Singing birds and sweet mangoes.

In this world of ours unfortunately dominated by chaos, confusion, tension and turmoil, every one is looking for a bit of relief , a little space to relax and a ray hope. A singing bird or a melodious music or a beautiful butterfly that seeks  to suck the nectar of flowers fluttering its wings or the fragrance emanating from jasmine flowers is apt to give man what he is badly in need of these days.

Apart from these blessings of Nature there are certain aspects of human behaviour that grant us mental satisfaction and contribute to our peace of mind. The other day we had been to the house of my wife's friend to hand over a book my wife had borrowed from her. I waited on the ground floor of the building whereas their apartment was on the first floor so that my wife could hand over the book and return quickly since it was already 10 P.M as people in Doha are in a hurry, during winter season, to dine and go to bed after wrapping themselves in warming blankets to plunge into sleep induced by the cold weather . My wife did not come back quickly but their eldest son came down telling me that his father was calling me to go upstairs. Though I tried to apologise, he insisted on his request and I had to follow him. While my wife was chatting with her friend I sat in their living room talking to her husband explaining why I was waiting on the ground floor instead of entering their house When the chit-chat between the two housewives went on for while , I began to remind my wife that it was already too late but her friend tried to assure me they were not at all disturbed by our presence and that their bed time was 12 midnight .Despite that they were not expecting us, with in a few minutes two plates of chapattis and a bowl of chicken curry were placed on their dining table. Then we found them literally begging us to accept eat something. Though our dinner was ready at home, we began to eat while both of them stood beside us requesting us to eat more and more. His wife was taking chapattis from our plates and tearing them into small pieces to facilitate our dining. She told me that she presumed that the curry prepared by her might not be as delicious as the one prepared by my wife which could be the reason why I was hesitant to eat . We were like obedient students before them as we could not escape from tight grip of their warm hospitality which had a special flavour unmatched by any item in the menu of any hotel in the world. What mattered were not the dishes on their dining table but their open-hearted approach and extraordinary cordiality that have left an indelible imprint on our minds. It disturbs our minds when we think that we will not able to reciprocate their hospitality when they visit us next time however hard we may try. We believe that God has chosen such persons to be an epitome of those sublime characteristics.

I remember a man who used to invite me to join him for a cup of coffee when ever I passed by the traditional teashop in our village in Kerala he used to frequent. When I apologised, he seemed to be annoyed. My initial reaction was some sort of astonishment or even resentment as I wondered why he was annoyed at my unwillingness to join him as if I had to wilily-nilly obey him and I even thought that he had no right to force me do something I didn’t like . It took me some time to realise the sincerity of his purpose, the selflessness his motive , that his was not a perfunctory act for he expected nothing from me in return and he would gain nought save the pleasure he derived if I accepted his invitation. If I acceded to his request, he was instead going to loose a few bucks .If he had asked me to do him a favour prior to his invitation or thereafter, his invitation would have been tantamount to a diluted version of bribery

Once when I was living as a bachelor in Doha, a friend of mine who was living with his wife in a humble house invited me to dinner. The dish prepared by his wife was handmade pathiri (pancake made of rice flour) and some curry. I asked her why she took the trouble of preparing handmade pancake instead of preparing it using a home appliance called “pathiri press” as other housewives do . Then she told me that during one of their visits to our house in Kerala, when my l mom was alive , my wife was trying to serve them cookies and cakes which is the usual method among housewives to treat their guests even these days as it saves time and requires no efforts on their part . But when my mom saw this , she told my wife that it was not the proper way of treating guests, volunteered to prepare handmade pathiri by herself in front of her and asked my wife to serve them what her mother in law had prepared .My friend’s wife told me that it was from my mom that she had learnt to make handmade pathiri. She added that handmade pathiri was softer and more tasty as its contents include ground coconut as well. Though the financial status of the host counts, it is not the main contributor to the satisfaction of the guests. I remember one of my late maternal aunt who was so loving and affectionate . Her husband was a man of principles who always wore pure white shirt and dhoti which he himself washed until his death. Such persons never think of earning money and hence he was suffering from financial problems throughout his life and trying hard to make both ends meet. But every one who visited their house testified to the fact that what they witnessed there was an atmosphere of affluence bestowed by their selflessness, humility, love and care for their guests. Their financial problems had had no adverse effect on the impression they created in the minds their visitors. On the other hand who ever visited the house of another maternal aunt of mine, whose husband was rich, owned properties and lived in two-storey building in those days complained of a gloomy atmosphere and dead silence in their house.

Our mom taught us not to disappoint any one who knocked at our door even “ if the person came to us on a horseback” .She did not always have a money to give those approaching her as her husband was just a farmer who was trying hard to meet the day to day expenses of his family. Therefore she sometimes gave them the shirts or dhotis her children were using without telling them. When we returned home we found our dress items missing and quarrelled with her.

Our villagers still remember that my mom had hosted whoever visited our house regardless of their financial status . Last year when I was on vacation in Kerala, an ailing person whom I met told me how my mom used give him Kanhi (rice water soup) when he visited our house to purchase fresh mangoes from mango trees grown in the plot of land where our old house stood. Neither those mango trees that gave us different types of sweet mangoes nor my mom who used to care for them are with us today. When I sold the last mango tree to a timber merchant as it stood so close to our house and its branches began to cause damage to the roof , I thought I could plant another one to give us the same type of large fleshy sweet mangoes. But though we have more than three mango trees in our plot of land today none of them is similar to it in terms of taste or shape.

A few weeks prior to her sad demise in 2000, my mom was hospitalised. When her condition worsened, she expressed her wish to see me. By the time I reached the hospital in Kerala where she was admitted she was in the ICU unit .Since the moment she saw me, her condition began to improve and she was transferred to general ward. She soon regained the power of speech she had lost, began to speak to the visitors and even crack jokes with those visiting her. We decided to take her home and look after her with the help of a home nurse. At home she was looked after jointly by my sister and brother’s wife. Her condition seemed to improve and my sister returned to her house. We thought that every thing was going well but a couple of days later all on a sudden when I was having lunch she breathed her last due to cardiac arrest .Even when my only sister hugged me and wept, I don’t know why I could not follow her . It seemed that my feelings were frozen or it might be that one needs to be brave even to shed tears. If one cannot weep even at the death of his mom, nothing else in the world can make him cry.

By the father