Going to the Movies

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

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!

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.