::: BEAUTY LIVE IN THE WORLD :::

She stands there in my garden, beautiful and grand, spreading her branches out as far as she can to give shade and fruit. For almost seventy years she has been the pear tree that was the envy of all who came to visit us. The garden was attractive indeed, but the pear tree held a special place for those visitors and relatives who had the privilege of hearing or witnessing real-life experiences that centered around her.

As kids, we came home from school in Darjeeling once a year for three months during the winter season. There was always the excitement and anticipation about sitting around the clay makkal on the warm floor of the common family room and listening to stories about spirits and ghosts that supposedly lived around the tree.

On those cold winter nights, my mother made it a point that after supper, we sisters sit in a small circle with the makkal in the middle—close enough to be warm and comfortable. So it was a discipline that we maintained each winter. My mother would pour glycerin into our hands followed by some drops of lemon. We would then rub the palms of our hands together, place our hands over the glowing fire and rub our faces and neck with the potion which would prevent our faces from chapping. It was almost like the “happy hour” that I and my friends often enjoy talking about—things that range from politics to spiritualism!

My mother who by then would have chatted with us, heard our enthusiastic and lengthy tales about school, the nuns, events, etc. would leave us happy that we were progressing well in studies, that we loved school and were excited to be home.

Then began our happy hour as Badi, the stately lady who was the focal character of our household, told tales about the saga of the pear tree. Widowed in childhood, Badi left her home in the mountains, as many young Brahmin widows did in those days, and descended to Kathmandu. We never asked her details about her life then as we did later, but knew that she was no maid in our house but a part of the family who jealously guarded every bit of the premises. And there was Hari, a young cook, who would sit with us at times confirming and reconfirming those eerie tales about the white khyaks (ghosts) that slipped in and out of the trunk of the pear tree in the dead of night.

We looked on, wide-eyed, listening to these tales and digested every bit because we had been used to hearing stories about those kichkandees—female witches, beautifully charming and cunning—who lured men, chased them and destroyed them. Such stories about those witches with flowing hair, heels in front of the foot and toes behind, went around Darjeeling like wildfire and names of men, often love-lorn students who studied till the late hours of the night became victims, obsessed by these vivacious witches who sucked their blood and turned them into skeletons till they withered away and died.

Hari, the cook, full of wit and energy, would swear that these white, child-like, male, luminous ghosts floated out of the tree trunk every night and skirted the compound only to return and slip back inside the trunk. And sensing our fear as we clutched each other’s hands, as if never to let go, he said there was no need to be afraid. These were the good ones who were harmless and had the power to bring joy, health and wealth The black Khyaks were to be feared as a bad omen, for they had brought about illness, bankruptcy and death amongst many families. And so these stories were confirmed by our immediate neighbours as well as the milkman, the vegetable walla, the big stout halwai, the sahuji, the nagini—the local manicurist, and our even our conservative next-door neighbours who looked upon my parents with great awe and curiosity, unable to fathom how they remained poised and content with seven daughters on their heads and no son! It was whispered in the neighbourhood that the compound was blessed by these khyaks that bestowed such calm and quiet.

The pear tree and her inmates knew it all. The wise spirits had seen the struggles and the challenges so that any visitor to the house went away with great admiration for my parent’s contentment, zeal and forward vision.

The years rolled by and the bungalow with the pear tree fell into my lot. My curiosity about the angelic ghosts remained and many a night I circled the tree, listening to the faint ruffling sounds inside the tree trunk which, with time, has become hollow. The khyaks are now accompanied by a naga (serpent) that stealthily makes a dutiful round of the premises and slides back into the trunk. It has been many years now—ghost and man have learned to live in peace and the pear tree, so old and weary will one day, I’m sure, open it’s secret about the good little khyaks and the gracious naga.

That will happen soon enough, for the tree is tired, her branches no longer sway gently in the wind as before but threaten to snap at the slightest use of force. The ugly crows have become territorial, snapping at other birds that dare chirp on her branches. The pears have shriveled in size and number. Wriggly worms are regular visitors. Yet she does not give up!

And as long as she clings on so dearly to life so will the ghosts who have been her companions.

The evening comes on with a gush of wind followed by dusk when all is quiet. I watch, earnestly waiting to witness the comings and goings of these spirits and to listen to the sweet rustlings within the hollow of the tree. I have not been fortunate enough to see them but have heard their sweet music and know that someday, a treasure hunt awaits me when the pear tree reveals her secrets and how she mesmerised her little friends to grant us those blessings. The naga is rarely seen—but is still believed to be there.

Meanwhile my fears have turned into strength with a tenacity of—Come what may! The legacy of the pear tree will continue—the music may change but the spirit will live on.

I remember Mother Teresa telling me on her return from the West — “It’s easy to deal with the poverty of the East.

Feed a person and you give them some happiness, but the poverty of the West, which is loneliness and an inability to communicate, I don’t know how to cope with that.” At the core, Greenberg (Ben Stiller) is lonely and his inability to reach out to others makes him angry and unbearable to the people he’s trying to come to terms with.

Noah Baumbach, who makes formidable films like The Squid and the Whale about a family torn apart by a divorce with no one, not even their children to help them, is an authority on the Western mode of loneliness, isolation, anger and all the other symptoms of being alone.

Says my guru Roger Ebert, “When you’re angry with the world and yourself to the same degree, you’re running in place. It takes a great deal of energy. You lash out at people. It all takes place in your head. After a time, people give up on you.

“That’s Roger Greenberg. I never knew who Stiller was born to play, but now I do. I don’t mean he is Greenberg, but that he makes him a convincing person and not a caricature. Greenberg was once, years ago, part of a rock band on the brink of a breakthrough. He walked away from it, stranding his bandmates, and never explained why. He fled Los Angeles and became a carpenter in New York.

“He’s been struggling. There has been some sort of vague period in an institution. Now he’s returned to LA to house-sit his brother’s big home and look after the dog. He can live alone no more successfully than with others. He calls Florence Marr (Greta Gerwig), his brother’s family assistant, who knows where everything is and how everything works.

And the dog knows her.

“Florence is someone we know. A bright, pleasant recent college grad uate for whom the job market has no use. We see her interacting with the family of Greenberg's brother; she does all the planning for them she should be doing for herself. In a more conventional movie, Florence would be the love interest, and Greenberg would be fated to marry her. But Florence isn’t looking for a man. She just broke up. ‘I don’t want to go from just having sex to sex to sex,’ she says. ‘Who’s the third ‘sex’?’ asks Greenberg. ‘You.’ Greenberg treats her badly. When they end up having sex, and they do, it’s like their right hands don’t know what heir left hands are doing. “He has a reunion with a former bandmate, Ivan (Rhys Ifans), a calm Brit, troubled by a trial separation, happy enough to see Greenberg and help him if he can.

But Ivan is worried that Greenberg still doesn’t understand how he crushed the dreams of his bandmates. Then there’s Beth (Jennifer Jason Leigh), who Greenberg once loved and was loved by. She has moved on in her life. She has a family.

“The important relationship is the one between Greenberg and Florence. She’s happy when she has a purpose. She wishes she had a direction in life but can be happy enough in the moment. It’s as if when Greenberg moves a little in the direction of happiness, he gets jealous because that draws attention away from his miserable uniqueness. People driven to be constantly unique can be a real pain in the ass.

“We can’t stand Greenberg. But we begin to care about him.” That’s how good Ben Stiller is.

"By blood, I am Albanian. By citizenship, an Indian. By faith, I am a Catholic nun. As to my calling, I belong to the world. As to my heart, I belong entirely to the Heart of Jesus." CENTENARY BIRTH

ANNIVERSARY OF THE ICON OF PEACE, LOVE AND HUMANITY

A woman of small built with rock like faith and insurmountable com passion became the only hope for the unwanted, the unloved, the uncared for. The mother of the poor is known all over the world as Mother Teresa. She started each day in communion with Jesus in the Eucharist and then went out, rosary in her hand, to serve those who needed love the most.

Through her life and labour, Mother Teresa showed the world the joy of loving, the greatness and dignity of every human, the value of little things done faithfully with love, and the surpassing worth of friendship with God. Early realisation This God’s gift to humanity was born on August 26, 1910, in Albania as Agnes Gonxha Bojaxhiu — the youngest child of Nikola and Drane Bojaxhiu. At 12, she felt strongly the call of God. Agnes decided to become a Catholic nun to spread the message of love and compassion in the world.

In 1928, she became a Catholic nun and changed her name to Teresa. She later joined the Irish order ‘The Sisters of Loretto’. She was sent to Calcutta in 1929 to carry out missionary work. She was appointed a teacher at St Mary’s High School. Sister Teresa became Mother Teresa on May 24, 1937, when she made final Profession of Vows to become the ‘Spouse of Jesus for Eternity’. In 1944, she was became the Principal of the school.

Epitome of selfless service The condition of poor people outside the convent made a deep impact on her and she decided to serve the destitute. On August 17, 1948, she dressed for the first time in her trademark white, blue-bordered sari and passed through the gates of Loreto convent to enter the world of the poor. She was granted permission from her superiors to serve the poor slum dwellers. Although she had no funds, it was her determination that kept her going. With strong faith on Divine Providence, she started an open-air school for slum children. She was joined by volunteers. Financial assistance started pouring in.

Mother Teresa’s work was not limited to teaching the poor children; she also educated the adults. In the slums of Calcutta, she noticed a lack of basic facilities, such as hospitals and clinics. After a short course with the Medical Mission Sisters in Patna, Mother Teresa returned to Calcutta and found temporary lodging with the Little Sisters of the Poor. On December 21, she went for the first time to the slums. She visited families, washed the sores of children, cared for an old man lying sick on the road and nursed a woman dying of hunger and TB. Growing recognition On October 7, 1950, she re ceived permission from the Holy See to start her own order, `The Missionaries of Charity', whose primary task was to love and care for people nobody was ready to look after. In 1965 the Society be came an International Religiou Family by decree of Pope Paul VI.

The group soon started a facility where people, who were dying on the streets, were brought and taken care of. The service inspired people to join the noble cause and donate funds. Mother Teresa used the donations and thousands of missionaries who had joined her, for the establishment of several centres for needy people of the world. By the early 1960s, Mother Teresa began to send her Sisters to other parts of India.

The Decree of Praise granted to the Congregation by Pope Paul VI in February 1965 encouraged her to open a house in Venezuela. It was soon followed by foundations in Rome and Tanzania and, eventually, on every continent. Her inspiration was not limited to those with religious vocations. She formed the Co-Workers of Mother Teresa and the Sick and Suffering Co-Workers, people of many faiths and nationalities with whom she shared her spirit of prayer, sacrifice and her apostolate of humble works of love. In 1980, she started Homes for people suffering from various incurable diseases, prostitutes, drug addicts and orphans. One of  her most significant works was the establishment of centre for AIDS patients in 1985.

The Missionaries of Charity was officially recognised as an International Association on March 29, 1969. Last years During the last years of her life, despite facing several health problems, Mother Teresa continued to serve the poor and needy and work for her Society and Church. By 1997, Mother Teresa’s Sisters numbered nearly 4,000, working in about 610 foundations in 123 countries across the world. Her newly-elected successor was appointed the Superior General of the Missionaries of Charity in March 1997. After meeting Pope John Paul II, she returned to Calcutta, where she spent her last weeks receiving visitors and giving instructions to her Sisters.

She departed from this world on September 5, 1997, at the age of 87. On October 19, 2003, Pope John Paul II beatified Mother Teresa. The beatification, which took place in Rome, marked the first step of her sainthood.