meal

before starting the evening grind.

and then were the endless stream of guests to be hosted and feted.

Time tricked her, elusive and furtive like a thief.

Try as she did, she could not  control it .

SHE

had programmed herself and her chores to the last second.

Still had NO TIME 

to do the things she had always wanted to do.

to do the things that she liked and enjoyed

Her life was not her own.

She lived for others, who anyway said, “Oh! She has nothing to do all day!

She is just a housewife”.

Yeah, just a housewife.  

Today the Homemaker has ARRIVED.

SHE 

is a woman who knows her mind.

looks after her family

yet achieves her goals and climbs corporate ladders

is a Multitasker beyond measure.

is  equally at home turning out a pasta or a POWERPOINT presentation.

Livewire, both in the hearth and workplace

SHE 

is a cut above the rest.

has learnt the secret of managing time

has identified  and declared her priorities,

has the space and time to do the things

SHE 

had always wanted to do.

is at nobody’s beck and call. Her duty, she will do.  

Firebrand! Livewire!

SHE 

is the hand that rocks the cradle and rules the corporate world;

is the astute politician leading a fledgling nation by the front.

is the caring cook that tosses a salad and  the careful mother teaching a complex sum.

The home she tends, yet her dreams reach out to the stars,

spanning an astronaut’s step in the distant galaxy.

Storming bastions is child’s play to her,

yet one last one remains

that of a rigid, uncompromising, superior  social attitude;

differentiating and discriminating.

Woman of Substance, Superwoman, call her what you will.

Her spirit will conquer all

for is she not Shakthi, driving out  the demons of ignorance and blind social traditions?

Victory is the mantle she wears.

Jai Mata! Jai Shakthi!

     

A Birthday Feast

Festivities are never over

A Birthday Feast

Jilebis and Jamuns, Samosas and Semia-payaasam,

Custards and cakes, pastries and puddings,

Dosas and desserts, idlis and icecreams,

Fruits and fritters…. .        

Oucch-the table creaked and groaned

Colourful was the spread at Madame’s Birthday.

Even more was the crowd.

Diamonds sparkled, gems glittered in exquisitely embroidered sarees,

Hairdos bobbed, rings flashed even as manicured and nail-polished hands

Lifted delicately to take a dainty bite.

A little of this, a little of that- messy leftovers on the plates, as wilted samosa wedges languished in gooey ice-cream puddles. 

The door opens slightly; a timid head comes around as if on cue to bring in some water.

She drinks in the sight thirstily- her thirst will be quenched with a mere cup of watery tea.

After all, she’s only the maid in this massive mansion.

She puts a finger in her mouth –an imaginary, succulent bite of the delicacies.

Oh! Is that orange looking sweet what is called a jilebi that Janakraj was eating in yesterday’s Cable movie?

Oh! Is that melted, whitish thing called ice-cream?

A harsh voice cuts into her dream-“Get out! Haven’t you finished your work?

It was one big bash

Of the rich and famous,

Of the bold and the beautiful.

They partied hard for that was the only thing they knew.

 It was late when they left and later when Madame’s kitchen staff cleaned up.

“ Pack up the leftovers”, Madame ordered the Head Cook. “I’ll take them over tomorrow to the orphanage ”.

 Get going”, The head cook yelled at the little girl. “What are you gawking at? There’s so much work to do”.

Later, gushing speeches were made 

at a special Thanksgiving Ceremony  at the orphanage.

Subsequently,a heavily painted Madame smiled broadly into a TV camera

to explain what charity was all about.

In a not too distant slum, a little girl watched her mistress elaborate on charity.

She sucked her thumb noisily and hungrily- an imaginary bite of an imaginary jilebi.

A watery cup of tea was after all her lot.

Didn’t somebody say something about charity beginning somewhere?

Hunger

not within everyone's reach

I haunt like a ghost
I stalk like a shadow.
Their constant companion they call me,yet love me they do not.
I am with living things, all the time, in their body and in their mind.
People dread me; I overpower them and they know not how to protect themselves.
They hate me; but drive me away; they cannot.
I sear at their insides like a blazing fire,
that has to be quenched or else all will destroy.
Slow and silent is my war: weapons of destruction i do not possess.
People hate me, curse me but drive me away they cannot.
The rich and the famous, the poor and the fallen, the old and the young, the good and the bad;
all are equal in my eyes,unsought and disliked, yet I never leave their side.
I am the silent scourge of Developing countries.
Kings and ministers break their heads to keep me away from their door.
Programmes are chalked, plans implemented;
yet I am not easily driven away.
When I swing into action:
infants cry
children howl
and adults twist in agony
They know no peace unless I am appeased

My business is serious.
Yet I have my lighter moments.
Rich fat ladies, Women of leisure living in lonely houses and bored to death
like me as their companion. Satisfying ,me is their life’s single-point mission.
Popping something into their mouth all the while, they pamper and pander my every whim and fancy.
They have a dish to suit my every taste.
sated and satiated am I; but around me I see a diseased lot with a jaded tongue come of eating what you will.
I am the wolf at the poor man’s door
I am the idol of the rich and indolent. By now you must have guessed who I am.
I am not as bad as I make out to be.
Hunger is my name; were it not for me governments would have no agenda for work.

Winter

Icy Desolation

The winter sun shines bright and right
lifting the veil off Fog in her swirling robes and swishing breath.
Lady Fog, with an icy clasp and sombre hue, holds an early morning sway
over hills and vales,o’er high and low, over the skies and earth,
over the humble hut and the lofty high-rise,
o’er the early bird and the morning jogger,
pacing his track  and over the walker out for his stroll.
Her icy breath fans chill-bruised cheeks, turning rosy with a wintry glow.
her breath, like vapour rises to settle down on the grass and the garden,
on petals in their bloom, nobody but nothing can escape Lady fog’s gloom.

There is a bite in the air,the snow covers like a canopy,
like a shroud with its dazzling whiteness and gleaming glitter ,
a stark reminder of death and desolation.
Nothing but nothing can dampen The. spirit of men and women hurrying to work, wrapped in  jackets and coats, in sweaters and shawls
of young children scurrying to school,rubbing their hands, clasping their satchels.
Now and then  crops up a wintry silhouette of a looming tree, tall and taut, steady and strong.
In the evenings, men hurry to cosy homes and hearths
but, what of the poor
without a roof over their head
and a floor under their feet.
I see them stretched over winter fires, rubbing their hands and warming their feet.
engaged in low murmurs  and tossing hot Rotis.
Winter may be cruel, winter may be ruthless.
Desolate the landscape, but not the spirit of man.
Nature’s vagaries, he dismisses as matter of fact.
Eyes and mind, trained on towering targets and worthy goals.
For he knows, does he not that if winter comes,
Can Spring be far behind?
         

A Fragrant Farewell

Fragrant as friends

Slowly ,gently the petals of memory unfold  to spread the fragrance of  a past long since gone.
The past of
childhood days, carefree and happy.
of school days, of fun and frolic,
reckless races and mad games
in  the corridors and playgrounds of a cloistered convent.
bursting with energy, faces shining with excitement.
Not a class were we  but comrades with a cause;
the cause  of unconditional friendship 
boundless yet binding, undemanding, yet ready and steady.
Many were the meaningless giggles that we shared.
Many were the pranks that we played
on unsuspecting teachers and  classmates.
The food we shared was marinated in  the juice called LOVE
with a sprinkle of SELFLESSNESS for garnish.
There was nothing that I could quite call my own for we shared everything, yes everything.
Together we laughed, together we wept.
Together we played, together we studied.
Another’s achievement was our pride; we knew not the monster called ENVY.
Another’s success prodded us to greater heights.
The playground taught us lessons in Team Spirit better than any Management School.
Finally the day came, yes the day to say a final farewell, a fond farewell to my loved friends.
With heavy hearts and tear-filled eyes, we bade  a silent farewell to events and people who had made up a slice of life.
Farewell. The word tasted bitter on our lips for how could such a beloved group ever part.
Farewell, our mouths mouthed but our hearts swore to undying friendship.

   Farewell did I say Farewell
harsh doesn’t it sound for the story unravels further.
Many, many years later, a stroke of fate and a surf of the Net, brought together a motley bunch of homemakers and careerists.
United were these erstwhile school students, now greying matrons in their middle age.
Great was their joy, boundless their happiness at this miracle.
“ Fared well ? “, they asked of each other and everybody in a chorus sang “yes”.
Life, like a game of cards had dealt them several hands
but victorious had emerged they
They had swum but not sunk with the tide; battling odds to win the challenge called Life.and cheering in small pleasures that make up life.
Now as they basked in the evening glow, their hearts and hands  lifted in prayer to the Angel of their almamater who had taught them the Lesson of Life.
Like incense, the memories of yesteryears, spread their fragrance around them.
Off they went,refreshed and recharged,
with a smile on their lips,
a song in their heart
and a spring in their step to handle the tomorrows in their lives.
Friends, like these are treasures indeed
In their bond,I have the power to transform the mundane into the sublime.