Back To School!

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. . .

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!

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

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...

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

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

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.