Threads of connectivity

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!

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

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. . . .

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

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

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.

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.

A Quiet Lane

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!