“Love is how you stay alive, even after you are gone”

 By Suresh Nellikode

This is the third time I’m finishing the ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’. It’s no doubt a priceless contribution to the world literature. A not only not-to-be-missed one, but certainly a rediscovery of life. Each time I finish, I get rid of the fear of death. The world, by and large, seems to be turning a cold shoulder to such matters.

If you have a grand parent, an uncle, a teacher or a colleague who understands you very well in your life, this is a must-read, and you’ll love at life, be it all the more discouraging, and live on in the hearts of everyone you have touched and nurtured while you were here.

Death ends a life, not the various lovely relationships you built. This gives a deeper awareness of the realities that sustain and unite us all.

Author : Mitch Albom – Renowned journalist, writer and broadcaster, lives in Michigan, USA.




by Suresh Nellikode 

Behram Darukhanawallah is more than a customer to me. So soft-spoken, omni-smiling, unfailingly patient, unassuming, a Canadian retiree took all the strain of coming to my office to hand over 2 Canadian Dollar-coins to me to use it in the trolley-slot to get a trolley released at Lester Pearson Airport, Toronto, when I land there. I couldn’t but stand still for a moment with flooded eyes! Behramji is a new friend of mine, who stays alone at the Canadian side of Niagara, comes to Abu Dhabi every year to stay a few days with his son.

I’m no one to him. But I stood lost and surrendered to his kind gesture.

And I resolved not to destine these coins to a trolley-slot, but to preserve it as a token of love towards Behramji. Small things one would never want to forget…It’s incapable of being obliterated. It has that intensity, as deep as earth!


The Advent of Spring

By Suresh Nellikode
It’s been a long, hard winter – I was told. Ice melted away. Green sprouts everywhere.
Gary says, “Winter is like that last drunken-party-guest who just doesn’t know when to leave.” Gary is a self-proclaimed travel nut, with apt observations and inferences. He reasons well and his wits are bold.
Suja likes spring. The rebirth of nature. The hide and seek of rain. She’s in love with the lilac that stands in front of our house – drowsy, leafless, with a faded wintry smile. Every morning she tries waking her up.
“Laila, my Miss congenial, lazy bum, get up. It’s time to put your shoulder to the wheels. Don’t think that you are the only plant that carries the agonising pains of winter.”
Like a coy bride, Miss Lilac doesn’t even look up. She nods to sleep again. But Suja forces her way into a sunlit world. Finally, under allround pressure she slowly wakes up to the rough realities of this not-so-lit world. Green sprouts like goose pimples. Lilac answered to Suja’s calls. She even gets up before Suja does, like an early to rise tot waking up her mother. A few days, and it’s green everywhere.
Sapsuckers landed on white birches and they rustled their leaves in response.
The slender, hardy asked, ” where’ve you been all these days when everything was falling apart?”
For a while he bowed down. Then said, ”winter was so harsh and turned my marrow frozen red. Couldn’t stand and flew.”
”What brought you back over?”, asked the tree.
”The sap… and sap alone in you makes me oblivious of the miles I flew”, said the bird.
A tear had slipped down from the birch.
”Still you held me in fond remembrances. You’re a guest to my immobility, and I’m honoured.”
Once barren, ice-coated and frozen branches now brimmed with life and started waving their leaves.
The bird started hammering away, excavating cavities in the trunks.
Tuk ……Tuk ……tuktuk…..
”Haven’t you still got the right wood for your ship?”
Woodpecker raised his head.
It’s none other than the Saw Whet Owl.
He does not like the round eyed who always act like a spy and question all others. He’s lazy, never makes a nest and always use the cavities or nests made by others. He’s always prying into the personal matters of others with a scornful look. Other birds are even scared to look into his round round eyes. When they call him ‘Snoopy’, he gets irritated and offended, follows them and shouts back to a peck of troubles.
Woodpecker stopped his work and flew away, telling the birch that he would be back after some time.
The hooter angled his looks down here and there, couldn’t see anyone to tease, also flew back.
A little away, a column of smoke winds into the sky.
It was the advent of spring!  Hope it’s eternal.


When I’m torn asunder, how do I concentrate on writing?

Sometimes I feel like going to office on off-days even, thanks to the calls continued intermittently throughout the day. Off-days go restless creating an unremitting hostility towards every cat and dog coming around. Or into some promising hideouts, which are known to a very few.

Suja, Chandu and Nandu are certainly missing me. But, then I have a relief that Chandu takes care of them and acts his age. He makes Nandu iron his clothes, clean the car and washroom, shovelling ice etc., on rewards which seldom materialise as per the latter. He adds: He makes me slog like a donkey and gets all his works done on false promises. When I revolt, he fixes me up on something or the other I had done earlier which has ‘far reaching consequences’, on which I could be caught any time by Mom. I’ve no other way out, but to surrender. When I come back tired I could see a Tom Cat resting on his armchair like a feudal lord, crossing his legs!

That’s the way the cookie crumbles at 1494, Paddington Court, Headen Drive, Burlington

By Suresh Nellikode

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