Category Archives: Disability

The Embrace of Healing.

This Post inspired by some extraordinary people

Kintsukuroi – (keen-tsoo-koo-roy) the 500 year old Japanese art of repairing smashed pottery. You’ve broken something? Fix it with gold. What a Gift in positive metaphor:

the story is told of a tea bowl that was a particular favourite of 15th century military ruler, Ashikaga Yoshimasa. One day a servant accidentally dropped the bowl. In the breathless pause (Ashikaga was known for a lethal temper), one of his guests reeled off a poem restoring Yoshimasa’s spirits, ” ..instead of its diminished appeal, the bowl is now the more beautiful for being broken. Its value was in its story. Its true life began, the moment it was dropped..”  Continue reading

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Filed under addiction, Blindness, Challenges, Disability, Discouraged, Fear, Forgive, Healing, Hope, Inspirational, LIFE, Love, Personal Reflections, Writers

My Peninsula today : 

 

I try not to look at the papers, the first one and half pages of the Times are Real Estate rearing skyscrapers- neighbor to ‘300 corporate offices’ & HDFC bankers swearing by Galaxy S9+, after which you finally get to the Times’ official Pg1Image result for photos of shiradi ghats

Nice weather, Bangalore 25 deg. C, cool shade, no thunder wails here- pic below is my home town (half a day’s journey from here) Mangalore Coastal ghats;

travel by rail Shiradi Ghats hosts some insane bridges. I am seriously stressed out by heights but the terrain is  beyond beautiful- old world mist and mountain before you roll into Coast. Was thinking on that and trying not to look at our Burari mass suicides, Delhi. Whyyy?

But look at this, TO KEEP KIDS IN SCHOOL TEACHER TURNS INTO DRIVER..ferrying 20 students, 4kms to school and back in his car across a forested stretch by a river, dangerous during the rains..” my hero for the day;

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beats chatter of Medical/Engg college fees that dwarf real estate prices, how do they do it? There’s that/ and there’s the nice Pediatric Neurologist at our son’s regular checkup-

he would not charge us his consultation fee, never mind colleague Eye Doc shearing me up with her nice brown eyes,

“… are you qualified to teach your son?”

We’d never met before, I was groaning inside at the amount of work this was going to take. Our kid is blind, not deaf, don’t talk loudly at him… that kind of thing.

I said I’d been a teacher (didn’t tell her that meant assisting my mum through college hours, that I’d been street school play teacher- my forte : non-academic fun, staunch believer in the University of Play therapy, ‘course  I did not tell her, I’m not suicidal);

Eye Doc, (re- re – confirming our son Joh was / is technically blind, and since there isn’t adequate education for him), puts us on to a person ‘who could train Joh for a certain fee.’ I looked at her through slits in my soul and told her our son could stand not structure, hadn’t we tried Integrated Education, and near every school in the city;

my husband, a gentleman – led us out that valley of the shadow of Edu- care at its darkest;

Neuro Doc honorary Medical Superintendent, took my wildly trembling arms in his hands and whispered that he had good reports about us from Open Schooling Chief herself,

outside the Center there’s kids in wheelchair, kids with popcorn,  a mother feeding her very young child rice and pickle, they were smiling and tired; our 3 pm sun hidden by clouds, like now. Yeah its a Peninsula pickling with the times

..

Innerdialects

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Filed under ASIA, Challenges, Cultural Affairs, Disability, Humanities, Personal Reflections, Reflections, Times, Writers

The Age of Rude ?

She stared through my face as if she never saw me –  stunned, I waited. Maybe there was a mistake. Maybe I was expecting too much, but the woman wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t acknowledge my presence. It was as if I did not exist.

The next day we met again, this time in an auditorium. She talked to everyone else, but not even a nodding good-morning hint at me, as if I weren’t there.  These were new family friends, not even distant relatives, no histories exchanged. No I hadn’t stolen her best dress at school, no I wasn’t an artist rival, nothing. She was a mom like me, a citizen of this same earth, but she wouldn’t look at me.

Its possible she was just tired, or thought I had nothing of use to say to her, or be. Is possible she was having a bad day, is possible she was ill, is possible she didn’t like my face, or hairstyle, or work.

But the question followed me all day and night, it stood there between my mirror and me the next morning, it sat in my toothpaste and hair brush, my shoes and sandwich.

 

This morning, I looked at images from around the world images of waiting….
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What made something as beautiful as a human heart, such a refugee

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Filed under ASIA, Disability, Discouraged, Habits, Healing, Homes, Hope, Humanities, Inspirational, Journals, LIFE, Love, Personal Reflections, Prayer, Reflections, Times, Writers

‘Yes, but don’t go.’

Last night, all plates and dishes put away, the lights low in the bedroom where our youngest son went into his blanket ; the girls were yet to fall asleep, I peeped in at Joh, and he lifted that dark head calling me for a second kiss, then a whisper –

“Ma,I feel lonely.”

My heart missed a few beats ; it had been a long two months, there had been illness, a trip, school year starting over, uniforms that did not fit, unfinished assignments, a lingering cough and so many unfinished things…

“Why son ? We’re all here aren’t we ?”

“When you ‘re all busy with other things, I feel lonely,sometimes. “

Speechless, I hugged him close, closer, a third a fourth kiss.“You feel good now ?” 

“Yes, but don’t go.” He said nothing after that just smiled and the room filled with feelings I have no words for.

Human touch. How abused, misunderstood those two words are : and so very easy to ignore in all our busy-ness. We sat there an hour, not just Joh and me, but all five of us, an hour in that quiet gentle dark as the little ones fell asleep.

Dearest Lord God, the worst disease on earth : ‘loneliness’ and such a simple cure right from the mouth of Babes.

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Filed under ASIA, Culture, Disability, Dreams, Humanities, Inspirational, Literature

My Precious …

My Precious Lord…

I fail to understand how You and I are one, at all : look at You, look at me, our differences span history, and yet here now, here like this after all this time I am still so startled by Your perfect Love…

What Child is this ? Sung by 

Andrea Angel Bocelli.jpgBocelli born 22 September 1958) is an Italian tenor, and singer-songwriter.[1][2]Born with poor eyesight, he became blind at the age of twelve following a football accident.

http://youtu.be/aZV53SuPMPU

Performed at the Olympics

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Filed under Christmas, Disability, Friends, music, Personality

Earth Song

Colour me green, please, let the Light feed us, graze

our need, our greed ; with storms

of Peace, 

 

please ?

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Filed under Abuse, Artists, ASIA, Bengaluru, Blindness, Culture, Disability, Homes, Hope, Human rights, India

Amazed by Grace

Top Post on IndiBlogger

 

It became common to have Lali say she was healed of her stomach ache, and that fresh air blew into her home, though the electricity had failed. We laughed a bit, like she was insane, even when she cooed over her plants and trees and spoke to unlikely people, gave them her smiles and food. And prayers. Lali aunty could irritate the pants off you, if you were not in the mood for her ‘ miracles’ and she had many stories to tell. ‘ Never take oxygen for granted’ she would say, ‘ ..also good clean water. These are our miracles. Or when someone is good to you… these are precious moments..”

Today, I realise these things are not common place, these are rare, and sacred. There are some things we must work for, and there are fantastic things that happen when we least expected it.

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Filed under Artists, ASIA, Childhood, Disability, Faith, Fear

My Father’s Eyes

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He had these tears,

like when a father is betrayed

it was the first time I wiped His eyes

when I prayed.

the first time here I felt a bit

what it must be like, to be hit

like that, oh dear God, like that

like when your own child steals Your Gold,

like warm food deliberately left out to get

cold.

How it feels like to be over ruled

envy, jealousy, pride, dear God, I never would have thought

You cried –

I never thought, how would I

this is not what mortals know –

what humans foil and demons throw :

humans can engineer two sides

two opposite sides…

yes it can make a father cry, but what I remember most is that

I dreamed I wiped Your eyes…

was that just a dream..

breaking-in-all-the-right-places

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Filed under Abuse, addiction, Blindness, Disability, Faith, Human rights, literary

Music from an Untouchable …

Music from an Untouchable ….

The room fell silent. Then he began to play – as if his soul were talking a new language. Here no one was asking details on paper.No one asked him his age or place of birth, his mother tongue, caste or creed. Why would they.Untouchable

via Music from an Untouchable ….

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My burden is Light

What ? I asked the one with the flowers,

and acres of naked skin,

” How can your burden be Light ?”

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To the trees stooped with night, I asked it again, but

they were too busy to reply…

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I went to the flowers in the fields, and they said it to me, again,

” My burden is Light, ” ;  they were pregnant with blossom, with drippy leaf and waiting showers,

confused I turned away

Gul Mohar

and met a sky full of the sun, so full, it dawned on me, finally

Silence of the  Sun.  RN ( India, Bangalore)

Yes, Light. Light. A burden, as in a ‘ carrying’, a torch borne, a Vision of Beauty, held.

I still cannot embrace it all.

How could I,

but today I read these Words that spoke back at me,

My Burden is LIGHT…

spilling off rooftops and sky, lanes and silhouettes, smashing shadows

shedding darkness like filthy rags,

oh brilliant burden, be mine, be mine!

Huts on Beach Hill. Oil, Acrylic  RN

Huts on Beach Hill. Oil, Acrylic RN

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