HAPPY NEW YEAR

I have friends who send wishes of all kinds for the new year and some who think that any day is God's day and its always a fresh start to the rest of your life.

Here is one I liked a lot and wish to share with anyone who reads this :


Let more dreams come true in this year, and more smiles fill it.

Sing For Your Supper

My niece has come and gone. With a host of friends. Seven of them, in fact.

Normally I enjoy my guests a great deal although I tend to fret a lot over the cooking - is it good? is it enough?- this time though, I really didn't enjoy myself.

I was asking myself whether I'm getting too old to handle numbers. Not really, when this summer I coped with more. Was is that they left lights and heaters on, wet towels everywhere, sheets unfolded, plates on the table, and generally behaved like they were at home? No not really since the new generation does seem to live like that, they never stop to think where the meals and comfort are coming from; life is a given. Until they have to cope on their own.


Of course now I've got to the stage where I think basic manners should be drilled into kids. And they should be allowed to go and stay with other people more often, so that they learn to share and care and adjust to new circumstances.

Then I realised it was because I was bored. These kids hardly spoke to me. They gave one syllable answers to all my questions which grew to a sentence over three days. They never became easy enough to say yes, if they really wanted coffee or tea. Polite answers. They were hardly at home anyway except to eat and sleep and they would either talk among themselves or on the cell phone. It wasnt easy to get intimate with a crowd; one or two would have been easier. Of course they were shy.

From their point of view, it was a terrific achievement to have 'got away' from their parents; to have organised a trip on their own and make decisions for themselves.So they were busy revelling in their freedom.

This summer, I had two nephews to stay for a week. When I ranted at them for leaving blankets on the floor,( I could rant since they were family) they would just smile and say 'stay cool'. Which is really nice. Because you dont want to be the bad guy even if you rant. You would prefer other people to stay cool.

I just had to say 'food is read..' and they would be at the table, eat magnificently, pronounce everything wonderful and then disappear. But in between, they would entertain me with insights into their parents which did keep me laughing like mad and other stuff which was really enlightening.

SO KIDS, THERE AIN'T ANYTHING LIKE A FREE MEAL! YOU GOTTA SING FOR YOUR SUPPER!!

Thinking point

After I put that last post on desicritics, there was a rash of comments following. Lots of people enjoying themselves taking up positions often reiterated.

They had nothing to do with either me or my post.

But, sifting through them, a friend told me that she found one comment rather true. And that truly shocked me.

I have also noticed that most parents have little interests in difficulties of their children face. They feel, if a child earns money and works long hours, he/she is happy. This needs to change.


Granted, if a child complains, we would say - 'stick it out' ; 'That's the way the world works. '; You'e got to learn - rather than 'comeback. Quit.'

We imagine that if it became unbearable, then we would help them to move on. But, which is the point when it becomes unbearable. It’s different for each person.

Are we really looking to satisfy our egos so much through the achievements of our children?

We are and we have to wake up.

Marriage - New Age Style

What do young people today expect when they get married?

It is worrying because this year I was closely involved with three weddings and the results are not too happy. They were all arranged by the parents and conducted in a grand manner, straining their means to the utmost. All three brides were involved a great deal with their trousseau and less with the bridegrooms. All of them are well educated, articulate and capable of thinking on their own.

By the end of the year, one of them has filed for divorce (mostly for reasons beyond control or reasonableness) ; one is flying back after constant friction with new husband, and the third is coasting along but one can’t say in a state of great happiness.

Belonging to gen-previous, parents are all puzzled about where they went wrong. The bridegrooms are people they would choose again, except for the first. Sober, responsible young men. Only they don’t want to stretch too much to accommodate young wives in their life patterns which seem to have set into comfortable modes. They would like the same food, the comfort they are used to, their friends, the same freedom to come and go.

The girls are happy to cook and clean and play the good housewife. Flies could be in the form of in-laws who come to stay or call too often.

But what they do expect is attentive husbands who ask ‘have you eaten? ‘, take them out as often as possible and generally be appreciative and grateful that this girl has left her parents to come and stay with him.

Both sides have a great deal of expectations which go unfulfilled and unhappiness results.

One key problem seems to be that both are still the child of their parents who haven’t let go of their umbilical cord. In this age of cheap phone calls, every little incident is reported and gets magnified as it reverberates from mind to mind. There is no space for the young couple to be by just themselves and find their own equilibrium even if parents are far away.

Have we spoiled our children by giving them too much? Too much attention? Too much materially? Too many expectations from a relationship? And too much comfort which they are not willing to relinquish to accommodate another person in their lives. Not to mention their families?

“The more personal harmony we feel the more we will be able to give in a loving relationship. All the elements for a genuine loving relationship with someone else are the same ingredients we need in order to fully love ourselves. “ Alexandra Stoppard in Living beautifully Together.

Is this where the problem lies? Within each person? When they haven’t learnt to love themselves first?

We spend a lot of time and money equipping our children to face the working world. The best education we can afford; classes for computer skills, sports, soft skills, foreign languages, camps -- anything that we think will help them. But we don’t seem to equip them much when it comes to sharing their lives with another.

What do we or they need to do?

on desicritics- 20th December, 2007

true confessions

Somehow, I have kept the existence of this blog from my family. But, a very good source assures me that, that is the best way to write. The invisible presence of a family can cramp your style and prevent you from making those smart and perceptive remarks about the truth as you see it.

So, now that I can remove the yoke of guilt, I can make some candid confessions.

As a mother whose littlest bird left the nest a good three and half years ago, or 42 months ago, I've really got used to having the house to myself. And doing whatever I please with my time. No guilt trips when I go out.

So, when my daughter calls to say, actually I may be coming home for this Xmas, when she had promised me to come only in summer, then a bit of unease creeps into my heart. God, the cooking. All those special demands. When we've been coasting along on middle-age, low calorie sensible food. Then it’s having the house filled with sound- music and TV. Upto midnight or beyond. Clothes and books scattered everywhere. And trying hard to clamp down on my mouth from saying things like 'why don't you bathe?' 'What about preparing for the exam?' 'What about getting up now?'

My friend said to me 'It’s okay for you. At least she won't criticize you or fight with you'. She's expecting her son this weekend.

Another is expecting her newly married daughter - 'you don't have to listen to a long litany of complaints about her in-laws.’

So, mothers do experience a few twinges when beloved children are expected home.


If by any chance, some young blood is reading this, please do believe we love you. We love to have you around. Just that sometimes, we get out of practice. And yes, we want you to come home how much ever we complain.

Its' much better than having Dad retire and spend his days under our feet. :-))

A Simple Story

This is a simple story. A story about a day in my life.

I woke today at 5 a.m.
I had been thinking about waking up earlier than my close to 7 a.m. time for a few days. Cold winter mornings, late nights, and friends who woke up even later were the excuses and deterrents.

I got up to watch a dance-song show on Andal’s Thiruppavai on televison.
After missing out on Tamil in school, I have been teaching myself slowly and now I’m into reading the Devaram. It may be like reading Shakespeare to learn English but no harm comes from reading the best. So Thiruppavai allured me. And it seemed a good excuse to make myself get up too.

I watched another breakfast show later, again on Margazhi Thingal.
So I learnt today is the first day of the month of margazhi. Andal, the consort of Perumal, urges everyone to rise at dawn, bathe in cold water and visit the temple.
I remembered being dragged off by my grandmother, bathed in half darkness, to sing bhajans at the temple, and coming fully awake only when the prasadam was served. I thought I must visit a temple since I was getting bits of the song right.

I extended my afternoon walk to visit a temple.
I had doubts about walking so far and it was downhill which meant I had to pant back uphill. But I thought I should try. The temple was closed but I didn’t really collapse from the exertion, which was more in my head anyway.

I saw a strange structure which had little round cement vats and good washing stones next to them in a row, all neat and scrubbed clean.
I stopped a couple of women passing by to ask about it, learnt it was a dhobi ghat existing from the time of the British and now maintained by the Municipality. I thought maybe that was where our dry cleaning got done. The women turned out to be regular patients of my husband and praised him rather effusively. Though I take it with a handful of salt, it helps me accept and forgive his minor foibles.

I passed a couple of very little girls playing.
One smiled broadly at me. I fished out a couple of cough lozenges I had in my pocket and handed them over. She promptly asked for one more for another sister.
I handed over the one I had left and fled when more of the family started coming out of the house.

I saw a lorry carrying away loads of soil from the hillside to dump elsewhere on another hillside.
It looked like good red soil. I asked the driver if he would mind driving a little further and dumping it at my house. The garden needed it badly. We settled on half the rate he was asking which surprised me and made me happy. And him too. A win-win situation.

Moral of the story: By extending myself and doing things out of my routine, I gained a lot today.
Probably other people can draw lots of inferences and other things. Go ahea

The Desais

Just been skimming through Feasting, Fasting By Anita Desai. And I'm going to return it barely read to the library.

Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai, is also a book which I haven't been able to finish although I have tried several times.

I saw an interview with Anita Desai on NDTV last week on Just books. And she looked such a sweet old nice lady. I thought I am doing her an injustice by avoiding her books. She teaches creative writing at a couple of universities in New York and the UK. So she must be very creative herself.

The bad news she delivered in the interview is that creative writing can't actually be taught. It has to be in you. I say bad news, because the only people reading this will be bloggers themselves and all bloggers secretly hope, that they will write a book one day.

But attending a class gives you the time and space and discipline to hone your skills and give you little ways to improve. But the basics have to be already there.

The Desais have real life- like characters. And the things they go through are very real. The only problem seems to be (from the little I've read) that the characters and situations are very depressing. It’s all very grey. Which doesn’t make for good light reading.

I might have persevered with it except that my daughter's friend wants to borrow some books on the library on my cards.
I ask her "why don’t you come home and take some books from here?"
"I've read all of them Aunty. And they are all old books'.

All or most of them in the two years they were in school together? What has been going on?

Six Impossible Things by Elizabeth Cadell

"Alice laughed: "There's no use trying," she said; "one can't believe impossible things."
"I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was younger, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."
Alice in Wonderland.

Reading Elizabeth Cadell, one doesn't have to believe in impossible things happening. One is just swept along by the improbably-probable story, the charm of the characters and just the general sweetness of the atmosphere.

I own one Cadell -The Past Tense of Love which is the best I've come across so far and its something I resort to once in about every two years when the world is just too much for me to restore my smile and balance.

She wrote feel-good stories long before the word was invented. There is lots of romance, lots of rumination and lots of living. And quite a bit of wisdom. Besides lots of situations which keep you quietly smiling or worse .

This is a bit of coversation between brother and a sister he discovers, is growing up- too fast for him.

" But all I wanted to know was whether you kissed her with what Luke calls deadly intent, or whether..."

" With what Luke calls what?"

"Deadly intent. He says that even given the time and the place and the girl, a man needn’t lose his head ; he can still make a planned approach. That is, he can decide in his mind whether he wants to let the atmosphere engulf him or whether he'll keep it cool. If he really wants the girl, then he kisses her with deadly intent. Do you follow?'

" I can't say I do. Is this the kind of thing Luke always talks about?"

"How should I know? I only met him a week ago."

The Lightning Keeper by Starling Lawrence

This is a rather strange book because there is a story interwoven with a great deal of technical writing. I've read one which is interwoven with recipes and a great deal of cooking but tech stuff doesn't interest too many people.

Its the era of the industrial revolution when electricity is just beginning to replace steam as power. So the wonderful energy,the enthusiasm, the belief in the Mechanical God of the Inventor is all there.There are detailed descriptions of many things from cars to railroads and even pictures of the era.

The story takes place in a little town not too far from New York but set in the very cold mountains with a huge and picturesque waterfall. The waterfall drives some large wheels which power the iron and steel works which is the core of the little town.

Amos Bigelow is the third generation owner of the Iron works, which is fast getting outdated and uncompetitive in a world where new methods and machinery are taking over. He is ably assisted by his daughter Harriet who has a better head on her delicate shoulders. (can any heroine ever have any other kind?)

They procure a large order which could make or break the industry. To their rescue comes Toma, a Serbian refugee who is a natural engineer and inventor.Can he make a new kind of turbine which would help not only Bigelow but also GE, already a major force in Americ?

Behind all the industry and hard work, is a gentle love story between Harriet and Toma and the local legislator who owns the bank which finances the industry. Harriet is torn between her own feelings and what she thinks is right for her family.

There is the strange relationship between Horatio , the black man who runs the turbines and Olivia , the beautiful woman he lives with. Horatio was living with her mother , who dying , entrusted her daughter to him. When Olivia was 12 years old, Horatio enters her bed saying he needs it and stays there, never letting her know anyone else in the world.
so when the handsome Toma comes along, she sets out to get him and she does.

But Harriet is always in his heart and head and Olivia knows it. She's doomed to unhappiness.

Maybe I'm guilty of gender generalisation but there seems to be techy stuff for the men and the love story for the women. And both can skip the other half.:-)

Its written very well so worth a look whatever gender you are.

Browsing, And Not On The Net

When I was in college, my pocket money was Rs.20. This wasn’t something that got handed out by-right. It was an age when spending was still considered frivolous. And parents were still unsure about this new fangled concept of pocket money. With everything provided (they thought), what was the need for doling out money which was going to be wasted? So, receiving money of our own depended on the moods of parents, family finances, presence of guests who could be supportive or not and of course, on our immediate behavior. If all these barriers were passed, we might get the money.

That evening, a friend and I would board a bus to Higginbotham’s, one of the two bookshops in town. And I would buy a brand new Agatha Christie. In all its new wonderfulness with so much hidden inside waiting to be discovered.

I might have earmarked the book on previous visits. Or would select it within ten minutes of reaching the shop. But there was no question of billing it till I had browsed through all the books in the shop besides. And lusted over a couple more. Since I was going to buy; I could brave the beady eye of the attendants, who were quite capable of saying sternly- ‘its time to go home, your mother will be looking for you ‘. There might be some agonizing indecisions. But finally I would go home happy and replete with my purchase.

Being brought up on dog-eared books from lending libraries and those passed around a network of friends, a new book was something to be savored and stroked and loved. Something that gave inner happiness while I sat through classes. I would read the book first by divine right before my sisters and friends could get their hands on it.

Now, sometimes, just sometimes someone tells me about a book I have to read. More often it’s a book review that gives the urge to buy. One goes to the bookshop, looks around and then asks at the counter for it. The guy there makes a note and says, will let you know when it comes.

It’s rather disappointing; like buying something on the internet. You have to wait. And you may have changed your mind by the time the book comes.

Bookshops have changed face. They are more glitzy life style shops with books in one corner which gradually take up less and less space. You can easily spend your money on something else instead. It’s bright and there is piped music and books are arranged nicely. Latest bestsellers are set out in attractive displays. But anything besides the hot stuff gets a ‘which book did you say madam’?

There are bright young men in ties cracking jokes with each other while they wait for you to make up your mind. One thing I dislike is someone asking can I help you? Do I know what I want? Of course not. I’ve just come to take a look and be beguiled into buying some book I never knew existed.

Bookshops are not run any more by the book lover, rather by astute business men.
And the successful ones seem to be part of chains or spread on the platform.

I just read of this wonderful bookshop called Shakespeare in Paris, France. Where the owner knows the books he sells and recommends it to you and even provides beds for the impecunious traveler.

When more and more books are being published, and one assumes are being read besides being so hotly debated why are bookshops disappearing? People are supposed to be standing in queues that compete with the American embassy to buy Harry Potter.

In my hometown of Coimbatore, which is part of the growth boom, there are more and more shops of every other kind coming up everyday but the bookshop is disappearing. It’s still the bookshops of my youth which stay browse worthy. There are still some of the old guys, much friendlier now and who remember me. There are a couple of the new giftshop-bookshops. The crowded stores are the ones that sell text books and self help books and computer books.

But where are the ones where we can spend delightful hours browsing and just being there? We are losing a soul-stroking therapy.


On zine5 on Dec 13, 2007

Development

After three weeks, I went on my usual route for a walk. And find
1) a new shiny tall Al tower for some cell phone company
2) roads being widened and stripped of all bushes
3) two earth movers at work on the hillside flattening parts to build more flats.

I cursed all developers soundly for the rest of my walk negating all benefits.
Why can't they leave this countryside be?

And curse all the people who want to buy a little flat in Ooty, get into the coils of the developers and spend a miserable two years fighting it out with them . They would probably spend about 7 days a year here at ooty, why not spend them in a hotel anyway?

Why escalate prices here so local people cant afford to buy and create worry for themselves maintaining a damp, badly built unit? why dont they keep the money in the stock market?

I wish India didnt shine so much. Increasing the divide more and more.

Devi By Satyajit Ray

I meant to nap. Post lunch. Drowsy Sunday afternoon. But this kept me awake and glued there.

Sharmila Tagore again, looking so wondrously lustrously beautiful. With huge kohl rimmed eyes, thick dark eyebrows, cheeks that hadn’t got the dip yet but are filled out in teen health, cascading dark hair in the Bengali fashion layered in front with the simple saree over it. She doesn’t talk much, only looks and you know. And she was only 13 when the movie was made. It must be that Tagore blood.


She is the happy daughter in law of a rich family in some village, of course by the river. She is beloved by the parrot, the grandson and the father-in-law besides of course her scholarly husband, all of whom she looks after with demure cheerfulness.
Husband goes away to study in Calcutta. Father-in-law who is just cheered by her presence and calls her his ‘ma’ because she is like a mother to him.

One night he has a dream. Sees the daughter in law as the Goddess. He comes to her room in the night and falls at her feet. She is reincarnated and celebrated in the village thereafter as Devi. Miracles occur and the hordes increase. Her husband comes back, is shocked and tries to take her away.



Ray seems to have originated so many stories and feelings that we see in movies even today. The loneliness of the person endowed with mystic powers. How doubt creeps into everyone, even herself. Is she really Devi?

The contrast between the two brothers is remarkable and yet maybe is common. Elder brother is under the thumb of his father. When he says, ‘believe’, he believes. What am I to do, he asks his enraged wife? My father has all the money. Shall I fall at your feet too? Will that make you happy?
On the one hand is the weak, drunken brother with the unhappy wife who doesn’t respect him and is resentful of the affection shown by her father in law to the younger daughter in law.
On the other, is the decisive, outspoken scholarly younger brother who can talk back to his father. And he has the sweet beautiful docile wife.
Does it all go together? Or does one quality lead to the other factors?

Certain things come through to show the hand of the Master. The vacant look of the beggar boy as his father sits beside him and sings beautifully in praise of Devi. The unhappiness and resentfulness of the elder daughter in law even thought she hardly speaks and is only a figure in the background.
The movie ends hauntingly.

It won the President’s Gold Medal, New Delhi, 1961

Triggers

1) Honey more effective than cough medicine. - a study by Penn state university


2) When you warn people about the dangers of climate change, they call you a saint. When you explain what needs to be done to stop it, they call you a communist.
George Monbiot on Climate change : Actions not despair.in the Hindu

3) The lack of safe water and poor sanitation, are the reality for the majority in India, so much so that they rarely come into public awareness.
Dr.K.S. Jacob, CMC, vellore in Errors of the public health movement.

Why certain headlines or even lines from an article in the newspaper or magazine catch your eye depends 100% on you. The frame of your mind. And what has been going on in your life.

) The health page and health issues are things I never read. But still this caught my eye and rang so true because of the cough that still hasnt disappeared completely. And I've found honey helps so much. Something our grandmothers knew so well.

2) I just liked the way it was written :-))))))))

3) I thought of the school nearby and whether the children were drinking safe water. At home probably, there was no such thing as boiled water.
It must have been on my mind because a couple of weeks ago, I saw some young men bathing in the reservoir and screamed myself even more hoarse to stop them. And that too has been bothering me.

I called the school. They dont' have water in the school! I know they have a new set of toilets. I don't want to even think about that.

We discuss the building of a little water tank. With a filter of some sort. We pick the spot. I tell the Hm to ask parents to contribute labour at least. she is doubtful but we are going to ask them anyway.

I call a friend to ask for some design ideas. He will help.

I don't know where the money is going to come from. But it will. People are good.

Sculptress by Minette Walters

It took this book for me to realize that Im still a whodunit fan. I couldn’t let go of the story. And Minette Walters, British, is a good writer. That’s a nice change from the whole lot of Americans I’ve been reading. The book says Edgar Award Winner. That could mean the author or this particular book- still it’s a good guide for the die-hard whodunit fan.

There’s one conversation in the book, between a Nun and the heroine, Roz that lingers. About Beauty not being skin deep.

Plato said ‘Outer beauty reflects inner beauty’. Which has been refuted by a great many thinkers. Courtesty- BJ Krishnan.

Minette Walters, through her nun says : beauty, like wealth is a moral asset. the wealthy can afford to be law abiding, generous and kind. The very poor cannot. even kindness is a struggle when you don’t know where your next penny is coming from.

Poverty is only uplifting when you can choose it.

Beauty cushions you against the negative emotions that loneliness and rejection inspire. Beautiful people are prized- they always have been. So they have less reason to be jealous, less reason to be jealous, less reason to covet what they can’t have. They often could be the cause of all those emotions, rarely the instigators of them.

I’m trying to think of the beautiful people I know. Im not sure. They seem to be torn by the same negative emotions as other people. Although people are much nicer to them.

But it does seem to be easier to be virtuous when you are wealthy.

Temple Tour

Although people did tend to exclaim - ‘what you, on a temple tour?’ I did enjoy it immensely. It was family togetherness after a long while, leavened by a cousin who can ad-lib instantaneously and spin stories where none exist. As my younger daughter put it wisely, if we didn’t quarrel with him, we would be quarrelling among ourselves. So tempers were sunny throughout.

It was actually a blessed trip sprinkled with grace. We’d planned it for the Puja holidays, the only days when all of us were free. “It s going to be very crowded and you are going to wait hours,” everyone prophesied. But things turned out well with people being busy in their homes with their own pujas. No where in the 7 temples we visited did we have to wait in queues and we were able to see the idols in all their glory fully and completely.

The first bit by day train was soothing. One alternately snoozes, reads desultorily, talks to fellow passengers even more desultorily and gazes dreamily through the window on a train journey. And keeps an eye out for what the caterers are bringing around.

First halt, Kumbakonam. Kumbakonam, to my mind isn’t really a city of temples. My first impression was of the station platform - clean, modern and empty but for large numbers of uniformed little children being fed their lunch by doting parents. A scene which seemed prehistoric. Even more so when I watched one father carefully transforming a little ruffian into a little Lord with a comb and powder puff.

The next discovery was finding that Kumbakonam is the home of good old Kalimark. Bovonto tasted of cola intertwined with grapes; it brought back memories of teenage sorties in the company of friends.

Karaikal, where we stayed, hardly looked French. It seems the usual Indian small town - dirty bus stand, temples, empty plots which breed plastic and thorny bushes. The difference is in the beach which is getting spruced up with long cobbled walkways and lighted promenade.

Early to the temple at Thirunallar (Nala+Aru-Nallaru) which dates back many centuries. My daughter was duly dipped and purified in the tank which King Nala was said to have built when he was in the bad books of Shaniswara, the son of the Sun God himself. The clothes she was wearing had to be left there in a symbolic gesture. A friend said wistfully, if only it were so easy to leave behind one’s sins.

Shani was further propitiated by lighting 27 little lamps and feeding the crows with rice mixed with gingelly seeds. Lots of people were doing it too, all obviously combating the influence of Saturn in their horoscopes.

Temple going has become the cheaper alternative to family holidays, a cousin remarked, himself the trustee of a temple. So many new practices are springing up to propitiate the Gods. And the media does all it can to spread this cult.
And people follow it all.

Isn’t it all done out of fear and greed? Fear that bad will befall you and greed for wellbeing. If we truly believe in the influence the planets have in our lives, then it makes little sense to hope that these small rituals will ward off energy forces sent by the planets thousand of years ago.

We continued our pilgrimage, stopping to cool-off in one of the numerous streams on the way. A dozen black bodied young boys were diving off into the water gleefully. They acted as guides to avoid the slippery stones and we paddled in the silvery streams. Sedate young maidens washed clothes and posed bashfully for snaps. With digital cameras one has the satisfaction of showing them the snaps instantly, instead of making empty promises to send them later.

The normal itinerary of any tourist visiting Kumbakonam starts predawn and includes at least a score of must-see temples. Not doing it the been- there-seen-it way does relax the mind.

After a sumptuous lunch we went to find Darasuram. Darasuram didn’t figure in the lists of must-visit -temples in Kumbakonam given to us. It’s not a living temple but one preserved as a Heritage building by UNESCO.



Green lawns, wire fencing, spotlights, a clean deserted look, and the precision of the outer walls are the hallmarks of a Heritage building. Work is always in progress in some part with numbered blocks and pillars scattered around.


Although the temple was supposed to be closed for lunch, we were allowed inside and a well-informed guide took us around, pointing out the minute sculpture on each pillar of the 100-pillared hall. One can get satiated with statues, especially in the heat. More people wandered in but the guide wasn’t letting us go. We did get to see all the major carvings in spite of ourselves.


There is something about temples dedicated to Mariamman that draws hordes of villagers. It must be history. Hinduism is said to have inculcated the gods and goddesses of the original people who lived in the Deccan plateau, thereby sweeping these people into its folds. But the old faith must remain in their hearts.


Samayapuram, near Trichy draws them in hundreds and thousands with its gigantic, brilliantly dressed fierce Mariamma. Being a rich temple, the additional statues glitter in brass, but are safely kept out of reach in glass cases. Otherwise in some time honoured ritual, worshippers tend to douse them with rock salt.

The leisurely journey through the countryside is so soothing. Everywhere there are shades of green – refreshing instead of the numbing variations of a shade card. Dark groups of trees line the horizon. Fresh green ripples in the fields. Near the road are thorny scrub bushes in a dusty green. In-between plants in shades of grayish-green lightened up by pink flowers.

Neat squares of land are asymmetrically laid out. Some are covered in water reflecting the grey skies and the lone tree on the edge. In some a white bird stands still. Some are covered closely with fresh green seedlings. In others, the spacing out process has begun. Only a few people are out, bent over as they thin out the seedlings, working in ankle deep water. Little black goats frisk around on ridges. A few scrawny cows wander disconsolately. A little shelter guards some buried soul who couldn’t be parted from his land. This is paddy country

A temple tour seems a good way to spend family holiday when everyone is in the mood. And you don’t have very young children along. Temple going is something that grows with age for a few people, or comes suddenly on others. But when everything goes right, the good feel and the memories stay for a long long while.


Posted on zine5.com on December5,2006

Apur Sansar

It wasn't slow.It wasn't boring The story moved rapidly in fact. The camera didnt linger excruciatingly slowly on anything. The film didnt leave one depressed. All the negative thoughts that come in when one sits down to watch a much acclaimed film.

Apur Sansar was a visual treat. Each frame was thought out carefully and in black and white - it was really sensational. The debut of both Soumitra Chatterjee and Sharmila Tagore, the two of them are so young and handsome. Seeing Sharmila as a demure , pert and cute child bride is a lovely suprise.

Soumitra is so good looking at any angle and his face seems to express any emotions so easily.The unfolding relationship between the young couple, its easiness and happiness are brought out so well. Poverty doesnt dull their happiness as many young couples know but forget.



Satyajit Ray was really a master of film. The visuals still linger on in my mind a day later. And I hope ZEe does bring out more of his fims. With sub-titles.