Innerscapes

What do I say?

2012-01-30T01:02:00.000-08:00

It's been more than a year and a half since I last posted, and frankly, I don't know what i want to write now, either. So many blogs go silent after frenetic posting for some time. I sometimes wonder why. Is it because we run out of things to say? Or is it that we cannot sometimes share what we really want to say? Or do we lose that drive within us that pushes us to write, to share, to let the world know?

I don't know. All I know is that the last two years were very stressful and packed with so much to do, that I just lost the interest to write and maintain the blog. Besides, what is there for me to say? I don't have any defined topics, I am not writing on any particular subject, just random thoughts and experiences, and they sometimes dry up.

Sometimes, when you are focused on something, you exclude everything else. That is what happened to me. I was so focused on helping my daughter through school, and into college, that everything else came second. Now that she has cleared another peak (her XII Boards), and is doing extremely well in first year in college,and no longer needs me the way she did earlier, I am suddenly faced with the question - what do I do now?

For the past so many months I have been contemplating this question. I realize that sometimes the dreams you had for yourself as a young person, no longer appeal to you. I am in a kind of limbo, not inclined to accept the things that come my way and yet unsure of what I should do. Maybe I have to go through the limbo, maybe I just have to wait for the answer to come...

I wish.....

2010-07-28T00:32:00.000-07:00

I wish I could

Put away everything -

This life, these experiences,

The emotions, the challenges -

Everything,

And curl up and sleep,

Floating gently on the waters of Life....

Aruna

2010-05-04T21:57:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I lost a friend.....

Aruna, with her wide open smile and twinkling eyes brought such freshness to our lives. She faced all the challenges in her life with a smile, even cancer.

I remember meeting her after her first chemotherapy cycle. She had lost all her hair, but not her infectious laughter. She kept laughing and giggling over many things, and I came away feeling happy and hopeful, even forgetful of why I went there in the first place!

She put up a brave fight, but the last time I saw her, over a year ago, she looked a ghost of her former self. She had lost a lot of weight, and her smile was not as full and joyous as before. Her large dark eyes looked even larger in her gaunt face, and were full of pain. Even as she continued to smile, we could see that she had given up the fight.

So many times during the past year, I have wanted to visit her but something or the other would come up, and I put off the visit.

Yesterday, when I heard the news of her death, all I could feel was regret. Regret at not making the time to visit her, at not calling more often, at not telling her that I was there to share her pain, at not helping her through this very difficult time.... I miss you, Aruna, and I wish I had not let the mundane duties of my life come in the way of spending more time with you.

Midmorning musings....

2010-03-07T21:50:00.000-08:00

Three months...and no posts. I must be the slowest blogger in the world! And what are my excuses this time?? A bout of viral fever( with symptoms like chikungunya), assorted tests and exams, and my daughter's dance arangetram....

I have come to realize, like most mothers, that my world, and my writing, revolves around my daughter. Not a good sign, for there is always the danger of stifling her with my love and attention! I know, most of my life is spent doing things for her, but surely there is something else. Or is it too selfish to even think about it? I guess old-timers would think so, but if I don't want to be an albatross around her neck, I guess I had better find something to do:-)

Most of my friends are either going through such an awakening, or are dreading the very thought of their children growing up and flying away! But, seriously,why should we try to fill our time with some activity that prevents us from facing our loneliness? Why does it seem so dark and gloomy? I personally think I have to look deep into that darkness...for it holds so much of me. If I cannot face myself, my fears, my insecurities, then how can I go through it to find meaning? A friend told me she was going for various classes because she could not be alone, it would make her think of things that upset her. By pushing the issue away, how can we deal with it? And deal with it, we must. There really is no choice but we would rather put if off, and then wonder why we feel so low, so depressed, and so heavy.

Instead of running around attending various classes and courses, I feel it would be better to reflect on what we already know, from experience and otherwise. Creativity is fine, but most women I know are already asking what do I do with this skill even as they are learning it! Why monetise everything? Why not enjoy creating something beautiful, and then learning to let it go by gifting it, or selling it? "Oh, I am not into making money"...okay, then give it away. "But most people don't really appreciate it"...why think of it once you have given it away? Recently, I spent a day with a friend, and every suggestion I made, everything I said, was met with such a retort. Frustrating, but I could understand her resistance, and her intense need to break the pattern. She knew she had to do it, but she was not willing to make the change.

It is indeed hard to break long-entrenched habits, but once you break through the resistance, it becomes so simple. And then, you do not have to worry that your children have grown up and no longer need you; you do not have to depend on another to satisfy your need for approval; you don't need to do things for other people in order to feel important. But you will do all that, because you love to:)

The Parting

2009-12-16T18:46:00.000-08:00

It’s time to decide,
Clear-eyed, emotionless.
Time to split
The furniture, the books,
Even the children….
Vestiges of a marriage
Come to an end.

The cold counting
Of what goes where,
To whom –
A far cry
From the heady love
And impetuousness
Of early marriage.

Too late to analyze
What went wrong,
When, and how –
Too late to understand
Why the magic disappeared.

All one can hope for –
To get past the hate,
Past the anger,
To a state
Of calm acceptance

Joie de Vivre

2009-10-01T23:31:00.000-07:00

Pushpa is in her mid-sixties. With her warm smile and trendy hairstyle, she does not look like a traditional grandmother. She has tried her hand at a lot of things – being a play school teacher, teaching spoken English to bored housewives, selling Tupperware. For the past few years, she has turned entrepreneur, selling home-made chocolates and block-printed sarees from home.

Sharada is fifty. Appearances can be deceptive, and Sharada’s traditional appearance hides the bubbling spontaneity of a child! Married to a creative artist, she is a very creative person herself. She is an accomplished singer and music teacher but that does not stop her from learning and doing new things. Recently she learnt archery (!) and also acted in a student film, just for a lark! She is a wonderful mimic and raconteur, and can keep you in splits with her tales!

What connects these two women is the fact that they both are cancer survivors.

What amazes me is their spirit and their spontaneous, joyous approach to life. Like so many others I know, they have been to the edge and have come back, not scarred, but filled with a love for life.

When I look at them, my own ennui and cynicism seem out of place. Is it necessary, I wonder, to face death in order to appreciate life?

Hi, I am back!

2009-08-25T22:45:00.000-07:00

Have been missing in action, as Cynic says! Fact is, I did not expect to go off for so long. The exams and the holidays brought their own challenges, and so many things came up that I really did not find the time to sit and write...Like Vishwa, I ended up taking a sabbatical without really planning it!

Also, a lot of things that I would like to write about involve other people, and I am not sure if I can or should write about them. True, I can change the names, but many of them read my blog, and would understand who and what I am talking about. Is it fair to do so? I don't know. I sometimes feel I should have started an anonymous blog, like Cynic!

This is also not a blog about people I have known. It is about how I see things, how I experience Life....sometimes, it is not possible to tell all that I am experiencing and seeing,for the simple fact that most people will think I am crazy! That involves a careful selection of words and phrases, which sometimes hampers my style.

But I cannot abandon my "baby", as it were, so here I am folks, back from my self-imposed exile, and hoping to write some more!

A Peak Scaled

2009-06-01T05:05:00.001-07:00

I have been in a kind of daze for a while now, since the X Board Results revealed that my daughter has done very well. It is the kind of daze, or should I say satisfied weariness that strikes you when you have achieved something that you have worked towards.

Eight years ago, when my daughter was assessed to be dyslexic, I really did not understand what the journey would entail. I just went by a mother’s instinct to help my child overcome what I felt were obstacles on her path. I learnt on the way, acquiring a Teacher’s Training Certificate to teach children who were like her. But I soon learned that a mother who also doubles up as a teacher faces not one wall, but two!

There have been so many moments of frustration, so many days when I almost threw in the towel, but unlike a tutor, a mother cannot give up, can she? I learnt patience as I picked myself up after each frustrating moment and ploughed on. I learned to appreciate the small things and celebrate each victory, small or big. I learned to look beyond the academic and understand the child as a whole. I learned that all of us are intelligent, even if we did badly at school, for there were other areas where our intelligence would shine through –in music, dance, art, sports, and a host of other arenas. I loved Howard Gardner’s theory of Multiple Intelligences for it made so much sense and helped me understand my daughter’s strengths. I read, taught, and googled as I constantly updated my knowledge about dyslexia.

But my daughter has been my greatest teacher. Her friends were surprised when they came to know that her parents did not throw a fit or have a heart attack when they saw her grades. We knew she had done her best, and we knew that she would come through when it did matter. Meanwhile, we did all we could to nurture her awesome talents in music, dance and art. We have allowed her to grow up into a confident, stable young woman with a mind of her own.

Throughout, I have never shied away from talking about my daughter’s learning disability, for I feel that is the only way I can reach out to many more people who probably are not aware. Through them, I can help so many children who are probably in need of such help, and are fighting frustrating academic battles. Earlier, when someone would ask me “So what is dyslexia” or think it is the same as mental retardation, it was difficult for me to explain concisely. These days, thanks to Aamir Khan, it is easy – “Just watch Taare Zameen Par. My daughter is just like that child in the movie”. It also helps them understand just how talented and intelligent these children are. The only problem they have is with academics.

Recently, a friend asked me if my daughter had “gotten over” her dyslexia. People still think it is some kind of disease that one outgrows! I spend a lot of my time explaining, but sometimes I don’t know if they really understand! But all that can wait, for right now, we are celebrating what is most certainly the first of the many peaks we are prepared to scale. Let the party begin!

Image courtesy: www.readingandspelling.com/Symptoms_Of_Dyslexia.html

To my daughter...

2009-05-04T04:45:00.000-07:00

Strange, how your face seems to morph into mine.......

Your angry words, the look in your eyes - an echo of mine.

Words spoken long ages ago, come back to haunt me, through you.

Now I am on the 'other' side, feeling both fear and love, like every mother -

While you chafe and protest, wishing to break free, break the boundaries that I have extended .....but they are still boundaries.

We re-enact the eternal scene........only the people change; the feelings, the conflicts, sometimes even the words, do not.

A Very Private Matter

2009-04-21T08:18:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago,I had to consult a doctor for a minor problem. At the city centre of a well-known hospital chain,where I had the appointment, I was asked to fill in a registration form. Sitting down to fill it,I was shocked to find that I had to fill in not just my name, age, address but also my religion.

Religion???? Why on earth would a hospital want to know my religion? If they really wanted to find out which community I belonged to, my name would be a dead give-away. If they had just reproduced an official form, then it shows a total lack of sensitivity.

I firmly believe that my religion, or my faith, is a very private matter between me and my Maker, and I don't think anyone else has any say in the matter. There is too much religion in the public sphere causing too much trouble. I do not think even schools should be asking us to supply such information, so where is the question of a hospital doing the same? Why should they know what is my religion or community? Will a doctor refuse to treat me based on my religious beliefs?I find it ridiculous.

Needless to say, I did not fill in that particular column.

Love in a wired world.....

2009-03-20T11:14:00.000-07:00

Last week, idly surfing the TV channels, I chanced upon a Tamil movie. The movie must have been made a decade ago and was a tender love story which involved many twists and turns in the plot. Central to the progress of the plot was the idea of communication (or lack of it).

The heroine does not have a telephone at home and has to go to the neighbour’s house or to a phone booth to call the hero. This often leads to strange situations where she is not able to inform him of some important happening in her life, or pass on vital information like the fact that she has to leave town immediately. While he waits to meet her at the designated spot, she passes by within yards of him on a crowded railway platform, and the two do not see each other. We almost feel like crying out, ‘Turn and look. She is leaving on that train.”

I am sure many of us would recall similar situations in numerous Indian movies, in all languages, where misunderstandings created poignant situations and carried the plot forward.

With the advent of the ubiquitous mobile phone, our movies have lost much of their old-world charm. When you are constantly connected through voice or text, how can there be a lack of communication? There is a surfeit of it, and our scriptwriters can no longer bank on the old tool of miscommunication. In the process, however, our stories have lost some of that poignancy that characterized movies made even a decade ago.

In fact, it has reached the other extreme. A recent ad for a mobile service provider features a young couple texting each other. Only at the end do we realize that they are not far apart, but on the same park bench and that, in fact, the man is lying on the girl’s lap. Why text, when you can look into the eyes of your beloved and say what you want to say? Where is the romance here?

Being constantly connected, constantly in each other’s lives, can be overwhelming. But one cannot deny that today’s lovers will not suffer for want of receiving that all-important message, or vital piece of information that may make or mar their relationship.

A Milestone

2009-03-12T05:26:00.001-07:00

I am a year old today, on Blogger!

Just a year ago, I started this blog, having no clue what I was going to write, who would read it, and if anyone would read it at all. Still, it was an opportunity to do what I love best – to write.

However, unlike my husband, I shied away from marketing my blog. While he told everyone about his blog, I kept quiet unless I was persuaded to tell them my blog address.(No, I have nothing against marketing. It just isn't me,that's all.) And yet, you came, all of you came and read my posts, and sometimes left comments. I have found some wonderful friends, even if I have not met most of them in person.

Unlike other prolific bloggers, I have not reached my 50th or 100th post; this is only my 20th! But it feels great when I am missed; when you come and visit my blog to see if I have updated it. It makes me carry on, even when I have nothing to write about, or when I start doubting if I can write at all.

Thanks, guys and gals, thank you for your encouraging words and comments. And those of you, who came and did not comment, thank you too. By just visiting my blog, you give me the strength and courage to carry on, to keep the writer in me alive!

image courtesy:www.ptmortgage.com/blog/category/miscellaneous/ - birthday cake.

Music & Lyrics

2009-03-10T02:32:00.000-07:00

The song “Jai Ho!” from the movie “Slumdog Millionaire” seems to be a resounding success, winning not only the Oscar but the hearts of thousands of people. A lot of young people I know, who do not understand the Hindi lyrics, have nevertheless taken to the song. As Rahman himself said in an interview, the phrase “Jai Ho!” gives a burst of positive energy – probably why it became stupendously popular, even though we know it is not one of his best compositions.

Some songs have that magic – they come to mean so many things to us. Not just the lyrics, or the music, or the tempo; there seems to be an extra, magical ingredient that gives the song a special something. Something that lifts it from a musical composition of words, into a song that stirs emotions and feelings in us, a song that sometimes even brings solace to our wounded hearts, or makes us feel we are not alone.

There are many such songs that have come to mean a great deal to me – songs that have helped me face difficult situations, songs that have helped me understand life. Probably because so many memories are connected to these songs, even today when I listen to them, those emotions come flooding back.

One song that kept me going during the two and a half months that I lived in Bombay alone was from the movie “1942 – A Love Story”. My husband was in Chennai, and my little daughter was with my parents in Coimbatore. I had to stay back in Bombay to finish my thesis, and every evening I would come back home to an empty flat. The loneliness was terrible, and there were times when I would feel like throwing up everything and running home to my family. Only the thought of chucking up all the hard work kept me from doing it. That, and the song "Yeh safar bahut hai katin magar/ Na udhaas ho mere hamsafar”. I listened to it so many times during the day, over and over again, especially the lines “Nahi rehenewale yeh mushikilen/ Hai yeh agale mod pe manzilen”.
And yes, the destination was just around the corner; I only had to keep going till I reached it.

I find I listen to different kinds of music at different times, to suit different moods. But when I am really down in the dumps, I go back to classical music. I need the strains of Carnatic kritis to calm me down, or to lift up my spirits. One of my favourite kritis is the beautiful “Rangapura Vihara” in Brindavanasaranga. I have listened to it since childhood, and MS’s beautiful soulful voice only added to the magic of the song. It has the power still, to lift me up from the darkest depths. Many other kritis are also important to me and although I do not always understand the words, the music or the raga lifts my spirit.

That is why I feel it is not just the music or the lyrics, but a certain something, a special ingredient, which gives these songs a magical allure that they may continue to weave their spell on us.

Hidden Strengths

2009-02-10T09:02:00.000-08:00

Just when you think that things are going along smoothly, life has a way of pulling the rug from under your feet. Suddenly, you find yourself in a situation where you need more than your wits to rescue you. You have to discover hidden strengths from within you, not just to get out of the situation, but to overcome and transform it.

It has happened many times in my life, and in the lives of my friends, and I am always amazed at the hidden inner resources that help us during these testing times.

Last week, it happened again.

Rejoining duty after medical leave of 4 weeks, my husband was surprised to find that his services were no longer required by the company. When he called to inform me, I was amazed that my first reaction was not one of fear or insecurity, but relief. I knew he had been unhappy the past year, and I thought this was the best thing to happen. I always believe that when one door shuts in your face, many others open, filled with opportunity.

As friends called and poured out their feelings over the phone or through mail, I was stunned, and grateful. I realized that I had much to be thankful for – a home of my own, good friends, enough money to live by at least for the time being, and above all, we had each other. Every situation is a learning experience, and this has been a fantastic one so far.

Offers of help and possible job opportunities continue to pour in from concerned friends. They are surprised to see that we have taken it so well. But then, what have we lost? A job, yes. In these troubled times, a steady job is important.

But what we have gained is immense. The understanding that this is not the end, that there is more to life than a job you have held for 30 years; the love of so many friends that gives us the energy to carry on ; and the knowledge that, together, we can ride the storm out.

A Morning at the Beach

2009-01-26T03:28:00.000-08:00

I am fortunate to live near the beach, in Thiruvanmiyur, a blessing that most inhabitants of our colony take for granted. Recently, however, the local citizen's association has become very active and is getting involved in various civic issues concerning our locality. On January 2nd, they had called for volunteers to come and clean the beach which was covered with a lot of debris washed up by the sea. I was not in town for that occasion, but this Sunday (Jan 25th), I joined a number of volunteers to clean the beach again. This was to be an ongoing activity, as cleaning is never a one-time job.

Armed with gloves and huge garbage bags, we met at the beach at 6 in the morning and soon spread out, our eyes open for every bit of plastic, every piece of paper. The local fishermen watched us bemused, as they went about their morning routine. Barely three weeks had passed since the beach had been cleaned, and I am still amazed at the amount of garbage we picked over the next two hours!

Paper, crushed plastic cups , broken beer bottles, gutka packets, plastic sachets, straws - what came to mind was the careless and callous attitude we have towards public spaces. These were not thrown there by the local fishermen; rather they were left behind by the people who came from far and near to enjoy the fresh air and the sea. Families on picnics, or lovers looking for some privacy, all use the beach, but the least we can do is to leave the place as clean as it was when we came in. This lack of civic sense is something that alarms me, but there is still hope.

While I was picking up the junk, a middle-aged man from the nearby apartment sauntered by on his morning walk. He had not been aware of the beach cleaning activity, but the moment he understood what we were doing, he pitched in and did his bit of collecting. Not only that, he seemed determined to come again. Slowly, I am sure as awareness rises, we will feel collective responsibility for our shared public spaces,and will take care to keep them clean and beautiful. Till then, I suppose, we will have to spend a Sunday morning every month cleaning up the beach.

(Photo courtesy: chennai.metblogs.com/2007/10/15/thiruvanmiyur-beach/)

Staying Connected...

2009-01-15T10:18:00.000-08:00

This seems to be my season for re-uniting with lost friends!

Recently, we went to Bombay for a wedding. A friend's daughter was getting married, and it was the perfect opportunity to meet our old friends. I was travelling to the city after 12 years, and a lot had changed, and was still changing. It took us ages to go from one place to the other especially because of the Metro work, but the warmth with which our friends welcomed us more than made up for that.

Twelve years is a long time, and children had grown into adults, found jobs, married and started families. Neighbourhoods had changed, and new housing blocks had sprouted where once there were open spaces. Our old colony had changed so much, become busier and more crowded.

And yet, some things had not changed. As I ascended the steps to my friend Pushpa's house, I remembered going there thrice a week for my yoga lessons. I will never forget the look on Pushpa's face! She had been thinking of me constantly for the past few days, and there I was, in the flesh! There was so much to catch up with, phone numbers and email ids to be exchanged.

Why do we do it? Why do we go out of the way to locate our lost friends? What drives us to catch up with the lost years? What do we gain from this exercise?

I received a mail recently that brought up these questions with regard to my previous post where I had spoken of meeting my school mates after 32 years. The sender of the mail wanted to know why it was so important to have a reunion which according to him/her was "regression". I do not agree. I think the answers are very obvious.

Every relationship we have, whether it is as a friend, spouse, sibling, child, or parent, is a cord of connectivity. A part of us is there in that relationship; we invest not just time, but emotions and feelings into every relationship. We share so much together, and when we lose that relationship, that friendship, a part of us is lost forever. Somewhere we do not feel whole and complete. This feeling of not being complete drives us to look for the missing parts of our own selves, and that is exactly why we feel complete and happy when we find our lost friends.

And not, as my misguided friend had written, because we were unhappy with our present lives and were looking for something that was lacking.

Threads of connectivity

2008-12-29T06:17:00.000-08:00

Something wonderful happened on December 19th. Thirty-two years after passing out of school, the class of '76 of Railway Mixed High School, Madurai had a re-union.

To me, it was a miracle. I had studied there between 1972 and 1975, leaving half-way during Class X. I had not met any of my former classmates since then, and my earlier attempts to keep in touch through letters petered out soon. Thirty odd years later, out of the blue, one friend calls up, and soon it is an avalanche of phone calls, mails, and messages. It was as if a door had opened, and they were all back in my life. It still is a wonder to me how they found me, for I did not expect them to remember me at all!

It was wonderful to go for the reunion and meet everyone, especially because we were all looking so different! Almost everyone had grown(in girth!) but some of the "boys" were un-recognizable!! We had so much fun laughing at the "Then & Now" slide show and catching up with the lost years.Suddenly, it was as if we had re-discovered a lost slice of our own selves.

I have often read about the inter-connectedness of things in the universe - that we are all connected in so many ways by invisible threads of connectivity. The reunion brought this to me very forcefully. Looking around at the happy faces and listening to each one's story, I realized the truth of John Donne's assertion - "No man is an island". Each one of us there was connected to each other through our common experiences in our old school, experiences that had shaped us and guided us through life and brought us back together.

The forgotten art of listening!

2008-12-06T03:58:00.000-08:00

Very often, I am exasperated by people I talk to.

Most Indians have never been taught to listen, and are not sensitive or open to another person's point of view. I don't know if it is because of our numbers, and the terrible urge to get our opinion across, but very often ordinary conversations end up becoming slanging matches. Argument and discussion is the hallmark of civilisation, but somehow here, it becomes difficult especially as we become locked into our own positions.

If this is the case in drawing room conversations, it is even more loud and vehement on our televisions. One of the funniest(!) and pointless programmes I have seen on TV is NDTV's 'The Big Fight'. It starts off well enough, the panelists are people who are suited to address the particular topic, but almost from the beginning, it becomes a Babel of voices, as each panelist starts interrupting, arguing, shouting and generally making a noise. When the show was hosted by Rajdeep Sardesai, he added to the madness by cutting in and loudly making his point. I always wonder what they achieve at the end of it. No one has bothered to listen to the others, or even considered another aspect of the question they were debating.

Sometimes, this can be quite hilarious. I have a friend, and on the rare occasions I visit her, I am confused. Both my friend and her mother will start talking to me simultaneously, often on two different subjects! My brain goes into double-quick processing mode, and I somehow have to find the right answers to their observations! Exhausting, to say the least.

I now find this trait everywhere, on TV, and even in the blogosphere. Everybody has a point of view, everybody wants to make their voices heard, and in the process, they end up shouting or screeching. Why? Why can't we take the time to listen? If only we could listen, we would be able to understand each other. Then we would know and understand that there is really no difference between us, only a difference in perception.

When we listen, really listen, we go beyond the words, to the feelings and emotions hidden deep beneath the words, and understand that there can be another reality. And that it is not really very different from ours.

Bombay's night of terror

2008-11-27T06:14:00.000-08:00

I was going to write something else, but the terror attack on Bombay has put paid to that. I woke up this morning to scenes of terror, gunfire and a raging fire in one of Bombay's loveliest hotels. Through the day, TV reporters have been going on and on, analysing, interviewing, speculating. At the end of it, a bunch of guys have killed around a hundred people, the army, navy and the police are spread around the area, curfew is in place, and fear is in the air.

Exactly what it felt like in 1993 after the riots, and the serial blasts. My husband called me to inform me of the blasts and to tell me he was safe but the trains were not running and he would somehow make his way home. Not a comforting thought when you consider he was working in Worli and we were living in far-away suburban Borivli. There were no cell phones then, and he could not stop to call me from anywhere. You can imagine the panic and the fear I felt till he got home late at night.

Once the situation was under control, each time I boarded a local train, it was with a feeling of dread. Who knew, it could be my last trip. It became second nature to look under the seat, to see if there was anything stored there. I can tell you, it was not a pretty situation. Much has been said of the Mumbaite's resilience, but I don't know what it really is. Courage, resilience, or refusal to acknowledge the fear? I really don't know. But the stress of it was too much to bear, and I was so relieved to move out of Bombay.

This is not to say that other cities are safer. Not at all. Every city, why, every town can be a potential target for a terrorist. The politics of hate has made us all live under the cloud of fear. While we can assure ourselves that our loved ones are safe, my heart goes out to all those who died, people who were just doing their jobs, people who had taken a long-awaited holiday, people who were just having dinner with friends and family....May their souls rest in peace. And may this situation resolve itself sooner than later.

Random Thoughts. . . .

2008-10-20T08:39:00.000-07:00

It sure feels good to be missed! Thank you, Anju and Ravi, for enquiring why I haven't written anything in two months. Made my day, I must confess!

Fact is, I've been so tired out dealing with delinquent maids, disappearing cooks, and of course,trying to help my daughter. At the end of the day, I am so low on energy I can hardly think straight. On the other hand, I find my husband is able to keep his blog going even after a hard day's work at the office. I don't know if it is the difference between men and women (my younger women friends may get mad at me!) but I find I am so emotionally tied up with what happens that it becomes an effort to detach myself and sit down to write. Maybe that is something I should work on.

Finding the time and space to write, or do anything else, is so important. Especially when you are in the midst of family and official duties. It gives you a space, "me-time", that enriches you and makes you feel fulfilled and joyous. I know all that, but still get mired in the problems that crop up, and get stuck. From time to time, some kind friend has to tell me to get out of the muck and "follow my bliss".

I've also been thinking a lot about what I am writing. Sometimes, I find myself being influenced by Rada's writing that I think I should also write funny stuff. But humour cannot be forced; it has to be natural. Finding your voice is fundamental to good writing, and I know unless it comes from within, there is no life in your words. I have been wondering whether what I write makes any sense, whether it matters, whether I should write at all...That's why your messages were so reassuring! Thank you.

Exam fever

2008-08-19T08:35:00.000-07:00

Quite often these days, I think I am preparing for the X Board Exams! I'm sure a lot of parents might feel the same way, given the kind of pressure our children go through before they clear their school boards. Sad, for it need not be like that.

Tuitions, extra classes, projects, frequent tests notwithstanding, the stress starts for my daughter and her friends at assembly every day when the Principal starts the countdown - "How many more days for the Board exams?" and states the precise number of days left. Can you imagine what it must be like for the students of Class X? And how this stress will only build up through the day? My daughter has chewed off all the nails on her fingers, and her friends are in varying stages of exam-related stress.

When I was doing my X and XI (I was one of the last to do XI before the 10+2 system came into force), there was some pressure on me because I was so bad at Math. I was probably one of the few students in my class who went for tuition. I never told anyone in class that I was! Although we were often told that it was a crucial year, I don't think any of us faced the kind of pressure that children face today. The competition is intense, and if one desires to get into the college or course of one's choice, one has to go through this torture. Is it really worth it? Why do we push our children to the brink, and for what? To get a seat in some engineering or medical college?

For years, we have all been talking about reforms in education, including examinations, but very little has actually been done. We continue to have exams which only test a student's memory (all those lessons crammed at the last moment!) rather than his understanding of the subject. I think it is high time we brought in a whiff of fresh air into this stifling situation.I think it is also imperative because the old ways no longer work,especially for children with so-called "difficulties". Considering that around 10% of our school-going children are said to have some form of learning disability, isn't it time that we took such a step?

For those of us who continue to function within the system, and with a special-needs child(my daughter is dyslexic), it is frustrating to say the least. Even when we manage to get concessions and exemptions from the Board, they set crazy conditions which are almost impossible to fulfill. My daughter has been allowed to have a scribe to write her exams, but....it has to be a child who is younger to her. Now, which self-respecting middle-class Indian parent is going to let his or her child miss class and possibly an exam, to write for my daughter? For months now, we have been running round in circles, and only one child has offered to do so for 2 or 3 papers. Now we have to find another one.No wonder I am so stressed out these days!!

Going to the Movies

2008-07-09T08:14:00.000-07:00

As children, we were allowed to see only one movie a month. Another unwritten rule was that all four of us had to go together. With two older brothers who were interested in English movies, I ended up seeing only Hollywood films for a very long time. From "Mackenna's Gold" to "The Guns of Navarone" to "Patton" - we saw them all. My father would drop us off at the theatre and pick us up after the movie even if it was a busy day for him. In Coimbatore those days, most English movies were screened at Central Theatre or Rainbow. I remember we had once gone to see a movie at Central, and the elderly usher turned out to be my father's patient. During the intermission, he brought us tea in white porcelain cups, a rare treat!

Later this rule was relaxed, and I started accompanying my mother for Malayalam movies, usually for the morning show. During the 70's, most Malayalam films were tragedies, and I would come home with puffy red eyes and a terrible headache! Malayalam films were usually screened at Srinivas Theatre which was situated quite close to the railway line. Sometimes, during the movie, a train would whistle past and we would be forced to watch the movie without audible sound. Added to the ambience, I would say!

Seeing Tamil movies at our neighbourhood theatres Sivasakthi and Sri Valli were quite an experience. Sivasakthi had sofas for seats, quite convenient for a nap if the movie turned out to be a bore!Sri Valli has now become a department store while Rainbow and Srinivas have been demolished and given way to apartment blocks. Central has lost its glory and is a ghost of its former self. Newer theatre complexes have come up, and the very nature of the outing has changed.

Movie-going is still a rare treat. In Chennai, where I now live, a trip to the movies can set me back by a small fortune if one adds the car parking charges, popcorn, coffee and cola to the already inflated price of a movie ticket. These days, it is more economical for me to see movies on the TV or on DVD. But nothing can beat the thrill of seeing a movie in a darkened theatre, with the fringed satin curtains rising slowly over the screen.

The Power of One

2008-06-15T11:10:00.000-07:00

My earlier post on teachers seems to have hit a chord with a lot of people.All of them agree that teachers can, and do, influence children in innumerable ways. In this context, I would like to write about an exceptional teacher, "one in a million" as my daughter calls him -Dr.Madheswaran.

Madheswaran holds a Ph.D. in Tamil literature. It would have been perfectly normal for him to accept a post in some university, and be content to do his job. But Madheswaran has chosen to teach children, especially children in primary and elementary school. He is open to new ideas and methods of teaching and consequently, has been able to help children, who are not native speakers of Tamil, learn the language. I remember when my daughter needed extra help, he asked me for suggestions, and then developed a learning programme for her specifically designed to help her understand and progress. Knowing that she was learning Bharatanatyam, he made her perform for the pre-primary children and evaluated it as an oral examination! His observations about the children he teaches are not superficial;he understands each child in depth, what their needs are, and how they can be helped.

When he first came to school, the children were wont to tease him (as we all do with a new teacher). But over the years, he has won their respect, and today his Tamil play at the annual concert is the highlight of the show. He has an eye for detail, and great care goes into the rehearsal, the costumes, lighting, songs, and dances. It is a pleasure to watch the non-Tamil speaking children mouth their dialogues in chaste Tamil!

If that was all I had to say about Madheswaran, it would still be great. But he has gone further. Some time ago, along with a few friends of his, he started a Foundation. Being a teacher, and having equipped himself with Montessori teaching methods, he felt that he had to do something for children in the rural areas. City children had access to Montessori schools, which kindled their creativity and spontaneity, while rural children had a rough time even accessing basic education. In keeping with this idea, the Foundation chose to start their school in a remote village near Madurai called Sendurai. It has not been easy to find or train teachers in the Montessori principles, nor has it been easy to get a place for the school.

At present the school functions in a rented place, and hopes to start construction on their schoolhouse this year. Funds are trickling in. Friends, parents and students of Madheswaran contributed, by donating puzzles, picture books, books to read, workbooks, and the school where he works gave him Montessori materials. Every weekend, Madheswaran travels from Chennai to Madurai to supervise, and to help the teachers who manage the school in his absence. He feels that these village children, exposed to the Montessori methods, stand a good chance of fitting into, and staying on in school. During the summer holidays, his school continued to function, for the children wanted to come! As he told me, "it truly is a Montessori house of children", not just a school.

What strikes me most in this story is the fact that even one person can make a difference. Madheswaran could have had a quiet, unruffled academic life. Instead, he has chosen to reach out and help children from the poorest and weakest sections of society. So often, faced with a situation or problem that demands a response from us, we ask 'what can one person do?' Madheswaran has just shown us that we can, each one of us, if we only had the heart to do so.

Back To School!

2008-05-31T21:46:00.000-07:00

In a couple of days, our children will be back in school, beginning a new school year. I can almost hear the sigh of relief from many harried mothers!

Talking of school days, one cannot avoid talking about teachers. They play such an important role in our lives. The way they teach, their love of the subject - all these influence our attitude towards the subjects we study.

In this context, I remember some wonderful teachers I have had in school and college ( and some unsavoury ones, too!) Dear rolypoly Mrs. Samson, with her infectious smile and love for English who made us laugh so much while we read "The Pickwick Papers"; who led us through the nuances of Shakespeare and imparted a love for English literature. I think it was her influence that led me to major in the subject later. Our Geography teacher, Snehaprabha, was good, but we were more interested in the fact that she had eloped with her drummer husband against the wishes of her rich parents. Quite filmy! Physics and Chemistry I don't remember much, probably because I could not relate to the teachers. But the worst was Math. Miss Asuntha was a dragon, and must have received our curses on a daily basis. With maturity, I know today that she must have been a very unhappy woman, for only someone very unhappy can make others so unhappy.

School is not entirely a golden period in our lives, although we would like to think so. While working with middle-school children, my friends and I realised that children go through so much - academic pressure, labelling and bullying, being accepted (or not) by the groups in class, rejection and loneliness. Each child we worked with had problems. It was left to us - a group of volunteers from outside- to interact and work with the children while the teachers just did their "job" and went away.

I know they have a lot of work, and today teaching is just a profession, not a calling. But if more and more teachers were involved in the lives of their students, things can change in our schools. I recently read an article by Gloria Estefan. She talks of how difficult it was for her, as an immigrant from Cuba, to learn English and fit into school. Her struggle to master the language and to achieve, were helped by her first standard teacher Dorothy Collins, who did not just teach her a language, but helped her find her voice.How wonderful if we could each have a Mrs.Collins in our lives...

Music, and more. . .

2008-05-13T00:01:00.000-07:00

Growing up in the 60's and 70's, our main source of entertainment was the radio. After the early morning Suprabatham which woke us up from sleep, it was the radio that ran our lives. I would know when a certain programme started that it was time to queue up for a bath (sharing a bathroom with 3 siblings called for a certain amount of planning!), or when the news started at 8, it was time to get out of the house or else I would miss the bus.

In our house, the radio was on most of the day. At 3.30 p.m., however, we would switch loyalties and tune into Radio Ceylon. Till 4.30 or 5, it would be a feast of Malayalam film songs, and later it would be Tamil programmes. With the advent of the transistor radio, it was easier for us to carry our music with us wherever we went, although tuning the radio station was sometimes a nightmare!

Unlike song clips on television, the radio sharpened our auditory faculties. Listening to the songs, we picked up the words quite easily and sang along happily, even if we did go off-key sometimes. The presenters, unlike our RJs, did not talk non-stop. They were dignified, clear in their diction, and had great panache. I remember the popular Tamil presenter on Radio Ceylon, K.S.Raja, signing off in style, rolling the "R" in his name.

Sometimes we got more than music on the radio. At times, a film's entire soundtrack would be broadcast. Since movie-going was not a frequent activity, I would sit glued to the radio, listening to every word as I visualized the movie in my head. I distinctly remember listening to "Thiruvilayadal", "Pattikada Pattanama", and "Sollathan Ninaikkiren" among others. It also helped that films those days were more "wordy", leaving nothing left unsaid. Later in life, when I finally saw these movies, I realized that the movies in my head were better!

I'm glad radio has staged a comeback, but it is a newer, brasher version and I still have to get used to it. It also, unfortunately, has to compete with the visually more attractive television and internet and can no longer claim complete integration into our lives. No wonder our poor RJs talk so much!

The dreaded summer holidays!

2008-04-30T05:22:00.000-07:00

When the schools closed in early April, a friend said in a rather resigned tone, "I have to keep my children occupied for 50 days". I was surprised that she was so precise about the number of days, and at her attitude. I later realised that she was not alone in thinking so (sometimes, even I think of the holidays with dread!).

I remember, as a child, the summer vacation was one we looked forward to with glee. Two months of playing, and no studying at all! There were no summer camps or classes, and it was the only time parents did not tell you to study. I have fond memories of summer vacations at my grandmother's house, where all the cousins would have gathered. We were a group of twelve, and it was a wonderful period of bonding.

Even today, when we meet (which is not very often), we can recollect memories of those holidays, and laugh at the pranks we played, and the scrapes we got into. We were out playing, even in the afternoons, but there were enough trees to shade us from the harsh summer sun, and our houses were cool and shady with long verandahs. I can't remember getting a sunstroke, or feeling sick playing in the sun.

I really can't blame children feeling bored today. We live in small apartments, and most of the lovely trees have been cut down. Confined to small rooms, without much space to play, what can we expect them to do? How much of TV or computer games can you play? My family is today scattered over three continents, and school holidays do not always synchronize. Consequently, there are no annual meetings or get-togethers, and keeping in touch with the family requires a certain effort.

Life indeed has changed. While I understand the need for summer camps and classes to keep children occupied, I feel sorry for the present generation of children who may never know the joys of simply doing nothing.

The Magic of Vishu

2008-04-18T07:34:00.000-07:00

Every year I look forward to Vishu, the Malayalam New Year.

As children, we would enthusiastically help my mother arrange the vishukani, the auspicious items that we are supposed to see first thing in the morning on Vishu. She would spread rice on a large plate, arrange betel leaves and arecanuts on top in a special way. Over this she would spread her special collection of one rupee coins, saved up for this occasion! On top of all this, she would arrange her beautiful jewellery.

Around the rice plate (traditionally a bronze uruli), we would arrange the nava dhaniams in small bowls- all the cereals and pulses that form an integral part of our diet. Seasonal fruits and vegetables - jackfruit, mangoes, raw bananas, yam and golden vellarikai - would be tastefully arranged around. A shower of golden cassia fistula (konna poovu) would be kept on top and the whole would be reflected in an artfully placed mirror.Looking over all this with a beautiful smile would be an idol of Krishna or a picture of Lord Guruvayoorappan decorated with flower garlands.

Early in the morning, before sunrise, my father would feel his way to the pooja room, light the lamp, and gazing at the kani, pray for abundance in the coming year. I remember being woken up by my mother, gently telling us to keep our eyes closed. We would be led to the kani, and only then were we allowed to open our eyes. I have always found that scene so magical. In the darkness of the pre-dawn hours, the glowing light of the lamp glistening on the gold jewellery casts a magical aura that is hard to describe.

After the kani kaanal comes the best part - the kai neetom when young people are given money. As children, we looked forward to that, and I remember saving up all my money, only to have it borrowed by my brother who would 'forget' to return it later!

Today I continue the tradition, especially for my daughter. Together, we arrange the vishukani the previous night and I am usually the one who sees the kani first. Often I have been troubled, and literally at the bottom of the pit, with no way in sight. But when I light that lamp in the darkness which casts a golden glow on everything around, and gaze at the benevolent face of the Lord, my troubles vanish and hope springs within. It is as if He assures me that He is there to take care, to walk with me, and to hold my hand through this difficult time. A ray of hope that dispels the darkness of despair.

That, to me, is the real magic of Vishu.

On writing a Blog...

2008-04-12T09:07:00.000-07:00

When I decided to start a blog, I really had no idea what I would write, or how often I would post. It seemed a wonderful way to share my thoughts with the world, and maybe find some kindred souls out there in cyberspace.

My first post happened quite by chance - I took a walk down a lane and experienced a moment of awareness, what they call 'satori'. I sent off a couple of mails to a few friends, and that was it. The other two posts happened in the same way. A chance remark, an incident, these were enough to trigger a train of thought that flowed out as words on the page.

The problem is, when you start writing a blog, there are any number of people to advice you on what you should write. If I express an interest in the origin of place names in Chennai, "why don't you write about that?" says a friend. Or I look at an old house and feel a sense of nostalgia, then another friend tells me to write about that. But I am no expert on any of these subjects, and writing about things I don't know much about is not my idea of what my blog should be.

As I mentioned to a friend, I want to let the writing happen, to flow on its own, to be spontaneous. I have nothing against planning a series of posts or linking them together. In fact, I find that very interesting. But I don't want to look at everything in my life as material for my blog and not be there, in that moment, experiencing that emotion, that incident.

So, sometimes, there could be days when nothing comes, when there is a block in my thought process, when the words will not flow. That is alright, for if I do not panic and if I am patient,I will be able to go past the block, and realize the true meaning of that obstacle, how it has made me more strong and more aware.

The "Wassup" Generation

2008-03-30T02:54:00.000-07:00

Recently, I had just started chatting online with a friend when she wrote 'brb' and disappeared. Now, what on earth was brb? I tried adding vowels to make it blurb,burb but nothing made sense. My daughter was mortified when I told her later. "How could you be so dumb? Brb means 'be right back' ". Oh...

Welcome to the "Wassup" generation, a bunch of highly inventive and original spellers! Their conversations generally start with "Hey, wassup" or "Yo, sup?". Sounds Greek and Latin to me! Actually, they are in such a tearing hurry to communicate, that they don't want to waste time spelling out words!

At one point, the "wassup" syndrome was so bad that my daughter was writing 'abt' for 'about' and 'u' for 'you' in her school essays until the English teacher put her foot down! Another problem is that there is no standard abbreviation or short form to use. Each person comes up with a different way of spelling that it is a wonder the internet has not become a Tower of Babel!

The problem is compounded because my daughter uses my mobile phone sometimes, and the messages she receives are hilarious (at least to me)! Actually, I should thank them for helping me keep Alzheimer's at bay, for I am really using my brain cells to decipher what my messages mean!

This phenomenon is not confined to the young. I have a friend, a Professor of English in a suburban college, who happily forgets all the rules of grammar that she painstakingly teaches her students, when she sends messages. I must confess I find them the most difficult to read.

So, here I am, a dinosaur among the mobile-literate! I am not able to find the connection between 'wz' and 'with' or 'crpn' with 'carpenter', but never mind. It is never too late to learn. I still have to type out my messages in full, with proper punctuation, but I am learning, I am learning.....
So, bi, c u l8r!

Metamorphosis

2008-03-19T20:10:00.000-07:00

I am always fascinated by the growth of cities.
What starts of as a group of dwellings, probably near a water-body like a lake or a river, grows into this monstrously large city with suburbs like tentacles that are mini-cities by themselves. It is amazing. I don't know much about the history of Besant Nagar but when I had visited it in the early 1980's, there was not much activity except for the Velankanni church and the beach.The beach itself was a quiet place, nothing like what it seems now. Besant Nagar has morphed from the sleepy retirement haven into a 'happening' place. I guess people moved here for peace and quiet, away from the bustling city. Not much peace and quiet now, except in pockets.

Thiruvanmiyur, where I live, has a history that pre-dates Chennai. This village, along with Mylapore and Tiruvottiyur, are ancient.The Marundeeswarar temple,once the focal point of the village, has lost much to development. The East Coast Road cuts through its property, leaving a rather lonely Valmiki shrine in the middle of the busy highway. The city has grown around, and eaten into, the village and the temple.

But once in a way, we are forced to step back. This Sivaratri (Mar.6) was one such day. Suddenly, barricades sprung up around the temple, and traffic was re-routed to allow devotees free access to the temple. We had to drive round and round in order to reach home from Besant Nagar,a journey that took me 40 minutes for a distance normally covered in 10 minutes!

Stuck in a traffic jam and unable to move, we were naturally angry and upset.But in a moment of clarity,I thought it was only right that at least once in a way, we stop to understand and appreciate the culture and heritage of our neighbourhood.In our mad rush towards "development",let us not forget the past.

A Quiet Lane

2008-03-12T22:21:00.000-07:00

Today I took a walk down a quiet, shady lane, and went back in time.

I had not taken my car today, and after class at Besant Nagar, thought I would walk up to the nearest ATM. I walked down a lane that I must have zipped through numerous times, and only today I really saw it. Intent on driving safely, I had not noticed the old genteel houses, or the apartments built to blend into the greenery. Lovely old trees spread their branches across the road, diffusing the sunlight. It reminded me of the lovely lanes of my childhood in Madurai and Coimbatore, when life was still simple, and it was safe to play on the streets.

The silence was soothing, broken only gently by the conversation of the ironing man on the roadside with the maid who had just come to dump the garbage. I walked down, enjoying the sights and sounds (or lack of them).

Further down the street, I was surprised to see an old house had been pulled down. I had not come here for a month, and in that time, the house had been reduced to dust, the aluminium sheets had been put up around the plot, and a sign board announced the launching of a new housing project.

Each house that is pulled down takes with it memories of a different era, when we had the time and inclination to build houses not just to live in, but to bequeath to our children. They were big, not to impress the neighbours (well,maybe!), but also to house our large extended families. Soon, a large apartment complex will come up, and new cars will zip up and down this quiet lane. And it will not be quiet anymore.

Ah, such is life!