Faith holds

There was a rickety, wooden chair in my house. As a child I sat on it while my mother plaited my hair each day before school. It was a ritual. Unruly tangles giving in to the firm strokes. There was a wince now and then followed by a tap on the head with the back of the comb. The result was two neat plaits, ready just in time for school. I did not have a mental alarm those days, maybe my mother did. What I had was faith that I would be ready in time for the bus. I sat without a worry in my head on that chair each morning.

Many summers passed and I got married. Not to a boy I had known since high school, or a guy I met at a pub, Nor a colleague, neither a client. I married a stranger. No courtship apart from a few formally arranged dinners with older chaperones. Suitable age, suitable boy, a good education and a steady job were benchmarks on which I put my faith. To face the seasons together, come what may, was the faith and it is running it's course.

Kids came and so did worries and mental alarms. Faith might have faltered in the small battles, but we keep moving forward each day because we trust, because we have faith.

It is festival time again. The time to celebrate our faith with family and friends.  To spread cheer through new clothes, new shoes, chants and hymns, frankincense and sweets, good food and fresh garlands. To hold a promise, to keep faith that this year too shall bring us joy and hold us together like all the years that have gone by.

The idol, though beautiful, is but an excuse, a face, to all that is good in the human spirit. More than the idol, I put my faith in the potter's loving hand. Faith that generations will continue to create this beautiful symbol of goodness on earth.

If God creates man, some men do return the favour with love