you cannot choose your teachers

To Live to love...........

2012-01-15T20:30:00.001+05:30

How does one cope with the loss of one’s shadow, a friend, and a soul mate? Hopefully he is in happy hunting grounds. But….is he be happy there? Won’t he miss me …..like I miss him?

Born to Juliet a blue blooded German Shepherd and a wayward Labrador…..they were an ideal blend of the best of qualities of both the breeds. Sonic, a raggy shaggy fur ball , walked up to me, sniffed my feet , curled up and slept; accepting me as his mom. Soni , his chubby golden sibling, slept blissfully, content in herself. Sonic was chosen to be adopted but the pretty Soni tempted us into taking her too. As, I carried the two fur balls to my home, little did I know, that they would become not just a part of our life, but also our identity.

Soni, the pretty girl was the very symbol of dignity. She had German Shepherd like features and the golden coat of a Labrador. Her coat was shiny and clean, her pink nose a little snooty but very pretty. She was mature and intelligent and sort of looked down upon Sonic’s playful juvenile behavior. She loved going for walks, swimming and drives. She looked forward to being given a bath and would then spend hours preening over her glossy coat. With such good looks can arrogance be behind? She littered only once as a result of an accidental mating with Sonic. After that she never mated leaving per poor mate Sonic completely high and dry. We lost her in 2009 when she did not survive a surgery to remove her uterus.

Sonic……. The coat and body of a German Shepherd but the face of a Labrador was wrongly named as he hated music. He was a tramp. His rough coat never shone in spite of all the grooming. He hated baths and wanted to be scratched perennially. He was very talkative, exuberant and very demanding. His keen nose could smell food and his sixth sense helped him smell food kept just about anywhere at home. A terror and night mare of all dogs and people in the vicinity, he was petrified of Soni. Like all self- respecting men, he never took any chances with her and was completely in awe of her. When she would come on heat, high drama would unfold at home. He would whine and plead and she just looked away in complete deaf nonchalance. When his appeals to Soni went in vain he would plead to us to intervene. He was very expressive and gave us a very vocal piece of his mind whenever we went out of town. After Soni left us, it was Sonic who took it upon him to make sure that we don’t miss her much. He became more of my “ Sonny dog” loving me for just being there….loving me with no expectations ….unconditionally.

Together they meant security both physical and emotional. After 14 years I am now relearning to lock the door. I am painfully aware of the absence of the patter of feet following me, the swish of a tail that upset my cutlery and the jar of biscuits, a favorite bribe for our long working hours. Had it not been for them I would not have survived some of the darkest moments of my life.

Life without Soni was sad….but life without Sonic is painful. He rests under a chikoo tree in Whispering Meadows……but somehow he lives on…….

THE FEAR FACTOR

2011-12-06T22:24:00.001+05:30

Fear manifests in many ways. Lesser mortals like me live in the fear of the unknown- the fear of losing someone dear and the fear of losing health and the fear of losing love of near and dear ones. But for larger Mortals all these fears condense in one word- POWER.

The God of Power is no small God. He is more powerful than any in the world’s pantheon of Gods. This God of Power is formless and manages to reach across nationalities, languages, cultures, and etc. This most ironical twist is that this God is whimsical. There can’t be a more fickle God than the God of Power. Strangely this God has a tendency to throw tantrums at those people who worship him the most. Nor is there a shrine or any prayer that can be offered to please this God. So, this God remains elusive especially from people who worship him the most. There is another danger of being a devotee of the God of power – once you are a devotee you always remain one irrespective of the fact that the God does not favour you anymore. Once you have been showered by the God’s benevolence, you get intoxicated by the sheer aura of power and there is no way that you can get out of it. You remain in a daze and stupor… lotus eater……..drunk with power….a hangover from which one can never ever wake up.

And in this stupor, the sycophants of these fallen worshippers have begun to run around like headless chicken. In complete fear of a re-enactment of Tahrir Square in India, the Madonna and her team have gone overboard in slowly imposing restrictions so that the reluctant crown Prince is ready to be the next emissary of the God of Power.. Ironically, in one straight shot, they have isolated the young voters and the huge number of people who use Social Networking Sites; the very crowd who was supposed to give the haloed prince a prized place in the altar of the God of Power.

Strangely this whimsical God Power showers all its benevolence on those who shun and mock at his power. This God makes the weakest an instrument of actions. The timid the oppressed become his voice as they manifest the might and sway of Power. So, a weak Anna who couldn’t care less for Power is the most powerful standing tall among the groveling sycophants. A sincere no nonsense Arvind Kejriwal is any day a preferred choice over the perennially “ foot in the mouth” Rahul Raol Gandhi. And a passionate fiery Kiran Bedi to an impassive Madonna.

DIRTY PICTURE

2011-11-17T16:59:00.002+05:30

In this age of consumerism, it was only expected that woman too would be treated as a commodity and that too with unabashed shame. But what is shocking is the complete ignorance displayed by women who have been chosen by the media to epitomize the “ Come of age woman” . So, here we have an otherwise petite actor dressed up asif for a costume drama share her views about women who have “come to terms with their sexuality”.

I always thought that the lack of ability to look beyond sex was attributed to the MANkind. Women were more sensitive creatures and for the information of the fire brand host who was conducting a talk show about “the dirty picture” and the other movies of the ilk. Even the people invited to share their views were the typical media darlings ever ready to shock without any substance whatsoever. I always thought that a human being is an evolved form of an animal. It’s only a human being who has the power to exercise will and choice; a will and choice to rise above the animal. So, would the complete surrender to the baser instincts of procreation or to titillate to that end be considered as something to make a song and dance about?

Maybe I am old and jaded but I have always seen strong women around me. Both my Grandmas were strong in their own way, my mother is even today is more broadminded and non-judgmental than I am. As a teenager, I remember watching Nutan in Bandini and I said to myself here is a complete woman. Later on, I marveled the strength displayed by Shabana….whom I consider an Institution. I must say she is the only actor who can smile- only - with her eyes. The way she portrays the strength of a woman makes being a woman a very special feeling. Whether it is the mother who conquers the woman in Masoom, the free woman in Arth, the woman who defeats an indulgent mother in Godmother, the woman who is unapologetic about sexual gratification in Fire and the wife who actually hits her husband literally below the belt with a one liner in Mrityudand……..every bit the symbol of a strong woman who is aware of her body and is more aware of her strength as a woman.

The Indian cinema has surely become a little brazen and yes it is selling as of now. So, all emotions that is raw, unabashed and blatant is welcome to a generation that has just become comfortable using the language that is being bombarded on us through the Hollywood and the sitcoms. So, today when an Indian hears desi abuses on the screen it is their way of getting to terms with Hollywood…..well, "so can we" syndrome. In fact our American counterparts look rather boring with their much used abuses as compared to the desi variety. Some of the abuses have been celebrated as songs and as expected are at the top of the charts.

But in this entire market driven dynamics, like always women are the losers who with their “in the face” sexuality have actually pushed themselves a little more closer to become a mere commodity.

A New Learning

2011-10-16T23:06:00.002+05:30

The uniqueness of a teacher’s profession is that the teacher gets to interact with different students every day. Each child is unique, each learner with special ability and special needs. The challenge then for me as teacher is to reach out to ALL and help them discover the hidden giant in them; the giant that has been dwarfed by some curable maladies; in this case lack of communication skills.

Working on a new program to enhance employability among students, we hit a roadblock. Here the concern was the applicability of the program as the students to whom this program was to be administered were deemed not ready due to “poor level”. There is a belief that if students or people cannot speak in English, they are not intelligent or smart; as an English teacher very ironically, I have observed and fought this misconception many a times. Hence when I was told about this concern about the students of a far flung University in Aligarh, I knew from what belief systems this thought had originated.

So, I set off for the dusty bowls of the plains of Uttar Pradesh. After the wonder of the T3 terminal at Indira Gandhi International Airport followed by a dream ride in the Metro to New Delhi Railway Station in an incredible 25 minutes, I boarded the Gomti Express to disembark at Aligarh. From there an hour’s ride through stretches of fields interrupted by dusty towns and in the middle of nowhere I was told that I have arrived at the gate of the university, my destination. I reached on time to feel the pulsating energy of the excited chatter of the students while they were boarding the buses to go home. The teacher in me came alive once again as I looked forward to a day of interaction with them.

My team already stationed there gave me a much expected picture- they don’t even know the meaning of the word “popular”, they did not know to use the word ‘exhibition” they said “pradarshini” etc. When I told them that I was not trying to see how much English they knew but I wanted to see how much of concept understanding they have, they dismissed the topics chosen by me as tough and incomprehensible for the students. In other words the students are DUMB.

Though I was treading unknown waters, my intrinsic trust in the youth told me that my team was in for a huge surprise. The day dawned and I was back on familiar turf a class room with rows and rows of bright young faces, the future . I told them why I am there and told them about how they need to express their views in whatever language they are comfortable in. I could see a visible sign of relief on their faces when I told them specifically that they will not be evaluated for their ability to speak in English.

Of the 160 students that I interacted with on a one on one basis, I noticed that not just are students well informed about things around them, they are very positive and optimistic. They did not have the retarding cynicism which I noticed in a lot of big city students. They were sincere, hardworking and just needed a little push in the form of communication skills so that they could transform the world with their positive energy. Like always I cursed the curse of history which had made it so mandatory for these students to be handicapped only because they could not speak a foreign tongue.

As a teacher, I have always maintained that students are the best teachers; especially to teach teachers. In my interaction with these students, I realized that the definition of progress can be different, that a broken down bus that connects villages is an effective means of transport, the mushrooming small technical institutes actually open doors of opportunity, that a dusty dirty town can evoke pride in the hearts of the people who are born there, that a much maligned Chief Minister is a symbol of a phoenix ………….160 minds with so much of learning…..at the end of the day, I was dwarfed by their levels of information and positive power!
So, I too came out of this experience too; a little more learned and humbled.

As I drove off with the rising sun, all I could pray was for the strength and imagination to help these students overcome their handicap so that in my twilight years I will be able to walk away into the sunset having touched some more young lives for the better.

MIL- THE BRAND NEW STATUS

2011-10-12T10:31:00.002+05:30

With this new found status, I ought to feel all hoity. There should be a certain swish and arrogance in the way I walk after all I am a mother- in- law of a “soni kudi” both literally and metaphorically due to her Punjabi origins. Like my friends advise me, I should start wearing trail blazing sarees with complicated designer bindis and when I call out to my DIL…..well even the nature should stand in suspended animation waiting for the commanding diktat of the MIL !!!!

Now….this is where the huge disconnect sets in. I have begun to have serious doubts about myself…am I really a misfit in the society?

To begin with I was warned that I have lost my son forever…..well, instead of feeling bad I am rather happy about it. I used to feel a pang of regret every time he left home as I used to wonder how he would cope with loneliness as all moments alone are not solitude. This time when my son left, I was happy that he will not have to return from work to an empty home…he will have the company that he has chosen to be with. I have always felt that the most precious claim is the claim of the heart and to recognize that my son has actually found a soul mate is indeed a very liberating and elevating feeling. It’s as if I have one more person to share that emotional responsibility. Other material things have never mattered to me anyway.

I was told about how my DIL would slowly take control of my son and then my home. WOW …..I have been looking so much forward to retire from mundane chores at home so that I can spend the rest of my life writing and reading ….take long walks in the solitude of early morning Bangalore mist….. I would in fact say cheers to this fear and pray fervently that this come true. Imagine being free of the usual mundane shopping , cooking, cleaning, entertaining routine? What can be more heavenly than that?

My reaction to having a DIL is to have a friend with whom I can share some girlie moments. I can share so many things with her that I cannot share with “guys”. Whether it is sharing a unique dish called “paani puri cornflakes” or if it is sharing little asides and digs on the “guy” behavior and attitudes…I am doing things that I have never done. Sorrounded by boys all the time, it’s as if that girlie part in me was dead and buried. My first shopping sojourn with her was so much of fun. We actually went berserk trying anything and everything. It was so much fun when she would try something and step out for a second opinion. The thrill of bitching about dress sense, hairstyles and tacky colours. It’s so much fun to have a co-conspirator against the “guys” where we share a knowing laugh and leave them mad at their unimaginative wild guesses.

Well, as of now having a DIL has done wonders……it has actually awakened a girlie teenager in me!

MENTORS

2011-09-25T22:04:00.001+05:30

The song goes…..but how do you thank someone who has taken you from crayons to perfume……. after almost 35 years, one hears the same tenor, the same tone, the same candid candor….and how does one react….well, at my age I can’t possibly scream off rooftops but yes….had I been many years younger, I would have actually done that.

When you are in mid-teens, a lot of influences work on you and they are lasting impressions. In my case, it was not my parents, my teachers or even my friends. It was surprisingly, two of my father’s friends; his chess mates to be precise. At an age when any advice from parents and teachers is a complete anathema, these two people unwittingly became my mentors. Maybe there was an element of infatuation from my side which they very wisely scoffed and dismissed. But then they impacted my life….my first teachers.

Both of them in their late twenties appeared to be the very epitome of “freedom” especially to a teenager in Delhi, completely trapped between the Punjabi display and the Mallu sobriety. These guys to me then appeared to be people who worked just to eke an existence…..an existence that took them from one music festival to another, helped them lounge around in art galleries, buy rare books to add to their library maintained by their father back home………no doubt they became my role models making me a hopeless idealistic romantic even to this day.

This impact happened over series of conversations that was very overt and approved. It began by replacing my transition to pulp fiction to better reading habits. It began by recognizing the soulful nuances of classical music as opposed to the superficiality of light music. It began by a general disconnect with all feelings superficial and cosmetic and a journey deeper within oneself…introducing me to a new definition of honesty; being honest to myself. No doubt I had my flirtations, especially due to my connections to the flamboyant defence services lifestyle; but I always returned to what was more permanent and enduring…..even making me change the course my life

Looking back I can say that it is them who showed me the road less travelled and I took it….without any regret. It does not matter if they have lived up to what they had symbolized then……but they made a huge difference. Today whatever I am or not; is largely because of the influence they had on my impressionable mind. I have evolved a lot and maybe I am just not what they would have expected me to be…but whatever I am today would not have happened if I had not been shown “the two roads converging in the woods”.

After so many years hearing the same voices brought in a rush of memories……I can’t say about them but they have made all the difference!

I AM ANNA

2011-08-22T11:48:00.005+05:30

The entire participation in corruption corrodes something very intrinsic. Though we make excuses for our contribution to the vicious cycle of corruption, the fact is that we know deep within that it is wrong. That is why there is such an overwhelming manifestation of what is actually an act of self purging. That simple crusader who has taken it upon himself to fight for you and me is like a hope for millions who had surrendered and accepted corruption as a way of life. What one sees today is the euphoria of that realization that I don’t have to live with the humiliation of corruption.

As a common person, the multiple zeros in huge scams mean nothing. it does not touch me immediately, so there is a certain dissociation with the likes of Raja or Kalmadi. It has no apparent impact or connection to my day to day existence. But when I need to pay an additional 100 rupees to get a cooking gas cylinder replaced , when I need to pay the people in the RTO to get a Driving License, when I need to pay that extra to get a Rail ticket, when I see a Govt vehicle and even the Govt run public transport jump the traffic lights with not even as much as a reprimand, when you get held up in traffic for hours at end to facilitate the safe movement of my elected representative- technically my servant, it hurts …..it really hurts.

Such is the humiliation of corruption; where your existence gets abused day after day by those in power. It’s not for nothing that there is so much anger among people. The sickening arrogance of Manish Tiwari as he spewed venom cannot be forgotten or forgiven easily. Then to add insult to injury you have an impassive Chidambaram flaunting his impotence for the nth time as the Home Minister. Not to miss out the benign face of our Prime Minister who looks as maddeningly innocent as a puppet that keeps running into blunders as the strings that pull him have got all tangled. No doubt people have begun to compare the Congress to a motherless child! There are other Congress darlings too……… Manu Abhishek Singhvi, Renuka Chowdhury and Kapil Sibal who have rewritten the import of the word “obnoxious”

As a hardworking,, taxpaying citizen of India, I am Anna. I am Anna and I have more than the only disgusting and frustrating choice of negating some people with a switch of channels, I am Anna and I have heard the voice of my conscience that tells me to rise above this constant humiliation, I am Anna because I am not weak and helpless . I am Anna because I have the power to question those whom I put in the throne of power, I am Anna because I am a free, proud, and self-respecting Indian.

TRANSACTIONAL ANALYSIS 1O1

2011-08-07T19:08:00.002+05:30

As I drove into the Seed Therapy Center at Indira Nagar, what struck me was the very unusual venue for a Training Program. Unlike the artificial cozy warmth of a star hotel, what I saw was a warm entrance with three chairs put around a coffee table. Almost in perfect congruence with the environment was our cheerful and warm host and Trainer, Chitra Ravi. She ushered us to the training room and the adjoining coffee corner and rest rooms. What was striking was the instant impact of ease comfort and homeliness.

Why I mention this specifically was because I feel that this had a lot of impact on the subsequent sessions that followed. What was waiting for me for the next two days was a whole lot of internal journeys and analysis.

The discussion of ego states and how we fluctuate between parental influences, childhood reactions and the adult state in situations was an eye opener. Our Egograms also made us realize how different we appeared compared to what we thought about ourselves. It was surprising how in some situations we either shut out or influence the child or parent or the adult in our transactions in our day to day situations. By now, most of us had already internalized a lot and this journey within had begun to lay bare a lot of wounds. So, when we discussed hungers followed by strokes it was almost a verbal healing touch; bringing the entire group closer to each other.

On day2, we all met like long lost friends. When we structured our time chart, I was surprised how much time I wanted to spend in some areas ….which has been completely ignored in my rat race. Then came the classic much talked about Life Positions. But now we looked at it in a new light….we knew why we assumed certain positions in our transactions. Then came the script of our life. It is here that I encountered some of the most honest moments shared with people. As people undertook the journey into their past, all curtains dropped. A lot of unhealed wounds buried under layers of time, came out in the open in all vulnerability. Those moments of honest sharing are something I won’t forget for a long time to come. It was an experience to see how our past comes up as an injunction and a driver. Thanks to Chitra, she lead us to a role play where we played out drama triangles and somewhat lightened the environment.

At the end of two days, I thanked my parents with all my heart for their wonderful parenting which has made me what I am today. I realized that their transactions were traditional but yet never stifling. It gave me the security I needed along with the freedom to explore and create. As a parent I analyzed some of the tricky situations that I had gone through with them and I understood where exactly I had gone wrong. I felt stronger, more in control and above all a complete acceptance of what people are. I recognize the danger and unfairness of being judgmental.

ON GOING LIVE

2011-08-04T12:35:00.001+05:30

When I began to teach, I taught by instinct. With vivid memories of boring teachers, drab classrooms enlivened only by our hilarious pranks, I knew what I should NOT be doing as a teacher. So, that was the thumb rule for my classes, my students should love every moment with me. So, with the rewritten, guiding principle that “I should NOT DO unto others as I had my teachers do unto me" I began my teaching career.

As I grew, I learnt to identify that fine diving line between freedom and licentiousness. I learnt that discipline is not a tool for suppression or oppression of students; it is necessary to make sure that everybody gets their space and their freedom. I learnt to recognize the method and thought behind writing a text book. I realized that assessments if planned well, is a true reflection of the performance of a teacher.

But the trigger for all these changes has always been my students. It is from them that I learnt the most. It is their expressions and reactions that helped me put my act together and rework my act as a teacher. Later when I turned to training, I learnt to look at training process as an act of sharing where I share a skill that I have with others who are already accomplished in other skills. Hence training brought in humility as I developed a partnership in learning.

So, when I was asked to train students through VSAT i.e. Very Small Aperture Terminal, I was intrigued. More than the technical aspect of the training, I was curious to know how I could train students in multiple classes’ miles and miles way, through a virtual but interactive classroom. After almost 2.5 months…..it happened!
I was in a studio with bright lights, multiple computer screens, wires connecting me to ear phones and microphones and above all a miniscule view of the students whom I was to train. I started off with a cheerful introduction and then I realized that there is a bit of a time lapse between when I speak and when I am actually heard. Then there was the constant complaint that the slides that I showed were not steady in the class rooms. Above all I missed the faces of the students, their boredom, their mischievous twinkle, their “aha” moment, etc. I could just see a group particularly three boys in the front bench whose faces were completely imperceptible in the telescopic view of the camera.

I suppose it will take me some time to get used to not getting a push button response to my sessions. In spite of an overwhelming feedback, I missed the spark of a live audience. However there was this moment where I felt that I can actually reach out to them. When I asked them how they knew a movie is over …….after a few routine responses, a smart one said “because it is 2.5 hrs. and the movie has to end”

Happy Birthday Kasab!

2011-07-14T10:35:00.002+05:30

Happy birthday Kasab!

Hope you had a lovely day!

I hope the jail authorities gave you something interesting to eat…I understand it’s difficult to eat Biryani every day!

Your simplicity is so endearing. Almost childlike…you know. You cry sometimes and then laugh with glee. You have in your special adorable ways kept the jail authorities guessing.

Your sense of fun could teach a couple of lessons to the entertainment industry as you keep leading investigators on a wild goose chase.

You are a living example of courage even in the face of extreme adversity; even when your parents disowned you and your Nation turned its back on you. You laughed in sheer courage as the charges were read out against you in court, you openly challenged the judicial system of the largest democracy in the world.

To top it all you are so unassuming…you are a theme for so many shows, the TV channels treat you as an icon that sent their TRP ratings soaring. You even managed to overshadow the so called martyrdom of super star cops. Still you sit in the protection of a Spartan cell, unaffected by all this attention and adulation.

But then yesterday was your day! On your birthday, the special gift, the three blasts in the most crowded areas of Mumbai was a tribute to your courage and dare devilry. You must have slept well yesterday, as the blasts were the ultimate icing in the cake. It happened just where you and your friends were. Did the jail authorities allow you to watch the fireworks and its gory aftermath? Even your best friend the Home Minister, remarked that the fireworks were “Planned”. Remember such compliments from him are rare. You would have laughed once again to see the hapless people rave and rant against the Government of India .

Your friends, some perhaps even trained you for action have sent you a loud and explosive message
HAPPY BIRTHDAY KASAB—HAVE A BLAST

The Big Change

2011-07-05T12:09:00.002+05:30

Poised for another big change in life, I have all kinds of emotions and situations running a muck in me. My son after years of courtship has finally decided to take the plunge. Well….it’s his life, I know but with no choice, I have got sucked into the eye of the storm.

The very first milestone was our meeting with the bride’s parents. After all the mess the kids had created with all their uncalled for secrecy, the meeting was smooth. Sensible and succinct they came across as bewildered as we are at this big change.

What surprises me the most is the sudden ostentatious streak that my son seems to have acquired. His desire to be different and wacky has really affected some chemical composition in his usually sharp gray cells. To begin with he wanted a card in a bottle: the kind that people toss when they are marooned in some remote corner. After being a really sort after very eligible bachelor, I can understand his sentiment of being lost and at sea with the impending loss of his bachelor status, but wouldn’t a card to that effect be a little too explicit? The next one was a card that was designed like the characters in playing cards, again, I agree that marriage is a gamble but it needn’t be put in red and black that too right at the onset of the marraige! To make matters worse, like a nail in the coffin, he wants to perform at his wedding that too with the infamous DK Bose song!

Like the icing on the cake, is my prospective daughter. A stylish but ill fitted shoe had created enough complications to warrant a minor surgery; yet she continues her shopping sojourns. She is a sight limping around but with a heart full of steely determination to shop till ….there is no end in sight!

As the day draws closer and closer, I dread the creative urges that could be working in the minds of the bride and the groom, I only hope and pray that it does not border on the bizarre!

My husband says, “You two are not the first ones to be married on this earth!” and my younger son in his typical humor asks “you sure… I need to be a part of all this?”

The forgotten finishing line

2011-05-23T14:59:00.001+05:30

I’d rather be a forest than a tree….yes I would, if I could……. Simon and Garfunkel can really play havoc. Something in me has begun to murmur that this is not the life I bargained for. Sanitized work spaces, insulated from the vagaries of weather. People pushed into compartments called work space. Then miles and miles of metal shimmer, all headed like headless chicken to God knows where? Every face, taut and tense……waiting to explode. The saving grace; a stray glimpse of lovers; the sweet madness in their hearts creating a halo of magical oblivion.

Am I being sucked into a renunciation mode? Somehow, the desire to fight, the desire to resist and the desire to prove myself is not there anymore. I look at the milling crowds around me and am filled with a painful sense of emptiness. Something in me tells me that this is not what I want….I have gone wrong somewhere…terribly wrong….where is the sense of achievement? Or to put it honestly – what am I trying to achieve? And more pertinent…do I really want to achieve?

More than ever I want to get away to some place that has not yet been ravaged by ambition and progress. A place where people do not live in stacked compartments..one piled above the other, a place where people do not spend evenings ,robot like blinking in a stupor like daze at the idiot box. A place where people do not gobble up some junky fare to fill their bellies. A place where people do not even have a right to their share of earth, sky and sun. A place, where one is controlled by the uncontrollable, transient, Tyrant; Time.

In our blind race for material affluence, we have lost sight of the real finish line. In this race, unlike the fabled rabbit we have not slept off… on the contrary, we have slogged so much that the finish line has become irrelevant. After all what do we all want at the end of the day? Are we all not on the lookout for contentment? Don’t we all want satisfaction? Don’t we all want peace? Deep in our hearts we all seek: A place where I have all the time to gaze at the rising and setting sun. A place where I can be lulled into slumber by the cry of a koel. A place where I can sit back and read, with the sound of the rain gushing through leaves. A place where lazy, warm afternoons are spent lolling on the coolness of a plain scrubbed floor. A place where evenings carry the aroma of wet, water sprayed earth. A place where the evening lamp and smoke from the kitchen chimneys lend a perfect prelude to the star spangled night.

BMTC vs DTC

2011-05-21T11:24:00.001+05:30

Now that I am back on the roads of namma Bengaluru….one cannot help but notice some typical traits of Bangalore Traffic. I feel this is unique to Bangalore but I am sure that all metros have something characteristic and typical of them.
To begin with I salute the BMTC buses. They not just stop at designated Bus Stops, they stop just about anywhere. All one needs to do is extend a hand and drop an intention that you could board a bus and lo and behold they stop! So, isn’t it natural that the BMTC buses with such noble and strict adherence to their dharma, are bound to have a certain arrogance and swagger. Hence they call the shots on the road! They rarely give way to other selfish vehicles who do not share their exalted Dharma! Sometimes when a BMTC bus gives me the right of way, I am so shocked that I don’t move. Then I am torn between the dilemma of jumping out of the car and bending low to do a ‘namaskara’ or should I pray to the almighty for such grace? These BMTC buses have earned strangely located bus stops too. There is always a bus stop at the end of a fly over creating a much avoidable pile up of traffic. In the same way, there are many bus stops located immediately after a red light. None of these hitches deter the nobility of the BMTC buses behavior. They follow their Dharma. They wait patiently at the bus stop for the passengers to pile in till they spill over. No doubt BMTC has introduced special fleet of buses which a very uppity in their appearance, but still the humble BMTC goes about its Dharma of being a means of transport for the common man.

Now contrast this with DTC, Delhi Transport Corporation. Wider roads, well planned traffic lights, state of the art bus stops and now the support from the Delhi Metro. The DTC buses just don’t stop at the bus stops. As a Delhiite I used to gauge from the movement of the bus if it would stop before the bus stop or after. Most of the time one gets into a battle of wits with the bus driver. The bus driver without any specific training is adept at the art of gauging if the people at the bus stop will come to catch the bus before or after …accordingly they plan their strategy. These DTC buses are great pranksters too….they slow down as if to stop and the passengers rush to board they drive off…hahahahah! What a joke! DTC buses are sticklers for orderly number of people seated in the bus, hence they dislike taking in too many passengers. I suppose they decide on a fancy what number of passengers should be seated in a bus and move accordingly. It’s a Bus not a container into which people can be packed like sardines! Most DTC buses prove the Darwinian maxim of survival of the fittest!
Delhi has some private buses running too. Initially they were called red line buses as they were painted Red. Somehow, these buses took their colour rather seriously and behaved accordingly; true to their colour. Since these buses ran on the profit earned from the number of passengers, they not just stopped at bus stops; they pleaded the passengers to board their buses. Tempted them with their choice of music and let people board and get off anywhere. Such was the sense of competition, that they raced with the other buses to get to the Bus Stop sooner so as to grab more passengers. Quite often the drivers of these Red line buses were untrained so they usually decimated other vehicles that crossed their path. Such was the rush to grab passengers that the brakes were ignored and the bus would stop after it had parked itself INSIDE the bus stop! These Red Line buses earned the notoriety of being “killer” buses.
And the Delhi govt with their characteristic myopia changed the colour of the buses to blue so that people would not get affected by the Red colour of the buses!

The dilemma of extended umbilical cord

2011-05-13T22:24:00.002+05:30

A dilemma that most Indian parents face is when to cut the emotional umbilical cord? Even a parent like me who struggles to maintain stoic objectivity in my relationship with children, stumble ….there is always the nagging thought that “ no one knows better than mom” So, whether it is a warm oil massage, or rustling up a favourite dish….the motivation behind all this activity is just one over riding factor- : I have known my child more than others …..the nine month edge…hence no one think better for the child”.

My experience and experiments as an Educator tells me that the extended umbilical cord often does more damage than good. This cord puts so much of emotional pressure on the child that it stifles independent thought and action. Crippling the child permanently…never letting the child really grows up. Such is the ambit of this cord that it creates a protective blanket around the child insulating the child from all trials and tribulations in life. Crippling the child permanently; never letting the child “grow up” enough to take decisions in life.

I have wondered when the wife in a woman gives in to the mother. I have seen women live away from their husband with whom they share (supposedly) a much more intimate relationship ( at least technically). What triggers this sudden preference of roles? What makes a woman forget all their marriage vows to go to some remote location only to cook and feed the child; leaving the husband to fend for himself. The wife in the woman rests assured that the relationship with the husband is secure ( ab is umar mein jatyega kahan!) and so she chooses the other relationship which is constantly facing onslaughts of hormone driven temptations.

In this gamut of relationships what applies to Peter does not apply to Pan. For example if the husband does not snap the umbilical cord with the appearance and establishment of the wife….then the poor man has no peace. So, the problem begins when History repeats itself! The entry of an inferior creature, young, nubile, inexperienced, upstart, etc, is viewed with a lot of resentment. This is a necessary evil to ensure the occurrence of the circle of life! This one element sometimes chosen after many rejections becomes the catalyst for many more disasters in future. So, while History unfolds its set pattern, the parents are lost, disillusioned and devastated!

The parents, who have lost out on precious time with each other, are now suddenly thrown together. In this entire cycle, the loser is the woman, the wife and as a fall out the husband. In the twilight of their life they end up playing nannies to their grandchildren and bear the insults piled on them by their own flesh and blood that cannot dump their parents for the fear of loss of inheritance. And they all continue to shamelessly exist: parents at the mercy of their ungrateful, insensitive children. Children who see no use of their parents except to look after their children; Children, who never forgive their parents for not snapping the Umbilical cord!

Bandon ka Bakbak

2011-05-06T15:54:00.001+05:30

Overheard at a Reliance Fresh Store in Bangalore, the IT hub of India- For our convenience let us name the dramatis persona as A and B.

A: Ah hello how you doing?

B: cool. So, how is the new job?

A: Good. I heard you too have left “alpha” ?

B: Ya man! It was getting too much….you know very well…..

A: Ya man! but I hope the new place is good.

B: its just the same man! but well I get paid more….so, I can bear it.

A: same here…..in touch with anyone from “ alpha” ?

B: Not exactly, but keep meeting people off and on ……

A: ( looks around) any news of “ X” ?

B: oh she got married.

A: really! The same guy?

B: no ya…he dumped her and she married some other guy!

A: ( relieved) Oh! That is sad! Where is she now?

B: In Singapore or so….not sure. Did you hear about “Y”

A: She is still with “alpha”. Right?

B: Oh no…she left! Almost absconded you know. Changed her number; just not traceable.

A: but she was such a favourite ……( winks) you know why?

B: it seems she fell out with him…..husband objected to “ late night working hours”

A: ( laughs) ya ya…

B: Poor boss man! has he found a “replacement” ?

A: I heard so…this one is hotter ( winks)
B: hey what news of “z” ? still hooked to the same guy.

A: ya… I suppose so. Her status on FB does not indicate any change.

B: well I am sure she too will get dumped…just look at the way she flirts…especially after two drinks.

A: ya …remember the Birthday party at hard rock……remember how she……..oh here comes ***** my wife.

B: Good Morning ... I am B, your husband’s ex- colleague.

All this conversation happened while the two guys were selecting the rare fresh veggies from the dump that is sold in Reliance Fresh. And women the ones who supposedly BITCH !!!!

Maan Gaye Obama!

2011-05-04T10:07:00.002+05:30

Hats off, Obama! Sorry, USA! I salute you as a Nation! Am so thrilled to be a part of the latest adaptation of the Entebbe; thrilled that this event is a part of my lifetime! I am sure a lot of skeptics would call your operation as something symbolic of being a bully, interfering with the sovereignty of another state, anti Islamic, anti human dignity, so on and so forth….. What is important is that you have sent a message LOUD and CLEAR to the world- DON’T MESS WITH US. It needs a whole lot of spunk to stand up and shout that out to the world!

We too in India have suffered umpteen humiliations and violations on our freedom. Every now and then there is an attack; a cruel reminder of the insecurity of living next to a terrorist state. Yet…there is no action taken. Its not that our defense forces are not capable of replicating or even perfecting the American courage; its not that we do not have the technique or expertise to carry out a similar operation; its not that we do not have the will and the motivation to do what the Americans did….. Then just where is the hitch? Why in the name of justice, are we still nurturing and nourishing the likes of Kasab, when the kid openly laughs at the Indian judicial laxity.

There is nothing more infuriating than listening to the clipped monotone of Chidambaram, delivered in his impeccable style. His statements as predictable as “Sun rises in the east”, delivered with the traditional dead pan expression is so maddening that I am planning to buy some soft shoes which I can fling on him every time he appears on te TV screen. There is so much of disdain and condescending tenor to his statements ….its almost as if he is looking down from his patrician nose at us the ignorant Indians who want something as base and gross as “REVENGE”. One can never even in the wildest dreams expect Chidambaram, Manmohan Singh etc to walk up to a podium and use the word “I” with the quiet pride and confidence of President Obama. They would still fumble, fret and read out and of course credit it all to their God mother with a bare mention of the men who led the action.

C’mon…it does not need a foreign university degree to tell you that a enemy of state is also the enemy of humanity, what is needed is swift and decisive action and not vote bank appeasement! Indians are so used to this door mat treatment that we send a message to all that we are all ready to be walked all over. What is more;we will even tuck the terrorists into the bed at night after a preferred sumptuous meal of mutton biryani.

Oh, how many times will we take on this humiliation and then pat ourselves for our choiceless Gandhigiri.

Au revoir

2011-04-21T10:55:00.001+05:30

C

My dear teachers and my children, I have to call it a day. Why? Because I cannot be deaf to the voice of my conscience and heart. I know that you will understand me as you all have been such a part of me. I am guilty of walking away, of injustice to my team and to my children who have tasted the joy of an unfettered fearless mind. Children, who understood the huge burden of responsibility that comes with such freedom. I hope you too live life by the ideals that I displayed to you.

Last one year, in company of people committed to “ideology” I have learnt to be very wary. I never knew ideology can be cloaked in such crude, crass and mundane masks. I never knew that Ideology can be such a kill joy; such an enemy of happiness. No surprise then that I have turned to the ultimate hero of free thought and liberty – Che. The sheer honesty of his realizations juxtaposed to human vulnerability has made him a timeless hero. Hearts throb of anyone who believes and stands up for freedom. Call it mid life crisis …….I am once again hopelessly in love with “Che”.

We are all such suckers for ideology. We live in a constant guilt of being better than the underprivileged brother. And this guilt sometimes overpowers you to step into the haloed circle of keepers of ideology. Like I did; a year ago when I walked into an assignment. After two years in the corporate and six years before that in Protestant regimentation, I was a sitting duck, a complete sucker for idealism.

Taken in, by the special effects of the elaborate patterns made on the forehead of a senior citizen, a querulous tone that spoke of a life full of sacrifice and the unassuming yet alert demeanor of another quiet observer, I walked into a final round of interview. Here I was confronted with more idealists who appeared then as people who merely ‘existed’ in other mundane roles for mere sustenance while their souls sang in unison for the glorified Bharat.

Sniff, sniff, sob, sob…….

Damn it! Was my sixth sense pissed drunk?

Such was the heady romance that I failed to see the warning signs. Their illogical rigidity on rituals for special effects, The superficiality of knowledge and information where even the very basics like difference between spirituality and religion lost all clarity. Their myopia to information; where Bhagat Singh and other revolutionaries were worshipped as heroes of the Hindu Bharat, totally ignorant to their atheist and communist leanings. The completely fake and half baked claim to knowledge of yoga, the outward portrayal was that of a one big happy family where one had to tolerate the good, the bad and the ugly. So, my team had to sit through boring nonsensical sessions of download where all including those on the podium except the speaker, slept. The idea of one big happy family was driven in through prayers and more prayers, rituals and ofcourse cauldrons full of slurpy messy bise belebath and mosuru anna. Where people washed their hands into the plate they ate out of …….I must say I was thankful that nobody tried rinsing their mouth into the plate! The one big family, ideal was always restricted to the organization. Your personal front i.e. your spouse or children were never a part of this very ideal picture of BharatMata.

Soon I realized that the people I am dealing with are clueless about Education or learning. Each armed with some fancy thought and ideas have made the organization a playground for experimenting novices. As the veneer of this craziness grows transparent, the hidden agenda behind the craziness is clear; the age old adage of “keeping employees on their toes”. How sic! All this coupled with the theatrics of a senile, wily, old man who very ironically, in a Gandhian way, demands (not commands!) Public display of respect and bulldozes and blackmails with amazing illogical shamelessness; only to have his way.

Though I am guilty of leaving you all without a warning, I hope you never forget the true meaning of Education and Learning. I will cherish memories of a team that did not hesitate to walk any amount of extra miles for me. Of a group which mirrored my passion for learning; a group that proved to all skeptics that a school can be a really happy place.

Au revoir

2011-04-21T10:55:00.000+05:30

EXIT PROCESS....

2011-03-26T11:56:00.000+05:30

When people are thrown together for hours together and have a common adversary i.e. their Boss, they are bound to bond. So, leaving a bonding that has grown over a period of time has its withdrawal symptoms. As someone who was destined to walk out of jobs due to frequent transfers have had a huge myriad of memories connected to exit processes.

Most work places have no exit processes especially with regard to the human element. Exit processes merely include a series of clearances after which you are free to go. Some places have a mandatory party with a speech thrown in. Most of the time these parties and the speeches reflect the conditions and situations in which the people have rushed for the exit. Either the food ordered is not good, or the speeches rarely exceed a line or two and in worse situations the event itself is given a complete pass over by the Boss. But the notice period is always full of work. There is so much to be handed over that the notice period sees very hectic activity even from those who are generally allergic to work. My experience has been rather good when it comes to Exit processes and notice periods too. Maybe its my blatant honesty vis-à-vis reasons to quit that helps of its just luck; I have had very memorable notice periods and exit experiences; some of them even a little emotional.

The current notice period hence is a kind of surprise for me.

The decision to leave is not easy especially when you build something with your hands. There are a series of umbilical cords that connect you to something that you create and then to snap it all …..just like that…..is certainly not easy.

But today in the notice period when I see the attitude of the superiors, I am convinced that my decision though seemingly a little ruthless; is right.

My superiors all idealists see the world as Black and white. There cannot be room for any grey area. So, the resignation changed my status in a snap. After all the superlatives which was synonymous to my work, I suddenly became a hot potato…too adamant and tough to handle. The stooges or the “eyes” and “ears” of the superiors are now graphically clear as they have all shed the cloaks of friendliness hitherto displayed. With the opinions swinging between the good, the bad and the ugly, it is no surprise to see a complete exclusion from all events irrespective of my expertise and their ignorance. The “eyes” and “ears” of the superiors, are the first ones to give away the so called best kept secret………From the childish “ looking the other way” boiling down to cheap act of not being offered the mandatory cuppa the change in behaviour is irritatingly perceptible. What adds to the despicable attitude is the complete insensitivity to the fallout or the panic caused by their behaviour. Divide and rule a policy long abandoned by the British is used ironically in the cheapest of taste. Juniors are called in secretly and asked leading questions to get an expected answer. The sheer myopia that most people read between lines is completely ignored, leading to wild speculations among the juniors. My notice period in fact can be used as a good example to promote the virtues of “ Vanaprastha”. The eye of the storm , an octogenarian in thick of his adamant, stubborn, scheming , wily , second childhood, is the one who seems to call the shots…….then is it a surprise that disaster waits just round the bend?

Unconditional Love

2011-01-24T12:10:00.000+05:30

Shanta elayemma, my mom’s youngest sister; a result of middle age adventure by my grand parents. She was incredibly beautiful with an innocent childlike smile. I remember her wearing a long skirt, (a pavada) and blouse. She wore red very often which made her baby pink complexion even more enviable. She would quietly walk into the kitchen and wait to be served. Any delay would make her angry and off she would go sulking and complaining about the inefficiency of the person who was in charge of kitchen that day. Her complaints were taken very seriously, when matyamma; my mother’s eldest sister would give a mouthful to the person who made that grave blunder. Her bathing sessions would be long after which she would come upstairs to get “dressed”. Oh how she loved being pampered! We would comb her hair; make her wear matching bindis with her dress. Much to our frustration we realized all our efforts were so useless! She was already so beautiful!

She could never read and write but loved hearing stories and we loved narrating stories to her too. Looking back on those days, it never struck me as strange that she was the only illiterate member in our family!
She loved children and children loved her. I don’t ever remember a child not wanting to go to her. With us, she was a perfect play mate. She hated our boisterous games but loved dancing, singing and acting. We all would be such a rapt audience with continuous “encore!” She would fight with us if she ever lost a game and yes…Matyamma would make sure that she never lost! The winner was reprimanded with knowing stern looks and the message would sink in “you bloody well lose!”

Due to some strange phobia, she never accompanied us anywhere. She seemed so happy in the large sprawling home and its lush green surroundings. We would beg and plead and tell her how beautiful the city is. We would describe the dazzling shops, the busy streets and the buildings stacked one on top of the other. She would hear us out in sheer wonder but resisted every attempt to be taken out. She seemed to have a morbid fear for vehicles. Even when she fell ill, the doctor was called home; she never stepped out of the compound to see the doctor.

Her wishes were always our commands. Her wishes used to be something as simple as a pavada with green leaves, a purple chaand pottu, yellow glass bangles, etc. But anybody who was told about her desire would make it a point to get it.

As I grew older, I realized that Shanta elayamma was different from us. She was a case of “mongoloid syndrome” But she was a part of the family; a part of all our trials and tribulations. She was never made to feel the pain of being different. In fact she knew she was different and she was loved and pampered for it; a feeling she returned it to us in equal measure. Nobody dreamt of a need to send her away to a “home”. She was adored the way she is. Hurting her was the worst blasphemy one could imagine! If anyone of us would make her cry; the repercussions were painful. Everybody at home and in the family would put in a “ tut tut” till you swore never to make that irreparable blunder again. Such was her place in our family.

None of my grandparents or my mothers’ siblings or my cousins who lived with her day in and out had read grand books on human mind or psychology; all they knew is that she is different from others and so she needs more protection, more care, more love …….unconditional love.

A Star is Born

2011-01-21T17:08:00.001+05:30

Wasn’t it just yesterday?

• When you would listen as if in trance lying in the cradle to Jim Reeves singing his soul out?
• When you broke into uncontrollable sobs when Annie’s Song was played?
• When you broke my desire for a baby girl when you repeated my favourite lullaby as “ mere ghar aayi ek “NANGI” pari?
• When you with your characteristic pronunciation were irritated when I could not figure out that you wanted me to sing “ Patte patte yum num num” to be understood as “ pat a cake pat a cake baker’s man”
• When you would repeat Anup Jalota as “ jagad mein jodi nate hai; apne apne kallon tatiye ; sab hi pate ye de. Original being Jagat mein job hi aate hain, apne apne karmon ka fal , sab hi patein hai.
• When you stood on the stage, barely visible and recited “ Thirsty Crow” in a musical manner .
• When you won the very first prize for singing Annies’ song. This time no tears, no mispronunciations, only melody.
• When you sang “ oh re taal mile nadi ke jal mein” and the recording was misplaced by a callous teacher.
• When you got a guitar as a birthday gift and that brat bro ruining the surprise with “ Dadu we have not bought you a guitar”
• When you were “caught” by your Bro playing guitar in a state that would put even Narcissus to shame.
• When you discovered the sheer magical power of “Hotel California” in a Christian school.
• When you were known for “ Country roads” and “seasons in the sun” and would sing it to the point of fatigue.
• When you stepped out of my influence to sing a more contemporary “Yaaron” and “ Pal”
• When you practiced and represented your college in the theme song from Love Story.
• When you struggled to learn the intricacies of Simon and Garfunkel’s strumming.
• When you would earn free train rides thanks to “ Bheege hoonth tere”
• When you were wedded to the guitar whom you indulgently called “ Ms Nair” as you and her are inseprable
• When you began to get more and more popular on U tube
• When you decided to follow your heart like always and recorded your own very first song “ O mere Khuda”

Yesterday, when you performed, these memories flooded in from my heart to my eyes which were too clouded to realize that a star is born.

Sankranti

2011-01-14T14:12:00.002+05:30

Sankranti to a Mallu means a multitude of sweaty bearded men, all in black packed into a space looking eagerly towards the distant mountains to catch a glimpse of the magara vilakku before breaking into a deafening “ swamiyeeeeeeee………….. Sharanam aiiiiiyyappooooooo”

Once in Gujarat, Sankranti or Uttarayan meant sunburns, sitting on the terrace, gorging on undhiyun and jalebis while flying kites. Every terrace has a music system blaring out the latest bolywood hits occasionally interrupted with a triumphant “kaipooooo Cheeeeee”

But today’s celebration of Sankranti will remain etched in my mind forever. I entered the school to find pretty girls all dressed in pattu pavada. They had all worn jewellery and flowers in their hair. They swished and swashed all about the school running, unmindful of their traditional costume. The boys choiceless as they are when it comes to clothes, were in kurta pyjama. The entrance was decorated with colourful rangoli , and sugarcane. Everybody was ready with “yellu bella”. The best however was yet to come…..inside the school there was a cow and her calf. The children were very excited to see the cow and the calf and they were almost pushing each other to get to touch the cow and her calf. Mercifully, they were docile and did not mind the public glare.

Then came the Puja. We washed the feet of the cows and then applied kum kum and haldi on their feet. Then we put a garland around their neck, along with a fresh cloth. After the Aarti ws done, came the best part…feeding them. It felt a little ticklish as they eagerly licked up all the jaggery and til out of your hands. They also loved eating the banana and sugar cane, skin and all.

Now what makes it memorable was my reaction to it. I am a skeptic and I never thought I could be taken in by rituals. But as I washed their feet and fed them, the animal lover in me got better of me and I kind of loved patting them and talking to them. I loved pampering them with jaggery and sugar cane. It was nice to see these neglected beings get so much of attention one day.

Isn’t it ironical that in India where we accord the cow the status of a deity, is in reality the most abused and neglected creature? India has the largest number of Milch cattle, yet when it comes to food production we stand only the seventh in the world. Most cattle we have are non milk yielding and hence is a burden for the farmer. In cities the cows have the worst plight. With no grazing ground they are totally dependent on garbage dumps for their food. Most animals are not washed as they are forced to sit where they defecate. The cows also die as they eat plastic and other toxic wastes dumped into the garbage bins. Most of them have boils and festers on their skin and have never been inoculated against diseases.

Is this the way we treat Go maata? This too like many Indian practices smack of dual standards. Like we worship godess Durga as stree shakti and don’t think twice about killing a woman for dowry and till the recent past even Sati. In the same way we scream out lungs out about go raksha and go hatya but will never give a thought to what the animal feeds on or even bother rushing an injured cow to a Vet.

Memories

2011-01-13T12:21:00.001+05:30

Memories are made of strange images, sounds and smells. They would look very commonplace to somebody really not associated to it but to the person who has lived it; they are actually the “bliss of solitude”.
These flashes are usually not connected to any incident or person but they somehow linger and keep coming back to your mind.
One of the oldest memories I have is the smell of my grandma. As I would snuggle up to her and bury my face in the loose folds of her stomach, she had a mushy smell so warm and comforting.

Dec1971, Indo-Pak war, black out. My father in a warm Russian over coat, with the torch in his pocket; I would curl up to him and hear him narrate incidents during the Chinese aggression. This image also brings forth the sound of the air raid siren followed by an all clear siren. The sound of the News reader on All India Radio, announcing the bombings by Pakistan on Agra (terrifyingly close to Delhi). India at War image: The trenches, the sand bags, the training to save oneself from a bomb. Glass windows blackened, pitch dark evenings.

Then teenage took over and memories are clouded and crowded with physical sensations; trivialities like the crushes, costumes, comrades, compulsions and commitments. Nothing of this time endures, like a slice of life not lived at all! Youth being no better, the heady energy lead from one tunnel to another leading nowhere really till your life stops rocking and settles in the comfort of a soul mate. Here memories are dominated by people with an occasional break of the warm winter sun, the burst of spring colours at traffic islands, the post spring exam flavored autumn.

By virtue of matrimony, I got to travel and then begins a profusion of memories. The crispy smell of icy blue sky in Ladakh, the profusion of stars at high altitude, the chilling water of Indus, the tress all aflame in autumn. My first visit to Mumbai, the business capital, in the first summer rains it looked like a huge shanty city. Till one saw the sea. Then on, all senses were overpowered by the aromas and moods of the sea. Then, there was a lull as I journeyed one city to another, painfully identical, memories being only of people who walked in and out of my life.

Asif by means of compensation, life brought me once again to the lap of Nature, surrounded by the Satpuras and with the Mowgli jungle just a stone’s throw away, the city on the banks of Narmada was an ideal compensation for being away so long from Nature. One enduring memory I have is of driving through the jungle in heavy rain. On an impulse, I pulled up and got out to see the jungle in rain. The deep tiger jungle was ALIVE. There was a profusion of sounds of rivulets gurgling as the rains had activated all streams. The jungle itself looked like a huge sage sitting in deep meditation as the water poured down its branches and leaves. The smell and sounds of the Narmada as she rushed through the marble gorges. The feel of the dhuan dhar as the water crashed down creating a smoke like spray. Away from the city, even food has a lingering aroma and smell. The aroma and taste of the Baatis and Bharta baked in cow dung cakes with kaithe ki chutney still makes your taste buds tingle with excitement.

At dusk or evening , as I swear, curse and maneuver through the Bangalore tragic my mind wistfully races to the banks of Narmada and the sonorous sound of the wooden bells around the neck of the cows as they return home. Each cow, scrubbed clean with combed manicured tails look at you with suspicion and you wonder if you have even begun to smell of a city? In the mild dusty orange twilight, one sees and feels the magic of godhuli as the sun rests behind the Satpuras giving way to the moon and the stars to weave their magic.

Memories

2011-01-13T12:03:00.000+05:30

Ideology the Villain

2010-11-15T11:09:00.000+05:30

Ideology can be such a villain especially when it is imposed. There is a world of difference in the indoctrination of a certain line of thought and belief and in consciously adopting at will. One action is dictatorial while the other rests on free will. But somewhere along the desire to prove themselves is so strong that unwittingly or consciously one becomes a party to indoctrination.

I feel that indoctrination of ideology is a resort of the weak. Somewhere along there is a doubt in the veracity of the thought hence such a militant imposition. If a person is confident about their belief then where is the need for them to prove it to anyone? Where is the need to seek followers? When Sri Ram went into exile along with Sita and Laxman, was it born out of an ideology? Yes they became ideals and then idols. But personally they never exhorted anybody to follow them. People emulated their examples out of voluntary admiration. The same applies to all leaders who led men. It was their conviction in their belief that led to pure action and subsequently admiration from lesser mortals. It is also noteworthy that none of these leaders had an ideology. They were all products of the environment they lived in coupled with a sensitive thought process which was the need of the hour. Be it Krishna who encourages Arjuna to pick up arms against his kith and kin or the Prophet who gave the magic of unity to the nomadic tribes in deserts of Arabia making them a formidable force that went on to rule the world.

Thought has to evolve as human race is dynamic in character. This evolution in thought is also necessary for survival. If the Christian world had just stuck to the ideals of Christianity as preached in the gospels, the sun would have never risen on the British Empire! This is where the disconnect sets in. Ideology has a certain didactic rigidity as opposed to thought. I remember vividly a lecture by H H Swami Dayananadji in his characteristic style that a Hindu is free to worship when they want, no weekend spirituality and no tourist agents with promises for a trip to Heaven. So we have an ideology led goons of Ram Sene , feel that Hindu culture is at peril if some young men and women go to a pub. Really! Hinduism is more threatened by this kind of ideology watchmen who have cast an unregimented free thinking religion into confines of morality, rituals and beliefs.

AZADI

2010-10-27T12:36:00.001+05:30

Azadi certainly comes at a price. Very often I have wondered, do the human species deserve Azadi? Aren’t we all slaves of our upbringing, the subtle and blatant biases that are slowly released into our system right from birth? Are human beings capable of handling the cruel and harsh implications of Azadi?

I have been watching articulate young men and women from Kashmir talk of Azadi. After being used year after year as a ready tool for political propaganda, the Kashmiris have made their mind up. The young men and women on the streets of Kashmir are not terrorists. Don’t conveniently blame the madrasas or the cloak and dagger games of the neighbor across the border. These young men are fed up. They have had enough of the yoyo sharing of power between the so called heirs and heiresses of Kashmir.

I cannot but recall a character in Mahaswetadevi’s short story on Dopdi Here a tribal woman activist , gang raped on the orders of Senanayak the BSF officer who had captured her alive. He is proud of his prize catch and happier that he has taught her a lesson. In the morning when she is to be presented in front of the Senanayak, she refuses to cover herself, breaks the pot of water offered to her and walks proud and naked in her just and much raped status and challenges him by pushing him with her sore breast ……and for the first time Senanayak is terrified; terrified of this unarmed target.

Haven’t we pushed Kashmir to this desperation? Youthful optimism is a very heady sensation and for this optimism to give way to desperation reflects how hopeless the situation is. For the Kashmiri youth to come out on the streets even at the cost of being gunned down, itself is statement of how they are driven to desperation. No doubt they are demanding unconditional Azadi. Maharaja Hari Singh is history and so is Simla Agreement. One needs to open a new chapter; start from the scratch and rebuild the lost trust of Kashmir.

Maybe this is the backdrop in which we need to view Arundhati Roy’s statement. I salute her for articulating the cry of the Kashmiri youth. Like she said, both India and Kashmir have had enough of each other in this state. Both of them need to rework and recreate an equation where Kashmir can have the status of a Nation State.

It is easy to fall into the comfort of jingoistic Nationalism. Geographical boundaries should never be drawn in the minds of the people. Two world wars are a testimony to that. Keeping in mind the truth that change alone is permanent; we need to consider alterable geographical boundaries lest Nations and its people bleed to death.

Cultural Dilemma

2010-10-25T16:24:00.000+05:30

Dilemmas are a part of life. They begin with the morning alarm and the thought “ to wake up or not to wake up” , then “to exercise or not to exercise” then “to add butter to the toast or not”; “one tea spoon of sugar in tea or two” so on and so forth! With age I have also mastered the technique of making excuses for my choices made in such crucial junctures of life. There are sticky wickets too where the matters of heart and the mind are in contradiction. The usually reassuring voice of your strength, seas away…sounding low and confused; the voice of a “hungry” family darling asking eternally for an extra allowance; the tired, sleep challenged pivot of your life wanting to indulge in an extra peg or catch 400 winks more when it is time to workout; these are dilemmas where the heart wins hands down!

But these confusions rarely step beyond the confines of your heart and hearth. The tricky situation is where your dilemma could impact people especially children. Children that have been placed into your trust and care with the ardent hope that they will blossom into a global citizen.

In a city like Bangalore, essentially global in its perspective and outlook, have schools that reflect the same tone and tenor. In a scenario like this, I happen to be in a school were “back to the roots” is the backbone. The idea is great. But like all great ideas, things need to happen in reasonable measures. Back to roots should in no way cause a cultural shock and disconnect in the minds of the children who live in an environment that is diametrically opposite to what the institution upholds as an ideal. The disconnect in their minds is more glaring when the logic to a certain practices is not very clear.

The irony of it all is that it is done in the name of Hinduism or Bharateeya Culture. I say irony because Hinduism is a religion that opposes indoctrination. The strength of the religion is the freedom that it integral to its character. To capture the vastness of the religion into confines of some rituals, practices, ideology and language is like tying the wind.

Institutions should concentrate on building character something our education system lacks in. As children they should be taught to be sensitive and compassionate. The children should be driven by proactive action and not by indolent meaningless rituals and chanting. It is the character that will make India oops Bharat glorious not symbols of culture. We have preened enough in the past glories, now its time we learnty a lesson from them. Have no dilemmas here; we have to move on and not fall back on what we were. Let our past be a learning to help us scale new heights.

The feature I wish my smart phone had!

2010-10-12T14:06:00.000+05:30

To begin with I must admit that mobile phones have taken away a lot of surprise from our lives….. Ah! Remember those days where the heroine is heading towards a cliff due to some misunderstanding. Think of that rising crescendo as the hero is trying to reach her after grappling with so many threats and just about makes it fraction of a second before the fatal leap to death. So many movies would not have been super duper hits as all their success was dependent on the uncertainty caused by lack of communication. I grew up holding Indian Railways and the Post and Telegraph departments solely responsible for many crises that happen in people’s life. Somehow these departments had some kind of a bonding with fate. These three would play havoc in people’s lives till an angry hero or heroine threatens God with dire consequences.

And then those good old telephones with those round dials were so majestic. When it would ring, your heart would actually dance and sing “mere piya gaye Rangoon kiya hai wahan se telephone…..” Can anybody forget the sheer romance of “jalte hain jiske liye…….”The telephone like the telegram always created a flurry of activity. The loud imposing ring was never a disturbance ….one never thought of switching it off…..it just had to be attended to.

As a part of the generation that has actually seen both the worlds. I must say that Mobile has somehow made communication very common place. No doubt it is very convenient to have anybody and everybody a call away but then somehow the mystery element of a phone call is lost in the sands of time. A lot of young people wonder how we managed walking up to the phone and talking into a wired and stationary instrument.

Now these little terrors have become mini computers! So, there is no escape now. Your work like a hound is bound to track you wherever you go. So, your candle lit dinners have to be shared with the flash of the smart phone’s screen crying for your attention. With their ability of reaching out to a lot of network and even work where network connectivity is weak, I wonder if we are slowly becoming human work horses!

But somewhere at the back of all this black and whitish nostalgia, I cannot ignore the boon of having a smart phone in hand. But yes….there are some features that need to be added to make my phone really smart! A smart phone should ideally have a sensing system that would save a lot of heartburn and embarrassment and thereby overall well being and happiness.

• Delayed relay of messages between teenagers and their parents. How about a 24 hour delay? With a reminder pop up every hour or so?
• Sales messages to be returned to the sender in such away that the sender’s system gets jammed
• Certain calls to be denied with a suitable automated reply ( especially the ones that come from the Boss at unearthly hours and unexpected places
• E mails with dead lines to be delayed (preferably after dead lines)
• E mails with dangerous spelling errors and communication lapses to bounce. I am sure the spell check tool to be made more sensitive
• Abusive and angry mails to be sent to the Boss but only for the satisfaction of the sender. This mail could be routed into a box called the “Punch bag Box”
• Assistance to be given by pop up support from a vibrant dictionary that supplies the phrases and words one is fumbling for in a mail

Well the list is long….but for now, these features would make your phone really smart!

Manipal or Money Pals

2010-10-08T11:36:00.001+05:30

Long ago when I read that the Health Care Industry is the most corrupt, it did not register much of alacrity as I was more disturbed to see Education, my area of expertise at the 4th position. To a large extent I was insulated from the trials and tribulations of interaction with the white coated bandits due to my defense services background the security of being the bahu of a revered doctor.

But now with the defense services and the comfort of my brother- in- law gone, the truth of their corruption hit me like a bolt in a recent interaction with the famed group of Manipal Hospitals. My husband who complained of some indigestion on Saturday evening was advised Endoscopy . He went to Manipal, on the old Airport Road, Bengaluru. Once he was registered he was directed to the Gastroentology Department. The lady at the counter; not a doctor neither a nurse wrote 2-3 days hospitalization and the charge approximately Rs 30,000. How milady came to this conclusion is still a mystery. My Husband checked in at 11.00 AM. (I have purposely chosen the words “check in”as we noticed that we were charged for luxury tax too). They were very promt in pushing in a drip and then he was forgotten. Any amount of reminder got a fixed automated answer, “the doctor is with a patient and you are next”. We heard these lines right till 2.00PM when the doctor finally saw the patient. The endscopy was yet to be done. At about 5.30 PM the endoscopy was done and my husband was diagnosed with mild ulcers. The doctor advised hospitalization as the Hb count had come down to 6.
Milady , gave me a smile as if her stand had been vindicated.

Now begins the part II of the ordeal. The registration process! Milady assured us that a room had been reserved for us on the 8th floor and that all we have to do is make payments and then move to the room. After filling forms after forms after forms; after running from counter to counter to counter……we were allotted a room on the 11th floor. When I told them about Milady’s assurance, we discovered that she had left for the day! Well, well……I suppose playing the doctor without any substance and that too with a plastic smile and parroted lines can be so tiring! Oh a streak of honesty was noteworthy here….the women at the counter who were taking the payments for the booking told us that all the tests and medications will cost more depending on the choice of the suite that you opt for. Fair enough…. I thought isn’t there a cost difference between the tea you have in a “Shanti Sagar” and “The Leela”? By now I was so conditioned to the language of money that I did not find it objectionable that here we are talking about health and not a choice of food item. But true to the customer is King spirit in me, I asked them if the tests for the patients in these privileged rooms are done in different labs and by more qualified technicians? Well this time I felt cheated …..The answer was “NO”

On reaching the 11th floor we discovered that the room allotted to us was not what we had asked for.
Again the rigmarole of one process after the other ….till we were given the elusive room Milady had booked and forgotten.

But once were in the room, the true heroes of the Health Industry took charge. The Nurses. With commendable empathy and dedication and with exemplary professionalism they went about the business of looking after the patient entrusted to them. I can vouch here without a doubt that it is these descendants of Florence Nightingale who are responsible for some credibility to this corrupt industry.

After putting the patient through a series of tests that had nothing whatsoever to do with the diagnosis of Mild Gastric Ulcers, the patient was told that he can go home! I suppose……there were some patients already booked and in waiting. The patient promptly sent for the people from the office who would look into the discharge formalities and that he could leave……But WAIT!!!!!!! What about the moolah? The Insurance Company is bound to put spokes in the Shylock Manipal and Shylock needs his pound of flesh. Here the flesh being the patient. So, the patient was told that he cannot leave till he clears the charges. The patient already frayed and irritated offered to pay the bill and then claim from the Insurance. The Manipal almost danced with joy. They hurriedly made a discharge slip with medications contrary to the Doctor’s recommendations and a review appointment on a Sunday!! The discharge folders came with no reports of the inane tests carried out by them. That is well another story…..

I know that in the material world today nobody can claim to be untouched by the need for profits. I also understand that being labeled as a noble profession the Health Industry needn’t bear the cross of humanity on their back. But, is such blatant materialism acceptable? Is it acceptable that a patient is viewed as a customer and then milked dry to the last drop? After paying the price, is it fair that patient is made to wait with ivy stuck in his wrist for more than 8 hours? Is it acceptable as per ethics that the patient and the person attending to the patient is kept guessing as to what is wrong? Does the patient have to be put through a multitude of paper work which can easily be slashed by 60% with some more effective inter- department co-ordination? Does the price of the tests conducted on the patients have to be directly proportional to the room chosen? If yes…..then exclusivity of labs and technicians is called for. Since Health Care is Service, then should the personnel not be better trained in empathy and patient care than being so shamelessly money driven?

Parents need education

2010-09-16T15:02:00.001+05:30

One thing that I can vouch for after almost 6 months in the hot seat is that parents need education much more than children. Children are great learners and great teachers. Their unbridled curiosity keeps the teachers on their toes pushing them way beyond what the teachers presumed was their limit. In this happy blend where the taught becomes the teacher, the greatest kill joys are parents.

Somewhere along the parents have come to a realization that parents who find faults with the school, the parents who are cantankerous in meetings and the parents who have an aura of “I know it all and have been there” are the parents whose child gets most attention. In fact such parents are the greatest kill joys who in fact interfere with the learning process in a child.

One is the over zealous variety. Most hail from supposedly families of high achievers and they want their off spring to be a shade better. Well, the ambition is noble but extremely torturous to a child. The child sees the school as the only place where he can be free from the leash of his mother’s aspirations. Naturally, the child then lets go and tries to live his suppressed childhood in those few hours in school.

Then we have the Parent who feels that they know it all and have no regard for the nobility of a teacher’s profession. They tend to look at teachers as one of those groveling employees just a shade above the helping hands. No doubt the kind of dole that is handed over to the teachers’ warrants such conceptions but then these parents are a huge source of embarrassment for their children as they cringe in discomfort as they know what kind of an encounter the parent would possibly have with the teacher.

After these come the traditionalists. They tell you nonchalantly that we are free to hammer their child as the child only learns like that. They want all the answers to be given to the child which the child will cram with expertise. Words like imagination and creativity is the greatest anathema to such parents. Their children are wonderful samples of programmed learning where they score very well without learning anything.

The new age parents are a class in themselves. They do not have much time for their children. Such parents are very happy as long as the grades are above average and they are not hassled too much. Some of them to save the bother of teaching their children even go to an extent of doing the work assigned to them. Some of them are perhaps so caught in their world that they take instructions given to the child literally. To them children are like one of their KRA that they need to attend to.

First generation learners are the next category who take every word of the teacher as gospel truth and follow it religiously. They are definitely a great deal of comfort to the teacher but then can never become partners in learning.

And now the saddest, the criminal parents!!! These parents are completely insensitive to their children. They abuse them and cripple their young minds with insensitivity and mindless violence verbally and physically. One wonders why no laws are enacted to save children from their parents???

Parents need Education

2010-09-13T11:09:00.000+05:30

Nature vs Man

2010-05-17T22:24:00.002+05:30

When nature gives a glimpse of her power, all that we mortals can do is shudder. All we can do is to look incredulously as nature rips apart all the expertise of man. All we can do is wonder why today? Why now?

Everything was so perfect....The homas went on as per schedule; all arrangements went on like clockwork. True to the character of sangh, everybody volunteered and participated, no work too small or insignificant....The evening was good too....everybody was all dressed, proud to belong to the edifice whose lokaarpan was to be graced by none other than the Chief Minister. The evening was started by a child prodigy presenting keertans. As the song progressed, there was a sudden breeze, cool, soothing full of the scent of wet earth. The diehard optimist in me insisted that the rain will only bring us a much needed respite from heat.
But even before we blinked, the breeze assumed a furious form. It raged and raved, and the rain came crashing right through the reinforced awning. The guests moved away into the corridors in stunned silence. Such was the shock that in spite of the police urging people to move to shelter, no body rushed...everyone moved completely overawed by the fury of Nature. There was hushed silence ...some parents pulled out their cameras and clicked the devastated remains of the stage which just a few moments ago was an image of festivity. No a person complained or cribbed....in fact all seemed to recognize the helplessness of man against the power of Nature.

The program went on...a little delayed amidst utter chaos and confusion. The chief guest arrived too. A picture of poise and calmness. His helicopter too had found it tough to land in the storm. But he came nevertheless, consoling all by saying that he would come again, for another occasion. After he left when we all sat down to after the hectic evening...we realised what a close encounter we had. All the “if” and “but” sprang up in our mind. This incident seemed to reinforce the sheer helplessness of Man.

Yet in all this, it was Man who actually triumphed. The victors were those silent people who like always merge into the background. Those people who are the real strength of the foundation, the cement that holds the spirit, the strength that gives the power to work selflessly. People so selfless that I dare not take names here lest I should undermine their greatness. Physically hurt, scarred and injured yet not defeated .....they worked late into early morning. Their spirit stronger than ever, planning the next event .......this time all set to outwit nature....with the indomitable spirit of perseverance and resilience.

PANCHAMUKHI SHIKSHA- The begining

2010-05-10T21:11:00.003+05:30

As a teacher with a decent fan following, I always thought that I had that special spark in me to be a teacher….to reach out and touch a teenager’s mind so full the “I” ness. But when a situation came upon me to don the mantle of a Principal, I had to re look at teaching . I had to look beyond a possibility that good teachers may not necessarily be born with a teaching talent. Good teachers can certainly be created too. So, I began to brush up my knowledge. I was to head an organization which believed in integrating Panchmukhi Shiksha into the straight jacket curriculum of CBSE. This meant extensive reading on Multiple intelligences, the bloom’s pyramid of learning, the 4 MAT theory of learning style etc. But what really touched the core in me was listening to Shradhalu Ranadeji of the Aurobindo Ashram fame. Listening to his views on Integral Education was in his words an “ahaa” experience for me. I recognized in a flash the qualities that made me a good teacher and more than that, the fact that it can be awakened in the teachers was indeed a bigger “AHAA”.

I had almost begun to hallucinate with worry and even become a little disoriented with tension a couple of days before 10th May. The date when the training session for the teachers was to begin. The day dawned, session 1 began, the teachers walked in tentative and nervous sat through a ceremony which they many did not comprehend. Then came session one- speech after speech, most words inspiring and soul stirring yet not really within the reach. Session two followed again words more words , each more lofty than the other, all of it like a dream, a vision but really the expression on the faces of the teachers was “will all this work?”

Post lunch, session 3 began with a ice breaker. Clearly, all teachers were relieved to be out of the monotony. But still the doubt and the question remained till, I decided to take the bull by the horns. To begin with , I spoke to all about reworking the curriculum. The teachers heard in silence. Then I switched to learning objectives to develop multiple intelligences in a child. Well it still looked like a lot of gyan. Till one bold teacher asked me if a child in Nursery will be taught the English Alphabet? My reply was a firm “NO” “then what do we teach?” was the petulant query?

I said “How about photosynthesis?” there was a collective gasp and then I explained how that can be done. A child in Nursery can adopt a plant then let the child experience and feel how happy the plant is in the sun, then observe how thirsty plant is and how greedily it drinks up the water. Now just like their mom gives them milk with bournvita or boost to make them strong, let us put some masala in the mud : cowdung. All this makes a plant happy and strong. Now help the child identify the best friends of a plant. Help the child to role play each of the friend. Create a jingle, set it to music and let the children sing and dance to it.

The teachers heard me in stunned silence and then when I asked them ‘what all do you think a child in Nursey has learnt from this activity?”……well, there was pandemonium! The teachers were like children! Their faces lit with excitement. There was a palpapable burst of a collective “AHHAAAAA” experience. Even when we called it a day after exceeding the time by an hour….they were all in no mood to leave. I could feel the throb of their energy just waiting to explode in creativity.

I know that I have taken on a very challenging task but I stand vindicated in my stand that good teachers are not born …they are/ can be created.

Meghdoot

2010-04-24T09:22:00.002+05:30

Intense, suffocating heat can drive anyone crazy….but very philosophically even this holds a promise…a promise of dark rumbling clouds full of thrilling rain drops! Somehow, there is something very romantic about the clouds. The moment I hear the clouds rumble, I am up on my feet and I want to be outdoors. No, a mere open window or even a partially covered balcony will not suffice. I need to be in the open …under the sky. I don’t feel the typical girlie fear for thunder or lightening , in fact I revel in the abandon with which nature roars and beats down on the parched earth…making her barren bosom green with life.

It shocks me to see children sitting indoors and not getting wet in the summer showers. I firmly believe that one must welcome the rain by stepping out in it …by showing the clouds how happy we are that they have finally come. One must welcome the clouds like a long awaited guest. I feel that a befitting welcome would ensure adequate showers.

My earliest memories of rain are the sound of a steady downpour as I snuggled up to my grandma. That sound, that cozy warmth and that special grandma smell …..I am sure heaven would certainly have a room like that. I remember bathing in our home’s pond in a heavy downpour. I would float on the pond as the rain beat down on me. I would come out of the pond only after many warnings all wrinkled from being soaked too long. My cousins often dismissed my crazy obsession for rain as a typical reaction of a Delhiite, living in the extended vicinity of the Thar Desert.

Well, that was childhood. But even age has not dulled the craze for the rain. I remember my first visit to Mumbai. As I got off at Andheri Station, the urban squalor looked even uglier in the rain, but one look at the dancing sea in the rain seemed to make up for the concrete obscenity. I remember a sudden downpour in Leh, where the unexpected showers threatened to bring down the baked clay homes, built only to withstand snow and cold winds. A two wheeler is the best vehicle to enjoy rains. I remember being caught in a heavy downpour while traveling from Khandala to Mumbai, pulling up near a small wayside tea shop and eating the tastiest, steaming hot batata wada. Monsoons in Mumbai somehow seem to make up for the crass commercialization one sees other wise. The rains in Mumbai made me spend an entire day, soaking wet on a bike, sightseeing! Another vivid memory I have is of a drive through the Seoni/ Mowgli jungles in rains. I pulled up near the jungle, stepped out to listen to the music of rain gushing through the Tiger jungles. To this day, on a warm and sticky summer afternoon, all that it takes is to shut my eyes and I can hear that music. The rain beating on the wide teak leaves, each and every stream dancing and singing in gay abandon as it gushes over stones and pebbles.
I know that I sound a hopeless romantic when I talk of my obsession with rain. Even at the cost of being Myopic; ignoring the furious and devastating aspect of rains, I still am hopelessly in love with Meghdoot who promises me some of the best moments of solitude, with the rhythm of the rain and the scent of fresh wet earth. Meghdoot promises me the long awaited showers. Showers full of caress; tender, urgent, and a little brazen……like the touch of a lover.

Twilight

2010-04-18T09:04:00.001+05:30

Both my brother and I were almost militant and vociferous in our opinion that our mother’s obsession with her independence is really a little too much almost bordering on selfishness. But she held on….obstinately. Delhi, a city where she had spent more than four decades of her life was where her dil lay. Any amount of arguments about the extremities of weather or people had no effect on her. Her existence revolved around the general trivia of life, paying bills on time, visiting the local temple, her regular walks and of course her long gossip sessions with her peers. Now, in this idyllic situation the only hitch was her age…at the age of 75, one really should not depend on the good health an essential bonus given to us by Nature or the Almighty.

So, the inevitable happened. My mother had a bad bout of an Asthma attack. She kept fooling herself and her children that she was fine and that it was just a bad cold which would go away, her friends too in no better state than her saw it only as a routine ailment and they too joined hands in reassuring her children that “All is well”. At last when the panic button brought me to Delhi, I saw my mother on the bed, unable to utter a word, gasping for breath. It took five days of hospitalization, guilt of having caused so much inconvenience to her children, unconcerned relatives and helpless friends to make her shift residence to stay with me.

Today, she looks better- physically. But she is a mere shadow of herself. She looks lost. Her familiar world has suddenly been replaced and now she had to begin afresh all over. The sad part is the look of emptiness and helplessness in her eyes. It will take her some time to develop roots, a routine; relationships which will help her create her unique identity, her place in the sun.

I know this fate waits us all. Not all are lucky to be snatched away by the tyrant hands of death even while we are still independent. The very thought is scary , of being uprooted from your roots, of being thrown out of your orbit, to wander aimlessly in space among strange floating objects.

Twilight

2010-04-18T09:04:00.000+05:30

Bengal Club- A love story.

2010-02-28T08:38:00.000+05:30

To put it very literally, Bengal club was a shock too. As the cab turned from Russel street towards a portico with classic chandeliers, I stepped out of the cab into the late 18th century. Little did I realise that my jaw will remain in the dropped state for quite a while. I entered the warm wood panelled reception where we had to enter our particulars into a large leather bound register. I could see a computer tucked under the table rather apologetically for the convenience of billing. The receptionist ,an elderly elegant lady, reached out for the brass bell to call the attendant and in impeccable English told him to escort us to our “chamber”.

We climbed yet a few brass bordered steps to face a huge wooden chamber with a bust next to it. All along on the walls I could see pencil/ charcoal sketches of what Kolkotta looked like a few hundred years ago. The wooden chamber turned out to be an elevator, now powered by electricity but surely operated manually when it was originally commissioned. I stepped in and was surprised that the attendant would not use that particular elevator as it was only for the guests. There was another modern elevator again tucked away apologetically to cart all upstarts who did not want to be a part of history. I must say that every time the doors of the elevator would open there was a distinct sound of a chime a bell as if signalling the commencement of the journey.

Out of the lift and I walked the length of the corridor, with a tiled sloping roof supported by wooden beams. We stepped into the entrance to our room oops....chamber. Well the entrance was a narrow corridor which had a mini refrigerator again tucked under a wooden ledge, on the ledge was neatly arranged heavy spotless white crockery. A large door faced us and we opened it to enter our room. Since I am not very good in figures, rest assured that it was the largest room/chamber in terms of accommodation that I had seen. It had a seating area, a traditional dressing table and a traditional sliding writing table. There was a King size bed and a wooden almirah in the corner. The bathroom was just as large but with all modern amenities that one could dream of. As if this was not luxury enough there was a balcony to this room with cane furniture in it. This veranda was suitably shaded with traditional blinds which one could roll up to suitable heights to adjust the intensity of the rays of sun.

Our tea tray consisted of pure Darjeeling tea, a petite tea strainer, a petite milk container, sugar cubes and the exact size tea spoons. The tea pot covered by an almost forgotten object of antiquity known as a “tea cosy”. Naturally, the tea is accompanied with crunchy warm toast and bananas. We moved for breakfast to the “terrace” a cosy room with about six round tables. Here too there was a television and an ancient clock a mute witness to people who might have visited the “terrace” over years and ages.
The cobra bar welcomed the thirsty with its thick wood panelled door. A large well lit bar with classic round tables and a veranda with the wooden blinds looking into the bustling Russel street. Keeping in tune with modern sensitivities, there was a corner for non smokers. I must mention a piano in the bar which is played on two days of a week without fail. Time itself would surrender and slow down to the classic charm of the cobra bar....tempting one and all to savour and relish the environment with a “chota peg” where time has been trapped and captured to tease and titillate your senses slowly and gently.

The aromas from the dining hall beckoned me into another stately splendour. A huge pillared hall with imposing paintings and large comfortable furniture;dining here is an experience. This is no place for busy upstarts who “grab a bite” and “move on”. Here one slowed down, would have a conversation, would relish food and the company you are in unhurriedly make those hours of luncheon last . As you savour each mouthful, one must sit back and allow the luxurious languor of the Bengal Club to seep in......making a Delhiite like me fall hopelessly, madly and head over heels in love with an experience called Kolotta.

NRI - New Returned Indian

2010-02-26T20:31:00.007+05:30

As an NRI ie New Returned Indian, there is no denial that I am glad to be back home. My Dog, my bed, my pillow even my loo is indeed welcoming. But somewhere the warmth and the euphoria of home coming gets jaded as the reality that is India hits you squarely.

Please don’t get me wrong….I am not the kind to be impressed by brands, malls and opulence. But , how much ever it might hurt my jingoistic patriotism, I must admit that as a Nation we have failed. Whatever achievement we see around, is more of things that have happened by default in the process of keeping afloat in survival. It is a shame that short sighted policies of successive governments have actually retarded the great India Enterprise from growth ; a growth that can overtake the world.

My first experience begins with a grumpy Indian Government servant at the immigration. I wonder why these officials are not put through soft skills training, so much for their “atithi devo bhava” slogan! Is there a selection criterion that only people with unhappy childhoods i.e. people who do not know to smile are to be recruited in Govt departments? In fact if you are polite to them, their suspicion doubles!!! Well, after the suspicious stares from His Highness Sarkari Babu, we are at last free to step out from the ‘Largest democracy” in the world! The surprise begins with the very polite staff of Emirates, where on a mild complaint that the blanket provided during the journey was not fresh enough, one has profuse apologies and the head purser in fact requesting for an e mail id so that they can apologize to me in writing for the inconvenience! A change over at Dubai, well one has to put in super human control to keep your jaws from dropping. Besides the sheer extravagance of opulence what strikes one is the behavior of the staff at the airport. To begin with the directions displayed are simple and very easy to follow and in case of any doubts, one does not need to search a help window. Most officials seem to know their, city like area of activity very well. We reach Jordan. As we step out of the aerobridge and walk along the corridor in the terminal, we are surprised to see a travel representative holding a placard bearing your name, to welcome you. A country which sees tourism as a major economic activity, such a facility should be quite easy to the “atithi devo bhava” brigade to emulate.

After a shockingly cheerful emigration officer, who does not give you a feeling that you could be Bin Laden in disguise, one step into the crisp bracing air of Jordan. As the car races (speed limit 120km/hr). One sees that there is nobody honking on the roads and yes people who drive on those roads do not own the roads! They actually STOP for a pedestrian to cross! Though most people don’t speak English, they go out of their way to make a foreigner comfortable they in fact look around for someone who can speak a spattering of English to help you out. Jordan is a country where you see people from different origins, yet they leave in tolerance and harmony. They are proud of the fact they have good education facilities so they study well and work very hard instead of waiting for “reservations”. They are proud of their music and their rich heritage which is almost 90% non Islamic! We saw some memorable places, kept well and free of touts. But what is enduring is the people and their character, truly justified in being a proud to be a Jordanian!

Of Jordanian Bondage

2010-02-26T20:31:00.003+05:30

When I talk of my visit to Jordan, I am sure an excellent search engine like Google will surely give my readers all the information they seek. Then let me share those experiences that was unique for me. To begin with I have to mention two people Thair and Saba. Thair, a Jordanian knew the country like the back of his hand but could speak no English. So, comes in Saba, a Palestinian, supposedly our English speaking guide who needed guidance from both the tourists and Thair. Thair…..in India would be Tahir….but Saba insisted that I pronounce it the way I have now spelt it. Saba, was a post graduate in Political Science from “the University”. In my four days of interaction with her, she could not understand which university as Jordan has a lot of Universities. She was seeing Indians in flesh and blood for the first time. But was an ardent admirer of India- especially Amitabh Bachan and Rishi Kapoor. One of her favourite movie being Amar Akbar Anthony. The much touted King Khan, drew a blank from her.

My husband dreaded the very idea of a question being put to her. A simple question put to her would need to be repeated thrice as her comprehension was clouded by her scarf and her basic knowledge of English. We realized soon that she was one of those typical University tagged people who never really learn anything in life. She was clueless about Amman, the town that she lived in! soon she became an interpreter as she tossed all our questions in Arabic to Thair and tried to reinvent an interpretation for us. Naturally, at the end of this exercise, we were all very tired ! She was surprised that we Indians worship so many Gods and that we know about the PLO problem, Israel etc. She began to look upon us as geniuses when we caught on some common used words in Hindi with Arabic origin. E.g Subah, Marhaba, Takreeban, Khalaas, Maqbara, Ajooba etc and our NCERT CBSE induced knowledge of World History. She was so confident about my expertise that in one of our destinations she took me aside, removed her head scarf and asked me to suggest something to improve the texture of her hair! Much to my horror I suggested coconut oil!!! I realized that it would take me at least a couple of hours to describe a coconut! But I suggested that she googles and finds an appropriate answer. While leaving, I gave both of them a gift and an invitation to visit India. They were very touched and Saba asked to pray to all the Indian Gods that she should get married soon.

Looking back on the four days that I spent with Thair and Saba, I remember them with so much fondness. The bond of humanity made Thair take me to a local old sweet maker where I tasted one of the yummiest sweet dishes one can dream of. They took us to a traditional Jordanian Restaurant where we sampled all their dishes including Mansaf. As he left us at the airport he promised that he would learn to speak English so that he can take care of Indian tourists. Ambika Soni ji, are you listening?

Oh Kolkotta! My first Impression.

2010-02-26T20:31:00.001+05:30

Kolkotta……is an experience. Bitter and sweet, excreble and exotic, loathsome and lovable…

The moment you get off at the airport, the shabbiness of the entire town hits you. Somehow, one does not expect it at an international airport. Its not that I have not seen different airports. From a non existent airport terminal at Leh in ladakh , where the pick up vehicle drove right to the disembark steps; to the plush and award winning airport in Hyderabad and then ofcourse the incredible, mini city airport at Kuala Lumpur! But then, Subhash Chandra Bose Airport, is appalling ! from the cobweb covered roof to the stinking dripping rest rooms and the “oh so important Air India official” who walks into the security area even as the Airport Security personnel are trying to stop him. You step out of that almost 30 years behind environment into something that is 50 years behind. Rows and rows of dilapidated garish yellow ambassador cars are lined up for the convenience of the passengers who have just landed or I should say crash landed into the shock known as kolkotta.

I never thought that my first trip to the Eastern part of India would be such a shock; an irony in itself considering that my husband is a Bengali. I decided to visit Dakhinehwar as it is close to the airport. I was certainly not surprised to see the filth all around Dakhineshwar as it is something so shamefully synonymous with Hindu Pilgrim centers. Though I must say that the idol of “ma” in Dakhineshwar is mesmerizing…no doubt Ramakrishna Paramahamsa could see the deity in flesh and blood. After a battle of a darshan, we decided to take a ferry along the Ganges to see Belur Math.

My first Ganga darshan and I confess I came back without touching the water even by mistake. I had heard a lot about pollution of Ganga but trust me, seeing is indeed believing; the dirt and the murky viscous water has to be actually seen to be believed! Like other things caught in a time wrap there were these boats scattered here and there in the Ganges, dipping in buckets and de silting the river. Belur math was a refreshing change from the rest of the filthy town. Here was a quiet and peaceful place where one could actually sit and meditate.

All along my drive to the Bengal Club where we stayed, I saw nothing but ruins and piles and piles of garbage dumps. I took it all in completely appalled as to how people can exist in dirt and squalor…..all this till I entered the historic haloed portals of the “Royal Bengal Club” if I may say so.

Enriching Life

2010-02-18T11:25:00.000+05:30

Both my husband and I started our life rather late. At an age when most people were in the thick of their career we chose a laid back life almost in a state of inertia. It was a little difficult for somebody as restless as me to settle into a pastoral life style and I suppose it was my constant needling that triggered my husband into a state of motion. Looking back on the days thus spent, I have no regrets but I am glad that I moved on. I suppose that is why life is compared to a River. Motion or even a ripple being integral to its life.

Today I am quite happy that I am still a part of the rat race in the job market. It is consoling to note that you are still employable where my peers are almost on the threshold of retirement. I look at some of my senior peers and I am surprised to see how they have retired and surrendered refusing to even look let alone evolve to the changing world around them. I mention my senior peers specifically because I see a distinct dissatisfaction a disappointment towards a life wasted already. Quite often many of them are prone to a host of health problems more imagined than otherwise. They wallow in pathetic self pity and suffer from acute persecution complex.

This is in a complete contrast to the generation before them. I never ever remember my grand father or my grandmother looking bored! The men were actively involved in looking after the land and once they handed over the reins of the business of providing for the family to others, they were actively involved in the betterment of the society. The women ruled the hearth and the home with an iron hand. The pantry was managed with an iron hand making the abundance of harvest last and see the whole family through tough times. Once the women in control took a back seat, they supervised and trained the young women, occasionally showing their expertise in lip-smacking delicacies like pickles and other preserves. The fact is they led a fruitful life and were contented. They made themselves useful and never made others around feel guilty for their boredom.

The irony of the situation is that this state of sad self indulgence is typical of the middle class or even the upper middle class. This is a very regrettable as the midnight generation has a distinct advantage over their parents. They are educated, traveled and exposed. Yet they have chosen to waste themselves. They are actually left nowhere. They have chosen to turn their back on the ways their parents kept themselves occupied. They want to measure up to the younger generation little realizing that they suffer from too much time while the working population is trying to pack more time into a 24 hour long day. So, there is a clash of expectations and aspirations leaving both angry and frustrated.

I know that some years from now, I too might be at the verge of this situation. To think that I can go back to making pickles and preserves is far fetched but certainly I will not make my children feel guilty for the state that I have chosen to be in. There is a wise saying that one has to seek one’s happiness within oneself. I will surely keep myself gainfully occupied. Read stories to children teach in a school or teach in evening schools, participate in a community kitchen and if my body fails…….do what I really enjoy; write and reach out to people in the world.

Passion for Life

2010-02-16T00:50:00.000+05:30

Passion….the very word evokes something carnal, something much wanted but to be avoided, something that is reserved for unabashed display or demand for love. But let us look a little beyond our tinted glasses and look at passion as a driving force . For once, think….what is life without passion?

Just take that passion out of your life and life becomes so commonplace so dull and routine. It could be something as mundane as washing clothes, tending the plants or even dusting the home…put some passion into it and lo and behold you actually put magic into what you do. The choice is not between the chores it is actually between the passion that you are capable of putting into it. When I decided to sit back at home….I realized that I loved every moment of it only because I was passionate about what I was doing. Now, I know it is very difficult to explain how one can put passion into watching a carpenter at work or watching the painter giving finishing touches to the wall paint…but yes a bit of change of mindset can surely make a tiresome chore more tolerable.

Now, I am sure it would appear rather far fetched to imagine that one can put passion into things as inanimate and unresponsive as brick and mortar. But here too I ahve an example to prove my point. There is this friend who is a “builder” by profession. And to keep his zest for life intact he decided to learn a completely alien language, dabbles in music, flying and now horse riding. Such is his passion and involvement that his flats, sorry homes are a complete sell out even before their foundation stone has been laid. Why? because what he builds is a true example of passion and like all emotional creations, one will chance upon certain eccentricities but what he builds leaves everyone absolutely spell bound. There is much thought and love that goes into the planning which is evident from the way he gives an ambience of space and exclusivity to every flat he builds.No doubt then,my home is in every sense an example of “neighbor’s envy and owners pride”. A lot has gone into the structure in terms of the interiors but one cannot deny the passion behind the original structure. The spaces, the ventilation, the light, everything speaks of his characteristic and distinct zest for life and the passion with which he treats all his ventures.

Much of what we attribute to the so called screen chemistry of actors is nothing but the passion with which the actors essay their roles. Even the likes of Britney Spears click only because of the passion they put into their performance. I am sure people of my age would recall how listening to Elvis made their skin shiver. Indeed what would A R Rahman be without his passion, would his notes be capable of making the listener skip a heart beat? Would Shekhar Kapoor’s Bandit Queen have the same appeal without Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s background score full of heartrending pathos?

Sons and Mentors

2010-02-09T13:17:00.000+05:30

The popular saying goes….”child is the father of man”. But most parents are never able to cut the emotional umbilical cord. Some deftly use it to blackmail or threaten and make their children conform to their diktats. This unfortunately is the biggest setback of the human species. We never ever let go. Quite often parents impose on the lives of children only to meet some very dubious and regrettable considerations like, family tradition, and imagined social ostracism. In Malayalam, my mother tongue there is a classic saying to this effect which roughly translated means “It fun to see another’s mother mad” Having faced the brunt of many such jibes overt and covert, I had decided never to impose such considerations on my boys. Yes there was a time when I needed to take a stand but even then the consideration was more of maturity and economic independence. But coming back to the popular saying…I firmly believe that parents have a lot to learn from children. As parents, we must leave behind our baggage of the duty demanded sacrifices that we had made or the supposed compromises that we had made to bring up our children. Worst of all, we must never use that as a meal ticket to ensure our redoubtable social/ economic status and position in the family which rarely ever appear when you really need them.

What set me thinking on these lines is a book that I bought recently on the advice of my son. Since I had a job offer of a school leader, at hand, he suggested that I read a book by Stephen Covey called “The leader in me” and as I began to read that amazing book, it revealed to me slowly how much I have begun to depend on my boys. This dependence is neither economic nor emotional, but yes when I want a tip in my career moves I do ask them. The elder one updates me on market trends and striking a balance between the financial and emotional satisfaction offered by the job. The younger one with his amazing analytical and reasoning ability offers me a solution that cannot be challenged for its pure logic and reason.

I must admit this change happened rather slowly. I have always compartmentalized my life. Though I appear to be very socially amicable, there are parts of me that only my immediate family i.e. my husband and my boys have access to. Maybe it started with my sharing every little detail with them and slowly I realized that they are much more objective than I am. More so my boys, maybe their wider exposure in terms of the young world around me give them that natural ability. I see them far more patient, balanced, and organized than me. At their age, I never knew if I was coming or going, but these boys know their minds so well even while getting into trouble they know how to take responsibility for their actions. Most of the time, the trouble happens when we as parents step in and take away their opportunity to learn from their choices in life.

To most parents letting go is difficult as it is born out of their concern for their children’s’ safety. But is it not crucial to let them go, not like giving a long rope, but to let them fly and reach new horizons? They must know that they are free from all fears to soar and explore after all aren’t we there for them, an anchor, a haven where they can return triumphant or tired, vanquished or victorious in their adventure called life.

Family and Friends

2010-01-19T20:09:00.000+05:30

Phew! That was a long tiring break of pampering, pandering, policing, picking on, poking etc. It started by my younger son who had become amazingly thin and really handsome arriving a week before schedule then it was followed by my elder shocker showman and then my NRI brother with his three Kazakh colleagues.

The home galvanized into action with the coming of my elder son. Forever a maverick, he came in charming all with his ways and the guitar which strummed many a heart strings. The younger one quiet till that time, stirred into action with his side splitting humor, mostly aimed at his elder brother whom he sees as an incarnate of Cacofonix of the Asterix fame. I cooked everyday to the insatiable appetite of my boys. The elder one had his fad diet and the younger one forever a junkie. The only point their food habits met were that both are strictly non-vegetarians. This break was indeed an experience. To begin with I learnt to suffer the scent of tobacco once again, I learnt taste for liquor can begin rather early in life. I learnt that losing weight highlights cute dimples and complimented with a good haircut can have really devastating effects. I experienced a fish spa and watched the hilarious “three idiots” with my boys. I explored a possible business opportunity with my elder son and am keeping my fingers crossed that it should work out.

My brother came in with three of his colleagues who proudly Kazakh. At the threshold of middle age, these women really knew how to enjoy themselves. They were truly bindaas. Very accommodating and very unobtrusive, I really learnt a lot from them. To begin with I learnt to say “cheers” without a glass, I learnt that to connect with people all one needs is to hear each other’s heart. I was amazed their liveliness. They had no qualms about wearing a saree and visiting the local temple and offer tulsi to the deity. They shut their eyes and prayed in all sincereity proving once again that there is no religion greater than humanity. We had our typical girlie moments too where we discussed how men are like little children, the difficulty to get clothes that fit your special contours, the advantage and disadvantage of having curves and how important it is to be well endowed to wear a saree and look beautiful. When they went shopping, they were like excited teenagers going through a series of trial and rejections making my brother rush out for some life giving smoke. They were so much a part of everything that in spite of our differences in language, culture, appearances, I felt I had known them always.

On this Sunday morning when my younger son left, I was too caught up with work to even miss him. But in the evening when I hugged my brother and his friends as they drove off to the airport, I could not hold back my tears and I still feel a lump in my throat.

The power of Vote

2009-12-07T11:13:00.000+05:30

Last few months have been hectic and in a way I have been caught in a time wrap of sorts… settling into my new home, learning to tend to plants and above all learning to be a good neighbor; not my usual personality modeled carefully on the likes of my favorite actor Jack Nicholson.

These few months I almost ceased being a responsible citizen of India as I overlooked the inane editorials and the acceptance and denial game our government excels in. I believe that people living in metros lose out on the real India. Somewhere along, as they shuttle between home and place of work, with a weekend dedicated to a mall or a multiplex, they become largely insulated to an India where there are no roads, no hospitals, no schools… So, it is not surprising then to see young people in metros largely ignorant about the history, geography, civics etc of their country called India. Hence it is fashionable for them to mock at politicians, some even dismiss the capability of a Chief Minister only because he has a name that is not easy to pronounce. Yes the “crown prince” is recognized easily after all he is “ Cho chweet and vulnerable” no matter every time he opens his mouth one only gets to hear irresponsible mindless statements.

A couple of years back, I decided to stop being an arm chair critic and decided to plunge into the active politics. I started to campaign for a party. This was the very first time that I saw politicians close at work. I saw that most really take their position of being a people’s representative very seriously. Every waking minute and hour of theirs was dedicated to people. There would be at any given time a lot of people waiting to discuss their problems with the person who represented them. The problems were of all kinds family, health, neighbor, law and order etc The leaders actually heard them out, understood their perspective, and offered them a solution too.. And in most situations they went back satisfied. So, here I was a novice, all charged up to reach out to the masses and make them responsible citizens.

I never missed an opportunity to educate people about “responsible democracy”. One such incident left an indelible impression on my mind. I was at a jungle resort and the elections were scheduled for the next day. The care taker introduced me to the sarpanch of a village. This gentleman used to deliver milk in the rest house. He was there on a routine chore. I looked that him, he was anywhere between 50 to 70, wiry, thin with sharp alert eyes. He was shabby, his clothes no longer white … Well, and here is an opportunity to do my duty I thought. I reminded him that the elections were to be held the next day, that he must vote, that he must vote for the right party, that he must vote for the party I support as there was no way his lot can improve if he voted otherwise. All along he heard me, a little amused but showed no signs of comprehension. I wondered if he understood at all .So, just to check that my eloquence is not wasted, I paused and asked him “ To baba aap kise vote karenge?”

He said “ tumhe kyon bataein hum kise vote karenge !!!!!!!!!” I was stunned and stumped. That one sentence from him told me my place and proved me his power. The power of the “vote”. I realized that second that it is only pseudo people like me who dismiss the power of democracy and make statements like “we were better under British rule” The power of people and the triumph of democracy is there in the heart of India, that power lies with the multitudes who even if deprived of the basics still come with hope every five years to choose a mouth piece for their voice. That the mouth piece decides to play its own tune is a different story!

Marraiges and Anniversaries

2009-12-02T19:20:00.000+05:30

Maybe age is making me reclusive or it could just be the latest Dalrymple that I am reading – “From the holy mountain”. A recent social gathering really set me thinking …. “Am I socially challenged?” let me put my perspective of the evening which still lingers in my mind.

The occasion was the first anniversary of a young couple. Having spent just about 365 days in each others company, the couple were still very much in love. So, when my husband suggested that we wish then 49 more years of togetherness, the romantic in me protested most vociferously…. Afterall they were still in that very hindi filmi janam janam ka saath mode hand here we with our experience and cruel practicality were measuring it down to a very countable 49 years!!!!!!

So, we walked in to a usual gathering where men, women nd children had by force of habit segregated into different quarters. The men were as usual discussing and arguing about things that matter very objectively and things they can do nothing about. As the evening progresses and as the brews loosen their intellectual pretence and inhibition they all would come down to their baser instincts and discussions. This is something that I have noticed a number of times and a lot of my women friends agree with it too… Oh how much these men can talk! They are so full of themselves that they can go on and on each one painting one to be a more accomplished Alexander.

The children as usual had been tamed with a loud cantankerous dvd to which they sat glued till they nature with hunger and thirst gave them a respite from the jugglery of images on the screen. Quite often a more adventurous kid would emulate the animated violence and then there would be a flurry of activity where the mothers flew in protected their brood and told them to carry on watching the mindless violence “quietly”.

Now the ladies! Well after having compared and consoled themselves with each others turn out and jewelry and the uniqueness of their children, they turned to praising the snacks and exchanging recipes. Once this was done, the women were entertained to the dvd of the marriage that happened a year ago, as they had missed that earth shattering event! So I sat there watching a four and a half long episode. It began with series of strangers of various shapes and sizes walking in looking strangely elated. Then there was a shot of all those hungry guests as they were wolfing in the marriage feast looking appropriately coy when they became aware of the camera between huge mouthfuls. The educated groom of this century came in on a very tired and bored mare; almost symbolic of the life ahead. The groom was also accompanied by a whole lot of very happy dancing people…. The bride came in all dressed up unrecognizably and hideously made up. Then there were the usual rituals in the wee hours of morning where a very tired, sleepy and tearful bride went through the ceremonies with choice less dedication. For this real event there was no trace of the very happy and hungry guests the only spectators were some very close relatives who had to be there.

What was most intriguing was that the couple was rather immersed in the replay of this event and was even moved to tears seeing the bidaai.

With two boys…. I shudderrrrrrr to think of me being a part of this great Indian drama. But if the situation happens, then I will edit the video. I will pay the ultimate tribute to Balaji Telefilms by putting in scenes. Scenes like a long shot of me having loud thoughts like “ Tu kya samajti hai… tu mere bete ko mujhse cheen legi?” “Ek baar ghar to aa kalmuhi, phir tujhe mein aise ghomaongi….” Etc etc etc…. then I will serialize it on the local TV channel. I am sure my boys and their brides will cooperate with me on this new business venture.

Boys.. hope you are listening!!!!

Of Human Bondage

2009-11-22T23:01:00.000+05:30

What is the ingredient of nostalgia? What adds up to inerasable memories? I suppose it’s nothing but PEOPLE. Good, bad or ugly it’s the people who make the stuff called memories. It is the people you meet in the journey of life that makes you remember a place.

Recently I travelled back in time by three and a half years to a place where I spent six eventful years of my life. And everywhere I went I reached out for people. Some had changed some just the same, but I was bound to them by a bond which only humans can share. This bond is not a bond of blood an eminently avoidable choice less binding. Blood certainly runs thicker than water and curdles very easily too. So, here I am talking of human bondage vis a vis human relationships made out of choice. I took great care not to miss any one but still I suppose there are a few....
I came to Jabalpur chucking very lucrative offers in Delhi... Like Robert Frost, I took the road less travelled and it made all the difference. But, when I left that place for Bangalore, I never thought that I would ever retrace the road, but I did for a fleeting three days and yes even that has made a difference.
Jabalpur welcomed me with its characteristic hospitality. My Ex Boss was there at the station along with his sedan so that we could move about the town without any inconvenience. Can people perceive a relationship like this where I took the liberty to tell my Boss’ wife, also a colleague that we would have lunch with them on the day of departure and also that we would like to have our dinner packed for the journey!!!!! Needless to say they were as usual more than expected in their hospitality and warmth. A lovely couple, more of our children, who had suffered a recent unfortunate health crisis but have fought back with extraordinary and praiseworthy resilience. Their parents , shaken but still confident of their daughter’s resilience.Then there were the senior citizens group whose zest for life and fun can make any party animal youngster to shame. They were as usual warm and loving even their homes had the familiar scent of “homecoming”! One had gone through what they call as a “Carburettor change” and the others who were still running their old machines were all ready to get the ones with changed body parts a new break in life in terms of a fresh matrimonial alliance in life! The toothless vegan senior, with uncanny semblance to the Asterix character codfix, who truly relished chicken . The large hearted sikh, who with his earthy humour and large heartedness kept all work aside to have lunch with us. Our “dada” and “boudi” who were hurt to see that we had not stayed with them. The classy couple, with their begging daschund, single, proud, father who kept himself immersed in political and social activities along with business. Then the handsome thakur and his hyper bong wife who welcomed us with the same love and flirtatious affection Then there was this friend and his lovely family; all uniformly idiotic to a fault, yet irresistibly adorable. What was best was that their daughter gave us the ultimate joy of surprise, a grandson born within hours of meeting the glowing fully pregnant mother!

Some who had surrendered a little and had allowed the time to take its toll on them yet endearing and in all sincerity wishing us only good. Then there were our long standing neighbours who nurtured our plants like our relationship and proudly showed it to us. We visited our old home too, where every brick in the wall seemed to question our absence. Our long standing provision store where the owner shared his anxiety over his son’s poor academic performance and my constant insistence that the child would do well.... much to my coincidental prophecy the child actually displayed characteric Sindhi Business acumen and had done so well in life. So, were many other students too... giving me the ultimate ego trip of saying “I told you so”

There were changes too.... little boys were on their way to be strapping young men... My friend and his four dogs had still not grown up. My colleagues ... who gave me a mixed welcome. Some with warmth others spoke a freezing tongue with icicles dripping from each word. Also my anti social neighbour who had words loaded with sarcasm almost short of saying how relieved he is to have seen the last of us.

Three days of existence in nostalgia till we boarded a train to set off to the big impersonal metro. Even today, it is these people who form the major chunk of my conversations . My interactions with them have made me what I am .... teaching me the ultimate value of human bondage in the journey of life.

kaisi dilli kaisi shaan?

2009-11-14T21:10:00.000+05:30

People tend to be loyal and partial to the place where they have spent their growing years. Maybe it has a lot to do with the travails of adulthood where familiar scents and sights of frequented nooks and corners hold a very special place in your heart.
As a Delhiite, I certainly have a very special place for the city in my heart. My weekends always began with a walk around Connaught Place. Friday evening, I would reach my mom’s office at Barakhamba Rd and then we would start our journey with ogling at the latest designs of saris in Kalpana. A visit to Giggles was a must and then we would cut across to Shankar Market, where the best of dress materials were displayed tantalizingly. Occasionally, we would indulge then slip into the lane behind Shankar market where some of the best tailors used to work. Nirulas was also a favourite haunt where we would sample the latest flavours of ice cream and pastry only to claim that Keventers and Wengers were any day better. This was almost a weekly exercise that both my mom and I looked forward to. To me then, Delhi was the most beautiful city, the breath taking view of the power centre i.e. the Rashtrapati Bhawan and the North and the South block, the profusion of flowers during spring on traffic islands, the shady tree lined avenues of Lutyens Delhi....... Even the harsh weather had its bonuses.... summers had a distinct aroma of surahi ka paani ,water melon and Dusseri aam, monsoons always smelt of roasted Bhutta, winters were a foodies delight with rich gaajar ka halwa, hot jalebis, khasta kachori etc etc.... My nostalgia would take painful dimensions when I would see Delhi in popular foodie shows and in movies.
My junoon for Delhi would be most explicitly expressive when somebody would have the audacity to make a negative comment about Delhi; a practise my husband revels in.......
But I must admit that in passing years my romance with this city has jaded a little. It has a lot to do with the rapid modernisation.... in terms of high rises, glass facade skyscrapers and of course the metro which has dwarfed the familiar land marks of apni dilli. What hurts me the most is the people.... after having lived a better part of my life south India that too Bangalore, I can’t help but notice a certain harshness on the face of the people in Delhi. Maybe survival itself is a challenge in Delhi, where an average citizen not just battles the harsh weather, but also the corrupting fruits of the pulse or the power centre of the country. Though it is a city I grew with, I can’t help the lurking feeling of insecurity as I watch hardened unsmiling faces all around me. The dramatics of survival has made the people put on an act to such an extent that their smile never reaches their eyes. The eyes look furtive and restless as if ready for some inevitable onslaught....
Today my Dilli looks every bit a ruin, my favourite haunt, Cannaught Place, is all mauled and pulled down for renovation, the unending network of the metro has made driving a nightmare and to crown it all the people, who swear and abuse for just about anything .......my heart almost says “kiski dilli kiski shaan?”

WAR

2009-10-31T11:36:00.001+05:30

When you have a really smart teenager at home, make sure that you are armed to your teeth. Only here, weapons are different and the nature of warfare is deadlier than anything within the power of human creation, a war of wits and heart. And the war if always for the most traditional gain ie wealth. Here the parent feels that the lesson of thrift needs to be inculcated at any cost while the teenager all eager to be accepted among the peers sees splurging a sure shot to acceptance.

The battle lines for the monthly allowance is drawn the moment the teenager steps out of home. The emotionally charged moment as you drop a teenager into the protection of a hostel has all the potential fuel for a full fledged emotional weapon arsenal for the teenager where a weakened parent surrenders as one volley seems to follow another. Here the oppressor is selfish to the core exploiting all that he can to suit his selfish ends. The range of attacks varies depending on the emotional strength of the teenager. These infiltrations are sometimes demanding, sometimes polite to a fault, a feigned illness or the most powerful the need to supplement an upward climb to an academic performance. Somewhere along, these pseudo psychologists have given this warfare a very sugar coated terms like “aligning to the world” etc.

I am hopeful that at some point in life I shall recall these emotional volleys with indulgence and will even be able to smile at all the words exchanged. But then as of now, it’s harrowing and one wonders where the teenager has picked up such crass wily tricks from. Little does the teenager who is going through such a selfish phase in life, realise the toll it takes on the parents health. With age taking its toll the emotional whip is sometimes crippling..... when the threat is of going off food, the parent chokes on every morsel, then the threat comes in form of peer pressure by getting his girl friend to put in a word, leaving the parent feeling deeply humiliated; then the threat can come in form of an injury or sickness where quick financial supplements are needed; then there is a threat that comes in form of selling a coveted and precious gift given by the parent; oh the list is endless.

I might have braced myself and decided an Israel like no surrender policy. But the fact is that for this hardened policy , I am no better. In this battle where my winning is directly related to my teenager’s gain in life; where every step of success for me is a life lesson learned for a teenager; where every rewarding move makes the teenager only wiser but drains the parent leaving irreparable scars of life.

WAR

2009-10-31T11:36:00.000+05:30

On growing a green thumb

2009-10-24T21:17:00.000+05:30

A well deserved break from the grind and lo and behold I live today in a world without cares and all the time to just stop and stare......

The first thing I realised is the pure joy of working with your hands. It’s no more the cursory cooking drudgery where one mechanically tosses in the ingredients out of habit. Here I am cleaning dusting even to try a hand at a repair and what is more.... “I am truly loving it!!!”

But the greatest learning has been from my plants that I have brought in to make a green oasis in my home. My son used to talk to the plants at home and had even named some of them, I had like a typical adult dismissed it as cute childish prattle. Today I stand corrected. Before I get started with what I have learned, let me describe my home. I stay on the top, 4th floor. A home designed by a builder who builds out of passion. His sheer romance and involvement is reflected in the open spaces in the home. The home is open to all elements with a cute green garden patch. So, my pots have been fitted into all the balconies and an unusual entrance. The plants in the balcony are open to elements. What surprised me the most was the distinct character that each of my plants have.

To begin with the balcony with the garden. The plants here smile smugly in contentment. And pray, why not? They get the warmth of the rising sun, the bracing breeze and the music of the wind chime. When I give them the routine wash in the morning they all break into a dance nodding their heads, waving their arms about. And this smug, contented jive goes on all day. There are times when the breeze is a strong, but these plants never get deterred, they dance with reckless abandon as free the elements itself.
Now the second balcony. This balcony is open from three sides a little too exposed to the elements. The plants here have a timid mien. All day they grapple with the elements almost in a battle for survival. They need the support and prop that we give to help them face the onslaught of nature. So, here we have the true sons of soil, resilient and strong. When i tend them, they accept my attention with stoic faces almost telling me that they can really do without my extra help!

Now the entrance where the plants are completely protected from the elements and have an almost glass house kind of environment with a sun roof on top. So, even the light that comes in is filtered and eased in its intensity. So, here we have an assortment of plants which are by and large indoor plants. Of these there is one who is distinctly arrogant. When I spray water on this fellow, he almost smirks! And why not bought for quite a price! There are two plants from underprivileged origins whom we adopted. These two are truly humble and grateful. When I water them they almost bow to me in gratitude. There are some spoilt brats who need your attention all the time. They cheer up when I am around and then they sulk when I move away, curling up their leaves in a grouch. The plants here are typically HS, all hoity too delicate to be exposed to elements.

From my dogs to plants, they all communicate and each with a distinct character of its own!

Father and sons

2009-10-10T13:17:00.000+05:30

The saying goes that men will always be boys. So, I suppose that explains why my husband worldly wise and mature cannot resist still resist commando comics, Sudden, TinTin, Asterix and of course the old western classics. He boyishly plays with the remote flipping channels till he spots a vast expanse dotted with cacti and a solitary rider with the broad hat, the gun casually slung low on his hip with the cigarette dangling from his lips. In years I have memorised most of those movies and can even rattle their dialogues.

But then the child in the man sometimes pushes itself a little too far. Like a kid he yearns for toys. One time it was a golf set. It was as if the absence of a good set came between him and golf pro. Then it was a fishing rod. It still lies somewhere in the loft with its original wrapper intact. Then there are those numerous knives of various shapes and sizes. Some tucked away preciously away from my reach as he feels that I am incapable of wielding a knife with the dignity that it deserves. He sulks when things don’t go his way and the tantrums need to be seen to be believed. But the problem is this that he has gone way beyond the age where one can whack him on his bottom and chastise him for any of these eccentricities. What is maddening is he has an argument in place for everything complete with statistics and supporting evidences.

Yet... I am glad. Divine Providence exists. My elder son could not be an alter ego. But my young 18 year old brat is living up to his Dad. The youngster is as obstinate if not a step ahead. He breaks rules, lives life on his terms. His fads may vary but the obstinate streak along with an impeccable illogic to support all actions runs very strong.

Going by the popular saying that likes repel, every vacation of the youngster is replete with show downs where both obstinate kids refuse to see eye to eye on anything making it harrowing for me to strike some semblance of sane balance. No doubt, like always age and authority wins. But the fact is the two have their way and have their say, selfishly unconcerned about the impact on a few concerned others choicelessly in the vicinity.

So, one continues to live in a constant state of emotional tension, torn between two obstinate kids dreading their inevitable encounters and show downs. My only solace being my elder reflection who even at a distance is such a soothing and calming presence!

What next? St Barrack Obama ?

2009-10-10T09:34:00.000+05:30

I knew it! It was nothing more than a sneaky suspicion but now I KNOW! Nobel prizes are up for sale to be bought by the high and mighty, the powerful brokers of power who have the means and control in them to rewrite futures of nations. 7 months in office and here is a man who has earned (?) himself the most coveted award of the world! The Nobel Peace prize.
I have doubted the credentials of the Nobel Committee which had overlooked the likes of Leo Tolstoy and Gandhi but did not hesitate to felicitate Gorbachev for having overseen the breakup of the Soviet Union. How much of difference it made to human rights or world peace is yet to be seen..... but one thing it did was to cruelly take away so many plots for Hollywood which relied so heavily on the cold war!

But Mr Barrack Obama, is the last straw! I wonder does the Nobel Committee have members of our Desi Congress in it? Maybe they thought that Obama would take a page out of Sonia’s much crowed about renunciation?!!! On a hind sight..... why was this award not given to Sonia Gandhi? C’mon, they could have constituted a new award for renunciation! Or better still the more dynastic patriarch, messiah of the masses, Karunanidhi, who has been on a forgiving spree to dreaded convicts waiting to face the hangman’s noose. Or why not Shilpa Shetty who very publicly and stoically refused to lose her dignity in the face of equally public racial remarks.

Now that all illusions have been cleared, I feel so much better! I can’t help but compare the Nobel prize to the beauty pageants where indistinguishable beauties strut their stuff and then make grand,rehearsed hollow speeches on world peace. So, there goes the sanctity of the haloed “Nobel Prizes” The cynic in me cannot help but pat myself on the back like I did when Mother Teresa’s successor Sister Nirmala in her very first address to the press after being pronounced the successor of the Nobel Laureate Mother said “ we will be out of business if there is no poverty in India”.

I suppose the best reaction to the new haloed image of Obama and the importance of Nobel Prizes came from none other than Obama’s daughter who said “ Daddy, you won the Nobel and it is (Obama’s dog) Bo’s birthday! Plus we have a three day weekend coming up!

Now all I am waiting for is a rapid high speed canonization; St Barrack Obama. Sounds divine, doesn’t it?

Austerity the fad!

2009-09-14T21:27:00.000+05:30

The flavour of the week is austerity. It all began with a “scoop” that talked about two ministers who have chosen the 5 star comforts as against the humble (?) government accommodation. Such was the impact of the press coverage that it has touched all even the high and the mighty. But as an ordinary citizen I am a little worried about this austerity business. I must admit that my concern is rather selfish and might look very trivial in front of these great men and women who have taken a sudden fancy for austerity.

I am sure that there are many like me who have been held up on the road for an indefinite period of time because some VIP had chosen to use the road. My childhood memories are full of road blocks and diverted traffic all because a certain VIP had to be in some place in the vicinity to cut a ribbon, garland a statue or even a drive. The very “aam aadmi” who had put them in that position, become a bewildered victim of officialdom. But those days I suppose security was not such a grave concern. Politics had not yet taken the ugly hue of an ogress begetting uncontrolled off spring like terrorism.

Today the tables have turned. We the people of India have got used to give way to the politicians. The long trail white ambassadors complete with wailing sirens have become commonplace and most of us have learnt to take it in our stride. It does not shock us that our money is used to ferry these politicians to campaign and further their image. We have learnt to tolerate obnoxious spokes person whose incredible arrogance (man-eating government) is very difficult to suffer. We have learnt to see celebrity advocates play with words with a snigger (persona non Grata for Modi) to add to the impact! There are also times when we share a sense of loss in a mishap but that too is partial to the celebrity with no mention to the other ordinary mortals who happened to be with the deceased VIP. But all this is acceptable..... But there were some spaces which I as an ‘aam aadmi’ had a right to...but even that is encroached now thanks to this new fad!
It seems the special people in the highest echelons of power have taken a fancy to travel by economy class! Oh no! Save us the horror! With their category of security! A recent travel by economy class by the center of power , had the paraphernalia called as an “entourage” occupied three rows of seats both sides!!!! Now the heir-in-waiting has connected with the aam aadmi by travelling by the AC chair car ! The irritation was writ large on the faces of the co passengers who had to suffer the sycophancy and the security personnel in their otherwise private journey. However the star struck anchor person from a reputed channel went up to an extent of comparing this journey as a landmark in the ultimate connect of the dimpled prince with the aam admi. No thought, let alone a discussion is warranted to those people whose personal freedom has been invaded by this new found fad of austerity . no thought is wasted on those people who have lost seats in the aircraft and the train. What is worse the catering dept of the Indian Railways went a step ahead to provide the Crown Prince with special cutlery and crockery! I hope for the sake of the aam aadmi that this fancy dies a very early death.

As I watch the TV, I can hear and see the travails of an actress turned politician who went on a bullock cart to tour the flood hit areas. I must say I got some vicarious pleasure to see her petrified wailing as the cart almost overturned with her and her cronies.

Dreams and drudgery

2009-09-12T19:43:00.000+05:30

Action stations! Its home front now....but what the ****!!

I had dreamt of a well deserved break from work; of stretching lazily in the morning and having the cuppa in the balcony facing the world hurrying by; I wanted to talk a walk with my dogs and help them identify new territory. Speak to the wild flowers and chase a butterfly; Catch up with reading and movies on the television and welcome the sunset with incense sticks and the glow of the ethereal diya. I longed to sit in my own bar with a drink and a book; a quiet evening in my balcony with the music of the water gurgling in the swimming pool. Ahhh the wish list is endless small things but things that make life worth living.

I do wake up in the morning ....not to warm rays of sun filtered through my carefully matched curtains! But to a hurried routine of mundane chores so that I am all geared and ready to face the onslaught of the helping hands that have chosen to give finishing touches to the decor only after our arrival. They pour in one at a time, till they take charge of my home. Most of them need a lot of assistance in terms of suggestions, opinions, tools and sometimes even a choice of music. So watch the confusion amidst the cacophony of their chatter and songs of Himesh Reshamiya. So, there you are in the midst of all this noise trying your best to not let go your sanity. Somehow they are all sundown people. They seem to be all attention and energy once it is evening when all you want is the sound of silence. They give you an incredulous glance when you demand that they stop their work in the evening and look all the more puzzled when you suggest that they could begin their work earlier in the morning.

Once they leave rather grudgingly, I am back to scrubbing out their footprints and make the home at least sleep worthy. So, at the end of it all, it’s the same old work and drudgery. All those dreams of being a lady wearing diamonds, resting on satin and feather cushions, smoking a long cigarette in a stylish holder while sipping champagne out of a rare crystal flute!!!!!

Ah! Such is the stuff dreams are made of!

Curtains!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2009-08-27T12:04:00.000+05:30

Its curtains again for another phase of my life. What do I call this phase? Corporate? No! I think “Learning” would be more appropriate. In this one year and three months …I have indeed learnt a lot! These are some of my learnings:

It is very tiring and also painful to be seated in a chair for almost nine hours a day!
To make myself as comfortable as possible by tucking each leg alternately even as I created content on correct posture in place of work.
To keep my eyes and mind glued to the computer screen without even a few moments of a respite, blink.
How synthetic the coffee from coffee machine tastes
The glare of reflected light on the computer screen is really blinding
The therapeutic value of gossip especially if it is aimed at the bosses
Bitching , sometimes works wonders for your mood
Gesticulate through chat/words
E mail as a strict “for the record” tool
How not be afraid of computer jargon
How to use jargon to make simple ideas look like rocket science.
Complicate to display competence E.g. replace ‘screen shot’ with ‘real estate’
Make the best of a well earned break from office
Most pompous, important people are really full of gas
One of the best ways to hide your ignorance is to throw an attitude
Pretend to be busy all the time
Your efficiency is directly proportional to the amount of time you spend in the office after working hours
Be ready with assistance or solutions at the risk of being labelled as inefficient
Being pricey means you are competent
Boss has eyes and ears all over the office
Never allow anybody else to set deadlines for you
Boss comes in at the exact moment when you decide to stretch for a break
HR is generally non existent in any office
“Leave” is a word that invokes most unexpected reactions from bosses
A family environment in office means that you spend more time with the “family”
Money ke liye to ….kuch bhi karega
Accounts dept people are as severe as the numbers
Canned air is sickening
Polluted air outside is a welcome change
Even blossoms and a placid lake reflecting sunshine cannot take away the depression of a Working Saturday.
Even the Gods conspire with the Bosses by making special days happen on a holiday.

As of now, this is all that comes to my mind… All those who follow /read my blog, please feel free to add to these learnings!

Of International Schools

2009-08-19T13:47:00.000+05:30

Namma Bengaluru has seen a lot of growth…… but for good or bad is debatable. There are huge glass facade structures, replacing the modest brick and mortar. That it is an ecological disaster considering the weather and the strain on air-conditioning is something nobody cares about. The car manufactures are locked in a cut throat competition while the roads get narrower with encroachments, and the furious digging competition between the BMC and the BSEB. Then there are those grotesque flyovers which swirl and whirl only to end up in a bottle neck. When one looks at these signs of debatable growth and modernity, can the breed of International Schools be far behind?

These 5 star set ups are the new status symbols in town. Your stand in society is determined by the school your child goes to. Many of these schools provide plush transport services but a more socially upward mobile parent will opt for a chauffeur driven comfort; naturally. These schools have a sprawling manicured complex, some even with a bizarre fortress like entrance. Naturally, in the portals of such an imposing monument, no parent would dare to squeak when a fee resembling a ransom is quoted. "Well hem.. ahem…. the syllabus?" a parent ventures to ask. Well, after charging the moon, will the school ever be naive enough to say ISC, CBSE, IB etc? They have a customized syllabus if you please….. after all the business of education is all about aggressive unique branding.No parent gives even a remote thought to the fact that all these children will face the great leveler the Board Exams and then the competitive exams where a Surinder Singh Gond will beat the day lights out of these sanitised products of these international schools.

These international schools have such an outrageous system of education that it is a wonder how the parents take it all; literally lying down. To begin with they have no text books. They have assignments. The teachers who change every season, teach the students the content in class and the students HAVE to be attentive in class. It is choicelessly imperative that the child shall not day dream…!!!!! and if the child has dared to dream.... well, its too bad.... as there are no text books to back up a slow learner. Oh, talking about slow learners, such schools have zero tolerance for slow learners. The hapless child and the parents are harassed alternatively as the “educators” pronounce the learner as a dunce.
Now comes the test. The eccentricity of these centers go completely berserk here. Tests are meant to test what the learner has understood and if the learner is able to apply what he has learnt in a given situation. Well here the strategy is entirely different. The tests challenge the learner as if asking “Oh! So, you think you know everything?” Hence a comprehension passage on parallel cinema written in an impressionist style for a learner in Grade 7. These 5 star breed of schools certainly are great admirers and followers of Macaulay the greatest villain produced to torture Indians. The students have to cram, cram and cram theories with no concern or care for its application.
This grade 7 child draws the structure of an atom in perfect circles to ensure cleanliness… elliptical orbit??? Hey what is that? They have some outlandish projects too where they have to read CIA reports as the nations they give for project work are rarely seen or discussed. All this fuss when they don’t know the ward their school falls in or even if their school is in the north or south of Bangalore city. These schools stake their claim to fame by organizing trips to NASA when they may not know a word about ISRO or its achievements right in their backyard.

What enrages my sensibility as a teacher is that these institutions are not even remotely aware of learning Principles. The do not know to map a child’s learning preferences or even their learning needs. I am sure that all these terms would be a jargon for the specimen teachers in international schools. Do they realize that if a specialist were to analyze their curriculum they would bite lower than dust as none of their lessons chalk out behavioral outcomes in their learners. And to add insult to injury, the parents who are the who is who of the society is quiet.

All their anger is aimed only at the inconvenience of traffic jams, the discomfort caused by a life sustaining shower, lack of foreign brands to shop and of course that irritating breed of servants who dare to ask for a hike of 500 rupees; all to send their child to some municipality school! “What these people will do with education, I say” says the memsahib as she signs a cheque for her child’s trip to the South Pole. “An interaction with Penguins” is what the pamphlet on the latest school trip said.

Raped and Draped

2009-08-14T11:30:00.000+05:30

All along, the local News Channel, TV9 kept flashing this tag line "Raped and Draped". I happened to see this pop up while they were showing the Janmashtami Celebrations at the Hare Krishna Temple. I wondered if it had anything to do with the Raas Leela aspect of lord Krishna. But somehow the “raped” bit did not gel.

Then at 10.30 PM in a special edition of crime beat, the mystery of this term was revealed! The story was about this convicted rapist who after serving 7 years in the prison came out and married the very girl he raped. The script writer for this episode had been so taken in by the this grand gesture that the entire episode was shot with the panache of a typical tele serial. There were sickening images of an extremely happy looking bride, smiling ear to ear blushing bride- like, as she stood coyly near her rapist. I can understand the social stigma she is living through and maybe now she views her violation with indulgence… an errant manifestation of raging male testosterones. There were maddeningly idyllic shots of the two sitting on a bench in a park talking sweet nothings to each other.Strolling in a garden, a couple soooo much in love! Hand in hand with stars in their eyes for a long happy married life! The only thing missing was the two of them doing a well choreographed dance!

So, the rapist raped then draped her modesty with a mangalsutra and like they say "ek chutki bar sindoor" The cost for rape! The anchor was almost ecstatic, pouring out one wise saying after another painting the entire episode as a supreme example of marriage between divine repentance and divine forgiveness.

The entire episode was so obscenely ridiculous that I watched it in incredulous horror. In the words of Justice Krishna Iyer, rape is like a “Deathless shame”. Its violence rips apart a victim physically, socially and emotionally. The wound of that violent act can never heal. A memory that maims the victim permanently. For the man it’s nothing more than an act with no social sanction. And generally the attitude is: he is a man so a rape can be expected from him and now that he has done such a noble gesture …C’mon don’t hold that one mistake against him! He has agreed to marry the very girl whom he violated. Then lo and behold, the rapist is now “Pati Parmeshwar” !!!!!!. Will the cruelty of his act change or even lessen when the rapist and the victim become Man and Wife? Does the Parmeshwar now cease to be called a rapist? As man and woman will they relive that horror and revulsion of the act again or is all forgiven now that it is socially sanctioned marital rape? No doubt, in India people look surprised when you discuss marital rape! Can rape be forgiven or vindicated by the act of marriage? Now he can continue to rape her and what is more no fear of conviction this time! Cheers!

Statuesque Blunders

2009-08-10T11:00:00.000+05:30

My earliest memory of a statue or three statues was that of the three ferocious soldiers in front of the Teen Murti Bhavan. There was a circular garden in the middle of which these three soldiers stood on a concrete platform. As children we clambered all over these soldiers who stood as a memorial to the Indian soldiers who had been martyred in the I World War. The well maintained garden around these statues was flanked by white concrete pillars joined by heavy low slung metal chains. Considering the extremities of weather in Delhi, this garden was a huge respite for people who lived in the vicinity. As children we played out our fancies too, quite often making the soldiers team members to ensure victory. Respect for the soldiers was the last thing on our minds; they were nothing more than somber, toys taking on any role that we wished.

As a Delhi ite, and that too having lived most of the time in Lutyens Delhi, I have been surrounded by statues and memorials. I never realized the sacredness of antiquity as I played around the ruins of Purana qila, Vijay path was one beautiful track to race on a bicycle, Teen Murti Bhavan was the place where we rushed to drink chilled water. Rashtrapati Bhavan was a huge building which we always dreamed of crossing as a short cut to reach North Avenue from South Avenue It was routine for me to see new statues and memorials being erected and also the annual decoration of these statues. As age and time flew, I began to recognize the statues and their relevance. Too grown and self-conscious to clamber over them, my critical eye soon spotted many misnomers to the professed greatness of these statuesque blunders.

I noticed with dismay that these memorials are open to all the vagaries of nature. Quite often these statues became a perching point for the birds that sharpened their beaks on them and even crapped on them. Stories like the “Happy Prince” by Oscar Wilde only cemented my conviction about the futility of these statues. The saddest thing is that the people who these statues represent were full blooded men and women who lived life on their terms. To see them reduced to such a monumental absurdity is indeed an insult to their memory.

At this juncture, I do not wish to comment on Ms Mayawati’s statuesque ambitions, maybe she needs to prove her larger than life status more to herself than anybody else. But the recent hullabaloo over Thiruvallavar’s statue in Bangalore was something to think about. Such was the hype over the unveiling of the statue that it had the entire state administration in a tizzy. The Ulsoor road a day after this event is full of remains of garish posters, littered roads and of course a statue unveiled which like most of its ilk would soon become a comfortable perch for birds feeding on the litter and contaminated fish in Ulsoor lake. Thiruvallvar, the great visionary… did he ever foresee himself being reduced to a monument? To be helplessly felicitated by those who disregard the Thirukural day after day?

A glimpse of the journey to being a Major

2009-08-04T09:22:00.000+05:30

The journey to adulthood, strictly on legal terms has not been an easy one. The emphasis on legality is only based on the truth that age and wisdom don’t necessarily go hand in hand. A fact taken often as a bitter pill administered to me sometimes by the upstart, awkward teenager who has turned 18 today. I still remember the day he was born, Sunday, 4th August, 1991; at 1026hrs he heralded his entry into the world with a full throated cry. The rains were delayed that year and on that day, it rained cats and dogs, giving everybody the much needed relief.
The dimpled bundle of joy puckered his face and let out a deafening wail the moment he was bundled into his mother’s arms. That was the first time that a priority was made crystal clear to the parents: FOOD. Even as an infant he ate and slept waking up occasionally to thrill us with his dimpled smile. As he grew, he displayed a strong affinity for books. So, it was no wonder that he learnt to read long before he wrote the first letter of the alphabet. As time flew, we noticed that he has a distinct dislike for anything that was run of the mill. Whether it was music, movies or even the choice of books...he remained different and a non conformist.
With a take and opinion on everything, he was surprisingly low key. He sticks to his convictions based on irrefutable logic yet he never deems it necessary to explain his stand to anyone. In a world that runs on a herd mentality, no doubt then, this attitude ran him into a lot of confrontations. Yet he stand up for what he feels is right irrespective of popular perceptions.
Deeply emotional, the persona displays “I am a rock, I am an island” as sung by Simon and Garfunkel. The only chinks in his armour are visible to his brother, and sometimes to me, his hapless confused mother. His father, his role model, is the only person he looks up to, is the only person he truly listens to.
Today he is 18, a big boy, responsible for his actions... as a mother, I have my fears for this unconventional prodigy. But like his brother says “ Mom, wait and watch, my bro will be something, somebody, one day....”

Love, Loss and Lucre

2009-07-28T16:43:00.000+05:30

The grandma sits staring blankly ahead, a withered album rests in her lap, bringing in more tears and memories of a childhood spent totally in her care. Now all that remains of her precious grandson are those lifeless pictures and memories which cannot be wished away..… Tears flow, the crowd of villagers pours in ….but her heart is empty … all she feels is a painful vacuum. There is no hope in those old eyes … nothing to look forward to …. She does not have to drag herself to the village telephone to her the familiar voice He will not stride in anymore once a year like a prince opening his bag and handing out goodies for one and all in the village. The homecoming of her hero. Now no more puja festivities for her …. Just exist till she too takes the final journey…

The father lands at the airport dazed and shocked. Completely incongruent with the airport’s ambience in his not so immaculate workman attire. No he is not awestruck at the affluence… there are so many structures like this built by him in the city! He is a proud work man. A Raj Mistri. More proud to be strengthened by a son who works as an office boy in a posh office in a big city. But today, he is poor. Struck and dazed by emotional poverty. The experience of the first flight does not scare him, the scornful looks and unkind tone of the manicured airlines staff and co passengers does not hurt his pride, the embarrassment of the confusion he gets into over a routed flight…. all this is pushed into the background…. His arm, his strength, his very image is gone…. He will return to his village with his son packed in a small container …. a handful of ash…dust

The mother arrives…her first flight too. The eternally optimistic maternal hope tells her that her darling is safe. She was told “your son …is in the hospital”. She comes in an image of strength all set to fight any force natural and supernatural to save her son. She stares incredulously as the finality is disclosed… How can that be? She spoke to him a day before? They had made such elaborate plans for the pooja holidays… and now, this????....... The gruesome aspect of the reality is kept away from her till she sees the mutilated face. Crazed with grief, she cries aloud a series of questions to which there are no answers ….not yet…. Her only child, the apple of her eye is gone.. Her tears flow unchecked…it was she who had arranged this job for him … has she sent her flesh and blood away to the arms of Death? Sorrow, finality and the guilt of the irreplaceable loss will sink in and live with her till she breathes her last….

The son has taken the last journey of his life. Came into the city and began his life as an honest hardworking young man. Endearing, cheerful, simple, always positive, he was there for everyone and anyone in the work place…Then why did he have to be killed so brutally? Why had it become necessary for someone to eliminate him? How could someone hate somebody so much? There are many tell tale signs left behind……completely contradicting the impression that all had about him

Is ambition so selfish that one forgets the very people for whom one is supposedly doing things? Is ambition so blind to the fact that what really matters to parents and grandparents is the simple consolation that you are there…. somewhere… someplace……where they can reach out and touch you….or even hear the familiar voice once a while ……a consolation that you are safe miles and miles away.

Moon and Magic

2009-07-24T12:32:00.000+05:30

“Young girl in Calcutta, barely eight years old
The flies that swarm the market place
Will see she won’t grow old
But don’t you know she saw it
On that July afternoon
That a Man named Armstrong
Walked upon the moon’

These are the lines sung by Lobo that very appropriately sums up the paradox of the “giant leap of mankind”. I can’t comment on the achievement made by man on unraveling one of the mysteries of the universe. But one thing I can vouch…. The day Armstrong walked upon the moon he killed romance.

Somehow, science and romance has always been at loggerheads. I know that there have been many studies about the moon. Scientists have screamed their lungs out, written reams and reams of theories to prove that moon is a cold mass that has no signs of life. Even the fact that moon does not have its own light did not deter a Raj Kapoor who told the moon “ Dum bhar jo udhar mu phere” so that he could romance the winsome Nargis. And then Nargis complaining about the complicity of the moon and her feelings when she says “kyon aag si lagaa ke gum sum hai chandini” Though the scientists did everything to break the romance of the moon through all their speculations and conjectures, they really could not make a dent in the romantic allure of the moon. The moon continued to be the ultimate companion for all those in love. For those in Love, moon was never a passive witness. It teased, cajoled, cried, lamented and even acted as link between lovers separated by destiny. Many a heroine in Bollywood took on the name “Chandini” only to add to their love worthiness.

But after that July afternoon when Man walked on the moon… he actually walked all over romance. Seeing is after all believing and after those pictures ….. The moon will no more “walk in beauty”. No lines will talk about her as “one shade more or one shade less would have impaired the nameless grace”. Why one can even drop the pronoun ‘her’ or “him” that animates the moon. It’s a cold celestial body today, full of craters, hard rocks anything but beautiful and endearing. How tortured would all those romantics be who looked at the moon as a symbol of feminine perfection? Would Dev Anand’s “khoya khoya chand” or Guru Dutt’s “Chaudhvin ka chaand ho” sound the same after seeing images of o cold lifeless surface? The moon has always been hailed as a mute witness to lovers’ longing. Somehow the moon was the perfect companion to the trials and tribulations of lovers as they pined for their beloved. Imagine how incensed would a girl be if she were to be compared to the moon! Maybe that is why our “eeeesh Aish” arrogantly dismisses her comparison to moon as “usme to daag hai”

Science has done its bit to explain many a natural phenomenon but they have never been able to create a dent in their romance. The theory of condensation and evaporation has not killed the magic of monsoons. Sawan ke jhoole and the thundering clouds still sing Malhaar. The tongue twisting botanical names have not snatched the vibrancy in spring. The very thought of basant fills you will colour and energy reflected in the vivid gulal. All theories of rotation and revolution have not taken the magic out of “jaadon ki narm dhoop” Any amount of central heating has not taken the warmth of winter sunshine. No amount of models selling air conditioners can create the magical languor of summer afternoons.

But alas Armstrongji has really played hell with our minds. Imagine… the very happening, bollywood endorsed Karva Chauth. Here is the wife all decked up like a jewellery shop, ignoring the hungry growls of her stomach, waiting for the moon to rise so that she can look at it through a sieve and pray for a husband or her husband, to be as beautiful and steadfast as the moon. So, l she glimpses the moon and then breaks her fast with the prayer for a husband cold, impersonal and infertile like the moon!! !!!?????

Presentations and Personalities

2009-07-21T10:40:00.000+05:30

Have you ever observed that some of the life style choices we make distinctly, reflect our personality? This struck me yesterday when I had to choose the shape of lamps to illuminate my new home. There was this Lamp guy, who flicked open his lap top and showed me various designs of lamps that he had. Well, I could see the disappointment grow on his face as I kept rejecting the fancy ones and chose the more sober and almost understated ones. The last straw was when he tried to hard sell chandeliers and he saw my husband and me completely aghast at even a suggestion of having anything even remotely ornate in our homes. We told him “ this is not us it does not match the people living in home” Evidently ,he was not willing to buy that line after all in how many homes does one see a bedroom being converted into a lounge bar? We faced the same issue while doing up our interiors but mercifully we got a interior person who recognized just what we wanted and did a great job of our home. So, at the end of it we have burnt a large hole in our pockets but we are proud to have a home which seems almost custom built for us.

In the same way, I have noticed people’s distinct behaviour on the basis of the vehicles and the colour of the vehicles they buy. For instance some vehicles that occupy more space on the road have a distinct largess towards the smaller counterparts . While the smaller ones display an nct upstart behaviour by nosing their way into what little space they can find. The people who drive cars which are black or grey in colour display a certain calmness while the fiery reds and yellows have ants in their pants and given a chance are always the first to flaunt all traffic regulations. Whites and their kinds are the confused lot, as they live in fear of authority but in its absence show distinct errant tendencies. This may not be a rule as there are people who might end up with a particular colour either without a choice or out of influence…. In this situation one rubs the other leaving a distinct influence.

The same can be said of the choice of the paints and furniture in their homes. On one hand there is the garish display of loud colours and loud bright paintings and one can expect people living there to be dressed as a Christmas tree at any given time of the day. Then there are the subdued understated kinds where the entire house displays a simplicity which is reflected in the un ostentatious people living there. I have a friend whose house is choc- bloc with all kinds of curios and antiques, each piece with a distinct history. The person too is like his home, full of ideas and brimming with information….One has to be careful not to trip over something. Then there is this well off friend who has a home built in an acre and a half with a huge garden, swimming pool, etc . The home has the dimension of a resort, yet, everything in it right from the exquisite interior decor to the expensive curios, everything is warm and like a home a perfect compliment for the warm sweet people who live in it

Teacher or Taught

2009-07-18T15:56:00.000+05:30

Very often I have wondered ….. in so many years of my career as a teacher, did I teach or was I the taught?

Way back when I started teaching I remember a little girl telling me that when she grows up she wants to be a tree… because trees are green, beautiful and give shade to everyone. In her faltering nervous words I learnt timeless wisdom. Her words in one stroke struck down the routine “I want to be a doctor, engineer, astronaut, teacher, pilot, etc. That little 3 years something at that moment was the very epitome of intelligence.

After this transient stint with little children I was thrown in the midst of teenagers. Here too I learnt that beneath all their defiance there lay a vulnerable mind completely confused by the conflicts and paradoxes in the world. Yet they never lost their essential fairness. They would willingly walk the extra mile to help a class mate. No grudges, no preconceived notions just unconditional acceptance. I remember a boy who had almost turned an alcoholic due to some problems at home. The entire class stood rock steady with him and helped him sail through the crisis. While the staff had given up on him, the students proved everyone wrong when this boy cleared his board exams with flying colors. I have seen students fast with a Muslim hosteller only to give him company during the months of Ramadan. If these students chanted the verses from Gita in true devotion, they also sang Sufi songs with the same ardent fervor.

The students were patriotic too and I learnt its true meaning from them. I can never forget an Indophile American who strayed into one of the schools one day and talked about the “dance of life in the eyes of a beggar in a railway station” and the “inexorable love in the eyes of an ill clad starving mother suckling her hungry baby” This American was silenced with one question “ Are you romanticizing Indian Poverty?” their social awareness was displayed when they put uncomfortable questions to Javed Akhtar who very gracefully admitted that he is scared of the questions from the students. There were Television stars too who were asked about their social responsibility when they blatantly displayed multiple relationships, live in relationships, teenage sex etc.

I learnt the quality of team work when I saw that any amount of coercion or threats could not let out a squeak from the students. The spirit of fairness when students en mass decided to ignore a teacher due to her unfair treatment of a particular student. Their commitment to a cause where they would go out of the way to bring a smile or wipe a tear from the eyes of a needy. Their awesome range of creativity when they threw open their minds to innovate and create.

I wonder why teachers feel that they are the ones who lead the students when it is actually the other way round… It is from them that I learnt to enjoy the feel of the first shower, the aroma of wet earth, the joy of winter sunshine and it is they who held my hand and introduced me to technology. It is from them that I learnt to recognize the distinct tremor, a prelude to tears, the meaning of a wayward flick of hair, the racing nervous doubts behind a well rehearsed speech, the nervous cold sweat before an outstanding display . Oh I have learnt more than a life time worth from my students and my children..

No, I did not choose my teachers in school and nor did I choose my teachers in life. But tell you what….. I have been so damn lucky!

Dear Mr Kapil Sibal

2009-07-17T13:34:00.000+05:30

Dear Mr Kapil Sibal,

In one of your recent interviews I remember you recalled your school’s experience as not a happy one. Sirjee, you were really lucky! You got something known as “school experience” ! Today even that is a distant dream…. As an “aam aadmi” I cannot afford the luxury of schooling for my child! What is worse is your “aam aadmi” budget has kept aside a juicy chunk for higher education completely ignoring the state of primary and secondary education.

The nobility of education has as it is lost its lustre with gold digging businessmen turning to education as a lucrative profession. What saddens me Sir, is that you too have given good news bytes about schooling and then moved on to concentrate on the cash cow i.e. higher education. Sir, you and your government never miss an opportunity to tout your concern for the aam aadmi.. But where does this aam and not so aam admi go for an admission into a school? I don’t mean those up market schools where students are taken for a joy /study trip to NASA…. Let’s say a school with a structure with the necessary furniture and yes teachers? We dare not expect more than that as your esteemed attention is all on the corruption in Higher Institutions so how can primary education or even their existence catch your fancy?

I wonder why you never discuss about those International schools where children grow in a sanitized environment completely ignorant of “Bharat”. Most of these schools stand on pillars of a certain snob value which is transmitted to the students in form of insane projects (the administration in Turkmenistan) and luxury cruises woven as an integral part of the curriculum. So, these students study the various internationally recognized levels of education completely clueless about what Bharat is ! I can challenge any achievers of these schools to explain the administrative structure of a district in Bharat. Yet these schools are doing a roaring business and have become a hot investment avenue for many of your ilk (politicians/ lawyers) too.

I am desperately on the look out for a school for my child. Most schools with a reputation(?) charge almost 1.5lakh PA. I know you will give me your characteristic scoff and say, “put your child in a regular school” Of course, sir! I have explored those options too. There are the Kendriya Vidyalayas, Bhavans , etc but unfortunately each of these schools come with the characteristic red tapisim and reservations ;there is a preference given to Central Government employees… now please don’t smirk and say “Why didn’t you join Government service?!!!!!”.

As a parent of a single child, I cannot think or even afford the luxury of another child. One is the financial constraint and the other the draconian laws of reservation due to which my child will not dare to dream of equal opportunity. The other day one of my colleagues told me that he has no plans to have children as it is not affordable any more…. I wonder could ........this have been a lurking thought behind an innovative method of population control??.

Chalk to Corporate

2009-07-15T10:55:00.000+05:30

My third year into the “corporate” world…… and do I have any regrets?

Without a doubt “YES”

I never disliked teaching, my choice less profession out of compulsion. There wasn’t much of a choice… frequent transfers that too to remote areas ensured that I continue teaching. So, when we finally braked in Bangalore, I decided to bid good bye to teaching forever. As somebody who believes in giving a 100% to whatever I do, I was passionate about teaching. I enjoyed interacting with energetic teenage minds which questioned and argued everything established. The only value they respected was strength of knowledge. The students were naturally fair and respected the timeless principles of truth, sincerity, love and commitment. Every batch was different, with fresh challenges. As a teacher, there was no rest, on had to constantly upgrade one’s knowledge base to match the minds of the children. There was never a moment of boredom, only challenges, excitement and pure unadulterated fun.

Yet, I found teaching very stressful. My moods would rise and fall with that of the students and more than once I found myself taking their side in a conflict. All this left me emotionally drained and high strung. So, it was only natural then that the much touted cold professionalism of the corporate world was a welcome change.

I entered the corporate world and I was completely floored by the aura of the squeaky clean interiors, coffee vending machines, food courts, the complete absence of “Sir” and “Madam” in our interactions. It was so perfect. You did your bit and shut your mind along with the computer… no emotional baggage to carry home. The best was the complete absence of evaluations, parent-teacher meetings, report cards and the best of it all an assured tension free weekend! It was without a doubt PERFECT.

Third year …. Into this corporate world, I have now begun to doubt this perfection. Some of the things that I believed and taught all these years are now being proved false. I have understood that Honesty is not the best policy but what the boss says is. A rolling stone gathers hell of a lot of moss as he knows his worth and moves on. Behind all that first name based equality …lay small people with dangerous egos. The survivor’s mantra in the corporate world is “The Boss is always right” and “You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours” Dissention is to be read as disloyal. Dishonesty and word play are marketing strategies. Making mountains of molehill achievements and trumpeting a tiny doddering step as a giant leap in the corporate world is called a sales pitch.

So, before I sacrifice my principles to the profit driven corporate world…. I really need to get back to my calling, to the challenges of bright intelligent minds waiting to take on the world…..

Individuals and Institutions

2009-07-13T17:29:00.000+05:30

They say that an Individual cannot be above an Institution. Individuals come and go but the Institution stands a witness to the vibrant history and a promising future in its cyclic motion. Yet some individuals endure become an exception and merge so much into the Institution that they cannot exist in isolation such individuals become the pillar on which the Institution stands and they become the jewel in the crown of the institution. They become so inseparable that the Institution and the Individual become synonymous merging into each other’s personality.

One such persona is Mr. BB Singh. Think Christ Church and the image of Mr. BB Singh come into your mind. Any Christ Churchian, who passed out of the school before 2005, would have had the privilege of being taught by Mr. BB Singh. I had heard a lot about him long before I joined the school as Mr. Singh’s colleague. My husband an old boy still cherishes the Thesaurus that he bought as a student at the behest of Mr. Singh. So, Mr. Singh was in every sense a teacher-in-law for me.

Mr BB Singh taught English. Every bit the old school type, Sir used to be scandalized at the liberties that people took with language. I remember his shock on the customizing of English by Arundhati Roy in her Booker “God of small things”. He could never understand how young people could say sentences like “it’s the in thing” as his understanding of grammar clearly indicated that a preposition cannot be used as a subject/object of a sentence! But sir’s personality went way beyond the subject that he taught. Unfairness, unethical, dishonesty were words absent in his dictionary of life. He survived against and amidst all odds , a symbol of timeless values and principles

Sir was always immaculately dressed. Dark trousers, buttoned up shirt and classic oxford pattern black shining shoes. In winters one saw a classic dark tie with a sober blazer. When Sir spoke to the boys about being well dressed, he was every bit the role model whom the boys followed blindly. Such was the awe inspiring adoration that he commanded that even the most notorious would listen and obey him in respectful humility. Any activity endorsed by Mr. Singh was a law which needed no enforcement. The students knew that Mr. Singh’s wish is a command which they would without a question follow. Even the most mundane act would assume a stamp of sanctity if expressed by Mr. Singh. Jabalpur, a small town was prone to rumors and sporadic chain of reactive violence. In such situations when political parties gave a call for a bandh it was expected that groups of miscreants would go from one institution to another and force it to shut down. When the Principal and Staff would cower in front of the mob, it was Mr. Singh who would step in and speak to them and as if by sheer magic they would disperse completely disarmed by his moral courage. Never the one to use an abusive word, he was a symbol of authority that students accepted and respected out of sheer respect and admiration. The Annual Athletic Meet or the Sports Day saw Sir in his elements. He would train the boys for the march past and drill year after year till each step was put with clock work precision. The Sports Day went off without a hitch, synchronized to each second and minute. It was an annual event the whole city looked forward to.

Now that Mr Singh has retired and the institution stands…..but somehow it seems to have lost pride, power and glory. A structure without a parent to nurture and nourish it.

Nuances and Nicknames

2009-07-13T12:27:00.000+05:30

Whether one takes it with a pinch of salt or pepper is truly open to individual wisdom or perception. But the fact remains that we all have certain peculiar quirks which is noticed by those who observe us. These quirks have given quite a few light moments which much to the touted rules of humor finds laughter in all these frailty induced quirks. Students in particular can be merciless when it comes to giving nick names to their teacher’s kinky behavior. The names are sometimes so appropriate that they stick to the person for many years to come sometimes threatening the existence of the very name that is their official identity.

In my school too we had “Sleeping Beauty” our chemistry teacher who slept through most classes. Then we had “Undation”, the biology teacher who customized “Understand?” at the end of every point made in class. There were the harmless “Princi” for the principal and “Vichchu” for one Mr. Vishwanathan. It’s quite possible that the relationship between the teacher and the taught had some remnants of sanctity which ensured that the names were not blatantly personal or cruel.

But when I began to teach, I saw a very different story. The students were merciless in giving nicknames. But one has to give it to them that the names were chosen with a lot of care and thought. In Christ Church Boys, I saw the most imaginative rechristening of teachers and though some were very cruel, one has to admit that the teachers deserved it.

There was a science teacher called “lappu” only because of the supreme laziness that the person displays. In complete contrast was another mercenary science teacher called “gullu”.The students were eternally wary of the gullu- lappu combine as they could just about come up with any new way of making the students life miserable. There was another teacher who was called “beedi” because the boys got a distinct whiff of a certain brand of tobacco when they passed by him. There was the quintessential “bikhaari” also called "canter"who demanded gifts from students for all occasions. Then there was the dashing handsome teacher called “Banta” due to his expressive large eyes. The lady teachers were not spared from this onslaught. There was a lady teacher christened “mada gorilla” only due to her build combined with a stern expression. There was this lady very liberal with make-up suitably christened "distemper" because the make up could never survive the heat in the mid lands of India. Then there was the winsome pretty soft-spoken teacher about whom the boys would remark “video acha hai lekin audio nahi hai”. A teacher with a quavering voice was called bakri…. Oh the list was endless

This was the way the boys overcame the oppressive tyranny of the school authorities. In their own way they broke the monotony by making the best of the little that they had. They were prevented from bringing a ball to the school to prevent accidents during the recess. So, in all their ingenuity they would wrap waste paper into a tight ball using it as a make shift ball. They would sing the Morning Prayer in rap style or set off deafening crackers in the toilet at the time the national anthem was to begin. Get out of the class to drink water then just vanish only to reappear the next day.

Such is the indomitable spirit of the students………

Antiquity and Anarchy

2009-07-10T10:10:00.000+05:30

When you enter the portals of a school established in 1870, one naturally expects history. The damp and cool arches, the solid heavy wooden furniture, the grand old piano and high ceilings with solemn looking grey beards looking down upon the “bloody Indians” is to be expected. So, when I walked into Christ Church I was mentally prepared to experience a slice of history. Even the tree outside the main gate had a gory history. Colonel Sleeman of the Thughee fame used to conduct trials and hang the convicts on the tree then bury their notorious remains in the vicinity. The vicinity of Christ Church Boys Senior Secondary School Jabalpur. So, the spirit of the Thugs prevailed and it was no matter of surprise that the otherwise calm and angelic children would turn into absolute rogues in school only to switch off their devilishness once they stepped out of the gate.

The sad part of this legacy was the staff. They too had spent enough years in the school to be a part of antiquity and yes notoriety. What was objectionable that these men and women unleashed their incompetence and complexities on the poor unwitting children. The staff hid their callousness behind the shield of tradition and time tested discipline. Most of them felt threatened by smart students and even sank to the levels of being vindictive with them. Deserving students never made it to a position because the staff felt threatened by their sheer brilliance. There were some incompetent people who goaded students to join their coaching classes with assurance of good grades and marks in the practical examinations. There were some who would blatantly ask students for specific gifts both in cash and kind in return for marks. No, all were certainly not materialistic. There was one who attempted to convert students to Christianity with a missionary zeal. Then there were the traditionalists who beat students mercilessly and even abused them insultingly to ensure a subjugate superiority. It’s an open secret today that the head boy, the house captains and the prefects are chosen purely on the basis of their ability to appease the powers that be in cash or kind. The matters have today sunk to such sad levels that they need to call the police to ensure that old boys do not create disturbance in their functions.

It is indeed a matter of shame that a school with such rich tradition and history has been actually vandalized by its own members of staff. The only redeeming feature is the boys, the students who in the face of all these odds emerge complete survivors and winners. In fact they see so much of unfairness and wrong practices at a young age that they step out of the school with all life lessons learned, prepared and ready for the world!

Christ Church Boys

2009-07-09T10:19:00.000+05:30

A virtual multitude of close cropped head, wearing Khaki with a distinct green and yellow striped tie. I must say that the first sight of brawn was indeed a little unnerving. There was no trace of grace, manners, finesse or etiquettes, just raw masculine presence in various stages of maturity.

My schooling was in a convent and I was used to the hushed femininity of the building. The display boards filled choc-a-bloc with creativity added to the gaiety of the school. Even during recess all that one heard was girlish squeals and titter. Compared to that the all boys Christ Church Boys in Jabalpur was a real shocker. Come recess and the school was filled with boisterous shouts and laughter. Boys of all shapes and sizes ran around almost blindly like unguided missiles. And yes! The language they spoke when free from supervision was something that needs to be experienced to be believed. It was as if an entire herd of wild horses have been set free… The walls were stark and bare … no artistic expression displayed anywhere. The Boys ensured that nothing even remotely indicative of stereotype feminine sensitivity came in the way of their macho spirit. So, all such expressions were torn down and replaced with crass, crude but hilarious graffiti.

However, it did not take me long to get over this initial shock. I got to know these little devils much better and was amazed at how simple and uncomplicated boys are. They are what they display with no hidden layers of complications. Nothing was a secret amongst them yet it was impossible to break them and get any information out of them. It was learning for me to see how easily they forgot and forgave. They would be involved in a blood thirsty fight one moment and the next moment one would see them share a snack like old friends. Sportsmanship and camaraderie were words certainly coined for the boy’s gang. They are a team with differences within but to the outsider they stood rock strong with no chinks for the other to take advantage. There were occasional snitches that marred this unity but they were dealt with either the third degree treatment or complete ignominious abhorrence.

With such behavioral traits, the boys were a challenge to the staff that unfortunately could not live up to the students’ obvious superiority. The contrast of the Boys vs. Staff was so pronounced that the management assumed an autocratic, tyrant mantle to tame their energy and imagination. As a staff member, I tried my bit and to this day I feel sorry that my bit was not enough…….

In six years when I moved out of Christ Church Boys, Jabalpur… I must say that I had become their fan. And what is more, in spite of the odds in form of the staff and management, the boys have done well…….they have become fine Men.

Dear Farooqi Saheb

2009-07-08T09:42:00.000+05:30

Dear Farooqi saheb,

I have the proud privilege of interacting with you in person. I doubt if you would remember me ...... I was a teacher ( PGT English) with New Horizon, Nizamuddin. I recall that you were a member of the management of that institution. I vividly remember my interview where I was the sole non Muslim candidate. I remember meeting some wonderful people during the interview with whom I discussed the the power of Latin American literature, the romantic travelogues of Vikram Seth along with curriculum. My interview lasted an hour. I remember talking about the interview to my mother. I told her that it was the best interview I had faced and also that I doubt if I would get the job as I was the solitary non Muslim candidate.
Well, I was wrong. I taught in New Horizon for almost a year after which I had to shift residence from Delhi.

In my tenure there, I did some innovations in teaching methodology which was endorsed readily by the management. You in particular was so open to new ideas that I could implement them and see the results materialize in front of me. I planned a farewell which was completely compered and conducted by the students; a history of sorts in the school. All these ventures were possible only because I had your support though you never expressed it explicitly. The greatest surprise came to me when Shuja-ud-din Siddiqui saheb offered me the Principal's post in the school. My loss, that I could not take it up....

Farooqi saheb, I have understood you as a person who is extremely professional, quality driven, and compassionate too. Its very difficult for me who has known you in person to see a rigid aspect of your personality which seems to be oblivious to a certain segment of people in the society. Your comments on Homosexuals after the recent judgement by the supreme court somehow smacks of a rigid fundamental attitude. I was surprised to see opportunistic, news byte hungry journalists corner you. What was worse, is that they made you look almost talibanistic which I know you certainly are not.

Sir, I see you as a hope for the Muslims in India. Its only after such close interaction with some of the staff members there that I understood the richness of Muslim culture. I remember Wasim, the senior Urdu teacher explaining Ghalib to me , even today when I recall her rendering the couplets explaining its timeless essence..... I actually get goose pimples ! Its on people like you and Siddiqui saheb that the onus of a progressive Muslim society rests. I understand your concern for the corroding social values which in turn is bound to affect the rich culture. I also understand the dangers of uncontrolled, unleashed freedom . But, please don't let yourself be threatened or cornered by personal beliefs .

In all humility may I see the Farooqi saheb that I had known? A true Muslim who cannot be threatened by a handful of different people. A progressive Muslim who works towards a free society that should have acceptance and tolerance ; qualities that I saw in you and all the students and staff of New Horizon Public School.

Of selective memories

2009-07-07T10:13:00.000+05:30

Well, the inevitable has happened.. we the couple are all alone, save the company of two dogs who are right now more morose than us. As responsible parents we have put our second son on the road of being a 'man', a survivor, in this world. Naturally the home looks empty only a little lesser than your heart.

Today when I recall my boys its the endearing images that endure.... My elder one and me building sand castles, watching the sun set and sun rise on the beach in Madh Island, watching and singing songs from jungle book and sound of music, creating waste for a project in SUPW, the little thing confidently striding up to the stage to narrate the story of "The thirsty crow", The tentative teens when he surprised me with a soulful rendering of "you fill up senses". A born attention seeker....

The younger one born seven years later stood a complete contrast, gifted with cute dimples, our young man showed a distinct inclination for reading. There was a phase where I read all existing stories to him, spending way beyond my means, almost a spartan existence only to spend on books. Full of mischief yet an introvert, very talented but not the one to display, good looking but not the one to flirt.. a complete paradox.....

What surprises is how we miss only the good and cute aspects of our children. There seems to be as of now a complete amnesia of their maddening teenage antics. Their rebellious arrogance as they negate your very existence... The complete absence of logic or reason in their demands. Their utter selfishness and to top it all their condescending attitude towards their 'oh-so- old-fashioned' parents.... All their ego bloated teenage angst which the parents suffered sometimes even making them question the nature's rule of procreation.

Today, its all forgotten.... when I sit in front of the television, with a pang I realise that there is no other claimant for the remote, when I play my favourite music there is no rude shut off , I don't need to yell to get myself heard over the i pod, I don't have to narrate again and again the value of a non junk diet, I don't have to wonder why my calls are not taken..... In short, there is so much of peace and quiet......but somehow it is soooo maddening.....

Grandmoms and rolemodels

2009-07-01T10:49:00.000+05:30

Since I belong traditionally to a matriarchal family, it is natural that I see a role model in the women in my family. Though I admire my mother for her fierce spirit of independence I would without any doubts give the icon status to both my grandmothers. They both shared a name but were in complete contrast when it came to their temperament.

I consider my Mother's mom as the most beautiful woman that i have seen. Tall, dusky with chiseled features she would glow with both inner and outer beauty. She had the prettiest toothless smile which lit up every wrinkle on her face. Maybe terms like "unconditional love" was coined after God created people like her. She loved one and all. No matter how mean you have been to her, no matter how much you have hurt her, she merely loved. Married off at the age of 9, she saw the foundations of a typical matriarchal feudal family shake and crumble. A mini princess of sorts she stoically accepted the unfair division of her property by her own brother and without a thought served him with the same respectful love when ever he visited home. She was a store house of stories where facts and fiction would weave into each other taking all her grandchildren into an experience that lives with us to this day. She loved mangoes and one endearing image I have of her is sitting with a basket full of mangoes, surrounded by greedy grandchildren. Amidst that noisy quarrelsome cacophony she would dole out freshly cut portions of luscious mangoes to each of us equally. Even today when I shut my eyes and imagine I can almost smell her gentle sandalwood smell as we snuggled up to her pushing our fingers into her folds of flesh. Somehow we never got enough of her......

In almost ironic sharp contrast was my father's mother. Married to a very handsome but a useless man,
she should have been a picture of poise and contentment. but alas, my grandfather turned out to be a typical indolent aristocrat, who could not even speak up for his family even during a crisis. So, my grand mom, exceptionally fair skinned, diminutive and reed thin took charge to ensure that her family survives. And she did a great job of it too.... She took all finance matters into her hands and dare anyone who could cheat her even by a penny! She was a terror where even a thief would not venture into her compound for the sheer fear of being caught by her. The lack of physical strength was compensated by sheer strength of heart, mind and oooh words! She could put a sailor to shame with her swear words and the strongest of men would wilt in front of her onslaught. A go getter, she would break all rules and get her way leaving people gasping with amazement. The only person she "loved" was her husband and all other relationships were for her only responsibilities which she fulfilled. Never would she pick a baby and baby talk to the baby. No soft words .....just sheer business! Her diet was constant. No breakfast. Fish and rice for lunch. Fish and rice for dinner. The fish had to be really fresh or else the poor fishmonger would have to face her ire, over which most people preferred an inconspicuous death. Such was her powerful packed persona that all her children took after her, each emulating a bit of her but none even in her grandchildren could inherit the sheer objectivity and energy that she had.

Well, I see shades of both in me.... but I am glad that I have taken more after my fathers' mother. Yet there are times when I flounder from my objectivity and see myself being led by my heart which loves some people unconditionally.

Live life King Size

2009-06-29T12:28:00.000+05:30

You cannot miss the twinkle of intelligence in his eye. His firm handshake can instill confidence in the weakest. Right from his school days MJ as we call him had all the makings of a star. Hey! this is no obituary for the pop star but for someone who in his own might is no less a celebrity . He may not have been a news maker like his initial sake for all reasons but for those who know him... he is unmistakably a star.

Right from school this child prodigy developed a love for numbers. He could see that the basis of the entire balance of creation is very logical and mathematical. At an age when people saw mathematics only as a means and end to clear competitive exams, this teenager saw delicate and fine tuned logic of various permutations and combinations to reason all natural phenomenon.

After a successful stint in the NDA this young person chose to serve the Indian Army. What strikes one about this person is how he lives each moment of his life. Yes, he is passionate about living life. Besides walking the extra mile to do his duty which has won him many accolades. His, celebration called life did not end with that. A knee injury took away his passion for robust outdoor sports like soccer and horse riding..so, he vowed to himself that he would not be a fence sitter and watch games. So, he turned to golf and is today one of the ace golfers in the country. The restless muse in him made him turn to music too. His keen ears soon picked up the melody of a grand piano which is now a member of his family through numerous transfers. There are rare pictures that adorn his wall showing his mastery with the shutter too.

The passion could have been thwarted if destiny had chosen a non appreciative partner. But my friend MJ is blessed in that too, his life partner is in every sense a complete compliment to him. Gifted with an eye for exclusive antiques and their reproduction, the homemaker has created a home which is like a walk through exotic antiquity. The two of them make quite a pair as they take you around on a "guided tour" of their home as MJ very mildly puts it. To quote him he says his daughter has a lifestyle that even millionaires cant dream of. She chases hounds, is a junior golf champ, has learnt Hindustani music and plays the piano with aplomb...... all this along with her academics. As a father he is the most valuable teacher that she can ever dream of.

Thanks MJ! for showing me how to live life KING size

vegetarian woes

2009-06-22T16:04:00.000+05:30

Can you imagine what it feels like to be a solitary vegetarian among three carnivorous foodies???!!!! Though one prides oneself about being vociferous about ones choices , this is one place where all logic gets reduced to a stubborn whimper.

To begin with I am a vegetarian by choice. I was born into 'aromas' of meat and fish but some where my gene coding went all wrong and I turned a veggie only to hold back the retching I felt every time I saw a mutilated but decorated animal on a platter.I thought marriage would change my predicament.
But Alas! Love is blind. And I actually FELL head over heels with a die hard non vegetarian who felt that all four legged creations of the Almighty is meant for man's comfort and if possible the palate.I still did not give up. After all as a woman I do have a claim to posterity. So, when my son came into this world I consciously tried to create vegetarian thoughts action and food. But the aroma of the rich gravy( a camouflage for a version of cannibalism ) did nothing to deter him from the perverse pleasures of eating flesh.

Try again was my motto when the second guy appeared. I must confess I wanted him to be a "her" going by the natural truth that women are wiser!!! But, Alas! the blind lady luck. Here I must confess I actually thought that I did the trick. For the first five years my son was a meditative young man who even refused eggs. So, I felt vindicated and I revelled in the triumph. But the symbol of my hope was corrupted one winter evening when the aroma of kebabs got better of his cultivated bias .So, now all three of them are at it in full gusto. I hear all jibes on my vegetarianism with a stoic silence. So, like the fox who complained of sour grapes my philosophy is " One animal cooked ensures many content bellies"!!!!

The prized US Visa

2009-06-22T16:00:00.000+05:30

While driving and loitering around Chanakya puri in Delhi, I never thought I would ever be a part of the milling crowds outside the US consulate. They were quite a sight... braving the extremes of temperature all driven by a passionate determination to get the ultimate key to enter the promised land.

So, when I got a call from the US consulate in Chennai , I thought I was more than lucky as they had given me a time which meant just breeze in at the appointed time. Well, we were in for a surprise! Besides standing like refugees on the road, there were a group of touts who had sold short cuts to get into the consulate. What infuriated me was that most people standing there were educated and certainly not the labour category one sees milling to middle east. These people were so scared to protest or make noise least a hidden camera should capture them and then be treated as potential mischief makers by the US of A.It was like the people gathered outside the gates of heaven to be interviewed by St Peter.

Today we have signed the nuclear deal. But unless we get over emotional servility, we will keep getting victimised by touts and pimps who are nothing but parasites of the corridors of power.

To Be or Not To Be

2009-06-22T15:51:00.000+05:30

To be late or not to be late that is the dilemma……… I am sure Hamlet would have begun his soliloquy like this had he been a part of the profit driven Corporate world. I don’t intend any comparisons after all so much has changed ……. It’s almost like a new recreated planet where the creator himself must be speechless at the race of technology where his own special creation i.e. Man is trying to keep pace with the devices that he has created!So, I accept that we live in very fast times where watching a stealthy sunrise through the clouds or watching a sunset flushing the skies with a blush would be nothing but a waste of time for most or even a piece of fiction . After a hard days work watching the sunrise is possible only in dreams and the sunset?? Hello! What is that? In the sanitized Air conditioned prisons sunset is seen only as screen savers.
In these times, man has to compete with the machines that he has created. Anything that hints as imperfection is shunned as it has no machine like precision. Consider this- a good child is that one, who wakes in the morning, does his homework on time, studies to score at least 90%, obeys the parents, respects elders and here we have a perfect role model child. A good employee would be that who comes on time meets deadlines, never falls ill and yes works at the cost of his family. Sounds impossible???? Let’s see what goes wrong?
To begin with any amount of automation cannot control the emotions. The same emotions which were the villain behind the first surrender to temptation when the first man threw all caution for a fruit, only to please his lady love!!!! So, any amount of automation cannot suppress that natural spontaneity which keeps threatening to break the method of automation. It can happen anytime anywhere. It can be triggered by anything at all. The culprit needn’t all the time be attraction of sexes. It could be the smell of earth after the first drizzle, it could be a placid lake or a torrential river, it could be the fresh smell of jasmine as the flower girl holds it tantalizingly, and it could be the limpid loving eyes of a dog. Oh! It could be just about anything.
So, there is no point trying to be a super computer. You are not designed to be like that. By living like that, you would merely be fighting Nature. So, relax take a deep breath and let go. Listen to your heart even if you need to regret it later…... At least you have a consolation that you have LIVED

Road Rage? swalpa adjust maadi

2009-06-22T15:47:00.000+05:30

Forget the unreasonable moral police that prowls the streets of Bangalore making sure that no body dare "yenjoy". Forget the heat which is somehow incongruous with the sobriquet "air conditioned city". Forget the garbage dump that greets you at every corner of the street. But can you forget the almost stationary traffic? Well, to quote Indira Gandhi, totally out of context, traffic snarls are a" global phenomenon". But the reasons behind it is what is baffling.

Today, I faced a routine bottle neck at the foot of a flyover. Maybe it was particularly bad so I could actually contain my anger proactively and look at the root cause for this situation. There were three traffic policemen to ease the situation . But their camaraderie made them stick together in the thick of traffic thereby rendering them completely ineffective. It was the swalpa adjust maadi attitude that did the damage. The traffic going towards cox town felt that they had their right on the road. So, they had conveniently encroached on the road meant for the comparatively less important on coming traffic. So, there was utter chaos. some sat resigned to their fate , while some honked, while the BMTC guy pressed on the accelerator, inched forward threateningly and spiced the general environment with the choicest possible abuses. The omnipresent auto rickshaws meanwhile did the most impossible manoeuvring tricks with typical scant respect for anything on the road.

As a Delhite I used to attribute this behaviour displayed in Delhi to refugee mentality, you know grab what you can. But from a usually quiet and reticent Bangalorean this comes as a surprise.Come on Bengaluru! Prove to India that you are a global city. Well, the city has grown beyond imagination. But , chill! Don't be on a short fuse and make things worse.

Customized learning

2009-06-22T15:01:00.000+05:30

With customization being the order of the day and sites like my24x7learning offering free courses to all those with a thirst for learning... I cant help but wonder if there can be courses customized for specific learning needs. Humans are characteristically frail and if there can be courses for such characteristic short comings I am sure it would be a boon.

In a working environment proximity breeds a lot of unpleasantness and maybe some such courses can go a long way in making the general environment comfortable. There are some who are so obnoxiously opinionated that they could do with a course on " ways to keep your mouth shut" or better still " steps to more socially acceptable behaviour". There are some who have mastered the art of being a fence sitter such people could do with a course like" Easy ways to take a stand". Then there are those who can glare at their system for 8 hours, not move a finger and still pretend to work: these masters could design a course which says" How to not work and influence the management positively" Then there are those who need to be a little considerate to others and take care of their personal hygiene. Oh the list is endless.........

The challenge in these courses is that the ones who need it will rarely take it up. In fact they may not even be aware that they need a course correction in life. Then how does one give the bitter pill? Maybe these courses can be made as a part of a regular up gradation of skills program . Or better still since such employees are a sucker for incentives and appreciation, why not give an appropriate course to them as a gift of appreciation?

FALL in love

2009-06-18T15:06:00.000+05:30

Have you ever wondered why people FALL in love? Love is an exhilarating feeling then why do people fall when they are in this state. All those who have experienced the highs of love will agree how love transforms everything: the sky looks blue, the sunshine looks golden why even Bangalore looks cleaner and your boss looks more human when you are in love. But I suppose such light heartedness has its pitfalls because I have seen people behave foolishly when cupid strikes them.

My teenage son who disliked anything soft and mushy began to watch girlie movies like " the princess's diary". He began to preen in front of the mirror trying to tame his unruly locks. The suddenly awakened love emptied my pockets rapidly in form of obscenely inflated mobile bills , deodorants and hair gels. I have seen people whose music abilities have the potential of a biological weapon suddenly begin to sing; no doubt Himesh Reshamiya is so popular. Ah ! then there are those who turn to poetry where their profound lines go something like: the wind is blowing and blowing and blowing. I had a class mate who had 100% attendance thanks to his lady love in the junior batch. Her name, very appropriately was Devi and the talk was "yeh to devi ke kripa se college aata hai".

Call it the cunning law of nature to ensure procreation or continuity of the human race, Love is there and we all have to fall a prey to it some or the other time in life. Many people have tried to see business in this act of 'falling in love' and they have been successful too. In today's cyber world, love is one of the best business promoters. I surely wont be surprised if my24x7learning.com comes up with a course to fall in love successfully.

Maybe, I am too much of old school but the entire magic of waiting for that special letter cannot be compared with a chat on the Internet. I remember the days when the most awaited person used to be that khaki clad, bicycle riding postman. He would scan through a bundle of letters and in one flick of a gesture make or break your quivering anticipation. Today I understand what my English teacher meant when he said that the day man landed on the moon was the saddest day for mankind.

English as spoken in India

2009-06-17T11:10:00.000+05:30

As an avid lover of English language, I have no qualms in admitting that there is much richer literature in many other languages. In India , there is a very vibrant and rich literature flourishing in the regional languages. The pathos of Munshi Prem Chand, the biting satire of Parsai , the blatant sensuality of Kamala Das,Amrita Pritam and Ismat Chugtai and the blood curdling revolutionary cry of MahaSweta Devi....... oh the list is endless. With such a throbbing and live culture it is only natural that regional literature reflects the soul of India. What is sad however is that we are losing it to a new found writing in English.

I am NOT running down the greatness of Arundhati Roy, whose "God of Small Things" is in every terms a classic. But some how there are many who have begun to write in English. I admire their efforts but somehow it does not have a soul......

Sometimes this obsession and the status symbol associated with English speaking creates a lot of hilarious situations. On a hot summer day if you drive on the Agra- Delhi highway, one sees hoardings after hoardings offering you " CHILD BEER". There was this friend who advised us to visit Simla as it was a "hilarious" place. I am sure you have heard about people living in the "backside" . There was this customer support person for a computer company who insisted that the customer must "plug the cord firmly into the backside!" One hoarding I can never forget is "feel horny at curves" put up on the Leh - Jammu highway. What took the cake however was this enthusiastic friend who decided to enliven a party game by asking all the ladies in team A to be "LAID" by Mr X and the Team B to be "LAID" by Mr Y.

Undoubtedly knowledge of English language is a big asset but then it has to be done with some concern for accuracy. Spoken English classes have begun to mushroom all over considering that the market is really good. But i have always doubted the ability of the people who teach in such institutes. Quite often they are merely people with an acquired accent with absolutely no depth of knowledge. In such a scenario the best option is e learning like the site my24x7learning.com where one can access standardised and consistent learning material.

Lets hope the future brings us more options in e learning so that our dependence on mediocre teachers can be done away forever.

Language Lapses

2009-06-16T15:45:00.000+05:30

Ah! times have changed! One almost feels prehistoric when one narrates anecdotes where televisions were black and white with just one "doordarshan" to entertain us.... Well, now that Archie Andrews has decided to marry Veronica after ditching the loyal Betty... i suppose one must accept ones antiquity with a pinch ;no a liberal sprinkle of salt.

My teenage son who labels my taste for music as "tacky' mercifully finds my cooking a "whammy". When I first heard about 'mooning' all i could imagine was fluttering eyelashes and yearning looks ...only to be told it was a blatant insulting display of ones bare posterior. Another universal word id 'cool' which has enough meanings to fill a couple of pages in the dictionary. My English teacher would faint to see a preposition/verb being used as the object of a sentence because it is the done/in thing to customize language. My teacher would have said,"How preposterous!"I wonder what the Y generation would have to say about such a tacky reaction.

Gone are the days of chalk and blackboard. Today we have virtual classrooms with mentors on line. There are sites like my24x7learning.com where you can choose to do a course in your sweet time and at your convenience..... But, in this race of technology, have we, somewhere, lost the human touch???

Empathy in the times of road rage

2009-06-15T09:29:00.000+05:30

Most of us who have to brave the traffic jams while on transit to work, will agree that road rage is something very easy to succumb to . Any amount cabin silence and ethereal music cannot just erase the impact of an irate driver who threatens your precious car by millimeters and crowns this audacious act with an abuse or even an angry gesticulation.

In a city where everybody seems to be on a short fuse, the favourite whip boy becomes inevitably the government or the all time favourite police force. The journos have run out of expletives and negative adjectives to describe the police force. But has any one given a thought to that police man whose nerves must be frayed beyond repair standing at a junction trying to put some semblance of order into an unending flow of traffic? Think of that man exposed to the vagaries of weather, toxic vehicular emissions and people threatening to run him down if pushed too much. No please do not think that I am out to defend the misadventures of the police force. But the fact remains that they are a harassed lot.

It is against this background that I would like to mention Police Constable L Sundara, Service No- 7260. L Sundara is attached to the Banaswadi Police Station. I have been seeing L Sundara for more than a year now. I see him twice a day around 8.45 in the morning and at about 7.00 in the evening at the Hennur ,Oil Mill Road Junction. This particular junction which is a very busy junction being one of the roads that connects to BIAL . There are no traffic lights to assist the L Sundara.

What strikes one's attention about this person is his cheerful demeanour. Never in a year have I see a frown on his face. He does not hesitate to hold traffic to help women with children cross the road safely. I have seen him escort the elderly to get to the other side of the road. Even when he stops you at the junction, there is no imperious authority, just a smile asking you to "swalpa adjust maadi" Even during a downpour, I have seen Sundara diligently do his work with the same sincerity and cheerfulness.

Police bashing has always been a favourite pass time for all accentuated by the bollywood with its weakness for the gangster with a golden heart. But is it fair to deride them all and ignore people like Police Constable L Sundara ? I know he may not be half as privileged as the people who pass him everyday, he may not be net savvy enough to access and learn from sites like my24x7learning.com. Yet he makes an impact.... He touches peoples lives with kindness and concern and in his own little way he represents a police force that truly cares......

2009-06-12T14:22:00.000+05:30

With e learning becoming a popular mode of learning, I cannot but recall a student of mine. for the sake of his anonymity and our convenience let us call him A . Now A was brilliant when it came to scores but was a complete misfit when it came to the school environment. Gifted with amazing creativity and imagination, this boy chose to live in a make believe world of his own. His performance in academics was negated because he failed miserably when it came to any activity which involved interaction with peers.

I just could not figure out where the disconnect lay. His complete insulation from social interaction earned him many sobriquets and tittles and soon he appeared as something 'not quite normal' to his peers. Children can be very cruel , particularly to those who do not fit in their parameters of acceptable personality. As expected, A became a butt of all sneers and snide remarks. This made matters much worse for A as he began to shun school. His mom being a doctor could differentiate A's reluctance as something more serious than the usual truant tactics. The mother in her, watched helplessly as the child's misery expressed initially as a reluctance to go to school soon became abhorrence. For the sake of A's sanity, she pulled him out from school and he completed schooling from open school.

Today, A is training to be a graphic designer and he is doing very well. But he continues to be an introvert. Sensitive, creative and intelligent but just not social.

I remember the censure faced by my friend when she put him in the open school. Everybody felt that she was being too soft on the boy and that all his trauma is nothing but an excuse to keep away from conforming to school rules.

Our society prefers conformists and rejects people who choose the untrodden path. It is indeed sad that individual preferences need to be sacrificed even if they do not harm the society in any way. When A studied, open school was an option taken up by school drop outs but today there are many students who study through the open school and do some parallel course as a hobby or choose to work to augment the family income.

E learning is one such option that is open to all who want to study in their own terms. There is a wide range of subjects offered through e learning today. Some sites like " my24x7learning" even offers free courses and many other courses at very competitive rates.

People like A should not be excluded from the mainstream. They too can contribute to the society. Who knows A might create a revolution of sorts in e learning. He might design a virtual class room free of bricks and mortar, free of ragging insensitive classmates and free of teachers who churn out a whole assembly line of conformists year after year.

2009-06-12T11:04:00.000+05:30

My Mom, my role model is one living example of a free spirit. When I lost my father many years ago, I thought that she would never be able to pick up the pieces of her life. My Dad's dynamism made my mom a mere shadow of his dashing persona. They loved each other and it showed in little ways when she over ruled everyone to stand by my father. His death shocked all ; worst my mom who lost her anchor, her best friend. She took time but rallied, little steps leading on to what she is today. A strong and fiercely independent woman the very epitome of strength.

My mom is an avid reader. She avoids pulp fiction in all form and spends at least 5 hours a day reading classics and some new authors. She likes the print form and has proudly chosen to insulate herself from technology. Yet the temptations of the internet soon caught up to her when she realised that she can talk to and see her childern and grand children .

So, when she told me that she wants to study, I was not surpised at all. All I had to do was to link her to my24x7learning.com. She cannot beleive her eyes when she sees that she can do a lot of courses and that too free on line and then has a very full basket of courses to choose from and that too at such competitive prices!

The saying goes that you cannot choose your parents. Thank God! What if my destiny was left to the vagaries and errors of my judgement?

The risk of education ?

2009-06-12T11:02:00.001+05:30

After so many years of independence, it is indeed a mockery that one the fastest growing economies of the world still has a large number of child labour. No doubt, the supreme court has made the right to education a fundamental right. But..... can education be given as a right if it is at the cost of hunger and starvation.

I remember a helping hand in my home from Muzzarpur Bihar, this boy reached me from Mumbai. He was beaten up by the anti bihari lobby in Mumbai, while these miscreats went about setting their homes on fire, this boy ran and hid in a train and reached bangalore. When he came to my house, he was surprised to know that one needs to take a bath everyday ! I came to know that this boy who was then 18, was working since he can remember. He has cleaned an invalid, dressed up and maqueraded like an animal in a circus, has smoked, tasted liquor, watched movies back to back , etc.He told me that there are no boys of his age group in his village. They have all gone to work. His parents could not afford a school hence the boy was illiterate. He shocked me one day when he mistook the full moon for the sun which had not set.

This set me thinking and I decided to teach him what little I can. he used to be practically alone most day as we left home to work in the morning and returned only late evening. So, I bought him a book and we started with the Hindi alphabet. He started with a lot of enthusiasm but soon it fizzled out as he seemed to prefer watching the television in his free time. So, I taught him to use my PC , bought him some CDs which taught the Hindi alphabet and basic mathematical operations. This really worked! I was impressed by his progress, which affected everything including (mercifully) his personal hygiene.Unfortunately these good times did not last for this keen learner, his father called him to Delhi to work at a construction site. When I tried to reason out with the Father, he told me bluntly that I should not meddle in his son's life and that I was ruining him by teaching him! to quote him, "hamein use koi sahib nahi banana"I suppose it was too late to put him on the road of education. but his would not have happened if there was a school in his village with a teacher. Most schools in villages are broken down sad places where the teacher is rarely seen let alone teach. I am not against the dignity and value of labour but it should never be at the cost of education. There cant be a more painful irony than the fact that just about in the backyard of these swank international schools lies dilapidated, teacherless government schools. Kudos to Azim Premji Foundation and 24x7learning who have done away with the dependence on teachers and infrastructure by providing education on line. In fact a site named 'www.my24x7learning.com' provides opportunities for working people to upgrade their skills through job oriented courses.

Oh yes! the irony remains that that boy is still uneducated and might just do his innings on the earth without knowing the joy of a read or a written word.

You cannot choose your teachers

2009-06-11T09:55:00.000+05:30

Looking back on my school days, what i recall the most is the mischiefs that we were perennially up to. We escaped most of the time but there were times when destiny favoured our teachers. What is very strange is that the subjects are completely hazy but the ones who taught the subjects as still very fresh in our minds. Hey please don't mistake me for a goody, goody teacher's pet front bencher. I am still proud about my permanent back bencher status. our teachers were unique and in many ways fuelled our desire to search novel methods of mischief.

We had a chemistry teacher, whom we christened sleeping beauty as he slept through the class and woke up only to hear the bell ring. But once the bell rang, there would be a complete transformation ,as this gentleman would get into a flurry of activity and would teach well into the next period to prove to the principal and other members of staff that one period of lecture was not enough for him to teach. Then we had HMT, ( hindi moti teacher) who caught our attention with her colourful bangles and hennaed hands. We has some narcissists too who left the quantum principles of physics to sing heavy mallu accented Hindi songs. oh the list is endless............

Today a lot from my batch have done well and most of our gatherings are made lively by the endlessly repeated anecdotes about the teachers But , there are many who missed the bus.....what did we do to deserve teachers like this? Did our teachers even once realize that they are playing with our future? In a country like ours where education is given least priority, teaching is often the last choice for a job. Then what is the alternative?

We live in the age of communication. So, the best malady for this disease of non productive and incompetent teachers too has come from communication technology. Today we can have a teacher of our choice thanks to technology which has taken teaching out of the class room and brought it into the confines of our personal space. I am referring to e learning. today we have virtual campuses and e learning is soon becoming a preferred choice to classroom education. The best thing about e learning is its reach and flexibility. They say there is no age for learning but most colleges and universities have age limits , semester restrictions etc. One such site that everybody must visit is www.my24x7learning.com. The choice of courses here is huge with loads of freebies thrown in what is more almost no restrictions!
So, lets not crib about incompetence of teachers and blame them for everything we are not. Let us take charge and go ahead and learn. I would rewrite vajpayee's poem as suraj sa chamke hum, 24x7 chale hum...