The woodpecker drums on a tree to carry a certain message. The songbird sings to advertise his charms to the female and to say ‘Keep out, this is my territory’ to other males. Some animals use visual signals such as brighter breeding attire to pass signals. Many animals including dogs and cats and insects rely on chemical signals for awareness. Ants maintain a precise trail using chemicals for those ants following behind to know the path. A bee will tell another bee of a new food source by a special dance in which the degree to which she waggles her abdomen indicates the distance of the food supply and the direction in which she faces indicates the direction of the source.
There are 4 types of communication mainly in nature– audio, visual, chemical and tactile. I’m just studying them in an effort to understand what kind of communication is practiced among the YECCI - young, educated, college going, city based Indian. Because recently I gave out all the signals wrong in a social situation involving a number of this species, thus embarrassing my young.
Here I was at dinner along with my two daughters and a family with whom we were just getting acquainted. Among them was a young college going girl, a member of the YECCI.
Having been indoctrinated by my parents and Dale Carnegie to make polite conversation, I made her comfortable with a number of interested questions about herself - about her course, college, canteen, friends, classes, mode of transport etc. Which she answered in short sentences in between concentrating intensely on her plate. Obviously she was a very focused person, doing one thing at a time, which I didn’t quite realize then. I must have been disturbing her rhythm. And she was too polite to say so.
I asked ‘Do you have any hobbies?’ That seemed to put the lid on social gaucheness as far as my daughters were concerned.
‘Ma, what a question to ask?’
‘Why, what’s wrong with that?’
‘No one has any hobbies any more. ‘
Obviously, hidden reference to an older era, when we would automatically answer ‘stamp collecting’ to this question even if the stamps didn’t cover one page and were safely hidden in a drawer out of sight for years.
What with ‘Friends’ and messaging and chatting and movies and malls I suppose there is not much time left for ‘hobbies’ these days.
By circumspectly avoiding the ‘What is your good name? ’ and ‘My, you’ve grown so much since I last saw you’ bit which was the bane of my generation, I thought I was cool and more with it. Sadly, not at all. There are just different pitfalls into which parents can painfully fall into. The pain could be on either side.
My nephew had the last word. ‘ponnama, saaptoma, vanthoma – can’t you do just that? ‘ instead of all these inane questions. Which could roughly translate into veni, I ate, vidi .
In nature it is not unusual for individuals of one species to master the signals given by those of a different species. And I hope to do soon.
On zine5 on 26th Feb, 2008
I actually did some research for this one .
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Tulips!!!
My pride and Joy.
Tulips all the way from Holland via a sweet cousin in England who smuggled the bulbs in.
Special Lunch !
Friends
The clamor to be on camera!
Feeding his younger brother
The Hams- posing for a special shot
At our local Municipal village school - a lunch in memory of Amma - something she would have approved of.
Talking to the HM : she says the govt now supplies rice and 3 eggs per child every week. Plus 44p. per child is handed over to buy other provisions, firewood etc.
The daily menu is sambar which contains some vegetable and rice. And eggs on alternate days. The kids get bored with the menu.
But, its not the midday meal alone that draws children to school any more. Now, parents are more aware and want to send their kids to school to study - the midday meal is a help. They prefer English medium schools if they can afford it.
The CSI make it very affordable. Each child gets a 'sponsor'. And is given 3 meals a day plus books and uniforms and lots of other things including blankets. The number of children in their schools keeps increasing while the Govt schools lose out.
The number of converts to Christianity is rising exponentially in the Nilgiris. Why not, when you get 1 lakh to fill your empty belly and help up the ladder of life.
And a group in which you are constantly monitored and chided and helped.
If you are a Hindu, any God is okay. As long as you find the path to salvation.
Tactics
Sindhu calls to say "Im going to cut my hair"
I say "NO, wait till after the wedding".
She says " L'Oreal Salon has a special student's discount now" .
I say " How much?"
It turns out that after discounts, it costs as much as parlours with less haloed names.
She delivers the clincher ' I want to pierce my nose".
I say 'Okay, okay, cut your hair".
DAchu says later I should have rather let her pierce her nose. But, that is irreversible while hair colouring and styling isn't.
Mothers who chop of their own hair have no moral leg to stand on. But i had to wait till my mother and mother-in-law passed on to do it.
I say "NO, wait till after the wedding".
She says " L'Oreal Salon has a special student's discount now" .
I say " How much?"
It turns out that after discounts, it costs as much as parlours with less haloed names.
She delivers the clincher ' I want to pierce my nose".
I say 'Okay, okay, cut your hair".
DAchu says later I should have rather let her pierce her nose. But, that is irreversible while hair colouring and styling isn't.
Mothers who chop of their own hair have no moral leg to stand on. But i had to wait till my mother and mother-in-law passed on to do it.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Che Guevara and Alberto Granado and the Motorcyle
South America - hot sunshine, sombreros, grizzled outdoorsy hard drinking men, hot blooded curvaceous, vibrant women twirling to sambas and tangos, laughter, music, blue seas and skies, broad pampas and steamy dense forests somewhere in the interiors.
If I think a bit more, coffee plantations,herds of cattle, Rio, Incas and dirt and dust. All culled from geography lessons, books and movies.
Books do make one think about different lands and different peoples. One which is opening a door is Traveling with Che Guevara by Alberto Granada. Till now, Che has been just a name and Argentina a country somewhere there.
What did I know of the exploitation of Argentina and the other South American countries by capitalist forces? And by their own dictators. Nothing. I have to thank the friend who gave me the book for a new thought.
Two young idealistic young men, Ernesto Guevara and Alberto Granada , one a full fledged doctor and the other, a medical student set off on a motorbike to see Argentina, Chile and as many countries they can of their continent. Their aim is to spend as little money as possible and wherever they can, exchange work for food and shelter.
The scene where they leave home and a very disapproving family is so universal and touching. This book is written by Granada who has a subtle sense of humor and is vastly appreciative of the scenery and the beauty of the countryside.
But they are more affected by the exploitation everywhere of the poor.And thus were born two revolutionaries.
Guevara is an iconic figure who is considered one of the most influential people of the century
He even changed countries, in pursuit of his ideals. People now do change countries, but for material reasons.
After his death, Guevara became an icon of socialist / marxist revolutionary movements and a cultural icon worldwide. Anywhere there is a revolution, his picture with the burning eyes shot by Granada appears. Its been called.
"the most famous photograph in the world and a symbol of the 20th century."
To quote
Perhaps in these orphaned times of incessantly shifting identities and alliances, the fantasy of an adventurer who changed countries and crossed borders and broke down limits without once betraying his basic loyalties provides the restless youth of our era with an optimal combination, grounding them in a fierce center of moral gravity while simultaneously appealing to their contemporary nomadic impulse. To those who will never follow in his footsteps, submerged as they are in a world of cynicism, self-interest and frantic consumption, nothing could be more vicariously gratifying than Che's disdain for material comfort and everyday desires. One might suggest that it is Che's distance, the apparent impossibility of duplicating his life anymore, that makes him so attractive. ( this hits very hard)And is not Che, with his hippie hair and wispy revolutionary beard, the perfect postmodern conduit to the nonconformist, seditious '60s, that disruptive past confined to gesture and fashion?
Which of us do not want to follow a vision , a dream which is bigger than us? Even if we did not follow through the Marxist vision of equality and right that possessed us in our youth, just the thought of this enterprising journey on a bike is enough to blow a fresh breeze in our existence. What might have been.
If I think a bit more, coffee plantations,herds of cattle, Rio, Incas and dirt and dust. All culled from geography lessons, books and movies.
Books do make one think about different lands and different peoples. One which is opening a door is Traveling with Che Guevara by Alberto Granada. Till now, Che has been just a name and Argentina a country somewhere there.
What did I know of the exploitation of Argentina and the other South American countries by capitalist forces? And by their own dictators. Nothing. I have to thank the friend who gave me the book for a new thought.
Two young idealistic young men, Ernesto Guevara and Alberto Granada , one a full fledged doctor and the other, a medical student set off on a motorbike to see Argentina, Chile and as many countries they can of their continent. Their aim is to spend as little money as possible and wherever they can, exchange work for food and shelter.
The scene where they leave home and a very disapproving family is so universal and touching. This book is written by Granada who has a subtle sense of humor and is vastly appreciative of the scenery and the beauty of the countryside.
But they are more affected by the exploitation everywhere of the poor.And thus were born two revolutionaries.
Guevara is an iconic figure who is considered one of the most influential people of the century
He even changed countries, in pursuit of his ideals. People now do change countries, but for material reasons.
After his death, Guevara became an icon of socialist / marxist revolutionary movements and a cultural icon worldwide. Anywhere there is a revolution, his picture with the burning eyes shot by Granada appears. Its been called.
"the most famous photograph in the world and a symbol of the 20th century."
To quote
Perhaps in these orphaned times of incessantly shifting identities and alliances, the fantasy of an adventurer who changed countries and crossed borders and broke down limits without once betraying his basic loyalties provides the restless youth of our era with an optimal combination, grounding them in a fierce center of moral gravity while simultaneously appealing to their contemporary nomadic impulse. To those who will never follow in his footsteps, submerged as they are in a world of cynicism, self-interest and frantic consumption, nothing could be more vicariously gratifying than Che's disdain for material comfort and everyday desires. One might suggest that it is Che's distance, the apparent impossibility of duplicating his life anymore, that makes him so attractive. ( this hits very hard)And is not Che, with his hippie hair and wispy revolutionary beard, the perfect postmodern conduit to the nonconformist, seditious '60s, that disruptive past confined to gesture and fashion?
Which of us do not want to follow a vision , a dream which is bigger than us? Even if we did not follow through the Marxist vision of equality and right that possessed us in our youth, just the thought of this enterprising journey on a bike is enough to blow a fresh breeze in our existence. What might have been.
What Shall I Eat?
I wonder what I should eat? My sister has gone away.
The cook will come only at 12. Then she will cook a hot lunch for me. What a delight it is to eat food with steam rising from it and which feels so good and hot in the hand. Not like the food cooked by my sister early in the morning and reheated later. She likes to finish her work and then settle down to watch her favorite programs on TV.
Now here is my daughter insisting I switch off the fridge for a whole morning. She said there was too much ice in it. What will happen to the milk in it? Will it survive those hours of heat? And I have bought an extra packet because my daughter has come. Will she have coffee in the evening or will she go away? Then that milk will be wasted.
Should I eat those slices of bread left over from day before? Can I have an egg? No, my digestion has just returned to normal after the last one a week ago. And that was only cake.
There is the idli batter. Now, I have learnt to make idlis. The day before, the idlis had come out so perfectly. I felt so pleased with myself. But yesterday, when I opened the vessel with so much anticipation, they turned out soggy and so wet and a mess. Still I managed to take them out and eat them. Inside, they were cooked and not so bad. What could have gone wrong? Was the batter too sour or was the time too long or could the water have been too much? My fingers still smart from the burn I got, trying to manipulate the idli platter.
Should I go now to the bathroom? No, the banana seller will come. And he has promised to bring that special mountain variety today. I must not buy too many. Who is here to eat them?
Today I must give those sweets the neighbor gave me a week ago to the servant maid. She will ask me what vegetable to make. What can I tell her? What vegetables are there? Should I wait for the vegetable cart man and buy some ladies fingers? No, no, if we are to switch off the fridge, then we have to finish whatever is there first.
She said yesterday, to buy some appalams. I bought the coffee powder but I forgot those. I shall have to ask the newspaper boy to buy some. I have to pour some hot water into the coffee filter now.
Is there enough water in the tank upstairs? Is today the water day? The neighborhood women will come for water. Should I move the car? The car will have to be serviced soon.
Shall I sell it like everyone is urging me to? But it has been with me so long; I should keep it till the end. Let them do whatever they want when I am gone. But it is so difficult to unlock it, sit on the seat sideways first, then slowly swing my feet in, and then get into position, put in the key, get the gear into neutral and then start the car. It is so painful to press the accelerator.
The doctor says knee replacement can be successful. But only can be. What if it isn’t? What if it becomes worse? I will have used my capital for nothing. There will be less to leave for my children.
They say to go ahead. Money isn’t important. But it is. Every rupee counts now. The one thing that is more important is health. No one can share it with you. You have to bear the burden alone.
I need to eat properly to maintain my health as well as possible. No more biscuits and sweets. No cakes to upset my digestion. I should ask the maid to cut down the oil. Is she using the healthy oil I bought?
What shall I eat now?
The neighbour’s maid is coming now. With idlis and chutney.
On zine5 on Feb20
The cook will come only at 12. Then she will cook a hot lunch for me. What a delight it is to eat food with steam rising from it and which feels so good and hot in the hand. Not like the food cooked by my sister early in the morning and reheated later. She likes to finish her work and then settle down to watch her favorite programs on TV.
Now here is my daughter insisting I switch off the fridge for a whole morning. She said there was too much ice in it. What will happen to the milk in it? Will it survive those hours of heat? And I have bought an extra packet because my daughter has come. Will she have coffee in the evening or will she go away? Then that milk will be wasted.
Should I eat those slices of bread left over from day before? Can I have an egg? No, my digestion has just returned to normal after the last one a week ago. And that was only cake.
There is the idli batter. Now, I have learnt to make idlis. The day before, the idlis had come out so perfectly. I felt so pleased with myself. But yesterday, when I opened the vessel with so much anticipation, they turned out soggy and so wet and a mess. Still I managed to take them out and eat them. Inside, they were cooked and not so bad. What could have gone wrong? Was the batter too sour or was the time too long or could the water have been too much? My fingers still smart from the burn I got, trying to manipulate the idli platter.
Should I go now to the bathroom? No, the banana seller will come. And he has promised to bring that special mountain variety today. I must not buy too many. Who is here to eat them?
Today I must give those sweets the neighbor gave me a week ago to the servant maid. She will ask me what vegetable to make. What can I tell her? What vegetables are there? Should I wait for the vegetable cart man and buy some ladies fingers? No, no, if we are to switch off the fridge, then we have to finish whatever is there first.
She said yesterday, to buy some appalams. I bought the coffee powder but I forgot those. I shall have to ask the newspaper boy to buy some. I have to pour some hot water into the coffee filter now.
Is there enough water in the tank upstairs? Is today the water day? The neighborhood women will come for water. Should I move the car? The car will have to be serviced soon.
Shall I sell it like everyone is urging me to? But it has been with me so long; I should keep it till the end. Let them do whatever they want when I am gone. But it is so difficult to unlock it, sit on the seat sideways first, then slowly swing my feet in, and then get into position, put in the key, get the gear into neutral and then start the car. It is so painful to press the accelerator.
The doctor says knee replacement can be successful. But only can be. What if it isn’t? What if it becomes worse? I will have used my capital for nothing. There will be less to leave for my children.
They say to go ahead. Money isn’t important. But it is. Every rupee counts now. The one thing that is more important is health. No one can share it with you. You have to bear the burden alone.
I need to eat properly to maintain my health as well as possible. No more biscuits and sweets. No cakes to upset my digestion. I should ask the maid to cut down the oil. Is she using the healthy oil I bought?
What shall I eat now?
The neighbour’s maid is coming now. With idlis and chutney.
On zine5 on Feb20
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Balance
I'm in the middle of getting the house painted. For a few weeks, I've browsed decorating sites, pored over all the decorating magazines I can find, peered through the windows of houses when unoccupied, and come up with hundreds of wonderful schemes which have to be debated over when the next one comes along.
More important has been the question of which painter to employ? When its a question of workmen,as with an omelet, its you who have to do the waiting. After a couple of weeks of waiting, I've settled for a different one finally. And when its workmen vs woman, all the guile you are capable of has to be brought into full play. If I put in so much effort into my marriage, life would be different:-)
Family is alway non supportive in the matter of choosing colours. Of course, they are always happy to view the end results of your deliberations critically. So I've just decided to go with the colours that appeal to me right now. Thinking of grey skies that we have for more half the year, bright colours that should cheer me up seem right.
Still, when I view the shocking pink that is appearing on the walls instead of the old rose I envisaged, I seem to need dark glasses myself. And there is brilliant green and sea blues and golden yellows yet to come. I seem to have pulled in all sorts of old fashioned mitai colours.
But, I've been given a book on 'Traveling with Che Guevara' at the right time . Looking at life from the perspective of Alberto Granado , what do the colours on the wall matter? A house has such narrow boundaries.
There's a whole world beyond it and its the colours of life and the outlook on the world around that do.
More important has been the question of which painter to employ? When its a question of workmen,as with an omelet, its you who have to do the waiting. After a couple of weeks of waiting, I've settled for a different one finally. And when its workmen vs woman, all the guile you are capable of has to be brought into full play. If I put in so much effort into my marriage, life would be different:-)
Family is alway non supportive in the matter of choosing colours. Of course, they are always happy to view the end results of your deliberations critically. So I've just decided to go with the colours that appeal to me right now. Thinking of grey skies that we have for more half the year, bright colours that should cheer me up seem right.
Still, when I view the shocking pink that is appearing on the walls instead of the old rose I envisaged, I seem to need dark glasses myself. And there is brilliant green and sea blues and golden yellows yet to come. I seem to have pulled in all sorts of old fashioned mitai colours.
But, I've been given a book on 'Traveling with Che Guevara' at the right time . Looking at life from the perspective of Alberto Granado , what do the colours on the wall matter? A house has such narrow boundaries.
There's a whole world beyond it and its the colours of life and the outlook on the world around that do.
The Good Lives On
We gathered last weekend in the family home in memory of my Mother's death, fifteen years ago. My sisters and I try to make it somehow every year. This is more to make my father happy than for any ritualistic remembrance.
In keeping with my mother's nature, more people than planned land up for lunch. Relatives and friends drop in unknowingly and it is a joyous occasion.
We hardly sit and recall stuff about my mother. Its all about life and what is happening now.
But it does bring home to me how lucky I am to have family with such strong bonds. We have our misunderstandings, our gossip, our 'you know what she did'? but in times of trouble and celebration, everyone is there.
And extremely lucky to be born to parents who were and are very kind people. It was the old -fashioned type of household, where relatives come in times of trouble and stay on for months and years; where guests always stay to have a meal, where kids get turned out of beds and baths to make room for others; where there is no question of not enough room or not enough to eat or the time not being convenient - where each persons' problems are not his own but of the whole family.
Now, someone called to say my 92 year old aunt has fractured her arm, while cooking. And my 82 year old father is rather distraught.But, neighbours have all volunteered to do different things. Someone has sent an ambulance; one person has gone with her to the hospital accompanied by the sweeper and someone else's driver, somebody has brought food. Its amazing. And extremely heart warming.
The kindness you show to people comes back to you in so many ways.
In keeping with my mother's nature, more people than planned land up for lunch. Relatives and friends drop in unknowingly and it is a joyous occasion.
We hardly sit and recall stuff about my mother. Its all about life and what is happening now.
But it does bring home to me how lucky I am to have family with such strong bonds. We have our misunderstandings, our gossip, our 'you know what she did'? but in times of trouble and celebration, everyone is there.
And extremely lucky to be born to parents who were and are very kind people. It was the old -fashioned type of household, where relatives come in times of trouble and stay on for months and years; where guests always stay to have a meal, where kids get turned out of beds and baths to make room for others; where there is no question of not enough room or not enough to eat or the time not being convenient - where each persons' problems are not his own but of the whole family.
Now, someone called to say my 92 year old aunt has fractured her arm, while cooking. And my 82 year old father is rather distraught.But, neighbours have all volunteered to do different things. Someone has sent an ambulance; one person has gone with her to the hospital accompanied by the sweeper and someone else's driver, somebody has brought food. Its amazing. And extremely heart warming.
The kindness you show to people comes back to you in so many ways.
A Message I Love
Today Is
International Very Good Looking, Damn Smart Woman's Day
When all Very Good Looking, Damn Smart Women should remember this motto
Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body,
but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, wine in the other,
body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO what a ride!"
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Summers Of 77 – Where Was This Thing Called Love?
I tried hard ever since this assignment came up. I thought about it. I asked people what they thought about it. But even those who openly admitted being addicted to it wouldn’t talk about it. I wrote a few openings but never got any further. I leafed through tattered magazines reading those old sweet romances and enjoying them immensely. But, nothing inspired. I sat under a tree with pen and paper determined to not to get up until I had this thing done. A couple of hours later, I had one single word on paper. And that wasn’t even the title.
Obviously, love is not for me. Or in me. Around me? At least that I could find maybe.
I looked at the middle aged couples who form my world mostly. The number who exchange cards on b’days and anniversaries could be counted on about half the fingers on one hand. To talk about Valentine’s day would make them and me blush. And if I asked them about the ways in which they loved each other, I was sure I wasn’t going to get any coherent answers. The normal Indian style is to count loudly the ways in which your spouse irritates you. Maybe we ward of the evil eye this way.
Talking about intimacy is just not done.
I had to go backwards in time to my teens, when I lived in sweet secondhand romance. Among a whole neighbourhood of girls reading Mills and Boon secretly. And passing them from hand to hand. Till our mothers discovered them too and read them wholeheartedly. Maybe the longing for the tall dark handsome hero to sweep her off her feet never dies out of a girl until she is in her grave.
We loved Georgette Heyer and the caustic and witty exchanges that the hero had with his pert saucy heroine or the quiet one with grey eyes. Barbara Cartland was around of course but lisping heroines found little echo in us. Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning we read aloud and sighed. Scarlett’s sixteen inch waist had us all measuring waists and coming sadly to the conclusions that it couldn’t be real. But Rhett, oh dashing Rhett Butler was much more captivating than dull Ashley.
We all cried and mooned over it for days when Jennifer died in Love story. ‘ Love never means saying you are sorry ‘ was our byline for years and years. Of course never to be used with real people.
Oliver Barrett who fell in love passionately and mourned bitterly and never looked at a girl again was our ideal hero. Oliver’s Story came along years later to change things. But you can forgive your favorite people anything – and he didn’t marry his girlfriend for the sake of principle.
Come September, Summer of 42, we watched all the romantic movies we could without understanding the nuances too much. We narrowed our eyes like Lee van Cleef and adored the quiet assurance of Robert Redford and Paul Newman.
It was the age of innocence packaged in pink ribbons. Neighborhood boys and their loud bikes (now they would hardly seem a murmur) were discussed and dropped. No one fell in love with anyone or had a crush which was amazing given the mixed neighbourhood we lived in. We had neighbourhood picnics, fetes, plays and bday parties galore. Of course Moms were always around but no one was making eyes at anyone else.
We listened to the Beatles, sang with Abba and Nancy Sinatra, jived secretly to Boney M, watched breathlessly the gyrations of Travolta and stayed safe in cocoons. We read of rape and sex, discussed it discreetly and never came to any firm conclusions. Incest, porno, pedophiles – didn’t cross our minds.
We wore bellbottoms with our long plaits, paraded proudly in any garment someone brought back from abroad, loaded ourselves with eau-de cologne, and never thought of attracting the opposite sex with any of these. Difficult for them to be, so we thought.
None of it was real we knew. Romance existed only in books and we never linked it to real life. We got married when it became our turn. When we go back home now, it’s as sedate matrons on the outside but when we get together, oh boy, its sweet seventeen again.
On zine5, Feb14th
Obviously, love is not for me. Or in me. Around me? At least that I could find maybe.
I looked at the middle aged couples who form my world mostly. The number who exchange cards on b’days and anniversaries could be counted on about half the fingers on one hand. To talk about Valentine’s day would make them and me blush. And if I asked them about the ways in which they loved each other, I was sure I wasn’t going to get any coherent answers. The normal Indian style is to count loudly the ways in which your spouse irritates you. Maybe we ward of the evil eye this way.
Talking about intimacy is just not done.
I had to go backwards in time to my teens, when I lived in sweet secondhand romance. Among a whole neighbourhood of girls reading Mills and Boon secretly. And passing them from hand to hand. Till our mothers discovered them too and read them wholeheartedly. Maybe the longing for the tall dark handsome hero to sweep her off her feet never dies out of a girl until she is in her grave.
We loved Georgette Heyer and the caustic and witty exchanges that the hero had with his pert saucy heroine or the quiet one with grey eyes. Barbara Cartland was around of course but lisping heroines found little echo in us. Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning we read aloud and sighed. Scarlett’s sixteen inch waist had us all measuring waists and coming sadly to the conclusions that it couldn’t be real. But Rhett, oh dashing Rhett Butler was much more captivating than dull Ashley.
We all cried and mooned over it for days when Jennifer died in Love story. ‘ Love never means saying you are sorry ‘ was our byline for years and years. Of course never to be used with real people.
Oliver Barrett who fell in love passionately and mourned bitterly and never looked at a girl again was our ideal hero. Oliver’s Story came along years later to change things. But you can forgive your favorite people anything – and he didn’t marry his girlfriend for the sake of principle.
Come September, Summer of 42, we watched all the romantic movies we could without understanding the nuances too much. We narrowed our eyes like Lee van Cleef and adored the quiet assurance of Robert Redford and Paul Newman.
It was the age of innocence packaged in pink ribbons. Neighborhood boys and their loud bikes (now they would hardly seem a murmur) were discussed and dropped. No one fell in love with anyone or had a crush which was amazing given the mixed neighbourhood we lived in. We had neighbourhood picnics, fetes, plays and bday parties galore. Of course Moms were always around but no one was making eyes at anyone else.
We listened to the Beatles, sang with Abba and Nancy Sinatra, jived secretly to Boney M, watched breathlessly the gyrations of Travolta and stayed safe in cocoons. We read of rape and sex, discussed it discreetly and never came to any firm conclusions. Incest, porno, pedophiles – didn’t cross our minds.
We wore bellbottoms with our long plaits, paraded proudly in any garment someone brought back from abroad, loaded ourselves with eau-de cologne, and never thought of attracting the opposite sex with any of these. Difficult for them to be, so we thought.
None of it was real we knew. Romance existed only in books and we never linked it to real life. We got married when it became our turn. When we go back home now, it’s as sedate matrons on the outside but when we get together, oh boy, its sweet seventeen again.
On zine5, Feb14th
Monday, February 11, 2008
Hospitality
Recently my daughter went to stay for a weekend with a friend in Calcutta. Not just her, but eight young people from her college. In a one-bedroom house.
The girls slept in the bedroom, while the young men slept in the living room or to give it its proper Indian name, the hall.
Mr and Mrs Venkatachalam wouldn't hear of the young men going and staying outside.Nor of eating out. They rose at dawn to heat hot water for their baths and cook breakfast and pack lunch for them to carry .
I was astounded by the extent of their hospitality and good nature. In this age, and for big city people ( forgive me city dwellers for my generalisations) to be so generous with themselves and their time and house was so heartwarming.
We tend to get so comfortable in the narrow routines of our lives, we don't like to be disturbed.
But, I hear,its not enough for me to be so open mouthedly admiring.
My turn is coming soon.
The girls slept in the bedroom, while the young men slept in the living room or to give it its proper Indian name, the hall.
Mr and Mrs Venkatachalam wouldn't hear of the young men going and staying outside.Nor of eating out. They rose at dawn to heat hot water for their baths and cook breakfast and pack lunch for them to carry .
I was astounded by the extent of their hospitality and good nature. In this age, and for big city people ( forgive me city dwellers for my generalisations) to be so generous with themselves and their time and house was so heartwarming.
We tend to get so comfortable in the narrow routines of our lives, we don't like to be disturbed.
But, I hear,its not enough for me to be so open mouthedly admiring.
My turn is coming soon.
no onions nor garlic
'no onions nor garlic' is a hilarious book with a potshot on every page at Tamil Brahmins or TamBramAss as their association is called. Srividya Natarajan must be one herself to know them intimately but holds nothing barred in exposing everything from their superiority complexes to their habits in the loo.
The complicated plot which links two very different Brahmin families by means of an matrimonial ad which states 'no onion nor garlic' gets tighter and tighter until it explodes by the Marina beach. Screwing up the life of puritan Ram, Professor of English, author of Daddy, What Is The Significance of the Poonal and One Hundred Other Questions About Hinduism. , head of several Brahmin associations are Dalit-students-and -Professors-in-the-making. His own daughter Jayanthi for whom he hurriedly seeks an alliance is a rebel with an R. Son Chunky however is a true academic who presents the same paper over and over and talks everyone down.Supportive true Hindu wife Mrs.Ram has to find solace with Godman sri sri sri..
The other family with stereotyped thatha, paatti, baby Raja, anni Chitra and slowpoke brother Kicha plus eligible son Sundar and daughter Uma are managed by mother Sachu with no help from father Vaithi who looks down on all traditions.
Inbetween are a couple of Dalit youngsters who are activists and stage plays in the village of Paavai.
Paavai strikes a chord in us who watch Tamil movies as the home of Paavai Muniamma. As are digs at the Bindu paper. Since the story is set in Chennai though written from foreign shores, its very homey to us. What I liked best was all the cuss words which in my sterile life, I have little chance to hear especially since I dont live in the breeding capital, Chennai which speaks a different lingo from the rest of Tamil Nadu.
Srividya has a breezy irreverence to all, especially academia of which she must be have been a part. The style is mildly reminiscent of Wodehouse in its twist in every line.
In fact, this made me put back the book on several occasions at the library. Sometimes, too much hilarity is hard to stomach, when it never lets up. But I am glad that I did bring it back this time. Though I skipped bits, the plot is enough to keep one reading.
But the zest for life which embraces everything from the Madurai Muniyandi Vilas through koothu performances to 50 Best Jokes to Ford scholars to Seshadri Realites putting up Coromandel Gem Homes on shifty sands is the best part of it all.
The complicated plot which links two very different Brahmin families by means of an matrimonial ad which states 'no onion nor garlic' gets tighter and tighter until it explodes by the Marina beach. Screwing up the life of puritan Ram, Professor of English, author of Daddy, What Is The Significance of the Poonal and One Hundred Other Questions About Hinduism. , head of several Brahmin associations are Dalit-students-and -Professors-in-the-making. His own daughter Jayanthi for whom he hurriedly seeks an alliance is a rebel with an R. Son Chunky however is a true academic who presents the same paper over and over and talks everyone down.Supportive true Hindu wife Mrs.Ram has to find solace with Godman sri sri sri..
The other family with stereotyped thatha, paatti, baby Raja, anni Chitra and slowpoke brother Kicha plus eligible son Sundar and daughter Uma are managed by mother Sachu with no help from father Vaithi who looks down on all traditions.
Inbetween are a couple of Dalit youngsters who are activists and stage plays in the village of Paavai.
Paavai strikes a chord in us who watch Tamil movies as the home of Paavai Muniamma. As are digs at the Bindu paper. Since the story is set in Chennai though written from foreign shores, its very homey to us. What I liked best was all the cuss words which in my sterile life, I have little chance to hear especially since I dont live in the breeding capital, Chennai which speaks a different lingo from the rest of Tamil Nadu.
Srividya has a breezy irreverence to all, especially academia of which she must be have been a part. The style is mildly reminiscent of Wodehouse in its twist in every line.
In fact, this made me put back the book on several occasions at the library. Sometimes, too much hilarity is hard to stomach, when it never lets up. But I am glad that I did bring it back this time. Though I skipped bits, the plot is enough to keep one reading.
But the zest for life which embraces everything from the Madurai Muniyandi Vilas through koothu performances to 50 Best Jokes to Ford scholars to Seshadri Realites putting up Coromandel Gem Homes on shifty sands is the best part of it all.
Love, Again by Doris Lessing
Love, Again is about a good looking, very attractive theatre personality, Sarah who falls in love after a gap of twenty years when she is sixty. And the agony she suffers from the indignity of the whole thing. Because Sarah has been a cool, collected character busy with the business of living after her husband died. With no time for such indulgences as love. And now, at this time of her life, though she admits her figure can give younger girls a run, she still can’t compete with them for the attentions of a younger man. And it hurts.
But a number of people are in love with her. As she says, she is one of those women who always has had someone in love with her. People generally like her.
It’s a significant time for Sarah when life is changing on many fronts. The band of 4 which has worked hard to keep their little theater going find themselves with a major hit on their hands. One can envy the unspoken understanding they enjoy among themselves. They have to bring in new, younger people to help, have to share and then eventually give way to the young Turks. She relinquishes responsibility and support of her niece Joyce, who is a difficult child and whom Sarah has always taken care of. And her family finds that hard to accept.
Her company is putting on a new romantic musical play Julie . Both the play and Julie Vairon are very important in the book. Because a lot of it is about how the play is put on and performed, the machinery and the people behind it.
All the people involved are in love. Sometimes the love maybe reciprocated or it can be on one side only. How quickly affections move from one person to another forms part of it. The masks, the agonies, the little incidents, the constant thinking of the other person. Love Again is a fierce and compelling an examination of the nature of and its origins of love, of its remorseless ability to overwhelm and surprise us. – says the blurb and it is.
At first it was of course reading Lessing because she won a Nobel. Then it was the happiness of the discovery of a new wonderful author I liked. Then it got a bit tedious. But what kept me going were the insights that Lessing has on every page, at every turn into human life and human heart. All the subtleties that we do and think and haven’t thought of are recorded so we can recognise life again and again.
‘
‘You say that as if you knew all about jealousy.’
‘Did I? I remember saying to myself, that’s it never again. I’ll never feel jealousy again. ‘
‘So you were generous too?’
‘If you want to make it generosity. I thought of it as self-preservation. I know one thing, you can kill yourself with jealousy.
I could never say it couldn’t affect a marriage or anything else. It was a question of pride.’
‘You are talking like the kind of woman you seem determined not to be- to seem to be.’
‘What kind of woman?’
‘A love woman. A woman who takes her stance on love.’
‘A mature woman knows that if her husband chooses to fancy the chemist’s wife or the girl who is driving the express delivery cart, and fucks them in her stead, well, its just one of those things.’
‘And vice versa, I think the husband knows that he is holding in his arms the stable boy, because his wife is?’
Sarah waited for a signal or glance that recognizes a situation. And it came: Elizabeth shone that smile on them both that says – in this case with good humored irony- I know what is going on and I don’t mind before going off on her own affairs. There are not many spouses, or partners, strong-minded enough to forgo that look, that smile, or laugh for it makes a claim, and an even stronger one than jealousy or anger.
But a number of people are in love with her. As she says, she is one of those women who always has had someone in love with her. People generally like her.
It’s a significant time for Sarah when life is changing on many fronts. The band of 4 which has worked hard to keep their little theater going find themselves with a major hit on their hands. One can envy the unspoken understanding they enjoy among themselves. They have to bring in new, younger people to help, have to share and then eventually give way to the young Turks. She relinquishes responsibility and support of her niece Joyce, who is a difficult child and whom Sarah has always taken care of. And her family finds that hard to accept.
Her company is putting on a new romantic musical play Julie . Both the play and Julie Vairon are very important in the book. Because a lot of it is about how the play is put on and performed, the machinery and the people behind it.
All the people involved are in love. Sometimes the love maybe reciprocated or it can be on one side only. How quickly affections move from one person to another forms part of it. The masks, the agonies, the little incidents, the constant thinking of the other person. Love Again is a fierce and compelling an examination of the nature of and its origins of love, of its remorseless ability to overwhelm and surprise us. – says the blurb and it is.
At first it was of course reading Lessing because she won a Nobel. Then it was the happiness of the discovery of a new wonderful author I liked. Then it got a bit tedious. But what kept me going were the insights that Lessing has on every page, at every turn into human life and human heart. All the subtleties that we do and think and haven’t thought of are recorded so we can recognise life again and again.
‘
‘You say that as if you knew all about jealousy.’
‘Did I? I remember saying to myself, that’s it never again. I’ll never feel jealousy again. ‘
‘So you were generous too?’
‘If you want to make it generosity. I thought of it as self-preservation. I know one thing, you can kill yourself with jealousy.
I could never say it couldn’t affect a marriage or anything else. It was a question of pride.’
‘You are talking like the kind of woman you seem determined not to be- to seem to be.’
‘What kind of woman?’
‘A love woman. A woman who takes her stance on love.’
‘A mature woman knows that if her husband chooses to fancy the chemist’s wife or the girl who is driving the express delivery cart, and fucks them in her stead, well, its just one of those things.’
‘And vice versa, I think the husband knows that he is holding in his arms the stable boy, because his wife is?’
Sarah waited for a signal or glance that recognizes a situation. And it came: Elizabeth shone that smile on them both that says – in this case with good humored irony- I know what is going on and I don’t mind before going off on her own affairs. There are not many spouses, or partners, strong-minded enough to forgo that look, that smile, or laugh for it makes a claim, and an even stronger one than jealousy or anger.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Movies
To all those people who think I seem to spend a lot of my time reading and then writing long reviews of them.
Yes I do, more books than are recorded here. Sometimes the Internet goes off or Im travelling and my two bits doesn't get recorded for posterity.
And I watch a lot movies too. Some in the recent past:
Mona Lisa smile -
Julia Roberts becomes a lecturer in Wellesley college, a college for girls which follows a lot of traditions - the main one being that it prepares them for marriage. Julia tries to show them that there is more to life than that - you can have it all , she tells them.
She herself doesn't. Her high standards don't allow men to stay in her life. But she stays true to herself and what she believes in and that is finally appreciated by the girls.
Julia Roberts is always worth watching and this makes the movie worth the time.
She said in an interview that while shooting for the film, she was deeply involved with her marriage and what she was mouthing was contrary to what she believed in then.
I guess women always will have this conflict of love vs career.
Get Shorty :
Another good looker who makes it easy to watch. John Travolta in a suit and a very persuasive manner moves from muscle man for a casino to producer for a movie.
'Oh I wasnt pressured 'he says, 'I was applying all the pressure.'
This is a cute comedy. Though it takes some of the fun away when you watch by yourself.
Out of Africa : Though I saw this more than a month ago- it still lingers in the mind. Meryl Streep as a strong, sexy European woman who flourishes in deep Africa. Robert Redford, as the intelligent loner who woos her although she is married.
The setting is magnificent and the photography wonderful. Though to see them settling down to dinner in the wilds with music (from a phonograph) and glass and cutlery makes one think 'you bloody exploitative Europeans - you certainly made yourselves comfortable at the expense of us poor dumb natives'
The movie won about a dozen Oscars . It is that good.
Yes I do, more books than are recorded here. Sometimes the Internet goes off or Im travelling and my two bits doesn't get recorded for posterity.
And I watch a lot movies too. Some in the recent past:
Mona Lisa smile -
Julia Roberts becomes a lecturer in Wellesley college, a college for girls which follows a lot of traditions - the main one being that it prepares them for marriage. Julia tries to show them that there is more to life than that - you can have it all , she tells them.
She herself doesn't. Her high standards don't allow men to stay in her life. But she stays true to herself and what she believes in and that is finally appreciated by the girls.
Julia Roberts is always worth watching and this makes the movie worth the time.
She said in an interview that while shooting for the film, she was deeply involved with her marriage and what she was mouthing was contrary to what she believed in then.
I guess women always will have this conflict of love vs career.
Get Shorty :
Another good looker who makes it easy to watch. John Travolta in a suit and a very persuasive manner moves from muscle man for a casino to producer for a movie.
'Oh I wasnt pressured 'he says, 'I was applying all the pressure.'
This is a cute comedy. Though it takes some of the fun away when you watch by yourself.
Out of Africa : Though I saw this more than a month ago- it still lingers in the mind. Meryl Streep as a strong, sexy European woman who flourishes in deep Africa. Robert Redford, as the intelligent loner who woos her although she is married.
The setting is magnificent and the photography wonderful. Though to see them settling down to dinner in the wilds with music (from a phonograph) and glass and cutlery makes one think 'you bloody exploitative Europeans - you certainly made yourselves comfortable at the expense of us poor dumb natives'
The movie won about a dozen Oscars . It is that good.
In the Country of Men By Hisham Matar
This is yet another country which I’ve never thought about. Libya under Qaddafi or the Guide as he has to be called. What is actually happening there to common people. Or just people. We don’t realize what it means to live under the constant threat of terror and fear. When the slightest rebellion can mean questioning, mutilation and death by hanging under the eyes of a mob which lusts for blood. Mob frenzy which sounds akin to the Romans cheering for death by violence. When a neighbour, a beggar, a relative, a person you thought was your friend can lead to your downfall. When your phones are tapped. And you don’t know where to turn for trust.
The story is told by a little boy, Suleiman called Shooma. Though love surrounds Shooma, he is left alone to his own devices a lot in troubled times. Neglected by his young mother who drinks to keep away the fear of her rebel husband being killed and his father who is involved in rebelling , Shooma is confused by the lies he meets at every angle . With no one to confide in, Shooma gets involved with the spies sent to investigate his father. In a climate of suspicion, he is alienated from the neighborhood boys.
Hisham Matar goes back to being a nine year old boy with his confusions and justifications. His love and need to protect his mother. The longing for his Fathers love of which he gets little demonstrably. His fights with the neighborhood boys.
At the very moment Suleiman wants and needs love, he drives away people. He finds a streak of cruelty in him. And it’s this exploration of a boy’s psyche that lifts the book up high. Parents of little boys and those without boys too should read it to know how confused and contrary a boy can be. Or any human being can be. It rings an echo within.
Interwoven is the story of Suleiman’s young, beautiful, willful mother who makes decisions for the good of the two men in her life- husband and son which are painful for their soul but necessary for them to live.
The writing is good and the story moving. One needs a little patience to read it through but one can see why it got shortlisted for the Man Booker.
The story is told by a little boy, Suleiman called Shooma. Though love surrounds Shooma, he is left alone to his own devices a lot in troubled times. Neglected by his young mother who drinks to keep away the fear of her rebel husband being killed and his father who is involved in rebelling , Shooma is confused by the lies he meets at every angle . With no one to confide in, Shooma gets involved with the spies sent to investigate his father. In a climate of suspicion, he is alienated from the neighborhood boys.
Hisham Matar goes back to being a nine year old boy with his confusions and justifications. His love and need to protect his mother. The longing for his Fathers love of which he gets little demonstrably. His fights with the neighborhood boys.
At the very moment Suleiman wants and needs love, he drives away people. He finds a streak of cruelty in him. And it’s this exploration of a boy’s psyche that lifts the book up high. Parents of little boys and those without boys too should read it to know how confused and contrary a boy can be. Or any human being can be. It rings an echo within.
Interwoven is the story of Suleiman’s young, beautiful, willful mother who makes decisions for the good of the two men in her life- husband and son which are painful for their soul but necessary for them to live.
The writing is good and the story moving. One needs a little patience to read it through but one can see why it got shortlisted for the Man Booker.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
The Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini
The scenario is so bleak and the story so sad that you wonder where the thousand suns are shining. The miserable lives, women in Afghanistan have been forced to lead during the political turmoil of the last 50 years. And probably before that too, in a society where men can marry twice and thrice so easily, beat their wives to a pulp, take away their rights on a whim and treat them as little more than useful cattle.
This is the life of Mariam, born to a father who cannot acknowledge her and a mother who resents it bitterly. Her life is always controlled by other people and the one time she tries to take control; it ends up in even greater disaster. She resigns herself to a life of utter loneliness and suppression. Except for her last brave, swan song.
Yet there is the other protagonist, Laila, beautiful, clever and bold who is always fighting against her circumstances. Beaten down literally and by circumstances again and again, she rises each time to try and carve her own life.
And hopes to see the thousand suns rising on her own city, Kabul.
One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs,
Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls
Life in Afghanistan sounds so unbearable to us, cocooned in comfort and security and freedom, that you wonder how human beings can survive such things. Or want to return to such a country. But they do. And it is that spirit which makes the book worth reading. The story leads one on, though it does invoke feelings of guilt and horror.
The characters didn’t really come alive for me. Maybe it is because I know that it is a man writing, but they didn’t seem real flesh and blood characters, or they are far too removed from my experiences. But Kabul and its horrors stay in the mind.
A book to read definitely.
This is the life of Mariam, born to a father who cannot acknowledge her and a mother who resents it bitterly. Her life is always controlled by other people and the one time she tries to take control; it ends up in even greater disaster. She resigns herself to a life of utter loneliness and suppression. Except for her last brave, swan song.
Yet there is the other protagonist, Laila, beautiful, clever and bold who is always fighting against her circumstances. Beaten down literally and by circumstances again and again, she rises each time to try and carve her own life.
And hopes to see the thousand suns rising on her own city, Kabul.
One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs,
Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls
Life in Afghanistan sounds so unbearable to us, cocooned in comfort and security and freedom, that you wonder how human beings can survive such things. Or want to return to such a country. But they do. And it is that spirit which makes the book worth reading. The story leads one on, though it does invoke feelings of guilt and horror.
The characters didn’t really come alive for me. Maybe it is because I know that it is a man writing, but they didn’t seem real flesh and blood characters, or they are far too removed from my experiences. But Kabul and its horrors stay in the mind.
A book to read definitely.
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