In memory of my aunt...we know as Nithya Athai

A Voice Stilled (Athai)

A face, a voice, a portrait on profile

Stilled by life’s treacherous wheel of death,

It is a moment of truth we fear

Admirable source of power endeared

For Athai to me is a word gone amiss

From this last Monday this family shall also miss.

A picture of gloom captured in a frame

So harsh was the pain and tears that engulfed us

But brief was her illness, so God decreed,

To serve Him by His side as His chosen Angel to be,

This was His desire, His plan, we knew not,

For mere mortals we were, attached to her love.

Our life’s sadness is a part of time

None to share it, as none to begin,

It’s her story that I say,’ hark’ unto thee.

For the soul is where my heart can be

For Athai my sweet aunt cared more for me

This from my very heart comes readily to thee.

Our house was her bride’s house at the time of her wedding

Since then I have known her for she lived down our street

She groomed her children as a loving mother would

That was her instinct I can say with pride,

This I say, for I spent most of my childhood in her tender care.

Hers was a life filled with mirth and delight,

Fearful of God and upright in sight,

She cherished all good things with a sense of humble pride,

Worked hard for a right living and this was her prize.

Gifted with a voice she could sing unto the Lord,

Her language was prolific and admired by all.

Athai, dear Athai we’ll love thee always

You’ve shown us your fondness in your short life’s essay,

We know we‘ll meet you on life’s other shore,

Till then the parting, is too great for us, you know.

Love us, lead us in life’s perilous path,

Be thou our Angel, Amma and Athai in part.

A face, no voice, a portrait on profile

Sadness etched on canvass

A picture of gloom captured in a frame

Colourless yet full of life

It’s a story of my heart’s pain.

My life’s sadness is a part of me

None to share it as none can be

For the soul is where my heart can be

Hera my pet cared more for me

It’s her story that I say hark, to thee.

Born with a coat of black and tan

I picked her up from a litter of five

For she ran to me from amongst the five

She was the most humble of them all I knew

Therefore I called her Hera for all to know.

She was a pup of pure pedigree

From her puppy days she was obedient to me

Knew when to play and guard me

Come night or day,

That was her instinct I sure must say.

She walked me to school when I was young

Stayed by my bedside when I was ill

Sat by my table when I worked for my grades

Never slept a wink lest I go to sleep

She was more than a pet, only a pet can be.

Years have gone by and she still stayed by

Always by my side knowing what to do

Never got in my way for my practices she knew

Always a cold nose and a wet lick for me to know

In joy and in sadness that she was there for me I know.

Then came the war that tore the city apart

Night after night our sleep was shattered

With rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat sound of gunfire

Fires burning, children screaming as night turned to day

We huddled in corners for our peace was threatened by the day.

One bright sunny evening I decided to go out with my friend

Hera was pacing up and down near me

Knowing that I would be away I looked down at her

Smiled, as she licked my hand, I petted her head

And I left her to go with my friend.

She acted very strangely for she desired me not to go

For she never acted so funnily, I sure should know

For she kept racing alongside the car a few blocks from home

And then I turned and watched her in the rear view mirror

That was the last time I saw her move, my humble Hera.

When I headed back home at three in the morning

The lights were up and people mourning

What the dickens I thought as I kept wandering

And there she lay on her side

Death staring in her eye.

A pale of gloom had settled in the house

For Hera had died, not a natural death

But from a snipers bullet, doing what she did best

Hera the humble pet, the guard dog and family

Was lost from us to a snipers bullet.

This is the way the saga unfolds

A short distance from Delhi untold

Agra the city, that one wouldn’t go

But for the grandeur of the Taj you know.

The execution of the Taj Mahal is not the work of one

It had the very best of 37 men that included architects, sculptors, mosaicists,

calligraphers and masons that compared to none,

Twenty Thousand work force and twenty two years to build

A monument, magnificent to love that was ever built.

Intricately designed and symmetry adhered

Incorporated with Iranian features the octagonal shape

Influenced by Indian architecture the bulbous dome

Borrowed Asian style the cylindrical minarets

Strong Muslim decorative arts influenced the calligraphy, geometry

and flower part.

White makrana marble upon a rectangular base

Stands the elegant mausoleum of the Mumtaz today

Flanked by four tall minarets, that reaches up to the sky,  

Central dome built higher than the rest, surrounded by four smaller domes

That forms the rest

Series of double arches, one over the other give it the colossal look.

Ornate marvel, breathless in appearance

Every visitor since 350 years has admired & envied

The golden age of the Mughal Dynasty

For the flat marble surfaces take the color of the sky

Yet, when viewed closely reveals true ornamental delight.

Marble carving, calligraphy, incised painting and pietra dura

The architects designed, the workforce laboured for the grand design

Motifs, White plaster, jade, turquoise, lapis, lazuli, sapphire and carnelian.
were inlaid,

Calligraphy of the Koran is composed

To make the Taj the most expensive built till date.

For three hundred fifty years, the Taj Mahal has been the symbol of true love,

A monumental valentine from an emperor to his dead wife

Three hundred fifty years, thence we’ll meet,

We will go to the Taj Mahal as willed,

The least I have done in words I write,

If Mumtaz was to Shahjahan a valentine

Are you the one to be my valentine?