In One Place

The morning has been almost perfect. Unhurried. Rising after the sun has come up; without an alarm, no guilt. Coffee over the newspaper. A few comments. Getting lunch ready. Some stretches. There are no phone calls ; well only one . And the doorbell rings only once. But the morning remains unshattered by harsh words- thoughts, demands. Bright, unfolding into promise,rich with life. Breakfast and he’s gone. I eat my oats , slowly with Binnie Kirshenbaum. I feel a slow pleasure come over me. A writer I know I’m are going to like. She brings calm and a slow unhurriedness and a liking for life that is contagious.

Stray Thought

'Even looking at images of greenery can improve mental processes leave alone spending time in the midst of nature, research has proved. '

Then, we in the Nilgiris should be mentally asizzle and doing mental gymnastics most of the time.

Why does the reverse seem to be true?

Worth Watching

WATCH THIS BEFORE IT'S TAKEN OFF THE WEB
It is extremely surprising that the Arab financed TV in Dubai would
allow this to air. Be sure and watch this, it is so powerful I have
no doubt she now has a very large price on her head. I also have no
doubt it won't be on the air long .
She is one impressive woman. Here is a powerful and amazing statement
on Al Jezeera television. The woman is Wafa Sultan, an Arab-American
psychologist from Los Angeles .
I would suggest watching it ASAP because I don't know how long the
link will be active. This film clip should be shown around the world
repeatedly!
http://switch3.castup.net/cunet/gm.asp?ai=214&ar=1050wmv&ak=nul

It was sent me and its really impressive and powerful.Food for thought

Gift For Living

On my way home, I passed three young boys out on a walk of their own. Within the neighbourhood, I tend to give young kids a beady eye and ask sternly, why aren't you in school? But these were from some other area. So I passed on.
But then, one of them stopped to offer me some wild fruit. I was taken aback and touched. They had cut class to go loafing around. Can I really say its a waste of time or life on a rare fine day?

After class yesterday with the worst lot ( some of them don't know even the alphabet properly) one of the boys gave me piece of bubble gum. I notice too that its the not-so-bright girls who offer to carry my books or bag.

The spontaneity with which they make a connection is touching. Maybe they are blessed with the greater gift - for living .

Stripped

"Are you so and so?"
A strange man accosted me at Charing cross this morning. He needed some details from me and said he'd visited home yday and found it locked.
After 24 years of living in a small town and with a husband in active Govt.service, I can't be too surprised if someone knows me and I don't know them.

But its not a pleasant surprise any more.

It gets me wondering who am I? Stripped of so-and-so-'s wife, so-and-so's daughter, would I get any recognition?

I don't work any more so I've lost that identity which acts a good front that people can relate to. And slot me easily.

When I travel, I do find the loss of identity and instant recognition rather disconcerting. Then I can draw comfort from the people I am travelling with; the group feeling which protects one from strangers.

If I take me alone as a person, then its the clothes I wear, the educated tone of my voice that defines how people behave with me, those I know and don't know. People are reacting to the visual image.

Even this can be misleading as I discovered yday. At a family function, a young woman and I were getting on famously. You must come home she said often during our conversation. During lunch, she asked casually, and what about your kids? I said they were quite grown up. She was taken aback visibly, and said "Oh, I didnt realise you were... you don't look that old." And after that, I could see a stepping back. She couldn't see herself relating to a person a decade or more older. The new image of me came in between.

Without money to spend that commands respect in shops, would the shopkeeper give me any ?

Without all these image-making externals, without comforts given by other people, can I survive on my own?
Without all these trappings, if I had to live in a strange place who would I be?

Stepping out of the supermarket I was accosted by a cheerful beggar woman. When I refused to give her alms she engaged me in a discussion of the cost of soap and rising costs. Disarmed by her cheerfulness, I did give her a coin.
But she made me think, 'but for..there go I.." Could I handle life if I were her with such equanimity?

Do these thoughts trouble other women, other people? Or am i just complicating the life given to me?

The other side of the line

Accept it or not openly, we do have lines to demarcate those ‘others' who think and behave and live differently from us .

Recently, I’ve been hearing a lot of talk about how the terrific power cuts in Tamil Nadu are going to bring down Karunanidhi. This is the middle class talking.

Yesterday, in my class I heard echoes of what the ‘poorer class’ is talking through their children. Obviously the children echo what their parents say. This was part of an idea suggested by Swarna to get children to voice their own thoughts.. something they are not encouraged to do. After holidays, we moved on to ‘politics.’

‘Karunanidhi has given 1 kg rice at 1 Re.’
‘Karunanidhi has given us a gas stove.’
‘He has given each family a TV.’
‘The chief minister is doing so much for the people.’

Sops work.

Another 'across the line' experience was this morning, when I met Jaipunissa.
Jaipunissa used to be a cheerful, energetic, never-say-die girl who dressed to kill everyday when she came to work in the small factory I used to run long long ago. We had a batch of Muslim girls who vied with each other in colourful dressing.
She was already nearing 30 when she left, to marry a 70+ man to secure her future. When he died a few years later, he did leave her a little house and some money. His sons took away the house after some litigation.
Now, after leading a life in relative comfort, she can't bear the thought of going back to work and exists on whatever she has.
But the major change was the black-cover-all burkha she was wearing. I could just about see her eyes, dispirited, sad, tired.
But truly, with just two inches of face showing, it is really difficult to connect to a person.

Through A Stained Glass

I've been interviewing the staff of the Library for the souvenir. And I'm struck so much by how much our attitudes colour the way we look at life.

Here is U, an Anglo Indian. Now past 70, its hard to see the beauty she once must have been when she was crowned Ms.Bombay. Having lived it up as long as she could; she settled down late in life with someone she feels was second best. Her life has been a downward spiral monetarily and finally her husband and she landed up in Ooty. They've been given a free cottage but she has to make do with her small salary. She's always well made up and dressed well inspite of her ill health but thinks life hasn't been too good to her.

Contrast H, who is quiet and mousy. Happily married, she says she wouldn't change anything about her life except maybe ask for a better voice to sing. She might even work for free at this job if need be. All the staff at the Library are like her family.

Helper S, is pushing 80 and can't remember any happy event in his life. Life just is - he feels. He lives with his wife and 4 children.

Helper D, also born in the same year has had 2 wives and 5 children and lives alone in the same free home as U. He is grateful for the rooms, grateful for this job which gives him peace of mind and his children whom he visits every week.

Sadly, how much money one has does seem to matter a lot and colour the way we feel about our lives and other people.

Food for Thought

There are somethings we do that we take for granted without really thinking is this truly necessary?

One being - the printing a souvenir to mark an occasion.

The latest one I'm involved with is a souvenir to mark the 150th year of our Nilgiri Library. I'm suitably low down on a sub sub committee with some tasks strictly outlined for me. Though my personal view is that the whole running of the Library is far too snooty (not for nothing do we have the epithet snooty Ooty) and it should be open to more people; still I have been doing what is asked of me in return for the strong base the Library has been in my life at Ooty.

This morning as I was interviewing the staff for an article for the souvenir, an elderly gentleman started asking me the point of the whole thing. (He did remind me of my Father with his pertinent, uncomfortable-making, difficult to answer questions).

He said all souvenirs end up in the basket. They only go to people who already know about the institution. Souvenirs are created to put in the photos of the existing committee and to blow up a few egos. Why don't we use the money to prop up the building which is disintegrating and to increase the salaries of the staff who are of course paid a non-living wage?

All very valid. Now, do i have the courage to put this across to the haloed committee?

Stray stuff

- with the blast of patriotism on TV on Aug15th and statements like 'you can take an Indian out of India, but you can't take India out of an Indian';
it made me wonder how NRI s feel on such days.Do they feel connected or nostalgic or just have gone past all this?

- Women have to keep listening - to their parents, then their husbands, and then their sons (Im not too sure about daughters ) about how their lives should be run.
Sharadha and I were discussing this - but how true is this truism?
Asking around, it seems to make a difference if the woman is working.
Money is power?

Learning Time

This is Kantharaj, a soldier whom I was tutoring in English for a month.Kantharaj is studying to pass some exams hoping to make it to officer grade or to quit the army after a few years and take up a civilian job.He wants to be ready then with the right credentials.

I learnt quite a bit from him about Nagaland, the North East, Kashmir and Siachen where he hopes to be posted next. So far, I haven't interacted personally with any soldier and this has been very interesting.
He didn't seem to have any qualms about killing which was the first thing that came to my mind. Working conditions, the people he interacted with, the places he visited and getting ahead were what were on his mind.

But what really struck me was his acceptance of everything- people and their customs and their habits and their outlook. While he was talking about people in the North east eating practically everything that moved including cats and dogs- I did feel a bit queasy. But he took it in his stride and said the army trains them to survive in the forest on almost anything.

Kantharaj did teach me to be a bit more open and less judgmental.

Moot point

I was talking to a friend last evening and he was tending to go on about a topic which really got under my skin.
Is it better to tell him to stop talking about this topic and hurt him or let him go on and let myself be upset and stew about it the whole evening?

Maslow's Hierarchy and Wants

What women want.

At level 1 are women who just want to be married - and for various reasons its just not happening
At level 2 are women who want a stable husband, who doesn't drink or beat her too much.
At level 3 are the women who long for a little house, money to run the household and educate the children and buy a simple chain or earring.
At the top, we have the women who long for companionship and understanding and shared interests and loving care.

In between are women who ask for children, great career, health, loving relationships, more material things .....

Whatever we have, our wants are in a rung above. Isnt this just part of being human?

Being Grateful

Come the monsoon, Im made aware of the basics -water, gas,power and telephone and being grateful for them. We've just come through 24 hours without power and life is pretty quiet without light and warmth and song. Sometimes we live a week without and making do and good cheer are stretched very thin :-)

My basics are probably luxuries for many. And maybe this happens to remind me not to take anything for granted. Or get too attached.

One picture that does haunt me is Saddam Hussein's last bunker. A man who lived in grand palaces with halls as large as football grounds reduced to a hole in the ground. How easily life changes circumstances.
An earthquake or cyclone or a tsunami can change it for ordinary people; it doesn't have to be political upheavals.

Thirukadaiyur

Thirukadaiyur is the place to which many people go to celebrate the fact that they have lived through life for 60 or 80 years; but there is a catch - you can only celebrate if your spouse is alive and the second, you have to be a male.
I don't think females get to celebrate their birthdays so publicly.

In these days, it may not be so remarkable to live healthily and happily for 60 years, still its an occasion to rejoice. So last weekend found us in Thirukadaiyur, happily celebrating Umanna's birthday. There were about 20 other people too celebrating their Sashtiyaptha Poorthi though one 80 year old doing the Shathabishekam had to be revived later.

Its very festive with an elephant who comes and welcomes and escorts each couple into the temple. He must be pretty dizzy by the end of the day . Then there is a is a pretty looking cow and calf doing the blessings. These are commonly shared by all the family groups gathered and sometimes, the nadaswaram troupe is shared too.

The temple is large, ancient and black with the fumes of the large number of homams going on everyday. The sanctums are dark, the stones depressed with the imprint of thousands of feet, all surfaces possible carry a layer of vibhuti or kumkum, traces of flowers and oil and puja debris are everywhere . There is a fantastic sense of good cheer in the temple because its all about rejoicing -just being alive.The floors are decorated with huge painted colourful kolams reflected in the very colourful and detailed gopurams.

The puja is remarkably easy to arrange with package deals now including food (good and cheap) laid on nearby; hotel rooms line the road to the temple and lots of other temples to visit in surrounding areas.

The temple deifies Markendeya who put his belief in his Lord Siva , and clung to the lingam at Thirukaidyoor resolutely when Yama came to collect him once his 16 years were up. Shiva killed Yama and blessed Markendeya with eternal youth. But of course later he forgave Yama, so Yama now guards the temple.

Another special deity is of Kalla Varanappillayar. When the devas were churning the milky ocean , they came up with amrutam.But in their haste, they'd forgotten to pray to Pillaiyar who has to be called first before embarking on any good act. He stole the pot and hid it here. Once appeased , he forgave and handed it over. But the amrutam transformed itself as Shivalingam - thus called 'Amrutagateshwarar'.

The third story is about Goddess Abhirami.
Abirami Bhattar, lived in blind devotion to Goddess Abirami and composed the - "Abirami Anthathi" in her praise. He was branded a lunatic by his critics and they complained to the then King Sarabhoji. Sarabhoji came to the temple and asked Abirami Bhattar "what is the thithi today?" - In deep meditation and looking at the Goddess' moon-face, he replied 'today is pournami (poornima) day" whereas it was actually Amavasya Thithi. Enraged with his answer, the King said "if no moon is sighted today - you will be consigned to flames". A huge fire-ball was erected. Abhirami Bhattar sat on a wooden plank above it and started singing hymns towards Goddess. When he finished, Goddess Abirami threw her ear-stud in the space, which got transformed into a full-moon, lighting the world.

Altogether a very interesting temple and a heartwarming occasion.

How to Get there!
We got to Thirukadaiyur by traveling to Kumbakonam by a fast train and then cabbing it from there - it took about 90 minutes.
Mayiladutharai (22 km) and Seergazhi (30 km)are large towns nearby.
Besides, Nagapatinam and Chidambaram to which there are a large number of bus services.
The nearest airport is at Trichy .

Kamaraj's bday- World Literacy Promotion Day

One little bit for Literacy promotion.
This is our 'tution' class. As of Today. Since the number is rapidly growing and I have to use all sorts of threats to thin it down. It takes a lot of patience and I have to get smarter each day. And hopefully employ another teacher.

On occasion like today, when I ask for a list of 'action' words (verbs) and there are a lot of shouts, 'Rajini, Vjay, Vijaykanth, then Im hard put to stop laughing like mad. And I go on.

After a year of teaching 8 kids at home, and crossing a lot of language barriers, I have quit worrying about whether I'm, really doing them any good. I found my answer in Shama Futehally.When she says, 'just your presence is enough to make a difference to their lives. Interacting with a person out of their class, is broadening their minds. The book learning comes second'.

Goes round?

Does what we give come back to us? Through someone else? That's what we say and like to believe. But I had one instance happen to me yday.

An acquaintance - I can't even call him a friend - leaving town turned up and left me with more than 40 potted plants. An unexpected gift and one which is heart warming. The sight of 30 plants banked together can give warm pleasure to anyone whatever the plants.

I don't know this person too well. So why?

Many many years ago when we shifted to Madras, I handed over my young plant collection to an acquaintance- actually she was a friend of my mother's. I would have forgotten the deed except that she often brings it up.It seemed to be outside her experience that anyone could just hand over something without expecting something in return.
She has been so kind over the years, giving much more in return that my deed hardly counts.

Too Much of A Good Thing

I'm sure many people think it would be great to have a live-in Doctor. On hand to consult for the most minor sniffles to suspect large pains. Well, I can tell you that on-tap consulting works in reverse and the family thrives mostly on neglect rather than TLC.

I've just been baby-sitting my niece and her new born son.After a week of being surrounded by docs and hearing stuff like 'it cant be pathological;it must be physiological' and 'what's the pharma?' about any tablet and debates about modes of treatment, all I can say is Ignorance is bliss when it comes to medicine.

You put your trust in your doctor and the hospital and the nurse and that things will turn out right.

This poor babe didn't stand a chance of this happening. When mother, father, grandfathers, grandmother and even great grandfather are doctors, then its doubt and questioning and discussion all the way. Throw in an uncle or two who rings up regularly to say ' this is the latest way in the UK/Lancet '. And it gets merrier.
Vanaja put it nicely 'oh, everyone but the baby was a doctor?'

Among the latest techniques is KMT (Kangaroo Mother's touch) In this case, it was more KFT. Young fathers are so much more hands on- with wives and babies, I say yahoo for them.

We who have lived for about half a century know that health tenets are like fashion- they come around in cycles. Mother's milk vs supplements; carry babes around vs leave them alone;on demand feeding vs timed feeds; give rest to mother vs make them exercise fast; strict diets vs eat all - there are so many issues to debate :-)

But this sojourn in hospital really brought home to me that each baby is a miracle - something that I've taken for granted. When you watch tearful parents, some with scan reports in their hands, some with misshaped babies, some with dashed hopes then one realizes just to have a healthy baby itself is a wonderful gift.

A friend in the IT industry was telling me that the fertility clinics these days are filled with young parents. They have no medical problems but stress and lifestyle act as deterrents to conceive. Plans to put off babies are foolish is his opinion - as someone who put off a baby for 3 years and then had to wait an anxious 3 more to hold his own son. Nothing can beat that feeling he says.

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

Are We talking Too Much on Our blogs?

Last night, on NDTV, there was a discussion on whether bloggers or blogging should be regulated or not?

Barkha Dutt, who was moderating, had been the target of several rumors on various blogs so she was clearly anti-blogging to start with. But being an intelligent person, she saw the way the wind was blowing and dropped her stance by the end.

The discussion covered why people blog - to express themselves, reach out to wider audiences, make like minded friends, talk about topics difficult to touch on in real life.

Being the media, they did spotlight on two or there very candid personal bloggers who talked about sexuality. One, a very attractive male was picked up by the cameras very often. He did confess to a certain amount of voyeurism when blogging. The two young women said they used pseudonyms because they were so candid and that gave rise to a lot of unwelcome comments. And that their parents were aware of their blogging and hence their sex life too and they weren't too embarrassed by that.

The Man from Aaj Tak did say that a lot of people could now easily write in public and that was very cathartic and releasing. So more or less, it was agreed that it was a good thing and policing could be done only after the blog was written or 'the crime was committed'.

I only wished that they'd manage to identify Mysore Blog Park when they did their research and had our GVK on the show. He would have had a couple of things to say .