POLL POSITION

I followed up on my good resolution to cast my vote as the first thing ‘to do’ in the day.  After morning Mass, nicely timed at 6.30 AM, I took the 10-minute walk to the polling booth along unoccupied pavements, bordering empty streets.  No crowds, no traffic.  But I did encounter members of the ‘walking brigade’; trim in t-shirts, shorts and jogging shoes they cast enquiring looks my way.  I did not look like a regular.  A newbie, perhaps?  Fellow jogger? I smiled my ‘No!’ Fellow voter? They returned the smile, ‘Not yet!’

 

And then there was the canine brigade as well.  One lady had three fluffy miniature albino pekes. Ankle high and royal lap dogs, they come with a fascinating history of their own.  I stopped to exchange insults with them – pekes are snobs!  Then there was the dog walker with seven on separate leashes – three in front and four to the rear.  Tall and short, fat and thin, they walked in perfect synch!  The Drill Sergeant would have been proud of them and how!!

And so to the polling venue.  I must truly look innocuous. The bevy of policemen – a whole cohort by the looks of them – were uninterested, and allowed me to pass through the portals unaccosted.  No frisking, no security check, no ‘have you carried your mobile phone?’ Apparently, no trouble was expected. At the booth itself, a line of ten or so had already formed; an improvement over the last experience when we were just three and waiting for the booth to be opened! Clearance was brisk, my name found on the list, I cast my vote with the confirmatory ping and exited the booth with my inked left index finger. I took the comfortable walk home.  The whole exercise had taken a mere half hour.

I have cast my little boat upon the water.  Will it sail or will it sink? Will it go far and achieve much? Or will it be engulfed and overwhelmed? The portents for the future are not too far away.

Back home to a hot cup of tea and the morning paper.  And I am assaulted by a solicitation by Modi for my vote – a full page frontal in the Times.  Surely, this is a violation of the code of conduct? Solicitation is not allowed on voting day?!

DISCOMBOBULATED!

Most of the time, my work requires me to abbreviate rather than edit. The words have to fit into a fixed area, for a particular space at a specified location!  And they are usually the words of two young clerics. 

 

One writes exuberantly, flamboyantly, extravagantly – he pours his heart out and the words flow in a torrent over the page.  I have to restrain them, fit them into an impossible boundary and yet retain the vigour, the essence and the message.  Challenged and frustrated, I arrange and rearrange.  I find substitute words that people will relate to and I chop, chop, chop.  

The other’s writing is more restrained, even dignified.  It is lovingly researched, explained and draws the reader in to a personal encounter through posit or gentle questioning. There is information here and also insight and, perhaps, an angle that is new.  Again, I have to distill and bottle.  The minimum number of words – give or take a few – hangs over me like the executioner I must become. And I go chop, chop, chop.

My reputation is now such that, if anyone wants something curtailed, they turn to me. 

My new nickname – by default - is ‘Bobbit’ and I am truly discombobulated!

OPINIONATED

That’s me! 

This incident, from the early days in my new family, somehow comes forcefully to mind: my sister-in-law was throwing a party and there were a few first-time invitees.  She called me up and assigned me to one of them!  What for? To make the guest feel comfortable, at home, ‘not neglected’ – she would not know any of the others and it was my duty to break the ice!!  Well, that was certainly novel.  I had and have been - many times over – a first timer at many parties, but beyond a few introductions no one has ever looked after me in that kind of a special way.  One just sort of floated around till one either connected with a familiar face or a sympathetic group.  I was not too happy with the idea at the time, but looking back now, I realise what a lovely idea it was.  My sister-in-law was the perfect host and a caring one too.

Back to the present:  We have many first time visitors to our parish, either for their nuptials, funerals, particular events or choirs who are invited to participate in special liturgies.  They are ‘first-timers’ in an unfamiliar environment.  It would be so nice if one person, from the parish, were assigned to them, took care of them and made them feel ‘at home’.  It would also ensure that they become a part of who we are – the way we do things, what is acceptable and what is not.  I find the ‘outsider’ culture very prevalent in a parish, as it is in the corporate world.  We either cold shoulder or bark out instructions!

There is a quid pro quo involved too.  The welcomed should be accepting of the welcome!  Some visitors can be quite dismissive of any assistance; some even consider it interference!  Graciousness is both an art and a culture and no, it is not old fashioned!

Postscript: It is distressing, at least for me, that we sometimes come to know our ‘community’ members only in death.  I have played for quite a few funerals for members of the parish who are total strangers and not just to me!  It would be a good thing if community membership found invitation and acceptance among the living, in  gladness and not just in grief. 

The funeral I am playing for today, brought all this to mind.

RETROSPECTION AND LEGACIES

The farewell party to the outgoing tenth happened yesterday.  And it concluded with the mandatory crowning of the St. Anne’s Queen.  From total chaos there was sudden order as participants ‘walked the ramp’ resplendent in their mothers’ finery, with stilettos and nail polish to match.  In school uniform they are children, in party dress they are young sophisticates.  The transformation is startling and thankfully only skin deep.  But the process has begun.

 

This year the ‘tie-breaker’ question was: what is the one attribute that you have learnt in school that you will carry forward through the rest of your life? From the three finalists, the answers received were: respect, self-confidence and forgiveness.  A fourteen year old girl deciding on forgiveness?  And this from a girl who was not a frontrunner in anything during the year – others in the class had shone more brightly either in terms of talent, academic achievement, or competitive skills.  Yes, she was unanimously chosen the winner.  This was her moment.  This was also a lesson in expecting the unexpected.  

The question made me think back to what my own answer would have been.  Since I went (‘studied in’ would be technically correct, but not factually so!) to many schools, one attribute from each would earn me a bagful!

From my first, the answer would have to be, unequivocally, joy – the rightful legacy of every child. My teacher, Miss Braniff, radiated cheer and really loved us and we knew it. From the next, honesty. And thereby hangs a tale.  A classmate called me a few rude names and I responded with a tight slap across her face.  A nun, observing from a distance, summoned me and administered an even more stinging slap.  I cried and protested; after all, I was the injured party.  Then she explained that we retaliate in anger when, deep down, we recognise what we do not like about ourselves.  If we are honest with ourselves, we can be honest with each other and untruths, however harsh, can never hurt. 

From the next school, I learned resilience and survival.  I was the mercilessly ragged newcomer and I hated my time in that institute.  Either the teachers did not see what was happening or chose not to see, and one did not squeal.  Looking back at that miserable child, I realise that the experience has made me more compassionate, more observant and yes, definitely resilient when faced with odds.  So, strangely enough, I have to be grateful for the bad times too.

Finally, from the Jesuits I learned what it means to be ‘a person for others’.  This has been the most defining moment of my life – a reference point to return to and assess my reason for being.

And that brings me full circle to Gauri’s response – forgiveness.  We are human and we need to forgive ourselves, as much as each other, pick ourselves up and do better the next time.  In forgiving, we do not condone.  We simply hand out second chances.  That’s what God does for us.  It’s the least that we can do in return.

GIVE ME SIGHT, LORD!

He is a young priest and I am, sometimes, privileged to hear his Mass.  I look forward to his homily – always an unusual take on the day’s Gospel.  He makes me think.  His words are not palliative or passive, and they sometimes (most times!) bring home unwelcome truths.  Even so, hearing them makes the Gospel come wholly alive. 

Yesterday, Jesus cured the blind man.  But first he asked, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ Huh? Jesus is God; surely, He knows that the man is asking for sight? And yet he asks the question! He wants to know whether the man has thought of the consequences. Sightless, he invoked pity and could beg for alms.  Sighted, he would have to work and pull his weight.  When we pray and ask for what we desire, do we think of the consequences? Are we willing to take on the consequent challenge? Ouch!

Previous takes on this Gospel reading always taught that Jesus hears prayers, Jesus heals.  Yes, we know that.  Yesterday’s homily woke me up and how.  Here’s the result!

GIVE ME SIGHT, LORD!

Lord, I want to see.

Will you not restore my sight?

            Do you know what you ask?

Yes, Lord!

I ask for sight that I may see

The glorious dawn and sunset,

The moods of the skies as they unfold,

The crest of waves as they break upon the shore -

The glory of all your creation!

            But will you also see the abandoned child,

            The battered woman,

            The homeless man?

            Will ‘seeing’ help you understand?

Give me sight Lord!

I have never known

The myriad hues of flowers,

Or seen the flutter of a bird’s wings;

The anger of the storm,

Or delight on the face of my beloved.

            But will you also see the anguish

            Of a war torn world;

            The desperate outstretched hand…

            Will ‘seeing’ help you understand?

I have felt the earth and know its scent;

But I have never seen its fruit,

Or watched life unfurl

From within its warm embrace:

Will you not let me see, Lord?

Will you not have mercy?

            Mercy is yours and also sight.

            Now, will you work for honest wage

            And share the yield?

            Will you labour in my field?

           

Lord, how could I be so blind?

Or, so selfish be…..

Give me your sight Lord

That I might truly see!