Fault in her stars

Fault in her stars

This morning newspapers carried the story of a young girl the daughter of a highly educated and principal of an acclaimed school in an upscale locality of New Delhi, finally ‘hanging her head in shame’ by preferring to take her own life by hanging.

Further stories abound on how the suicide note states that the girl was highly depressed due to her inability to find herself a mate with a birth chart that warned suitable suitors of the perils associated with entering into a marital alliance with her. Fearing a future that would look bleak and unproductive on the face of an astral chart drawn by some self-styled star gazer she gave it all up preferring to end it all. Other stories abound how she was in a relationship and her parents were against the match therefore she chose to exit on her own terms.

Whatever the truth, it is highly shameful that potential suitors who would be educated in the modern technological era would side with such a whisper. It is unsettling to admit that in spite of progress made in this country, it is the age old belief and faith in astrologers and birth charts that dictate terms over education that is helping to change such inhibitions. The fact is we love to carry the baggage of age old beliefs dipped in traditions which though sometimes worthless refuse to drop their price tags.

Now on to the second theory that it was probably a love story all gone wrong, which should call for an even more severe reprimand considering the father of the dead child is a principal which means an educationalist to the core who was obviously not practicing what he preached. This again would stem out of age old belief of a love marriage being secondary to an arranged marriage. This would obviously mean a child no matter how highly educated was uneducated in matters of the heart, or maybe matters of the heart should not be left entirely to the heart, but a heady mixture of seeking out the pros and cons of a match which is often debated in the extended family.      

The counter argument given is that even if individuals make a selection based on the tug at their heart strings, it might not work out very well and a scenario could develop where they may seek to separate. Very well, at least they know the reasons for the separation and chose to grow apart. Such couples might even seek a second chance at marriage given how the heart fares under the circumstances. Wouldn’t it be better for an individual to choose his/her partner, separate if his/her selection is wrong and move on again in life rather than cohabit with someone who is not known to them? But do we allow our girls the freedom to choose? If the answer is yes then the girl certainly would not have stuck her neck into the noose.

Actor Priyanka Chopra indicated in a recent interview how her mom wanted to see her as a bride ever since she was a four year old. This is a psyche that is written all over us dripping within cultural ghettos and in age old traditions practised as also, whole heartedly embraced by the educated lot too, who see a girl child as someone else’s property, the sooner dispensed with the better. Stories of love that go a begging since they do not fall into the drawing board of a parent’s imagination and growth plans for a girl.

Before a marriage the birth charts are exchanged so that individual astrologers owing allegiance to both the families can examine the fault in the stars, even after this if you fail miserably then it is because the couple were at fault not the birth chart or the consulting astrologers. In rural areas, village elders sit in a semi circle and declare marriages as void and choose to allow or disallow a marriage that is otherwise perfectly legal and without fault.

Where is the fault? it is certainly not in the stars, it certainly was not in the poor girls stars, it was the lack of understanding of human emotions, stubborn resistance to grow with and practice education, reluctance to discard the astrologers and future tellers and ignore the elderly advise of groups of village elders who are in no way bound legally or emotionally to the parties that are affected.

Let us practice education within our family confines, also let us allow the girl child  to blossom as an ordinary human being without putting fetters to her feet right after she is born. For that we must first scrape out the falsely embedded and superficially coated traditions, we must let education determine our prejudices and we must cleanse our thoughts about the girl child being a commodity that must change hands.

Robin Varghese – robin_vargh@yahoo.com

23^rd October 2014

Twinkle Twinkle Little Stars

Twinkle Twinkle Little Stars

Outside, lights twinkle sometimes like a shy bride having a peep at her would be match from behind the curtains, at other times in full glow as if competing with its sisters to catch the attention of the would be groom without even the still of the breeze getting a wind of the vivacious thrust of beauty for the intended on a day when it is all about lights shining everywhere outside and inside, from rooftops and floors lined up in intricate designs.

Mothers have their hands covered in dough that taste as sweet when sticking to their weary palms as when ready for the palate. They do not worry about the twinkling lights or the effect that it can have on the streets or its vicinity when they are steeped in arranging for exchange of sweets and satisfying the taste buds of family members, friends and neighbours.

Kids are busy scrambling indoors and out onto the streets showing off their wares stuffed into packets of fire crackers that can perform in circles or shoot up to the sky ending in a cracking thud. Not to be outdone friends compete in showing off their stock of ammunition to welcome the festival of lights, some among them that resemble a fountain of sparks akin to the big fountain that stands at the Town square, others that explode when thrown against hard solid surfaces, still others that sparkle when lit, with brightness that resembles the flow and vitality of life.

Little ones coyly hold on to the end of a stick that sparkles left in their hands by their elders under watchful supervision to help them have a participative feel in the festivities. The timid ones stand afar while the older and more daring ones stick the end of a flame to the wick of a cracker and run to a safe distance before it explodes. The sound invariably as if on instinct, forces everyone young and old, newbies and experienced to cap their ears smothering the sound of the exploding crackers even while bringing a joy on the faces of the participants.

Fathers lead the charge and supervise operations to ensure that the game is played by the rule and that there is no scope for committing a foul which can end up in injuries to the ones involved. They also run last minute errands to maintain the flow and schedule of all branches of festivities and ensure its intended culmination in joy.

The market place resembles a two way divider- less street with no clear distinction between the shoppers and the shop keepers. The hordes of people hurrying to catch up on last minute purchases resemble a busy railway platform that has just seen an incoming train. Traffic seems to sit pretty with no signs of a hurry with even passengers and drivers silenced by the benevolence of the festival. Everyone seems to be understanding of each other and the general chaos amidst the increasingly swelling populace.

Worshippers install the idol of the goddess of wealth and wait for a whiff of good fortune to exhibit through them. The chanting of hymns and the clanging of cymbals are indicative of the pouring out of hope from believers calling out to the almighty, with some trying to hasten the goddess’s blessings by directing worship services to a crescendo believing sub consciously that these extra efforts will put them in the front of the queue when receiving their bounty.

Perched up on a high stool I looked out onto the streets and smiled with satisfaction at the twinkling lights, at the streets full of people, at the young scurrying feet, at moms slogging away unmindful, even though it is an extension of their daily chores, of heads of families standing proud and satisfied  over their performance bonuses and their organizing skills , at traffic which at other times would have snorted, huffed and puffed venting out its frustration, at the people caught in the still traffic  not flying into a rage as on other occasions, at the ever increasing number of believers waiting with folded hands for the heavens to unfold. I also see the adventurous roll the dice for an inkling of the impending times, after all this is festive season when the lights shine on the present and rolls into the future.

As in the past this year too seems a year of promises, a year of endless bounties, of immense possibilities delivering to the persistently persevering, till its time next year to light a new set of lights, knead more dough with renewed vigour, cater to an increasingly and rapidly rising social network, increased decibels in fire crackers and growing up from holding sparklers to tugging at the coat tails of elders eyeing a greater role in the festivities, a time to reflect, a time to be thankful, a time to count your blessings and a time for new resolutions.

---------------------------------------------------Happy Diwali to all----------------------------------------------------------

Robin Varghese – robin_vargh@yahoo.com

22^nd October 2014

 

Amen

Amen

Indian child activist Kailash Satyarthi and Pakistani school girl activist Malala Yousufzai have just been declared joint winners of the Nobel Peace Prize 2014. At a time when India and Pakistan are exchanging mortars and missiles across the border, this comes across as a welcome break from the monotonous routine of war mongering by both sides who can now share the much delayed Dusherra and Eid sweets.

As I watched the news about their exploits, I set off day dreaming visualizing the two hand in hand praising their God for the bounties received. I even envisaged the two of them kneeling together and offering their individual prayers to the almighty. Although they were offering individual thanksgiving their prayer sounded similar and I listened attentively to hear the words offered in prayer and this is how it sounded to me.

“Are you listening Lord? Thanks for the Noble peace prize that we share. You know lord this thanks is not for getting us the Nobel peace prize, but this is for the number of times you interfered and intervened to keep us alive, so that children doomed to a life of hopelessness and slavery could be offered a thin line to raise their hopes on”.

“Remember the time Lord, when I was walking to school with my friends and the Taliban warned me to stay put at home while threatening me with dire consequences. I was almost forced to give it all up on that day Lord, but for you, when you told me to follow my dreams. I still remember the conversation with my father when he for a moment seemed unsure, though he was the one who always advocated blossoming of the girl child, for a moment I could see traces of sadness on his face, but wow! How he recovered to reassure me that I must keep going. I was so pleased lord for your intervention when I set off for school the next morning unmindful and totally forgetful of the Taliban threats of the previous evening”.

“What a blessed life I had lord, when you bestowed me with the grace to go to school and learn in a manner that was alien to my fellow children who had to work in mica mines and plough the field in place of the ox. I finished high school and went throw university attaining an engineering degree and became an engineer, yet the poor child ploughing the field along with his father refused to go out of my mind. I remember the time lord, when I sneaked in my bellbottoms with my college notebook rolled into my pant pocket wanting to talk to the child who I had seen ploughing the fields”.

“I was taken aback Lord, by what the father of the child told me that they were destined to slavery, education was a far-fetched dream only for people like me who were destined to go to school, university and work in corporate places at good salaries, but for them the plough was a permanent feature in their lives, only the human under the plough changed with time”.

“Thank you Lord, for prodding me to churn this thought in my mind – How could I be privileged and the other child doomed by birth? Why can’t the rights of the child be restored? Why does he have to suffer this criminal act of society? No Lord, I must do something about it, I must exercise my good fortune to turn the tide of misfortune of these under privileged children, they must be set free from the yoke of tyranny, the back breaking ills of slavery, they must be set free, they must be at par with others, with me, so that their aspirations can be met too, the world can experience the good in them, make use of their talents”.

“As I walked to school Lord, that morning I was mentally recuperating the activities that I had planned to get girls of my age and the younger and older ones into class rooms, to be able to explain to them and their parents that each individual had the right to dream, everyone had the freedom to fly unbound by the chains of human selfishness and societal and culturally skewed and backward thought process”.  

“But I must admit Lord, that you sometimes took your eyes off me, let me roam unprotected, almost lost my life Lord, to those merciless gun totting Taliban’s. Remember those people who took advantage of your laxity to pump bullets into my head, remember Lord, I was left for dead, my dreams and those of my wards shattered like the bones in my skull, a village full of dreams silenced by the deafening sound of bullets and the motionless bodies of my friends who lay dead beside me. Ah! That was not good lord, Come on, you should have taken better care Lord, think of all those innocent souls lost to a barbarian mind, a brain that had been washed clear of all humanity and logic”.

“When I turned activist Lord, after spurring a well-paid job, remember Lord, those thugs hired by corporates and rich landlords, mine owners who beat me black and blue leaving me half dead convinced they had reformed me enough, never to rise up against their age old practices. Remember Lord, those threats and tirades which kept up a steady stream? Now, you could have- but you choose to look the other way when they came down mercilessly on me threatening to snuff out my life, I still feel Lord that you should have kicked those marauding idiots away and let me ride triumphantly into town with my freed foot soldiers”. 

“Well sometimes it seems that you almost sided with them during our pain and suffering while we went about trying to uplift your creations. Why did we have to get shot and be brutalized by people who perceive us as their enemies? Surely, you could have waved your magic wand and eliminated all forms of suffering, why in fact you could have made

us your perfect messengers without the dust and toil of everyday life, without the strain of opposition forces”.

“But that’s all right Lord, when we think off how far we have reached, how much we have been able to highlight our activities in society and around the world, because we have been shot at and brutalized  in the most brutal and inhuman manner. It is because we suffered the pain that we understand the intensity of our activities. It is because we have traversed those paths that we are able to explain to the world the pitfalls, and it is because we were able to successfully muster the determination and courage to traverse those paths that we have found recognition”.

“Thank you Lord, for this recognition and for making the majority realise that the thought process in our families, neighbourhood, society and country must change. This is a recognition Lord, that our efforts are finding favour with the right thinking people, it is recognition Lord, that finally help is at hand, and that society and organisations the world over will extend their support in our fight to help the children, especially the Girl child live their dreams”.

“Thank you Lord, a million times and more for your interference, interventions and support, thank you Lord for your unflinching support. Don’t mind those ungrateful words uttered in between Lord, you know very well the importance of your benevolence on this world, we beseech you to keep it up Lord, for the sake of this human race. For the moment allow us to go out and face this world with its challenges and bestow on us the humility, wisdom and grace to prod others to this noble task of letting your young ones throughout the world dream-Amen”.

Robin Varghese- robin_vargh@yahoo.com

10^th October 2014

Swaying to the music of life

Swaying to the music of life

As dusk gave way to darkness and night seemed to slowly envelope the sky, as the crows croaked in unison calling it a day flying back to their shelters, as office goers were hurrying back to their safety called home, and as traffic seemed to outsmart each other in the din, a man dressed for office was seen swaying from side to side in the middle of a busy by lane in Delhi teeming with hurrying steps and loud boisterous traffic, streets lined up with important landmark of offices.

A look at his appearance seemed to convey the message of a middle aged man caught in the swirl of office and social routine. He could be any of us working in a small, medium sized firm or a multinational company, processing numbers or squeezing out sales figures. It could be anyone of us with a brood and the seriousness to carry the day as a supervisor, or it could be a weary employee who has had a hard day fitting into the scheme of things. Whatever be the reason surely none of this merited swaying steps in the midst of an unending stream of chaos, woefully unmindful of the bustle around him and oblivious to the commotion he was creating.

In a thriving metropolis he was not a lonely figure, passer-by’s reminded themselves this was the dark side of the city, the dark side of life, as drivers swayed their vehicles in rhythm to avoid bumping into him. No one cared as to give him a second glance, who was he? What was his issue? Why was he swaying? Where was he working? Had he just been fired? What on earth was wrong with him? Had he been hurt outwardly or inwardly? No one cared. Probably no one had the time to ask these questions, or better still in a busy city it was best not to ask such questions.  

As I watched him disappear in a long line of traffic, I asked myself a few questions and tried to find answers in the dark. What if that was me? Was he someone’s husband, father or brother? Isn’t he someone’s son? Surely there is someone waiting for him. Some neighbour must have noticed his absence; at least someone would miss him. The answers failed to fill up with any amount of cohesion or spontaneity.

As I tucked myself into bed that night, the image of that person refused to go out of my mind. Something wrong must have happened, the poor man has had a tumble, in love he may have failed, or in life’s examination. He must have given more than he has received, the perilous nature of relationships must have exerted itself too hard at him, the expectations must have far outweighed its rewards, the sly nature of meaningless friendships must have paid him handsomely for his commitments, the desire to fight back at life was probably extinguishing fast.

His woes were drowning him in the quicksand of life. He probably did not have anyone to go back to or speak about his troubles. He was a lonely soul who had in all probability long given up on life. He missed the zeal in life, the life in life.

He was probably trying to destroy his edifice built painstakingly over the years, the youth the budding prospects, all of which were now lost to the vagaries of life. That which looked promising had been an illusion. Life passed him by at break neck speed and he was left clinging to its tail, now he was finding it hard to hang on, it was taking a mighty effort, his energy was sapping, he was using his reserves in a last ditch effort to hold on before falling into the deep abysses of destruction. 

The sway was his answer, a befitting one for having treated him badly, for having injured him, for attacking him when he least expected, for cheating him on oath, for prescribing to life’s ambitions. The sway was his revenge, his way of getting back at life, sneering and jeering, ‘cocking a snook’ even while bidding adieu swaying to the music of life.

Another day it could be another man caught in the thicket of life’s woes, someone else who has misfired his ambitions or tried jumping over his shadow falling flat and become a laughing stock in society. It could be my son, your husband, father, brother or neighbour, some acquaintance or someone you don’t care for, but he wasn’t born that way. He had started off with noble intentions, strived hard to make it, yet he failed with what matters, what counts in the end, he fell short on the measuring tape of success.

The woeful life of a loner, caught in the unending woes of life and striving to end it all in his own way with a swagger that says ‘I care less’ or ‘to hell with the world’. What he probably missed out on were some soothing words that would still his jarring nerves, some words of encouragement, someone filling him with hope, arms that would embrace him, love that would encompass all his tirades, a feeling of belonging in this world, a family to go back to, a world full of love or at least some loving folks who would seek him out.

Robin Varghese – robin_vargh@yahoo.com

1^st September 2014

Holy Land Tour - A Panoramic View

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new lands but in seeing with new eyes”- Marcel Proust

Holy Land Tour -  A Panaromic view

In the days when others have ventured to tour the holy land I had always wondered what is there that enthuses people to visit this place. We all know the historical and biblical references to places in Israel, Jordan, Palestine and Egypt. Besides this why do people crave to be there putting aside health adversities and hazards as well as staggeringly weak and creaking  knees at an age when we are usually busy winding up the business end of life.

My mom still rues the missed opportunity and brings up the topic whenever anyone informs her about an impeding trip to the Holy Land. In short Christians and more so from Kerala would give their right hand to make a trip to the Holy Land. As I reservedly and secretly frowned at my wife for jumping at an announcement made in the Church for a group visit to the Holy Land, I accompanied her more as a companion than seek solace in the humble and searing solace and biblical nostalgia of the place.

A group comprises of various people with varied tastes and habits, with commonality being the bonding influence of the church in our case. Thankfully our group of Fifty five was just enough to fill the travel coaches in Jordan and Israel giving optimum results to the tour operator and individual purses. This group consisted of eager and enthusiastic travellers young and old, firm and infirm, but the spirit of the land kept us all in animated enthusiasm and allowed us to complete the tour unhindered.

The journey started on 15^th September morning when we flew in to Abu Dhabi en route to Amman, Jordan. What I am going to describe from here on is what will flow from the heart without any frill and frolic. This short article will try to present an unbiased individuals flow of emotions that start draining from the inner self without any prompting or make believe circumstances. A flow that starts with the slightest of reference and continues till the brain stops mapping the entire journey undertaken.

In Jordan we were met by our tour operator and the coach was standing aside for our journey. What struck me as I landed at the Queen Alia International Airport in Amman was the unoccupied space in front of me. In fact till date this is the least busy airport that I have come across. One immediately feels for the people of Jordan especially after having to fight for a place to stretch out at the Abu Dhabi Airport.  The ride through the countryside further explains the scanty representation in the countryside and on the roads be it with people, animal, vehicles or other forms of traffic. It looked as if space was aplenty and people and events sparsely populated. One feels sorry for the empty spaces and wished the country more bounty in terms of commerce, tourism and other allied activities.

The place we visited besides an overnight stay in Amman the capital city of Jordan was Madaba an old Christian habitation from the days of old till this day on our way to Mount Nebo. Here on display is the mosaic map of the Holy land made from over 2 million pieces of mosaic and dating back to centuries. Mount Nebo rightly gives us a view of the Holy Land from high up, the path that Moses and his group must have taken on their way to the ‘Promised Land’. Looking down you feel weary and forlorn when you mentally try to go back in time with Moses and his group, the hardships encountered on the way, the murmuring, the dissatisfaction, the cursing and the grunting that went along, but your heart also fills up thinking on the wondrous ways of the Lord, how he fulfilled the demands of his people, how miraculously he guided his people over treacherous territory for long years through lands that is synonymous to wilderness.

The serpent cross a reminder of what needs to be done to feel whole, repentance and penance stick out sorely on this mount and is a testimony to modern times. Faced with unsurmountable obstacles and tales of difficulties we must learn to reflect back at our actions, plan a new course and seek to overturn all that has not been for common good. Looking down from the mountains at barren stretches makes one sympathize with the Israelites who walked with Moses to the ‘Promised Land’. The fact that they cribbed and cried for water, the death and destruction that one can imagine from long stays in this mangled land can all be taken from atop the mount. By the way water is still a scare resource in these parts and water is expensive and often does not come free with a travel package in abundance. Lunch was good (because the chef made kebabs for us) and we tucked in enough to propel us on our journey mostly through barren land marked by mountains and difficult terrain.

The road down the mountain takes us to the Jordan border (Sheikh Hussain Bridge) and then on to Israel. Our tour operator had warned us and prepared us to answer queries put forth by the immigration officials so that the group sounded in unison as originating from one place and having common intentions. However, when we got to the Israeli side we were surprised by the welcome we received. I also learnt how pretence of ignorance is sometimes better than being proudly knowledgeable.

A few people in our group feigned ignorance of the English language and told the immigration officials so on being asked if they understood English, which led them to be cleared instantly without further ado. Keen observers in our group latched on to this theory and by the time we were through a good number in our group were pretenders of the ‘do not know English brigade’.  I have always questioned the Immigration officials in all countries who look menacing and eager to deport each one who lands in his/her country, but here they seemed eager, young, enthusiastic, eagle eyed and thorough professionals.

On our way out of India we were surprised by our own immigration official a gentleman who grilled one of our group members when she was travelling with the group where her husband was included and when our own parish priest (our mentor and travel guide for this tour) was standing with all relevant papers waving it for all immigration officials to see. This seemed as a more unwanted irritation, especially since there were an entire group that had gone through the immigration barriers before this member, all on the strength of the travel papers being waved.

Never mind this small irritant on our journey, the hotel we reached on the Israeli side as evening enveloped was in Tiberius by the shore of the river Galilee which gave us a fantastic view of the other side comprising of distant lights which we were told represented Jordan to one side and the Golan heights of Syria on the other side. The sparkling night lights added to the mesmerizing effect of being encircled in divinity in the land of our lord. Breakfast was as always sumptuous and we started off with a visit to the baptismal sight of Jesus where he was baptised by John the Baptist on the banks of the Jordan River. 

I am sure that some of us could visualize Jesus of Nazareth with his cloak, beard and long hair and the familiar portrayal; others would deepen their thoughts to feel one with Jesus as he stood there in obedience. Another way of going down memory lane would be to reminisce on our own baptisms and those of our children and grandchildren and wows taken, the solid exponentially surfacing life thereafter and the grimacing in the past.

The church of annunciation where it is believed Angel Gabriel appeared to Mary and announced the virgin birth, the house where Jesus lived with his Mother Mary and Joseph, the Carpenter workshop where Jesus assisted his father in his work. In fact all these are caves and one must remember that during those times there were no houses as we know them now, instead people lived in caves carved out for human living and customised for comfort.

Next in line was the Cana wedding place where we clamoured to buy the supposedly original wine. The wine jars where Jesus produced wine out of water they say was originally six in number but what stands out is just one of them enclosed in a glass enclosure a solitary witness to time and space brutalized by the various men and kings who rode triumphantly through this land in search of personal glory and victory.

The Church of Beatitudes, where Jesus delivered the Sermon on the Mount, the Church of Multiplication where Jesus multiplied the five loaves and two fishes to feed the vast multitude are all under the care of various church denominations and it is not always feasible to have an exclusive view during short tours and choreographed visits. Most of the time these places are taken up for worship services for small groups of peoples, mostly foreigners who want to experience the peace and tranquillity that prevails in such paces especially when purged in to the  background of the biblical teachings and scriptures. However we did seek our peace and reflected on our Sunday school days as we stood in revered silence to celebrate the times and miracles of Jesus Christ.

Next we visited Capernaum where Jesus lived during a large part of his active later life when he preached in the synagogue living at Peter’s mother in laws place. The remains of the village can be seen sprawled in the background of modern day structures over these historical monuments the white synagogue a mute spectator to the ruins of time and the numerous visitors who throng looking for spaces in which to capture history confining them to their photo frames. Finally to the church of St Peter’s Primacy where Jesus Stood on the shore after resurrection and ordered Peter and his friends to cast their net on the other side which gathered them 153 fishes when they strove the entire night and did not catch a single fish.

Ah! I just remembered we had lunch at a restaurant where the special attraction was Peter’s fish, a sad reminder of the euphoria that can go bust because everyone thought it will be fried the Kerala way patted with oil and spices, but missed the excitement at the sight of two huge fishes bland in nature many leaving it unexplored.

After discovering Israel, we proceeded to Bethlehem to have a look at life across the check points from the Palestinian side. Please remember that most of the Christian sites are under the administrative area designated to the self-rule of the Palestinians. The drive along the Mediterranean Sea to Haifa the port city of Israel was a long drive, but what awaited us at the end of the journey was a grand view over the Mediterranean Sea, further up the final resting place of the founder of the Baha’i faith, Bahaullah, with a beautiful temple and an even majestic garden that leads up to this Baha’i temple. Then over to the Shepherds field, St Peter’s church which has the cock in a crowing position atop the dome, a walk along the path where Jesus rode a donkey into Jerusalem with people singing Hosanna. Not to be outdone we also set off with an imaginary Jesus on the donkey singing Hosanna.

The church of Dominos Flevit from where Jesus wept over Jerusalem, the garden of Gethsemane, where Judas betrayed Jesus, the prison cell where Jesus was kept overnight before being presented in front of Pontius Pilate, the tomb and the resting place of King David, a most holy place for the Jews, the Upper room where the last supper took place, we were blessed to have a full Marthoma service at this place complete with Qurbana (holy Communion). This is the first Christian church in the world and we felt proud inheritors of this legacy.

The church of visitation atop a steep incline is the place where Mary went to meet Elizabeth on hearing that her cousin was expecting.  The tomb of Lazarus in Bethany needed to descend a steep two floors into the tomb and finally make a crawl to reach the tomb.  The Church of Nativity just outside our Hotel presented a glimpse of the birthplace of our Lord and we were witness to a local wedding taking place there with the church a beautiful place to behold complete with decked flowers all along both sides of the pew leading up to the altar.  

The St. Anne’s church and the pool of Bethesda where Jesus healed the infirm man who could not get into the waters on his own in spite of visiting the site for long years was a pleasant sight and we sang a wonderful group song which exploded in the serenity and calmness of the place, so much so that the Caretaker priest of Belgian origin requested a ‘once more’ for the song. The walk along the Stations of the Cross leading to Calvary and the tomb where Jesus was laid, followed by a trek to the wailing wall, from where one could have a panoramic view of the tomb over Solomon’s temple where  the Muslims believe prophet Mohammed is buried followed by a ride to the oldest city in the world Jericho, where the sycamore fig tree where Zachariah climbed to view Jesus, and the inn along the way where the Samaritan took the injured man for treatment, the mount of temptation all were treats that abounded in spirituality and made us feel less taller than our normal self.

The cry, pain, insult, whippings, betrayals were all inscribed in these places and could be seen and felt by those who had a moment to reflect on the scriptures and the bible readings. This pain oozed from every pore of the walls along the route forming a capsule to encapsulate with time deep within our hearts and embedded in memory. A surge of emotion creeps along as you match step to step with Jesus on his way to the crucifixion. You feel helpless, but gather a strong surge to be a La Peter whipping out our swords to cut off the enemies who dared torture our Lord.

But this surge subsides as you grapple and digest the fact that but for this sacrifice, we wouldn’t be whole, and our sins would stick to us like wounds to a leper. This was destined, prophesied and had to come about for the salvation of mankind, for me and you for the ones who came before us, for the next generation and for the present day living. Here we bid adieu to our guide a Palestinian and a Muslim who was well versed in the Holy Scripture passages and events related to the tour and had immense networking skills. A word on the plight of Palestinians in the West Bank, where they are under perpetual scrutiny of the Israelis, bounded and hounded from all sides, suffocating and isolated to the core, so much so that they have to travel all the way to Amman to fly out of the country. 

The Dead Sea is dead literally, stagnant waters saturated with salt, clay under your feet, shallow waters with folks sometimes stepping into places on the sea bed that allowed your feet to have the sinking effect on quicksand. For people like me who could never master the art of swimming, it was a god sent opportunity to show off that you could stay afloat irrespective of body weight. It was an opportunity to satisfy the soul putting you at par with others in clearer waters stroking their way like a fish. Believers could have a mud bath, with the firm belief that it would rid you off your skin problems. Photographs clicked during these sessions would surprise you later and add hilarious value to your photo archives and retired life adding life and giggles to stories told during time spent on the lawns with your grandchildren.

From there we left for Egypt along the road where Lot’s wife is transfixed as a salt mound in the mountains, a mute testimony to the doubting and dithering believers. At the Taba border our driver who sang Hosanna along with us and said the lord’s prayer in Aramaic, and an ardent church goer hooted his horns bidding us goodbye, with his departure we suddenly felt unsure and uncertain since he was our only connect through a long journey to the border.

Nevertheless, across the border we were greeted by our Egyptian agent and guide who took us on the long journey to Cairo, passing under the Suez Canal on our way. Finally we neared the end of the Sinai area where we stopped for the night. All along the path we followed the Red Sea to the south. The sunrise over the Red Sea was a pleasant and nourishing sight which embedded into the archives of our memory. From here after an early breakfast proceeded to Cairo a painstakingly long and boring journey sometimes under police escort ( as per prevalent laws for safety  of tourists) which is affirmed due to the treacherously barren and lifeless distorted landscape that one encounters as you pass along. Lunch though a little unsettling was had at Sharm el- Sheikh the town notable for peace deals and where ex-President Hosni Mubarak is imprisoned in absolute luxury.

The Sinai mountain area provides an apt example of a cursed land, without life, movement, and landscape distorted to a level of repulsion. At Cairo we were reminded of the hustle and bustle of India compared to Israel which seemed an organised place and a developed country. In Cairo we got a glimpse of the eager population of Egypt cramming into every nook and corner of the city, where laws take a back seat and where the population descends on the street, each nudging its way through the maddening thicket of traffic and mangled crowd.

The Cairo museum was a wonderful place to see and feel the most ancient civilization in the world, with the Tahrir square right outside, a reminder of the political evolution in Egypt. The final day we set out to explore the pyramids and the sphinx before departing for home. Our Egyptian guide was noticeable for his defence of the country and its political evolution, pho pooing foreign news channel reports of unrest, massacre of democracy and trampling of people’s rights, besides overthrowing of an elected government. He was a patriotic to the core an ardent advocate of his country, promising us that things would drastically improve on our next visit and that his government has taken all necessary steps to get the oldest civilization at par and on course to a developing nation.

This journey helped us to reflect on the scriptures, re-emphasise the places and events and broaden our understanding of the life and times of Jesus. The pains and exultations, the rebuke and the joy, the tears and the miracles are all transfixed in our eyes and mind. A must visit site for all Christians at least once in a lifetime. For those of you who have missed out on this occasion, make amends for this is the ‘Mecca’ of the Christians worldwide.

Finally a word of thanks and praise for our Tour agent Abey (John Abraham) from Dubai who accompanied us on the tour and made it memorable in spite of having to double up as tour organiser,  guide, friend, cheerleader and hand holder to our elder folks, our Parish Priest Rev. Dr P P Thomas a scholar in the Old testament who aided us on the tour by taking us down the scripture passages and assimilating places and events to daily life and routine, prodding us into linking thoughts and emotions with our daily itinerary exhorting each one of us to ponder over this visit and incorporate changes where needed.

What started off as a leisure sightseeing trip ended up as a ‘must see’ for me, possessed by the magnificent overawing spirit and a lasting feel of the place, reasons why I recommend it as a must visit place for every Christian and historically inclined traveller irrespective of their bindings at least once in a life time.

Robin Varghese - robin_vargh@yahoo.com

28^th September 2014