tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298580772024-03-07T15:11:47.772+05:30Hip Hop GrandmomA 65 year old, grandma of four, mother of three, daughter of two and wife of one. I'm also a writer, botanist, teacher and volunteer.Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.comBlogger354125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-26253619739002183022020-12-07T15:59:00.001+05:302020-12-07T16:04:48.387+05:30Mother of tags<a href="http://abouttimenow.blogspot.com/">Artnavy </a>has tagged me to write a post on being a mother. She was tagged by <a href="http://boosbabytalk.blogspot.com/2009/04/around-world-in-80-clicks-sounds-cool.html">Boo</a> who in turn was tagged by <a href="http://badladies.blogspot.com/2009/03/world-according-to-mom.html">HBM</a> who is hoping to connect blogging Mothers all over the world in 80 clicks. The rules are-
Just write a post of your own (5 things that you love about being a mom) and find someone to link to and tag - someone from your own country, if you like, but definitely someone from another country - and link back here and leave a comment.
It feels strange to write about my experience as a mom now that I’ve become a grand mom 4 times over and have almost forgotten what it felt like being a mom. I’ll try my best but can’t promise to do a great job of it.
I became a mom first and a wife and daughter in law later. Now before your devious minds start imagining things let me add that I only became and daughter in law in a real sense only after my daughter Priya was born. My post ‘<a href="http://hiphopgmom.blogspot.com/2006/07/striking-roots-part-i.html">striking roots’ </a> in three parts, reflects my mood as a young girl in a strange situation and was never a part of the family I married into till my little girl arrived. And her arrival helped me bond with the very people who were strangers to me till she arrived on the scene. Suddenly my MIL became my ‘amma’ and my sister in law a dear friend. To my sister in law Priya was the sister she had lost to accident years back and the whole family was dancing to her tune. My schizophrenic brother in law was never vocal but his affection for the child had to be seen to be believed. Thanks to Priya till date I share a rapport with my in laws and I love them all as much as I love my own family. I am sure my in laws felt that way too.
If Priya ensured that I found acceptance from my family it was my second daughter Prasanna who helped me bond with my husband. Yes, one can be a wife and yet not be one. Circumstances forced me to leave my 6 month old child, recovering from a bout of pneumonia, with my mother for a whole year. With her weak sight my mother could not have handled the responsibility of raising a six month old child. It was my sister Vijaya who pitched in to help.It was not easy either. The child would fall sick and visit to the doctor, administering medicines were all responsibilities that my sister took up apart from giving her food and generally keeping an eye on her. I missed watching her take her first step, speak her first word and God knows how much I missed her. My sister used to keep me updated with news about the child. We did not have a telephone connection then and it was only through letters that I got to learn about her progress. Waiting with me for letters from Gobichettipalayam was my husband whose first question when he returned from work would be if there was any news from Gobi about his darling daughter. We would go through the letter over and over again and imagine the situations described in the letter. If my sister in law helped me raise Priya, it was my sister who took care of her even without me being present.
I had until then known him to be a dutiful son but he suddenly became an affectionate father and a concerned husband. He also began to bond with my family when my second daughter was left in their care and today my siblings and their better halves take his side and ditch me whenever they get a chance. Very bad of them, don’t you think so too?
Bringing up my son Rahul was an entirely different experience. By the time he was born my MIL had passed away, sister in law was married and busy raising her own children and I had to bring him up on my own. Mrs. Sinha who lived in the flat below ours was my deputy and he only had to cry a little and she’d come running to find out what was wrong. He’d call Mr. Sinha ‘ uncle papaji’ and spend a good deal of his time in their house. I started working full time when he turned two and it was Mrs. Sinha who made sure that he ate his food properly and generally kept an eye on him when I was away.
Thanks to my children, I was able to understand the joy of being part of a joint family and it give me immense pleasure to remember the love and affection showered on them by one and all.
They’ve risen to the occasion and have supported me when I needed them if they had any complaints at least they’ve kept it to themselves.
What are they up to now one may ask? How does it feel to be the mother of grown up children?
Well, now I wonder if I am their mother or if it is the other way around.
They are now my guardian angels. Their weekly phone call begins with ‘Did you go for your walk? Are you careful about your diet’? Their concern is touching.
They are my friends. The three of them just have to get together and we can talk till midnight and I get regularly treated to their view on a good number of issues.
I love them because I see an extension of myself in them. Priya and Rahul for their love for books. Prasanna for her patience and perseverance. I just cannot imagine life without them and to me motherhood has been a wonderful experience.
Being busy with their lives they do not get time to read my blog which is good in a way. I don’t want them to get puffed up with pride so we won’t tell them anything about what I really think of them would we?
Now I have to tag people.
I tag
<a href="http://agelessbonding.blogspot.com/">Usha </a>of agelessbonding to share her experiences as the mother of an only son.
<a href="http://tiny-tidbits.blogspot.com/">Gauri </a>of tiny tidbits whose children seem to be little charms. Also she lives in Hong Kong so that way I’d be tagging someone living in a foreign country.
<a href="http://monikamanchanda15.blogspot.com/">Monika</a> who I am sure has a lot to share about her experiences as the mother of Ojas.
<a href="http://dotmm.blogspot.com/">Dotm</a> of dot’s thoughts for being the most experienced of us all.
And finally <a href="http://eveslungs.blogspot.com/">eve’s lung </a>who has been quiet for quite sometime now.
There are other wonderful mothers out there and if anyone else like JLT or Rajk wishes to take it up please do so.Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-8732546491239843202019-04-27T14:55:00.000+05:302019-04-27T14:56:31.660+05:30Gobi Chronicles - 4<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Gobi Chronicles - 4<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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I had decided to dedicate a
separate post to Moopachi – the house help who worked for more than 40 years in
Vembathy House. As a child I could not imagine the cleaning of Vembathy House
being taken up by anyone else. Loud mouthed but efficient is the way I would
describe her. She exercised an authority over us as much as over her
grandchildren who could not get away with shoddy work. She considered the house
as her own. They had to clean the cowshed, sweep and swab, empty leftover food into
vessels of their own and soak them in water to be washed by their grandmother. She
would supervise their work and would let them leave for school only after they
finished their assigned chores to her satisfaction.</div>
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As a teenager I would be asked to
help her with washing clothes. Those were days when detergents were unheard of
and one had to apply sunlight soap on the clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Washing clothes by beating them on a stone
fixed near the well and scrubbing extra dirty parts with her hands she’d wash
and rinse them clean and dry them out on the clothesline without a crease. One
could not find fault with her work. It was her constant chattering (read
grumbling) that one had to ignore. No one actually paid attention to her.</div>
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Moopachi had 4 children. Two boys
and two girls. Her husband worked as a farm hand who climbed up palm trees and
plucked coconuts. I don’t remember ever seeing him. The story goes that Moopachi’s
daughter Kanni was widowed at the age of sixteen and my maternal grandmother
cried for days together thinking of the kind of life destiny had dished out to
her. She had a four month old son to look after. I wouldn’t know if Moopachi
helped her with money but I was amused at her patriarchal mindset when her
granddaughter (son’s daughter)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dhana
married her grandson (daughter’s son). </div>
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Once Dhana got married she was
forbidden to work for us the reason being that she was now married and the
privilege of working for our family belonged to her son’s family. </div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“She is not our responsibility anymore”</i>. She would say when I asked
about Dhana. </div>
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The leftover food, cow dung to be
dried and used as fuel or as manure and the dry palm leaves that she took home
would be given to her son’s family. So also were given tamarind, lentils and pickle from
the previous year’s stock once a fresh consignment arrived. So what if she was
not on talking terms with her daughter in law, all the hand me down saris and
children’s clothes would be duly handed over to her !</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“But Kanni is your widowed daughter! How can you grudge her the benefit
of stuff like used clothes, cow dung or dry palm leaves?” </i>I’d ask.</div>
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Her reply set me thinking.</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I had to let her find her way. If I had helped her out she would never
have learnt to fend for herself and her son. My sons would have resented her
presence in our house. Today she has her self respect intact and shares a good
bond with her brothers and their wives. They will there for her at the time of
need even when I am long gone.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“But you don’t even talk to your daughter in law and yet you keep track
of their requirements.”</i> I found it difficult to understand the equation in
their family. </div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Oh, yes. We do quarrel but she is still my son’s wife. If I fall sick
she is the one who’d look after me. So why should I not think of her welfare?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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I admit that I still do not
understand the logic behind letting a widowed daughter fend for herself and
helping a son who was earning enough to support his family. But society was
perhaps different sixty years ago. She was perhaps investing in her own future
by being helpful to her son’s family.</div>
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Soon after my marriage Moopachi
stopped working for us. But her granddaughters continued to work for us till
they got married. </div>
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I had left my daughter in Gobi
with my mother for a year when she was just six months old. Moopachi’s
granddaughters would pester their mother to hurry up with milking their cow and
bring fresh cow’s milk for her to drink early in the morning. They would play
with her for a while after finishing their work. When I brought her back to
Jamshedpur, I was surprised to receive a letter from Kannamma (Moopachi’s
granddaughter) who was perhaps in class 8 or 9.</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Don’t let her play in water” </i>she had written.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> “She easily catches a cold. “</i></div>
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She went on to describe how much
everyone in our joint family missed her. All our neighbors were upset that the
child was sent back.</div>
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She ended the letter with the
following line-</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“She was such a good kid. Looking after her was no trouble at all. We
all miss her a lot. The house seems empty without her. Please bring her over as
soon as possible. We would love to have her in our midst”.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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I was in tears on reading her
letter. The grandmother worked for us and watched my mother and her siblings
grow and settle down in life. We were like family to her. The same spirit
prevailed in her grandchildren too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After Moopachi’s granddaughters got married some others worked for Vembathy
house. But the bond was missing. My own visits became less frequent. I miss the
days when house helps were like family. They welcomed us on our arrival. They
were there to see us off. </div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Take care, Come again”.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></div>
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This was what our maternal uncle,
aunt and cousins said. But it was also what Moopachi, Pavayee and the entire
neighborhood said. It is the affection showered on us by these simple folks that draws me to Gobi
even after 46 years of life in Jamshedpur. I am lucky to have hired domestic
helps who have bonded with me like family. It was mainly due to the respect my
mother and aunts accorded to those who worked for us that I was able to extend
it to people who worked for me. I am glad to say that I have passed it on to my
children too. They are our lifeline. They neither complain about the monotony
that sets in when they sweep, swab and clean nor do we think of it as worth a
mention. Only when they take a day off do we realize their worth and value. </div>
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Moopachi must be smiling from up
above to see me, now a grandmother of 4 adorable grandkids, fondly remembering the
days gone by when she’d buzz in and out of Vembathy House.</div>
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923596553558938547noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-42035831874148859422019-04-03T22:32:00.000+05:302019-04-04T06:22:47.747+05:30Gobi Chronicles -3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Gobi Chronicles -3<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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I begin the
third episode of Gobi Chronicles with two people who worked for us when I was a
teenager. The cook Narayana Mama and the domestic help Moopacchi. I have
mentioned them in an earlier<a href="https://hiphopgmom.blogspot.com/2007/12/going-back-in-time-happy-new-year-all.html"> post. </a></div>
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I have already
said that Gobi and Vembathy House has a kind of inclusive air that welcomes
each newcomer into its fold and in no time the new entrants become part of the
family. Narayana mama was no exception. Before he took up his service as the cook
in Vembathy House the kitchen and cooking was taken care of by Ganapathy Mama
but I don’t remember much about him.</div>
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Narayana Mama
was a native of Madurai. He lived alone in a small outhouse adjoining the well.
His entire salary of Rs. 40/- per month was sent by money order to his wife in
Madurai. I wouldn’t know if Thatha gave him any ‘petty cash’ or pocket money
but he seemed to be quite happy and content with all his needs being taken care
of except perhaps his addiction to snuff! </div>
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Narayana mama
was appointed as cook but soon proved himself as ‘Jack of all trades’. He loved
Kamakshi mami like a daughter. He was very fond of my cousin Balaji and took it
upon himself to keep him engaged while mami took a nap and rested in the
afternoon. He attended to practically any and everything from trimming the
wicks of the kerosene stove or standing in a line to get sugar and kerosene oil
that was distributed at the ration shop. During summer vacations Vembathy House
would be teeming with grandchildren apart from those who lived there because
their fathers had transferable jobs and thatha offered to school them in Gobi.
Narayana mama would cook for the family without a frown on his face and one
quite forgot that he was a paid help. I have fond memories of the sweets and
savories he would prepare for me to take back to my hostel. </div>
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Narayana mama was
a staunch supporter of Rajaji and voted for Swatantra party during elections. Our
domestic help Moopachi belonged to the Nadar community and Kamaraj Nadar was a
respected politician from the Congress party. Narayana mama could indulge in
heated discussions about the merits of Swatantra Party and the demerits of
Congress. Ladle in hand he could rush into my grandfather’s office to offer his
opinion on political issues and blame Moopachi’s anna(older brother) Kamaraj
Nadar for anything that went wrong. I was never into politics but I would find
it amusing to see him discuss politics with Moopachi! The poor woman hardly
understood government policies and political issues but was not the one to back
off and let her ‘anna’ be blamed. She’d respond in the only way she could by
claiming that the coffee he gave her tasted like gutter water!</div>
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“So you know how
gutter water tastes” Mama would gloat. “The entire family feeds on our leftover
food and she has the gumption to find fault with my coffee”.</div>
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For all their
outward show of animosity Moopachi and Narayana Mama also had a mutual concern
for each other. After helping their grandmother Moopachi’s grandchildren would eat
the food left over from the previous night’s dinner before leaving for school.
So mama would prepare a little extra to ensure that they had enough to eat. </div>
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My dad was ill
and was to be operated at the military hospital in New Delhi. My mother who was
in Jalandhar was in a fix as to where my younger brothers aged 5 and 3 could be
left for her to be able to be by my father’s side. Narayana Mama relieved her, offering to look after the children. He had to change trains at Madras and
Delhi to reach Jalandhar. It was winter time, he knew no Hindi and with his smattering
knowledge of English and no one to receive him at Delhi he reached Jalandhar
around midnight to take charge of two pre-school kids. This proved that he
could not only rise to the occasion but also that he considered all of us to be
his kith and kin. Unfortunately he took ill soon after and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>after 10 years of selfless service, thatha had
to send him back to his family in Madurai. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Domestic help is
hard to find these days and I happen to be one of the lucky ones. All those who
ever worked for me have been dry honest and wouldn’t pick up and pocket a
safety pin lying around. I meant to write about Moopachi in this post but the
woman who worked for our family for over forty years deserves a separate post.
So more in a later post.</div>
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923596553558938547noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-17006192886160371882019-03-26T21:04:00.001+05:302019-03-26T21:15:22.789+05:30The Lazy Me...........<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I am a reluctant shopper. I really am. I have a few
indulgent friends who help me shop for clothes and accessories. Very often I don’t
even go myself and let them pick up stuff on my behalf. For veggies and grocery
I drive my husband to the market, park the car under a tree and read a book or
the day’s newspaper. He happily does the marketing. The reason for this is my
husband’s choice of time. He likes to shop around 12 noon which is the hottest
time of the day. He says that fresh vegetables arrive at the market around that
time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To my credit I must say that I am
easy to please and have no complaints against his choice. When we are done and
return home we have to deal with school buses and vans and auto rickshaws, loaded
with children, as well as the company employees speeding up to arrive at their
workplace for the afternoon shift. So I truly find even the minimum shopping (of
the absolutely essential kind) cumbersome. As far as grocery and
vegetable/fruits are concerned husband would veto the idea of door delivery. I
order books and test strips for my glucometer from Amazon. Haven’t tried
clothes and accessories yet.</div>
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So when my son and daughter in law launched <a href="http://chicshop.in/">chicshop.in</a> in
Mumbai I couldn’t help wishing that such a service was available in Jamshedpur.
It combines online shopping with a personal interaction with stylists over
Whatsapp who send images of the item and give one an idea not only about the
material but also other choices for their requirement available in the same or nearby store. A local delivery
service delivers stuff picked up before 12:30 PM on the same day while orders
after noon are dispatched on the following day. It is a boon for mothers of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>toddlers and school going children, working
women as well as men who would appreciate a little help while planning a
surprise gift for their women. Grandmothers like me nursing an arthritic knee
can use the service to lavish gifts on their grandchildren, nieces, daughters
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So while I wish my son all the best in his endeavor I also
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923596553558938547noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-61950061653539095412019-03-22T22:46:00.002+05:302019-04-02T20:05:39.753+05:30The Spice of Life - 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Spice of Life -2<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I have decided to write again. Hibernation over and back to
action. I begin as usual with my favorite topic “The Spice of My Life”. Yes,
you’ve guessed it. MDH and his regular habit of driving me nuts.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
My husband is plumber, mason and electrician all rolled in
one. No, I have no problem with it at all. I gave up any effort to get someone
to fix leaky taps and broken tiles long back. He will not hear of it and insist
on doing it himself. I am secretly in awe of his interest in learning new
skills but we won’t tell him that right now. He will get all puffed up and try
his hand on yet another new venture.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“So what’s your problem”? you may ask. None at all if he
worked on his own. He needs an assistant and who else would be willing to dance
to his tune except me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Let me explain…….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The condenser of the ceiling fan had to be replaced. Till
about a fortnight ago we didn’t need the fan. Now that summer’s here fans need
to run at full speed. He got the condenser from the store and set about
replacing it. The center table was brought in and positioned below the fan. A
stool was placed on top of it and MDH climbed over it. I was concerned about
his safety and to be able to hold the stool I asked him to give me a minute to
finish my cooking……………</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"It won’t take more than a minute" was his response. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I switched off the gas and dutifully held the stool while constantly craning my neck to see what he was up to. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Get me the screw driver”…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Which one? You have screw drivers of four sizes”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“The red one”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“The long red or small red”?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“You’ve seen me at work all your life and yet you ask”….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
A part of me – the wicked me - felt like leaving him right
there to get back to my cooking. But his safety was also a concern. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Will you be safe while I fetch your tool box”? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I decided to get the entire thing to be able to hand him a
screw driver or spanner of his choice. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
That done he next asks for a torch. I truly get bugged when
at the age of 76 he stands with his head a foot above the fan asking for one or
the other thing. I am in perpetual fear of his getting hurt.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A torch, a blade, a screw
driver or an adhesive tape – the list is long. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
We then start quarreling like school children.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I am asked to flash the torch at an angle suitable to him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“You are blocking the light” I say. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
He has to get down and re-position the center table/stool
combo. He climbs up and I flash the torch again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
After 4 to 6 trials he gets frustrated and takes the torch
from me and holding the screw driver between his teeth flashes the torch
himself. Once the location of the old condenser is identified he returns the
torch to me and with proper instruction I manage to get the angle right. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Handing him the blade and taking it back…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The long screw driver once and the smaller one later…..</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Constantly looking up is painful in the actual and
figurative sense…..</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Worrying about his safety has my blood pressure soaring…….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Finally after half an hour the task that was meant to be
accomplished in a minute gets over and he climbs down beaming with satisfaction. I wonder if it wasn't easier to get an electrician to do it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
To top it he asks if lunch was ready and when I ask to be
given a couple of minutes...….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
His response is-</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“What were you doing all this while”?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Dancing to your music” is my reply.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
And I hope you agree that I was doing just that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923596553558938547noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-52513292497156473482017-10-25T22:08:00.000+05:302017-10-25T22:08:35.405+05:30Gup shup ??<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Long since I wrote anything. In the initial years of blogging I would find something or the other to write about. The blog became a platform to express my views and to connect with like minded people across the world. I made a few friends some of whom are my Facebook friends now. Somehow blogging is no longer the passion it used to be ten years ago. I wrote for Women’s web too. These days I seem to be doing nothing. My arthritic knee keeps troubling me and a morning stroll is all I seem to manage. The house is clamouring for attention and I keep postponing the minimum cleaning it deserves.<br />
<br />
I sometimes wonder what's gotten into me. Nothing seems to interest me. It's ages since I listened to music. Yesudas was a favourite. I used to love his Krishna and Ayyappa songs. I enjoyed the wit and humour in Jayantisri ‘s talks that dealt with topics that interest me too. I am not into reading books. At least not as much as I used to. The last book I read was Sita by Amish and that was two months back. I have a book by Tom Wolf that I want to complete reading having startedit. It is interesting. But reading 735 pages in fine print may not be a challenge I can or want to take up. I think I will look for something less daunting.<br />
<br />
I need to shake myself out of this state of inertia. To start with I think I will shorten the nightie that my daughter gave me and alter the Kameez that is a wee bit loose around the chest. And I am going to work at making myself look presentable each evening. All those starched and ironed saris in my wardrobe need to be aired out and what better way than to wear them in turns. But then I always associate getting dressed up with going out. In the comfort of my home I just cannot get decked up. I need to wear soft, loose and comfortable dresses. If I dress up in an ironed sari I need to go out. But the thought of climbing down the stairs puts me off. At least for me climbing down is harder than climbing up. Maybe once our lift is installed I may socialize more. I had plans of starting a small interactive session for ladies who wish to get comfortable with spoken English which could later get transformed to a place where they could exchange notes regarding house keeping and counsel each other about problems faced by them with teenaged children and a demanding school curriculum. This would keep me engaged and my saris would be put to use. Hopefully our lift would get installed soon.<br />
<br />
I wonder if this happens to others too? After years of busy schedule and active life why this slow down? Do I miss my work life so much that nothing seems to replace it? Or is it just a part of the ageing process?<br />
Whatever it is I need to get going. This is certainly not the kind of life I want to lead. Wish me luck. Once I get active I may have more to write in my blog.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-36832206595002637432017-06-29T22:48:00.001+05:302017-06-29T22:54:31.360+05:30Domestic violence -The other side of the story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Amma,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I am not sure if this letter will
be well received. You are bound to feel upset and I won’t be surprised if you
call me a ‘hen pecked’ husband. But I have to make my point and leave it to you
to save the situation if you feel that I am right. Or rather that I am not
wrong.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Point no. 1- </b>Mine was not a love
marriage. You chose Rashmi for me and I went by your choice. You wanted a fair,
well educated girl from a decent upper middle class family to take charge of
the household after you. I had no say in the matter and was regularly told that
you and appa as parents would select a girl who would double up for the
daughter you never had. It is quite another thing that you were supposed to
bring me a wife – not a sister. Till today I have not complained. Yes, she has
her shortcomings but then I have mine too. In the two year of our marriage we
are still getting to know each other. Why don’t you do the same and try to
understand things from her perspective? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Point no. 2. –</b> Is it fair that
you expect her to cook a fresh meal three times a day considering the long
hours she puts in at her office? You won’t let her hire someone to cook, you
will neither let me help nor offer to help her yourself and yet find fault with
her for not serving a freshly cooked five course meal for dinner. To top it you
find the ‘dal’ salty and the ‘sabzi’ bland. How can you expect a girl who spent
six years in two different hostels to take over the entire responsibility of
running a household as per your terms? She needs time to pick up our ways.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Point no. 3 </b>– Why do you bring up
her parents all the time? It is always <i>‘her mother didn’t teach her to cook’</i> or
<i>‘her father pampered her so much that she hasn’t learnt to adjust’</i>. You never
seem satisfied with the gifts they lavish on me. The suit they gave for my
first Deepavali was <i>‘not worth giving to our driver’</i> and the diamond ring <i>‘had
to be cross checked at our jewelers for its worth’ </i>after all <i>‘it may not be
real diamonds’</i>. Do gifts really matter? It is just a token gesture. Don't I earn enough?How does it matter? If you keep on finding
fault with everything they do, will she ever bond with you? They are her
parents. She left her home and parents to share her life with me. But that does
not mean that she is no longer their daughter. You resent the phone call she
makes to her people, you resent the occasional outing that she plans with her
friends and it may not be wrong to say that you resent her very presence in our
house. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
You were not like this before.
How has the equation changed after Rashmi came into our lives? You chose a wife
for me with utmost care but nowadays your day begins with complaints about her
and ends with more complaints against her. Appa is better. He is not as
insecure as you. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Do you think that I can relax in
the privacy of my bedroom? Rashmi takes over from where you left and subjects
me to another round of torture by saying nasty things about you. I truly cannot
believe what she says. Did you really add salt to the dal only to later
complain that it was salty? And were you actually hiding behind the door and
listening to her phone conversation? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I was better off without this
mess called marriage. Am I not entitled to a quiet evening, with both of you
being cordial to each other, where we can all sit together sipping tea and
enjoying a normal conversation? If I pay attention to you she pulls a long face
and if I go out for a short evening walk with her you get upset. While women can talk
about domestic violence I can neither utter a word nor expect you to understand
what I go through. People don’t talk about the emotional and mental torture a
man goes through when he is caught in the crossfire between his parents and
wife. Believe me, it affects my performance at work and my interaction with
those around me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Please try to understand…………………………</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I just want some peace of mind
and unfortunately it cannot be ordered online. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This is my final submission for the blogathon <b># A letter to her . </b>I wrote this piece because I felt that men also suffer in silence and experience the torture of being pulled in opposite directions by two women both clamoring for their attention. I wouldn't know if it qualifies to be called Domestic Violence. But it does cause a lot of agony and impacts their lives in ways that no one wishes to understand. <br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<b>Note: </b>I would like to read <a href="http://bit.ly/Meenabk2">MeenaKandaswamy’s book</a> <i>When I Hit You</i> because I understand that it deals with domestic violence that happens everywhere but society refuses to admit it. I would love to read what the author has to say and I hope it helps me extend a helping hand to any victim of domestic violence whom I come across. </div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-14388277974147829672017-06-24T21:15:00.001+05:302017-06-29T22:49:33.790+05:30On the dynamics of a healthy marriage...........<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
Mamma,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
I don’t know if
it’s okay for me to write to you about this. But having seen the life you lead
I feel it is time I came out with my observations. I truly hope I am wrong but
my gut feeling says that you are at the receiving end of an abusive relationship
with daddy. Please don’t get shocked. I am no teenager. I am now married and I
understand the dynamics of family life. I have been observing you from the time
that I could gauge your moods. I was perhaps 6 or 7 years old when I could
understand the meaning of your words as well as silence. In fact I would find
your silence oppressive and long for you to return to your ‘normal’ mood. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
I took me a
while to understand that your mood swings had something to do with daddy. You
took care to keep it to yourself but we children have a way of understanding
that all is not well between parents. The days you went into a silent mode
coincided with the days when daddy went about beaming at those around him with
the look of a conqueror. As a child I took care not to annoy or upset you on
those days but I still did not understand what went wrong between the two of
you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
It happened on a
rare occasion that you chose to sleep in my room. Daddy came looking for you. I
pretended to sleep. The conversation that followed is something I did not
understand till I graduated from school.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<i>“Hey, stop fussing”</i> It was daddy talking
in a hushed tone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<i>“Not today, please”</i> I heard you protest.
<i>“You know I fast on Thursdays”.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<i>“Fasting on Thursdays eh? Enough of this
drama. Come on”.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<i>“I don’t feel up to it”.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<i>“Who is asking you?”<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<i>I </i>then peeped from beneath my sheets and
saw him leading you out of the room. You followed him like a lamb being led to
a slaughter house. I knew then that something was very wrong though I didn’t understand
what. Everything fell in place much later when Sr. Superior arranged for a
program on sex education and the speaker highlighted the rights of a woman in
matters pertaining to sex. I truly wanted to ask you why you let him bully you
against your will. I realized how much you must hate yourself for not having a
say in the matter. I also understood that you were being blamed for giving
birth to a daughter because daddy often said in apparent jest that your clan was
famous for producing daughters as was evident that you were one among five
sisters. He joked about it so often that it ceased to be a joke. I also noticed
that any reference by daddy to your ‘clan’ was always subtly tempered with sarcasm
and you put on a mask of silence.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
To be frank your
submissive nature annoyed me as a teenager. But I now understand how hard it
must have been on you. My husband is a wonderful person who believes in
respecting women. His parents share a wonderful relationship and it is a
pleasure having them over. I now realize
what was missing in your marriage. There was no equality. It was a kind of
master – slave arrangement. But it is not too late to assert yourself. I am
with you. Carve a niche for yourself. I plan to start a counselling center, for women in an
abusive relationship, along with a few friends. Why don’t you join us? You need to
come out of your silent mode. You don’t have to discuss your personal
experience or drag daddy’s name into it. Just take the first step by lending a sympathetic
ear to women who come forward to share their stories. The rest will follow. You’d
be surprised at the kind of physical, emotional and mental torture women
undergo just to keep their marriage going. The issue ought to be discussed and
our men folk need to learn to acknowledge and accept their women as equal partners and learn to
treat them with love, affection and respect. Daddy was brought up to believe
that a man could lord over his wife. Once you assert yourself he may change his
opinion for the better. Why not give it a try? Think about it………………</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
Hugs!!!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
Yours,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
Neha <br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
This post is my 2nd post written for the Blogathon series # A Letter To Her by Women’s Web. I appreciate the initiative taken to create awareness about domestic violence in society.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<b>Note: </b>I would like to read <a href="http://bit.ly/Meenabk2">MeenaKandaswamy’s book</a> <i>When I Hit You</i> because I understand that it deals with domestic violence that happens everywhere but society refuses to admit it. I would love to read what the author has to say and I hope it helps me extend a helping hand to any victim of domestic violence whom I come across. </div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-12167731643783613112017-06-21T22:19:00.000+05:302017-06-24T21:17:04.952+05:30Domestic Violence - When enough is enough.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
My child,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
I cannot believe
that you are already eighteen years old and will be leaving for college in
about a year from now. I wish to share with you the story of women belonging to
three generations who for very different reasons put up with domestic violence.
I feel that you are old enough to understand and when your turn to get married
comes, you will be bold enough to say ‘NO’ to physical, emotional and mental
abuse from your partner.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
As a child I
witnessed the plight of an aunt of mine who was married off at the age of
sixteen though she was a brilliant student who passed her matriculation
examination with flying colors. Her father wanted to send her to college but
her mother felt that she ought to get married. Her handwriting was beautiful
and her house keeping skills excellent. On festive occasions she’d make
beautiful ‘rangolis’ that would make passersby stop to admire. She’d make a
perfect housewife. And so she did. But her husband was never appreciative of
what she did. He’d find fault at everything she did right from the food she
cooked to the way she folded clothes. Her husband was spiritually inclined and
would spend his time performing an elaborate morning puja and reading religious
texts. He resigned from his job for the very purpose and her's was the onus of
coping with his tantrums. He punished her by refusing to talk to her for weeks
if she dared to show the slightest disinclination to act as per his command. His
silence hurt more than his words and she literally fell at his feet and apologized for
any suggestion she had dared to make. As a child I often wondered how a person
who was spiritually inclined could spit venom on his wife for minor lapses and
why she put up with it. I later heard that while the world praised her for
being the role model for others to emulate, her own mother in law once remarked
that her son needed to be put in his place and it was her tolerant behavior
that was responsible for the pathetic life she led. However, that was eighty
years ago when verbal abuse was not even considered worth a mention and
physical abuse happened when the woman ‘asked for it’. Emotional abuse?? A
woman was not supposed to have emotions. Unknown to others she could wipe a
tear if she felt hurt – the rest was part of life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
Having said
this, I must admit that our generation was no better. A woman could work
outside her home but the husband controlled her income. I have known working women
hand over their entire salary to the husband, accept a pocket allowance from
him and use the cheapest mode of transport to travel to work for to save money
even if it meant leaving home early. The smarter ones resorted to scheming and
plotting and ‘stole’ a small amount from their own salary for their pocket
expenses by claiming that they had contributed towards a gift for friend’s
anniversary or a child’s birthday party. An unexpected salary raise or a
double increment went unreported and the extra money tucked in a secret pocket
in her purse to be used later. A wife who dared to resist the arrangement was
trying to show off that she brought home a salary and was ‘put’ in place by the
husband. Why did they cope with it you may ask? Those were days when women
lived in joint families and the job allowed them a life of their own and a few
friends with whom they could be themselves. The domineering husband would be tolerated
in lieu of some eight to ten hours of freedom. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
The next
generation revolted and announced that their financial independence had to be
respected and no one could question their spending habit. They could order food
from outside or hire a maid to cook and clean. The husband was asked to help at
home. This new found assertiveness did not go down well with their men. If
their wives earned more than them and/or were offered foreign assignments it
hurt their ego. After all they had been pampered by their mothers and had
always had their way. According equal status to their womenfolk was unheard of.
Such women had to be put in place. Quarrels and snide remarks followed by
physical violence took over. The bolder ones were able to say NO to abuse in
whatever form. But most of them gave in and became subdued for the sake of
peace in the family. The once assertive woman had been truly ‘put’ in place by
her man.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
You may have
noticed that I have not included physical violence in the first two
generations. Do you think it didn’t happen? It did. But in their case it was an
accepted thing in society. No one would interfere – not even one’s parents. The
woman would console herself by saying that he was burdened with the demands of
a joint family and she was the only one who could serve as an outlet for his
frustration. Moreover she was financially dependent on him - even if she had
inherited a legacy from her parents or had a job or sold homemade pickles and
papads that fetched her money.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
The reason for compromise was different in the
third case. These women lacked the confidence to walk out of an abusive
relationship. They valued the protection offered by the husband – never mind if
it was an abusive one. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
I want you to be
different. Have the confidence to insist on mutual respect in your marriage. If
you don’t get it don’t hesitate to clamor for it. A girl known to me rang up
her mother in law after the first instance of physical abuse. She asked her to
warn her son to never ever raise his hand on her. She would not only walk out
of the marriage but would see to it that he was put behind the bars. The words
had a magical effect and her husband understood that she meant what he said.
There is no shame in letting on to your well wishers that you are at the
receiving end of an abusive relationship. One can never guess the amount of
domestic violence that prevails in society because no one wants to discuss it.
As in the case of rape victims where the offender gets away with what he did while
the victim is shamed, victims of domestic violence are blamed for annoying
their abusive partners. Not all men are bad or abusive. I hope you find a
wonderful husband for yourself. Even if you lead a normal life where both of
you have mutual respect keep your eyes and ears open for what’s going on around
you and extend a helping hand and stand up for any woman who is in an abusive
relationship. She could be your house help, a neighbor relative, friend or
colleague. And if you are blessed with a son treat him at par with your
daughter and train both of them to love and respect one another. We need a
whole generation to be groomed in this manner for the society that we live in
to be hundred percent functional.<br />
Your Grand aunt and friend.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
This post is my contribution to the Blogathon
series # A Letter To Her by Women’s Web. I appreciate the initiative taken to
create awareness about domestic violence in society.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<b>Note: </b>I would like to read <a href="http://bit.ly/Meenabk2">MeenaKandaswamy’s book</a> When I Hit You because the incidents of domestic violence
never get reported because it is considered a private thing to be restricted to
the four walls of one’s home. The topic is close to my heart having seen
various degrees of domestic violence around me. I would love to read what the
author has to say and I hope it helps me extend a helping hand to any victim of
domestic violence whom I come across. </div>
</div>
Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-80759218820277120152017-06-01T14:51:00.001+05:302017-06-01T14:53:08.174+05:30Gup Shup again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The writing bug has struck me again. After all I can rave and rant to my heart’s content in my blog world and forget all about it within minutes knowing that my readers would lend me their ears without ever being judgmental. So here I go!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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If I had cribbed about my husband’s quirks in earlier posts I take it back. No, not entirely. He is a quirk alright but I realised that quirky husbands could be useful too. Let me elaborate-</div>
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My dining table was polished 15 years back. I’ve been cribbing about the cushions needing replacement and how a fresh coat of paint was due etc. etc., for the past five years. The cushion cover is fixed and cannot be removed and washed and they looked soiled. My rants fell on deaf ears and my husband of forty four years continued to either watch TV or read the newspaper. I then gave him the ultimatum.</div>
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“I am giving away the dining table and the chairs today” I declared “We can get a new set”.</div>
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Now, the announcement had the desired effect. No, don’t imagine that he agreed to get it polished. He didn't. We both love the dining table. It is sturdy but very light. We bought it when money was tight 30 years back. I know that a similar set would cost a fortune even if we could get one of the same quality and I had no intention of getting rid of it. My husband is a lover of stuff purchased with hard earned money. He also will not throw away what his parents or mine bought with their hard earned money. So the thought of giving up the dining table away woke him from his reverie and our familiar ‘nok jhok’ commenced.</div>
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“Why replace the cushions? They seem good enough”. </div>
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“Don’t you see how dirty the cover is? And one cannot remove it to wash. I don’t feel like sitting on it”.</div>
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“It was your idea to put cushion. The earlier arrangement of a ply board covered with sunmica was good enough”.</div>
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“Does it mean that they can’t be replaced even in fifteen years? Call a carpenter and get it done. Or else I am just throwing it away”.</div>
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“What if I wash it?”</div>
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“Are you crazy? The cover cannot be removed and washed. It has to be replaced”.</div>
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“And if I wash it clean? I will unscrew the board with the cushion and wash it”.</div>
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And if you mess it up and it gets misshapen I will replace it”.</div>
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“Only if I don't do a good job of it”.</div>
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I was secretly relieved. I was certain that the flop idea of washing the cushion with the cover intact would never work and I would have my way. I advised him to try washing one at a time and offered to help if required.</div>
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“No need. I will manage”.</div>
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It was then that realised that I had underestimated my better half’s potential. He carefully dismantled the ply board with the cushion, turned it upside down and soaked it in soap water for half an hour. He then gently scrubbed it clean and rinsed it with fresh water without letting a drop trickle down to the wooden board.</div>
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And to my surprise the cushion was sparkling clean and looked almost new. He is washing the rest one by one without dismantling them. And between you and me I must say that he’s doing a good job of it. </div>
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He was all smiles - gloating over his success. I could not deny him the pleasure. This was a time when defeat was a delight.</div>
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He now plans to polish it himself and I plan to keep my skepticism to myself. Once bitten, twice shy??</div>
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-86326242299514374862017-05-18T21:51:00.001+05:302017-05-18T21:52:05.981+05:30Just my thoughts - 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The writer in me seems to be hibernating. However much I wish to write I am not able to put down my thoughts on paper. Paper?? Well, I cannot write on paper these days. I only type out my thoughts in a word document and copy/paste it on my blog. It seems strange because I was known for the long and interesting letters that I wrote from my hostel. In fact, while in a boarding school, our letters were censored and our principal would make a weekly announcement on the best or most interesting letter written by the boarders and mine would be often declared the best. And how about all those exams that I answered? In these days of ticks and crosses I don’t think people consider long and descriptive answers worth a second glance but our days were different. We wrote out elaborate descriptive answers and a good answer would fetch us 5/10. No one heard of people scoring 90+ in language and literature. It was only in Mathematics that people got distinction marks.</div>
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Don’t get me wrong. I don't grudge the present system. But, with all the high scores one obtains, the proper application of the knowledge thus gained seems to be wanting. Getting a job means that one is trained to put theoretical knowledge to use and all promotions and perks depend on how well one’s skill is applied and how much the company benefits by such an application. To add to one’s woes ‘lay off’ has become common and loyalty to the organisation is limited because of lack of job security. I wouldn't know if the attitude is harmful in the long run. It is too early to say. I have worked in my college for 35 years and even after retirement I still feel connected to the institution. I willingly help out as much as I can and feel included. Would the current bunch of young office goers feel the same? I am not too sure about it.</div>
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The entire country is watching the arguments for and against ‘Triple Talaq’ and I feel happy to see victimised women opening up and sharing their experiences on TV. I do not for a moment claim that women are not ill treated in communities where Triple Talaq is not allowed. But divorcing a wedded wife for no fault of hers by uttering the word Talaq thrice over the phone or writing it on paper appears to be a practice that allows men to get away without giving the divorced wife any financial support by way of alimony. I hear that counselling the couple and advising them to make an effort to stay together precedes the process of actual divorce and just uttering Talaq thrice is not valid. Why then is it not practised? I am not competent enough to discuss the validity of the practice and wouldn't know if it is allowed in the Holy Quran. But I do feel that women have suffered for long enough and ought to be allowed to voice their protest even if a very small percentage of Muslim women are actually affected by it.</div>
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Polygamy is prevalent in almost all communities but it is not openly endorsed by society except among the followers of Islam. Yes, when men lost their lives in the battlefield and their wives had no one to support them society might have allowed the practice. But today it seems to be a license for men with roving eyes to resort to polygamy while the first wife is forced to remain a silent onlooker. At a time when census reports say that the male/female ratio is skewed in favour of men is it still necessary to allow the practice?</div>
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These are my views. I do not claim to know much about polygamy, nikah halala and Triple Talaq except what I was told by friends. A Muslim friend of mine explained the circumstances under which men were allowed to marry a second or third time and her explanation seemed acceptable enough. Over time, I believe, women were silenced and such practices were modified to suit men. </div>
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Long back when I was in college a friend’s dad had three wives of whom the third wife was the most beautiful as well as the smartest. The first wife had no children and he married her younger sister who was my friend’s mother. My friend would joke that she was glad that her chinnamma was smart enough to put a stop to his adding a fourth wife to the list. All this happened when my friend did not belong to a community that permitted polygamy. </div>
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I would be interested to know whether the Supreme Court would decide in favour or against Triple Talaq. There seems to be a provision in the marriage contract or ‘nikahnama’ wherein a women can insert a clause disallowing Talaq. If this is true I feel women ought to be rightfully informed of the provision and encouraged to exercise their right. </div>
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It is long since I wrote and my writing is not very organised. I am just putting down whatever comes to my mind. Let me get going. I may improve with time. I have been lazing for long enough. Health was also a cause for concern. I haven’t been in great health for the past month. Writing is an activity I have always enjoyed. I need to get back to it to keep myself engaged if not for anything else.</div>
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-17670905237276790982016-07-28T03:01:00.001+05:302016-07-28T03:04:51.114+05:30Old age Blues......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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An elderly relative passed away today. She was 92 years old and had lived a full life. She was lucky to have all her children living in Chennai. She’d take turns to stay with them for a few months in a year. Her grandchildren are married and she has been blessed with 8 great grandchildren. She lived hassle free life with her children taking proper care of her. However, her death raised a question in my mind. How many of us are lucky to have at least one child nearby to come rushing when we need them? I am afraid - thanks to technology - that with the world getting smaller, the gap between parents and their children has hopelessly widened.</div>
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A look around me tells me a different story from that of the aforementioned lady. Elderly couple lead lonely lives waiting for weekly calls from their children. Very often the weekly calls become monthly ones. Reason?? Well, in foreign shores weekends are busier than weekdays with everything from stocking the refrigerator to washing clothes is squeezed into the available 48 hours. Children have their dance/music/karate/swimming classes and while one parent takes care of the shopping the other escorts the children to one or the other of these classes. Apart from this they organize birthday/Deepavali/Christmas parties as well as play dates for their children. Who can blame them if calls to their parents are postponed?</div>
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I am not blaming anyone. When my children were growing up I just wanted them to have good education. Good education gave them good opportunities and helped them spread their wings. I could not deny them a bright and prosperous future that awaited them. Visits to their homes have been eye openers. Their life is as much a struggle as mine was forty years back. Luckily for me, I had my job and a select group of friends who doubled up for family. So I have learned to lead my life in a productive manner. I cannot bring myself to complain having seen their busy schedule. </div>
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Most of the time I am okay. I accept that this was what I had wanted. There are however times when I feel depressed. Like when my husband fell ill or when I had to deal with my arthritis. Waiting for my Kerala style massage at Arogya bhavan I could not help remembering the time when our house was full of people and I was attending to five sick people in our one bedroom flat. Here, I was driving myself to the clinic from college and driving home once the massage was over. There seemed no point disturbing my husband and asking him to wait at the reception area for an hour although he would have gladly come over if I had wanted him to.</div>
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Who is responsible for this situation? Was it wrong to educate our children? Or was it wrong to want them to reach for the skies? I see that I am not alone. I have several friends and relatives who go globe trotting to spend time with their children. But they almost always wish to return to their niche. They don’t feel inclined to stay anywhere else for longer than necessary. </div>
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Adjustment problems tend to crop up in spite the best effort from both groups. Children exposed to an alien culture are unable to bond the way we did when we visited our grandparents. And with gadgets replacing story times the next best option is to get computer/internet savvy and focus one’s attention on a gadget of our own instead of poking one’s nose into their lives. </div>
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I don’t know if I am being pessimistic or cynical. Maybe a bit of both. The best thing to do would be to get involved in some activity and keeping one’s self busy. We have in our township two ladies - nearing eighty years of age - who head NGOs and find no time to brood. I am in awe of their enthusiasm and plan to assist them in whatever way I am able to. After all happiness is just a state of mind. </div>
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While I think can manage my old age and the loneliness that is bound to follow by blogging and interacting wth virtual as well as actual friends I worry myself sick when I think of my husband who is a loner and depends solely on me for company. He is not into the social media and TV shows make up for social interaction. He watches a few Tamil serials and very often on returning home from college I can hear him talking while I climb up to my 3rd floor apartment. If you think he’s entertaining friends you are mistaken. He is so involved in the TV program that he is literally in conversation with the characters in the serial and very often seems to know what would be said next!</div>
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I have no problem with that except that he doesn’t know a single phone number except mine and when in distress and I am unavailable he cannot call a single person to help. What if I fall ill and need medical aid? We have a doctor in the complex but my husband won’t know to look for his number in my cell phone! He is so laid back and is happy to let me handle things like drawing money from the ATM or booking tickets online. In America I don’t get to use my i Pad because he uses it to watch his favorite shows and read the newspaper. So it is evident that he can become net savvy when he wants to. But apart from that he couldn’t care less. </div>
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My friend has a different take in the matter. She says that her husband would take care of things while she took it easy just like my husband. When her husband died an untimely death she had to learn things the hard way. May be she is right. Why should I imagine that I am indispensable and he would not be able to manage without me? Maybe he would when it came to that.</div>
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But my question is does it have to happen only if and when tragedy strikes? Why not before?</div>
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-23809079738314034592016-06-09T03:53:00.000+05:302016-06-09T07:46:59.585+05:30Life in America - 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I am in Atlanta right now. At my son's place. He has done his best to make us comfortable by stocking his kitchen with grocery and his fridge with vegetables, milk, fruits and of course 'desi' yoghurt. My husband cannot gulp down a single meal without 'dahi'. I remember the time we landed in Patna on a hot evening in May. After a refreshing bath we went around looking for rice and curd - typical of the Tambrahm couple we were. Little did we expect that procuring plain curd and rice would be such a difficult (nearly impossible) task in the capital of Bihar. </div>
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<i>Plain rice at night? Curd?</i> People looked at us as if were aliens from another planet. All that a few places could offer was sweetened curd and fried rice. We managed without curd that night. My husband put on a 'sour' look that seemed to say that it was my fault not to have brought curd with me from Jamshedpur. </div>
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I digress. Coming back to life in America...........</div>
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With all good intentions my son had purchased a food processor. I wish he hadn't. Or that my husband hadn't noticed it. </div>
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"Why don't we prepare idlis"? he asked eyes lighting up at the thought of idlis as an alternative to multi-grained bread that I gave him for breakfast. Now, please don't get me wrong. I have made enough idlis in my forty three years of marriage and was really looking forward to an idli-free vacation in America. I have written about my experiences with a manual grinder <a href="http://hiphopgmom.blogspot.com/2007/06/my-precious-stone.html">here. </a> </div>
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"I don't think it is sturdy enough to grind rice" I said. I was happy to put the fear of God into his head.</div>
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"If it gets spoilt, fixing it will be more expensive than buying a new one. We don't have Munna here". </div>
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Munna was the electrician who repaired our 35 year old Sumeet mixer in Jamshedpur. My husband is so full of praise for him that he doesn't let my friends throw off their old superannuated mixers offering to get them repaired by Munna.</div>
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But as God would will it, my better half spotted a packet of idli rava in the Indian store and picked it up right away giving me no time to think of a new excuse. </div>
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"Now you only have to grind dal". He was elated and went looking for dal and found it in no time.</div>
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"We are here just for two months" I tried to dissuade him. "What will R do with all this after we leave"? My protest fell on deaf ears. Son was smiling to himself understanding my ploy but refusing to take sides.</div>
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The very next day the idli project began.</div>
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"Did you soak dal for idli"?</div>
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The man is after my blood. I decided to mess up the proportion and make really horrible idli and blame it on idli rava. I am glad to say that I almost succeeded. The idli came out really hard and the project was a disaster. </div>
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But I have married a scientist who worked in a research lab. He doesn't give up easily. The next time he asked me to try a different proportion, stood by my side while I soaked dal monitored my efficiency in using the food processor saying 'stop' and 'start' at the appropriate moments advising me on when to add water.............</div>
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To cut a looooong story short, Idli came out perfect and he is bent on buying another packet of idli rawa before we leave. To add to my sorrow he is hinting at trying out 'adai' and 'vadai' offering to guide me if required. </div>
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I almost hear you ask -</div>
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''What is the connection between life in America and preparation of idli''?</div>
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Idli is easy on the stomach but a lot of preparation goes into serving this health friendly breakfast item. I truly wish that one didn't find a mini India in every corner of America and would have loved to live on milk, cereal and bread rather than using the delicate food processor that I have here. It has a single jar made of brittle plastic and cannot be left in the sink like the metal jar we have back home. </div>
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My domestic help Baby would have taken care of washing the jar in Jamshedpur. Out here I am a new incarnation of Baby and till I wash, wipe and put away the jar and mixer I remain tensed. I really wonder if idlis are worth the trouble. Of course juicers, mixers and grinders suited to the pounding, crushing and grating techniques employed in Tambrahm cuisine are available here. But I truly don't want to burden my son with gadgets that he may not use and to see them gather dust after we leave would be equally wasteful. </div>
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Do I really want to put my better half on cereal and bread for the entire period that we stay here?</div>
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Of course not. I was just joking. He also adjusts a lot and has no complaints against the food I serve him.</div>
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I had earlier written that I feigned to be deaf. That was in an different era - eighteen years ago to be precise. Now I am half deaf and so is my husband. We keep saying "What? Eh? Oh?" to each other all the time. But with all my selective and actual deafness the truth is that I cannot deny him the food of his preference once in a while. Our 'nok jhoks' have reduced drastically and a realization that we only have <a href="http://hiphopgmom.blogspot.com/2006/07/my-only-you.html">each other</a>, with whom to share our joy and sorrow, in this alien territory has set in. Please don't imagine that we are absolute angels. Once we reach familiar territory the <a href="http://hiphopgmom.blogspot.com/2008/09/spice-of-life.html">'spice of life' </a>will automatically be added. </div>
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And of course we have Eddie to fuss over. He has been adopted from a rescue home by my son and is an absolute delight. My husband runs miles from canines but Eddie is an exception. He loves to stroke Eddies' back and for his part Eddie puts out his paw to indicate that he wants he wants to be stroked more. He takes turns to approach us merrily wagging his tail.</div>
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Yes life in America is different. It has its merits and demerits. The internet access is definitely better here and the online library facility helps me read books on my i Pad something that I have come to appreciate and makes me want the same facility in India. Exercising (read walking) on the treadmill in the gym is something I will miss when I return. I must look out for a gym near my house and monitor my exercise routine when I go back. Walking in the crowded park near our house tends to make me cautious and reduces my speed. Moreover, one tends to meet known people and with a 'hello' and 'namaste' thrown in morning walks turn into social interaction. I do miss it here but walking for health benefits is also important.</div>
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I wrote two papers after I came here on the 'Role of Multimedia in Higher Education' and 'Improving the Quality of Higher Education in India' and felt good about it. So life here is not just about idli and vada or pulling husband's leg for his food preference. Life in America is about spending some quality time with our children and understanding about their life in foreign shores. </div>
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-14761626549944255952016-05-10T18:11:00.001+05:302016-05-10T18:11:42.445+05:30Happy Mother's Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am in Atlanta this Mother's Day. Celebrated the day with my son and his friends. We had Mother’s Day lunch at an Indian restaurant. The food was good and so was the company. It was almost when we were leaving that my son’s friend asked me as to how we celebrated Mother’s Day in India. No, this friend was not an American but an Indian who had, like my own children, taken up a job in the US of A and had been here for several years. I don’t remember what exactly was my response to his question. I said something to the effect that Mother’s Day was a western concept and is now catching up in India too. I also mentioned that with the joint family system breaking up and children relocating to foreign shores it was perhaps natural to set aside a day exclusively for parents. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">His question however had me thinking. When I was growing up we did not have a day set apart for our mothers or fathers. Women fasted and prayed for their husbands and sons. The girl child was honored during Navaratri. Brothers were accorded due importance during Rakhi and Kartik poornima. Shrardh was performed for dead ancestors. But children were never encouraged to pray for the well being of parents when alive. Neither mother nor father. But why?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It looks as if an entire society took it for granted that parents would always remain pillars of strength and their well being did not require divine intervention. It also perhaps understood that children would automatically take responsibility for aging parents treat them with dignity and consider them as part of their family. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Praying for the well being of sons and honoring the girl child was perhaps due to the fact that sons were expected to take care of parents in their old age and daughters were meant to be treated not as burdens but as special guests when they visited. It also indicates that the custom of celebrating certain festivals to strengthen the bond between brother and sister was a way of ensuring that they remained in touch even after their parents passed on. But parents required no such special occasions to bond with their children.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I think times have changed and so has society. Parents value their independence and want their personal space. Children too lead a busy life and much as they want to, are unable to spare time for their parents. Schools are encouraging their students to celebrate ‘grandparent’s day’ to appreciate their role in society. To keep pace with a changing society it may not be inappropriate to set apart a day in the year for one’s aging parents.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Treat them to dinner at a fancy restaurant - they may never muster courage to enter it on their own.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Order sugar free cakes for them and make them feel special.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Or……….</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Spend a quiet evening with them talking about old times, relishing traditional home food and listening to golden oldies.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And……</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Tell them how much you value their presence in your lives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Let them tell your children about all the crazy things you did when you were a kid. They would love to hear them over and over again!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Finally the celebration must include both your parents and parents in law. Your in laws are entitled to your company as much as your own parents.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Happy Mother’s Day! </span></div>
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-15158622423002608122016-05-05T22:57:00.001+05:302016-05-05T23:08:29.308+05:30Just my thoughts........<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I hear a lot of talk about the Hindu religion being at the risk of being maligned and degraded by those affiliated to other religions. It is being said that efforts are on to convert ours to an Islamic or Christian nation. I do not subscribe to this view. Ours is a secular country. The Indian society is a multilingual and multicultural one that is respectful of views that may or may not be in concurrence with its own. It is an inclusive one that has been successively ruled by Moghul and British rulers. But that has not impacted our religious beliefs or cultural heritage in a big way. The Hindu way of life has prevailed despite the effort by several intolerant rulers to suppress it. Our society has demonstrated to the world that freedom could be availed by non violent means. Why then is insecurity seeping into our lives? Why do we feel threatened and/or feel the need to protect our religion? I find it strange to call Hinduism a religion. It is a way of life. It is flexible enough to accommodate a person who is deeply religious as much as one who folds his/her hands to ask God a favor when in distress. It advocates the conservation of nature and compassion to animals. Yoga and pranayam have become universally recognized health promoting techniques. More than anything else it advises us to do our duty without expecting rewards. Could a religion of this stature be threatened by external factors? No way! On the contrary I believe that more and more people would take to the Hindu way of life whatever their religious affiliation. </div>
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Why then are we being told that the world is ganging up against us? Or that our media is the mouthpiece of the group that wants to systematically destroy our religion? If there was even an iota of truth in this claim, it does not speak well of our journalists and news channels. I do agree that Hindus belonging to the so called lower strata of the caste system opted for conversion to other religions hoping for a better quality of life as well as social acceptance. Unfortunately we have to admit that the caste system has successfully divided our society into divisions that are difficult to bridge and ought to take responsibility for creating an emotional distance between different groups by failing to recognize the dignity of labor and considering one group as being superior or inferior to another. But the caste system was the creation of society and our religion had nothing to do with it. </div>
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Coming to the point raised earlier - is it wrong if those at the receiving end of social discrimination opt to embrace a faith that they believe to be equal in its treatment of all human beings? Why not put ourselves in their shoe and see how it feels? Moreover, I am sure that caste discrimination prevails in all of the Indian society cutting across religious affiliations and social standing of individuals. Hindus may openly express it but it is there in other religions as well in a more subtle way. I can see it getting reduced to a very great extent but it will take some time more and a whole generation or two before it is completely erased. </div>
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I digress. Could an ancient religion like Hinduism to be decimated by a few fanatics and a bunch of irresponsible journalists and media persons? I do not think so. I see a good number of Westerners taking to the Hindu way of life by practicing pranayam, yoga and meditation, switching to vegetarian or vegan food and trying to research on the health benefits of herbal medicine. Let us then get over this insecurity and promote our culture not by pointing fingers at imaginary sources of threat but by leading by example. Let us try to analyze our rituals and attribute scientific reasons to our religious practices. Above all let the world make a choice and understand/appreciate the Hindu way of life and the logic behind it. Tending to plants that are of medicinal and cosmetic value and according divine status to rivers are means of supporting life on earth and need to be understood as universal requirements without being brushed off as Hindu rituals. Whether it is using plantain leaves as plates or brushing our teeth with <i>margosa (neem)</i> stalks each of our practice has been tried and tested for centuries and if we learn to respect them, the world will follow. The threat to our religion is not from external sources but from our own doubting minds that consider them as baseless, old fashioned and superstitious. Let us weed out suspicion and negativity from our minds and pledge to conserve natural resources, to be compassionate towards animals, be kind to fellow human beings and respectful to followers of religions other than our own. In doing so we would be serving mankind and promoting humanism as much as Hinduism. </div>
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These are just my thoughts. Let us first learn to understand our religion and culture before expecting the world to do so.</div>
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-65502745445388849532016-05-04T19:34:00.003+05:302016-05-04T22:37:12.250+05:30Gobi Chronicles - 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Between the time I wrote my last piece and now I have lost my maternal uncle “Mama” as he is fondly called. When I met him in February I had not realized that his end was near or that I would not get to meet him again. He had then asked me to read a few pages of handwritten accounts of his life. The writing was somewhat illegible and I had to ask for clarification many a time but one thing was clear. Mama wanted the younger generation of grand and great grandchildren to know about “Vembathy House”. I promised to come again at leisure and sit by his side with a laptop and type out what he had written. He then asked me to pen down whatever I remembered about life in Gobi and gave me - as reference - xerox copies of the accounts given by his brothers and nephews in law about life in my mami’s maternal home. How I wish mama could have lived a little longer and read about the affection we have for him. To put it the other way I wish I had come up with this piece early enough for him to read it. But what is life without its lapses? We never seem to think - even in our wildest dreams - ever that our loved ones would leave us. The regret is mine to be.</div>
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Krishnamurthy Mama was my mother’s youngest sibling and only brother. The story goes that my grandparents had lost two sons earlier and the family was naturally fiercely protective of the health of the only surviving son. My own mother would tell me often that she would give him a thorough ‘oil bath’ on Wednesdays and Saturdays and if he skipped a day for some reason she’d worry herself to tears imagining that he would fall sick on account of that. All five sisters pampered him as much as they could.</div>
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My earliest memory of mama - apart from a hazy mental picture of his wedding - is the trip we made to Bombay by car. My dad had been transferred to Bombay and we had to wait for a month to be allotted accommodation before joining him. Mama, accompanied by a driver, drove us to Bombay from Gobi.</div>
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One thing we all remember about mama is his amazing sense of humor without malice. My sister and me would have fights and his famous question would be <i>“Are you both fighting or biting each other”?</i> He’d often be late and would have to rush to board a bus or train and a worried mami would be anxiously waiting for him at the gate. All he would say to her would be <i>“Be calm. Can you make the train move faster by walking to and fro inside the compartment”? </i>He would diffuse all tension in a minute. I cannot recall a single incident when he’d raise his voice to discipline us as children. Vembathy house would, in those days, be teeming with grandchildren. There would be quarrels among the children. Grandkids would run wild in its premises. Friends would join and together we’d have a few perched on the guava tree and others hiding under my grandfather’s table. Thatha was a practicing advocate and his clients would add to the melee. Mama normally returned from his farmland in the evening to a noisy house with his father raising his voice a pitch higher than the children to address his clients but he would never ask the children to stop playing or direct their friends to return home. Vembathy House was an inclusive one - tolerance and patience were qualities one imbibed naturally from its ambience.</div>
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My own father died when my younger brothers were 3 and 5 years of age and my mother relocated to her maternal home. My brothers have no memories of my father but mama adequately compensated for a father figure in their lives. It was a common sight to see them perch on his shoulders or roll over his tummy. Mama normally brought home deep fried items from a famous Sheshaiyyar’s hotel in town and my brothers would open the packet even before his own children could but I don’t remember mama or mami bearing a grudge or admonishing them for it. The same tolerant behavior was carried forward by his children and one never heard them complain about or grudge our presence in the house. To be fair I must add that my mother’s sisters were equally kind and no one questioned my thatha’s decision to support our family. What struck out was that even after his father’s death mama continued to support us and my mother continued to depend on him till the youngest of my brothers took up a job in Bombay.</div>
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I got married and relocated to Jamshedpur. Mama came to drop me off at Jamshedpur after the birth of my first born daughter who was just three months old. My daughter being the first grandchild, my husband and in laws had wanted me to come earlier and were upset with me for taking longer than the two months stipulated by them to return with the child. The atmosphere in the house was charged. It was one occasion when I heard my mama talk tough.</div>
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<i>“ She is young and inexperienced”</i> he said to my mother in law, <i>“but we aren’t. Aren’t we supposed to take charge of the situation and deal with it appropriately? It is the duty of elders in a joint family to diffuse tension between the young couple instead of blowing it up to disproportionate levels. The child is just three months old and is always going to be part of your family. How does it matter if she took a couple of weeks longer to return? There ought to be do no more discussion regarding this matter. It is pointless”. </i></div>
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His words had a magical effect and I realized that he had doubled up for a father whom I had lost ten years back. I also realized that while mama was kind hearted and gentle he could also take charge of the situation and act tough without damaging the cause. He later told me in jest that he had the experience of dealing with five brothers in law - each one with a different temperament - so he was well trained early in life!</div>
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Above other things Mama stands tall due to his interaction with his wife and children. He had often faced financial crises when crops failed and management farming became more and more difficult. But he never let on that times were difficult and even the genuine demands of his family were hard to fulfill. Nor did we ever hear how he managed to tide over the lean patches in his life. He never vented his frustration by taking it out on his family. He looked after his ailing wife for seventeen long years without a frown on his face which is way beyond the capability of any human being.</div>
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Mama loved carnatic music. It was not unusual for him to pick up the day’s newspaper and relax with his favorite numbers playing in the background at ten in the night. Very often he would fall asleep but the moment someone switched off the tape recorder or transistor he’d wake up and put it on again. He was a great fan of the legendary R. K. Narayan and had a collection of books written by him. He’d encourage me to read his books at a time when I was in the Mills and Boon stage and had not learned to appreciate R. K. Narayan’s writing. Art Buchwald was another favorite.</div>
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Wherever he went Mama would do a survey of the local market. He picked items, that I didn’t even know were available, from Jamshedpur market. He would have loved to travel around the world and make a trip to the moon too if it were possible. </div>
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This piece can go on and on without an end. After all however much I try to end it I seem to have more to add. We were twenty one grandchildren in Vembathy House. Four were his own and the rest were nieces and nephews. I cannot recall an instance when Mama and mami treated any of us differently. The same affection was extended to our spouses and children. My cousin recently put on a recorded version of my daughters singing as pre teenagers during one of their visits to his place. Having heard that I planned to visit them Mama had asked his daughter to look for the audio tape and keep it ready for me. I was moved to tears. After all how much affection can a person have. He had his own grandchildren on whom he could shower his affection and yet he had more to spare for our children too. It is this selfless love that links us to Mama and his family. There is something genuine and honest in our relationship with him. Words fail to adequately describe the emotions and affection that we have for him.</div>
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They say that one can choose friends not family. I was lucky to have been brought up among good people and to carry forward a part of the family’s gene pool. I was lucky to have an uncle who was an adorable human being with a great sense of humor, who wanted to live life like a king but was also one who accepted life’s blows with grace. Patience and perseverance, love, kindness and tolerance, these were valuable lessons we learnt from him. He may have had his shortcomings but they did not impact others in any way. There were times when I felt that future visits to Gobi will not be the same without Mama to welcome us. But I also feel that I would feel connected and sense his presence in Vembathy House even without him being there. The last time I visited Gobi I took the keys from my cousin and spent about 15 minutes in the empty house that I grew up in. The house in which I got married and left for Jamshedpur. I felt a sense of comfort - a connection to my childhood - that is hard to describe. The years that have gone by did not seem important. The vibes that I received were positive. So deep in my heart I wish to hold on to that connection and carry forward the culture that I was lucky to inherit.</div>
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I have written this piece from my perspective. I am sure others have more to share. Like my older brother fondly remembers the time when Mama escorted him to St. Josephs’s College, Tiruchy for admission or a cousin who recalled the time when Mama quietly reimbursed the mess bill amount and added a little extra as pocket money when he approached him saying that the amount had been stolen. Each of us have fond memories that link us to mama and I am sure we all would agree that he was a pampered and beloved brother, a wonderful father, a loving uncle, a compatible life partner to his wife and a great human being.</div>
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-39557711837548963562016-02-28T16:39:00.000+05:302016-02-28T16:41:29.826+05:30Gobi Chronicles - 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
“Gobi”! <br />
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The very name brings a smile to the faces of the descendants of the Vembathi clan. The years spent as children in our grandfather Vembathi Subramaniya Iyer’s house remain as cherished memories in our minds. My mother and her sisters would come together during vacations and all of us cousins would run wild in its premises. The very atmosphere in the house was one of affection, inclusion, generosity and kindness. This is felt not only by those who share thatha’s gene pool but also by those who are associated with the family by marriage. My own husband may drive me nuts on a number of issues but is in total agreement on my opinion of the ‘unique’ family that the Vembathi clan happens to be. Sons and daughters in law of three generations have become an integral part of our family and that speaks well of the interpersonal relationships that we share. This was possible not only because of the great human being that thatha was and also because of my maternal uncle Krishnamurthy mama and his wife Kamakshi Mami who carried forward the legacy of a rich culture that he left behind. Could Krishnamurthy mama's children have been different? They are as dear to us as their parents and welcome us with the same warm affection that their mother exuded sixty years back. Is it any wonder that I look forward to a visit to Gobi like a daughter visiting her maternal home or that my eyes well up when I leave the place? Yes, I may be a grandmother now but till date I cannot prostrate at my uncle’s feet without experiencing a lump in my throat. The following is the first of my posts on life in Vembathi House and I dedicate it to my Mami’s memory. <br />
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I remember very few details of my mama’s wedding that took place in June 1956. I remember playing in the sand in front of a huge ‘pandal’ as a five year old and also being admonished for calling Kamakshi Mami by name. Since mama was the youngest sibling, everyone called his wife by name. I must have thought that I could do so too. But my earliest memory of Kamakshi Mami is of a kind faced lady who welcomed us with a smile whenever we visited them. I don’t remember her talking directly to my father or other male members in those early years. But her body language was such that one felt at home immediately. Her interactions with my mother and her sisters (5 of them) was always balanced. They were much older than her. In fact my oldest aunt was 20 years older than her and she once confided to me that she had mistaken my aunt to be her mother in law and it was only after marriage that she realized that she was the oldest sister in law. I don’t remember a single instance when she got into a controversy or trouble with them. She might have had her opinion on family matters but she never openly voiced them always choosing to remain neutral. That was perhaps the best way to maintain a cordial relationship with five older sisters in law. My grandfather loved her like a daughter and she absolutely deserved his affection. <br />
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If Kamakshi Mami had no mother in law to domineer over her, our maid Moopachi doubled up for one. She had a loud voice and having worked for our family for several years she could up pull up the cook for his lack of culinary skills and complain about his coffee that tasted like ‘gutter water’. She would scream at her grandchildren, who would come along to help her, if their work was shoddy. She could shout at anyone of us if she felt that we were not doing our bit. She considered the house as her own and exercised her authority on all of us. It seems that in the early years of her marriage Mami would remain in her room till Moopachi left, for fear of being admonished, although Moopachi was nice to her. Those were days when daughters left their older children with their parents and Vembathi House was no exception. So when Mami arrived on the scene four or five of my cousins in their primary and middle schools were already studying in Gobi. The children would quarrel and fight. She took care of their needs without a frown on her face and remained so even when years later my widowed mother relocated to Gobi with five children and continued to stay on even after my grandfather’s death. </div>
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Mami had a good voice that was trained to sing Carnatic music. I can almost hear her sing "Pralaya payodhijale"...... an Ashtapadhi that she learnt a little before my marriage in 1973. She was deeply religious and even when she went through patches of bad periods in her life she would never blame God. I used to often hear her say that her devotion to God was perhaps not adequate enough and she might have unknowingly displeased Him. One activity that she enjoyed doing was to decorate the puja mandapam and to fix beads and beautify the silver image of Goddess Lakshmi. She would prefer to read Shankara Kripa or other religious literature rather than Tamil magazines and her social circle included groups that enrolled themselves to learn Abhirami andhadi or slokams. My father would ask her to sing ‘Ranga pura vihara’ or 'Entharo Mahanubhava' for him when he visited. She would oblige and I remember her sitting behind a half closed door out of respect for my father and singing in a soft voice. Mami once told me that she would find it boring to start music lessons soon after school but her music teacher would be waiting for her when she returned home from school. On one occasion she could not help saying “ ஐயோ பாட்டு வாத்தியாரா?” ( Oh no! Is it the music teacher?). And the teacher heard her. So thereafter he would tease her saying “ஐயோ பாட்டு வாத்தியார் வந்துட்டேன்”. ( oh no! Music teacher has come). <br />
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In the initial years of my marriage, like everyone else, I too had trouble bonding with my acquired family. Mami felt bad that I had been living so far from my maternal ( actually my mother’s ) home and had to deal with my problems on my own. She suggested that mama or someone else should find reasons to visit me more often to offer moral support till I felt more comfortable in my husband’s place. It was not practically possible but I was grateful to her for the suggestion. It was perhaps the care she gave us that made her dependent on the care of others for the last seventeen years of her life. I so wish it hadn’t been that way. I wish I could have given back at least something of what she had given me. The only thing that I can now do is to pass on the kindness I received from her to others around me. </div>
Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-83553571367644477302015-12-07T20:32:00.000+05:302015-12-08T19:27:04.271+05:30What happened to Mehr?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Dear Son,</div>
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I feel lost without you to pester me and wish you never had to leave for college. I knew all along that I would have to set you free to carve your future but I feel sad all the same. For all I know you may never be the same person again. You will grow. You will have new friends who will influence your life and your decisions. My head tells me that you will make the right choices and stand tall among your peers but my heart sinks at the possibility of your being vulnerable to the pressures exerted by them. Without us, your parents, to monitor your activities you may feel tempted to think that it is a fashion statement to harass girls even if it is ‘just for fun’. Be warned my child. Your mindless activity may have a very serious outcome as Mehr’s story will indicate.</div>
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You know Mehr don’t you? May be you don't. She was my colleague’s only daughter and hadn’t started school when I joined college. In a way I had practically watched her grow. I rejoiced with her mother when she got admission in a prestigious school in our town and regularly followed her progress. I was invited to her ‘Navjot’ party and I remember gifting her a story book because I always felt that books were the most precious of gifts that could be given to a nine year old. </div>
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I don’t know if you have the information that Mehr passed away last night. Her death was caused by three mindless teenage boys who hounded her on the way to school. </div>
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The day dawned like any other day. The chirpy thirteen year old got ready for school, fussed over breakfast and was coaxed to eat by her grandma - this was a routine that the two of them enjoyed - and after wishing her mom and grandma a hasty goodbye left for school on her bicycle. The school was about half a kilometre from home and she expected to reach it well before time. And then trouble began….</div>
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The road was lonely and three boys started following her. One of them overtook her and stopped right in front of her while the other two laughed at her predicament from behind. She managed to stop in time and started off once again when another boy took it on himself to whistle and sing a vulgar song while the other two crossed her path from either side. The girl panicked and tried to pick up speed. The school was now in sight and she wanted to reach there fast. There were parents on the other side of the road and it would only take a couple of minutes to reach them. Unfortunately she noticed a rambler at the turning a little too late and slipped while trying to apply brakes. Her head hit the rambler and she lost consciousness.</div>
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The rest is history. She suffered a head injury, went into a coma and never recovered. Her mother is in a state of shock and her grandma refuses to believe that her beloved granddaughter is no more. All this happened within minutes of her leaving home and she is unable to come to terms with the tragedy that has befallen them. </div>
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My son, stalking or hounding girls is not funny. Boys may feel powerful and relish the distress that girls are being subjected to. Girls on the contrary go through hell when they face sexual harassment. </div>
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Mehr is no more. Her mother laments that she has nothing to look forward to. Her father seems to have lost his voice and the vacant look in his face speaks volumes of his mental state. All this could have been averted if only the culprits had been sensitized and trained to treat women with respect and I for one believe that values imparted by one’s parents play an important role in shaping one’s conduct. Values like charity begin at home.</div>
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I have tried my best to treat you and your sister equally. I have never encouraged you to imagine that you are superior because you are a boy. I expect you to treat all the girls in your class as equals. They need to feel safe and comfortable in your presence and consider you as a dependable friend. I know you will not let me down because I am sure that you too would want not want a repeat of Mehr’s story. All young girls need to feel safe and secure.<br />
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I want you to share Mehr's story with your friends. I want you to understand that girls are your friends and need to be treated as cherished companions. I trust you son and I know that you will not let me down.<br />
<br />
With lots of love,<br />
Yours affectionately,<br />
Mom.<br />
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-57529871965964980792015-10-21T13:01:00.001+05:302015-10-21T13:01:53.478+05:30Random Musings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I am nearing retirement. No more
extensions of service. Just three months to go and I feel lost already. My
workplace doubled up for my social circle and I now realize how much I have
drifted away from the Tambrahms in Jamshedpur. I remember the time some twenty
five years ago when I would take out the clay figurines from my mother in law's
trunk, all wrapped up in newspaper, wipe them clean and arrange them in the
shelf of the only bedroom of our modest home and invite neighbors for
"golu" during Navaratri. We had quite a few Tamilians in our
neighborhood and we'd invite a few Bihari friends as well. It was a simple get
together. I would also get invited to Lalitha Sahasranamam Bhajan sessions in
the afternoons during Navaratri, 'haldi- kumkum' would be exchanged. We did not
have a telephone connection and mobile phones were unheard of. Friends were
invited personally with the daughters going from house to house with kumkum
containers to extend the invitation. Initially people would be asked to come
over on any or all of the nine days of Navaratri but later one restricted the
invitation to specific days so that they were free to visit others on the
remaining days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Friends from college were invited
home for lunch. We did not own a dining table or fancy cutlery. They gladly
squatted on the floor and enjoyed a typical Tambrahm meal, were treated to
filter coffee and a stroll in the neighboring park. I suffered no complex or
inhibitions and was happy to be just 'myself '.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="normal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Then times changed. I decided to
pursue my studies and enrolled myself for a Masters program in a local college
and my excellent results prompted me to register for Ph.D. The subject of my
Ph. D thesis was an annual crop that grew around Navaratri season. Thereafter
Navaratri celebrations were shelved and the "golu bommais" - clay
figurines that my mother in law had carefully preserved for years and my own
addition to the lot each year were shifted to the loft and have remained there
ever since we moved to our three bedroom apartment. I still got invited for
"golu" but with old friends having left town or relocated elsewhere
and not being acquainted with newcomers I seem to know fewer and fewer people.
And all this when I can now connect through mobile phones and social/virtual
apps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="normal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">But that was not the reason. I
seemed to be happy socializing with my friends in college and was equally happy
to relax at home during the puja break. But this Navaratri I seem to miss my
initial days in Jamshedpur. Of course I do my bit by giving gifts of bangles
and bindis to little girls in my neighborhood and visiting elderly ladies to
seek their blessings. But with modest means I seemed to have derived more
satisfaction then, even if it was just "sundal" wrapped in newspaper
that I distributed. All the ziplock bags and aluminum foils that I can now
afford seem meaningless. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="normal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">While folding clothes this
evening I was in an introspective mood and found myself wondering what I had
gained or lost over the years. I hold on to expensive silk saris that I haven't
worn in years knowing full well that my children would dump them without a
thought. Maintaining them is a responsibility. But each of those are either reminders
of the occasion of their purchase or I am reminded of the person who gifted
them to me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I feel that I was perhaps wrong
in excluding myself from a social life that involved person to person
interaction during festive occasions like Navaratri. This was a tried and
tested method that was the lifeline of society and the only method of
socializing particularly for women who were mainly homemakers. It also brought
out their creativity and one was treated to colorful rangolis, bhajans and of
course yummy snacks! I truly want to start organizing " golu" again.
I wonder if it's too late in the day to revive the practice. No harm trying isn't it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Happy Navaratri to all of you!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923596553558938547noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-67987979977584580682015-02-08T22:52:00.000+05:302015-02-08T23:18:32.199+05:30My Style<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-bff5b218-6a20-7fa4-2f40-47ea15063a43" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline;">This post is my entry for the blogger contest by <a href="http://www.womensweb.in/2015/02/style-of-my-own-blogging-contest/">Women's Web</a> and <a href="http://www.trishlaemart.com/?utm_source=blogcontest&utm_medium=contest&utm_campaign=wwcontest">Trishla eMart</a> to describe a <i>Style of My Own. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline;">When I look back and remember the years gone by I see that I haven't changed much as far as my style is concerned. I always preferred clothes that were comfortable to wear, easy to maintain and did not strain my purse. As for accessories I prefer to admire them from a safe distance and I have always been in awe of those who can wear earrings that look more like pendants and still feel comfortable enough to carry on normal conversation with those around them. If I ever wore anything expensive I would constantly worry about its safety and miss out all the fun associated with the event. Therefore the diamond earrings that my mother gave were hardly worn as long as she was alive and after she passed away I wore them for a few months for sentimental reasons and put them away because I felt that I would not only lose them to earring snatchers but would gift them parts of my earlobes as well. I think I should give up writing about 'My Style' because you may ask what is so stylish about wearing common everyday clothes. But I don't give up easily and here is a list of what I like or do not like, and I hope that my style would emerge from such a list. So here I go!</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline;">I have told you already that comfortable clothes top my list so crisp cottons are my choice any day and anytime. Even among cottons handlooms from any part of India would top my list. Be it saris, salwar kameez or nightwear I am not a great fan of floral prints. Stripes, dots, checks, traditional embroidery are all welcome. Zari - pure or otherwise are not for me.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline;">Pure silk has a grace and beauty of its own but I feel that it's elegance is lost when it has a heavy Zari border and/ or pallu. The focus has to be on the silk so I would go for lightly embroidered silk or silk with small Zari dots and a thin line or two of Zari as a narrow border. Mysore silk would be my first choice and Kanjeevaram would be the next. Printed silk from Murshidabad or Bhagalpur also makes one feel good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline;">Coming to hairstyle I have almost no hair left so I cannot say much. Last year I visited America and my granddaughters got together and coaxed me to leave my hair loose. They straightened it using a gel and ordered me to leave it alone. I felt so uncomfortable that I couldn't wait to tie it up into a small ponytail. This is in contrast to what I preferred as a schoolgirl when I wanted to leave my long hair loose and my mother would have none of it. She would try different styles of plaiting it but it had to be braided - never left loose. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline;">Thinking of my childhood reminds me of a photograph of me as a sixteen year old in which I couldn't recognize myself. It was taken at the farewell of the teacher of the tailoring school that I attended for a short time before joining college. I had worn jhumkas and a mattal to support the pair of heavy earrings that I was wearing. The mattal is a small chain that is fixed to the earring on one side and has a hook that is fixed to the hair above the earlobe. My mattal had beads too. I was also wearing a long chain with a heavy pendant. So whatever I may say, there was a time in my life when I dressed up for an occasion. Not that don't dress for an occasion now. I do. But it is more out of respect for the occasion and less for myself. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline;">At my age however I prefer salwar kameez to saris for casual wear. There are a group of people whom I meet during my morning walk who had never seen me in a sari. They once saw me in a sari at a temple and said that I ought to wear a sari more often. I had to tell them that I wear a sari to college on every working day and had been wearing saris since my college days. I switched over to salwar kameez after I tripped and fell a couple of times during my morning walk. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline;">As for footwear no high heels for me although with my less than five feet height I should be wearing heels. These days I like durable and comfortable footwear to fancy ones but I admit to having tried fancy ones in my hostel days including high heeled and pointed toed slip ons.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline;">To end I would say that my style is to look presentable and feel comfortable. I can wear almost no jewelry with minimum make up and walk among decked up dolls feeling confident and self assured. That way I need not worry about spilling stuff on a dress or wonder if my hair is messed up or my kohl/eyeliner smudged. I cannot understand why a person would want a new outfit for every special occasion or feel uncomfortable if another person wore a dress similar to theirs. One can wear casuals and yet look stylish if they have the right attitude, carry themselves well and gel with the environment. On the contrary if one dresses up to show off or impress people chances are that he/she will get noticed for the wrong reasons. </span></div>
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-64937855439389432712014-12-21T02:04:00.001+05:302014-12-21T02:28:46.965+05:30Life in America<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">I am in America now. While here I cannot help comparing my life in India to life here. Which one is better? My heart insists that with all its shortcomings India is better. I suppose with time I may change my opinion if I ever I relocate to America in future. Just as I preferred life in my maternal home to the one I led in Jamshedpur when I first came to the steel city and now swear that no place in the world is as good as Jamshedpur! People tend to adapt but right now I feel ' East or West, India is the best'. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">I think I will make a list of what I miss -</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">I miss the bustle of the morning hours in India. At five in the morning we have morning walkers greeting each other in loud voices -</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">" Jai Sriram".....</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">We have a park adjacent to our apartment complex and people of all ages come there for walking, jogging, yoga practice, for chatting with friends, to discuss politics and what not. They stay on till six thirty or seven in the morning only to be replaced by young mothers who have sent their children to school and go to the park for a quick run and also to exchange notes with others of their group. Class tests, excessive home work, a child's illness and the husband's quirks are part of the group discussions that take place simultaneous to those of senior ladies who leave home after sunrise due to gout, arthritis etc. that get affected by the chill morning air.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">And then the school vans and auto rickshaws buzzing in and out, the milkman and the domestic helps arriving on the scene. TV programs heard from neighbors' homes with devotional songs playing at full volume and no one seems to object. Sipping my morning coffee from my balcony I don't even have to step out from my house to socialize. Familiar faces, a wave of the hand and a pleasant look that says 'how do you do' is enough to start my day. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">In America you wake up to be greeted to deserted roads and an unfamiliar silence. Not a soul in sight one is left wondering whether it is okay to walk down the wooden steps uncertain if the noise would wake up the neighbors. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">One went for a morning walk in India, accosting other morning walkers with a nod or a raised hand. On your way back you picked up milk, a packet of bread and fresh vegetables from a local vendor on his way to the market place. You haggle over the price while he outsmarts you by quoting a higher price condescending to give it at a rate that is midway between his and yours. You miss a day and someone or the other enquires after your health and wonders why you were not seen the previous day. Morning walks in the US are different. Known as well as unknown people greet you with a 'hello' and it is evident that they are being polite and you reciprocate. Beyond that they are as wary of you as you are of them. The nearest store is at least one and a half mile away and one has to get past a busy intersection to get there. The traffic baffles you and you prefer to be safe than sorry. Milk, grocery, bread, vegetables and fruits are all bought during the week ends and stored in huge refrigerators. Bargaining?? What's that? Never heard of it in America. The woman at the check out point says 'have a good day' but it is nothing like our roadside vendor who misses us if we took longer than three days to visit the marketplace.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">Another thing I miss here is public transport. Anywhere one wishes to go in Jamshedpur we have the choice of taking an auto rickshaw or mini bus. And the town being a small one we reach our destination in a maximum of ten minutes. The rule here is to own a car to be mobile. Each family has two cars land once the child turns 18 she/ he will have a separate car. Now, assuming that we know to drive, isn't it unfair to expect them to have a fourth car for visitors? So we tag along when possible or end up reading books at home most of the time.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">And how about the lack of domestic help in America. They are our lifeline in India. Oh, yes we have dishwashers and washing machines in which we can wash a week load of clothes and driers that can dry them up instantly. But at least for me domestic helps are like family. We had Rajamma who worked for me from the time I arrived in Jamshedpur and left us after 22 years. Then Ashok my launderer again an asset who is responsible for starching and ironing my sarees and drycleaning my woolens when winter is over. The clothes are dried out in the sun and ironed without a crease. My interactions with them help me appreciate their role in our society. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">Please don't get me wrong. In an earlier post I had complained that my husband bored me with his opinions on political issues but I seem to miss it now. We usually start our day with it. Reading it on the net isn't the same as hearing him rant and rave over corruption and rising prices of essential commodities. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">But I see that all three children of mine have adapted to life in America like fish to water. They don't seem to mind. They want us to relocate and be close to them. I understand their concern and may give in sooner rather than later. But how long it is going to take for me to adapt is to be seen. And to top it I call myself flexible and adaptable till now. I am not sure anymore.</span></div>
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-61338176188549021982014-12-15T22:34:00.004+05:302014-12-15T22:34:53.380+05:30Religion as I see it......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-bff5b218-4ee5-747e-36fc-c78d94be69b9" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">I think my religion is important to me. Not because I think that the religion I was born into is superior or inferior to any other. But because is very accommodative. I can imagine orthodox Hindus giving me cold stares. The caste system having lost the purpose for which it was created, the </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline;">Hindus</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;"> belonging to the group that had the benefit of education and the duty of imparting it to others began to consider themselves superior. But would a truly educated and knowledgeable person consider one human being as being superior or inferior to another? How about the group who were given the duty of cleaning up the mess created by others? Are they not the most superior group in that they are making the world a place fit to live in? Were it not for them could the so called educators, protectors and business people lead a comfortable life?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">So let us not go by the dictates of the caste system. Let us understand that our religious texts do not differentiate between human beings on the basis of caste, creed or the color of one's skin. It does glorify a person who is true to himself and the society he belongs to. It applauds a person who stands up for one who is subjected to injustice. In fact most Hindu festivals are celebrated to signify that evil forces cannot last for ever. Justice prevails and the negative forces are vanquished. It also means that one need not despair. Bad times will not last forever. It also does not imply that once evil forces are vanquished they're gone forever. The battle between good and evil forces continues and one has to be ever vigilant. It is a reminder that neither good times nor the evil ones last for ever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">I also believe that my religion does not impose strict rules for worship. As a child we had a set of rules. We could not have solid food unless we bathed. The food prepared for the family had to be offered to God before consumption. We had to wash our hands and feet on our return from school before entering the house. In fact children had to take off their school uniforms, put it away to be washed and change before being given snacks to eat. These were hygienic practices and had nothing to do with religion. Religion was brought in to make people follow them. The rules were also meant to bring discipline in one's life and when food was meant to be offered to God one tended be extra careful while preparing it. I for one would suggest that these practices would be good for all people not just Hindus.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">Coming back to rules for worship - </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">As far as I can remember my mother fasted on specific days like ekadasi or restricted herself to a single meal on certain other days. A day was set apart for the God of health and another for the God of wealth. Fasting for the well being of sons and husbands and setting apart special occasions to celebrate the girl child and worshipping her as Durga the goddess of might and valour was also not uncommon. Sisters pray for the welfare of brothers during festivals like </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline;">Rakhi, Karthik poornima, Makar Sankaranthi and Bhai dooj.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;"> So the message one gets is that in a family set up girls as well as boys are important. Fasting and feasting are both important for good health. Every celebration has a significance.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">But while during festivals one was treated to special delicacies it is also believed that God could be pleased by offering pure water or a flower or by prostrating or folding one's hand with reverence before starting the day if possible. Even if that was too much it was enough to be good to fellow human beings and kind to animals. Rivers are considered sacred and trees such as </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline;">Tulasi</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;"> and </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline;">Peepal</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;"> are worshipped. Raw Turmeric is distributed to women during festivals. All this talk of conserving the ecosystem and preserving the biodiversity on earth has been practiced for ages by our religion by attributing divinity to animals and plants. The cow is worshipped, the snake is found wrapped around Shiva, Durga rides the lion and Meenakshi has a parrot perched on her shoulder. Goddess Lakshmi sits on a lotus, Karthik rides a peacock. Well the list is endless. The ecological pyramid and the food web were understood much later but my religion accords due importance to producers, consumers and scavengers reminding us that ecological balance was possible only when they co-existed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">It is unfortunate that a few have distorted the </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline;">Hindu</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;"> way of living to present it out of context. Let us not be put off by them. More than a religion Hinduism is a way of life. It lets a person choose his method of serving humanity. Meditation is considered a way to worship as much as the fanfare associated with temple worship with the blowing of the conch, beating drums and dancing. You could be part of either or neither. You could simply choose to do your duty without expecting rewards. You could rever your parents and your teacher as Gods in human form. No pressure to follow set rituals and no guilt associated when for some reason one is not able to fulfill or practice them. </span></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; vertical-align: baseline;">Is it any wonder that I am comfortable belonging to such a group.</span></div>
Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-18003651081307425672014-08-26T12:35:00.001+05:302014-08-26T12:35:21.789+05:30Back to business!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Hurray!!!!</div>
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My research project is over and the final report has been drafted, approved and sent off to be bound. A little bit of writing work - like what was achieved by this work and how it would benefit society etc - remains. But the strain of poring into the microscope and identifying microorganisms is over. </div>
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Did I enjoy my work? Of course I did. Do I want to take up another project? No, thanks. The next generation can continue from where we left. My house and family need my undivided attention. Husband has been sulking for too long and towards the end he even threatened to throw my laptop into the very river that was the subject of our investigation. I don't blame him. As I have said earlier, I am the only friend he has and it has been 14 years since he retired from service. He has his own opinion on political and social issues and cannot wait for me to get home to listen to his point of view. And apart from the time I served him his meals I would sit down with my laptop either identifying the specimen that were micro-photographed, feeding data into tables or preparing graphs and charts. Sundays and holidays would be utilized for field work or visits to my Principal Investigator's or Ph. D guide's home for discussion. Summer vacation just came and went. I either went to college or worked at home engrossed in my work as usual. Husband was patient enough but became irritable towards the end.</div>
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I now come to my question on the issue.</div>
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I am passionate about whatever I do and do go overboard at times. But if our roles were reversed and it was my husband who was busy with some project taken up by him would I feel lonely and left out? I think not. </div>
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Instead of sulking and pouting I would have occupied myself with umpteen chores that now remain unattended in the house. For instance I would have cleared the store room and disposed of the old news papers and magazines. I would have seen to it that the house was tidied up and looked neat when he returned. And I would certainly not expect him to make tea and snacks for me within ten minutes of entering the house. Lastly, I would find some socially productive work to keep myself busy.</div>
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I do not know if I am being uncharitable but if our men folk show lack of understanding ( after all my project work would not continue for the next ten years) it is the woman/women who pamper them who has to accept blame. For my part, I agree that I played a role in making my husband an enabler.</div>
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-29310544664120432932014-08-06T21:39:00.003+05:302014-08-06T21:39:37.991+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The international breast feeding week is on and the Home Science Department of our college held a program to emphasise the importance of breast feeding and the benefits it confers to both mother and child. The program brought back memories of the time when I was a young mother. </div>
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Apart from the health benefits the time one gets to spend while breast feeding one's child is very special. It is a very special time ensuring 'one on one' interaction that helps the child bond with the mother. It makes the baby feel secure and wanted. It makes the mother feel like an achiever because this is one area where a dad cannot pitch in and take over.</div>
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I do not mean to undermine a dad's role in this area. Lactation is a physiological process and it is the brain that signals it's onset. It is a husband's duty to see to it that his wife gets adequate time with her baby and is in a relaxed state of mind. While it is important to pay attention to the diet of a nursing mother it is equally important to make her feel special.</div>
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So, my advise to young mothers and mothers to be is to enjoy the special role that nature has given you. Internet offers tips - good ones at that - but each child is different and nothing can be generalised. Listen to good advise whether it is from your doctor or grandmother but decide on the requirement for your child yourself. The little one is your responsibility - an extension of you and your husband - and deserves the very best.</div>
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Happy parenting!</div>
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29858077.post-79176288902617474442014-05-27T09:51:00.000+05:302014-05-27T09:53:21.206+05:30Nostalgia.......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Feeling nostalgic today. Had the opportunity to relax and listen to old Tamil movie songs of the 60 and 70s. Songs that I would listen to on my transistor while finishing my record work while Vividh Bharati, Radio Ceylon and listeners' choice from AIR, Tiruchy played my favourite songs. These were songs we would be treated to for an hour after dinner before the Silence Hour in our hostel. How much we would nag the seniors in charge of selecting records to play our favourite numbers!<br />
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How I wish that I had never grown up and continued to lead that carefree life for ever.<br />
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How I wish I never had to learn the bitter truth and harsh realities that are part of life.<br />
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Hip Grandmahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16891699611146003601noreply@blogger.com6