They say Power Corrupts. I took it to mean that Power leads to corrupt practices like favoritism and bribery and/or misuse of power for selfish practices. But a recent incidence made me realize that apart from the dangers mentioned, power is also intoxicating and like any other addiction Power too blurs the senses and impairs one’s capacity to think logically. Very often one is goaded into over reacting and taking things too far sometimes almost to a point of no return. There have been quite a few incidences like the one I plan to take up. But the same circumstances might have been dealt with in a different manner some 10 years back. Not so now with the kind of exposure children get these days. One has to be extra careful while dealing with adolescents whether parents or teachers. Let me come to the unfortunate incidence that bothers me.
A teenager who is to appear for his 10th board exams was intelligent but over confident. He regularly led any form of protest in school justified or otherwise to the extent of being noticed and singled out by the Head mistress. He was naturally goaded by his peers who supported and prompted his actions. The Head Mistress also bided her time to put him in his place. When the admit cards for the Matriculation exams arrived she refused to give it to him saying that his attendance was a few days short of the required 75% and he could therefore not appear for the exam. She perhaps expected him to apologize and plead to be given his admit card. The next logical step according to her could have been the arrival of his parents to plead his case. I am sure that she would have given him the admit card after a warning. The boy did nothing of the sort. He dared her to stop him from answering the examination and claimed that he would make her deliver the admit card at his residence. It became a prestige issue for the HM who could not bring herself to give in at this stage. The boy approached the District Commissioner and briefed him about the HM’s stand, requested him to do the needful and went home. The DC directed the school to issue the required document saying that since the boy’s form had been verified and forwarded to the Board by the school and his examination fee had also been accepted, he could not be barred from appearing for the examination. The head Mistress had to finally go to his house to give the admit card because the boy refused to come to school to take it. The student community was naturally elated.
My heart goes out to the Head Mistress who should have weighed the pros and cons before deciding to withhold the admit card. As it happens everywhere she might have been advised by a ‘yes ma’am’ group or she might not have foreseen such a reaction from the student. Those in a position of power need to remain cool and assess the repercussions of their action, taking care not to let their power and position get into their heads. However more than what the Head Mistress had to face, I fear the impact the incidence is bound to have on the student community and the boy in question. The boy is not yet 18 years of age and he has already tasted power. What will his future be? Will the learning process be compromised? He could well be an asset to our society but will he let people guide and direct him? There are many more like him. How do we save their future? What should be the role of parents in seeing to it that their wards do not start soaring high even before their wings have acquired the required strength? There is a popular saying - ‘hasty climbers soon to fall’. I often see parents being over protective about their children and cannot accept criticism of their wards from their own parents. There is a danger of skewed mental growth due such an attitude and that is dangerous not only for society but to the children in question who will not strive for improvement.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
I surrender
I tell you that I am in awe of the present generation. I feel scared to open my mouth when in the company of children in their pre teens. I become partially deaf and/or dumb when left to deal with them. Let me explain.
In a recent visit to Chennai I met a five year old nephew-the son of a distant cousin. I tried to engage him in a conversation just to keep him from running around.
“Do you go to school?” I asked him in English.
He looked suspiciously at me.
“Yes” he replied in Tamil.
“Which school?” I continued my side of the conversation in English.
He mentioned a name which did not register.
“Do you like your school?” I asked.
He asked me a counter question.
“Are you a teacher?”
“I am your aunt. But why do you ask?” I had a feeling that I was being cornered.
“Then why do you talk in English like my teacher?” and after a moment added, “Why do you talk in English at home?”
His question set me thinking. Having spent a good deal of time in Jamshedpur I seem to be comfortable switching from Tamil to Hindi and English according to the company of people I deal with at a given time. With my husband it is always Tamil and Hinglish or Hindi with my children. I seem to combine Tamil, English and Hindi with an ease that surprises me more than others. My students are mostly from Hindi medium schools so I deliver my lecture in English but simultaneously explain in Hindi too. In the 25 years that I’ve worked my Hindi has improved a lot. I had no answer to the little boy’s pertinent question. Had I insisted on talking in Tamil at home my children’s Tamil would not have been so pathetic. I wonder if there is anything I can do to rectify the situation. I derive some kind of satisfaction when I see that my Tamil has not deteriorated a bit. If it had, the little boy would have been correcting my mistakes.
Children these days are simply brilliant. With the kind of exposure they get, they are not children but mini adults. There is a story that does the round in our family. In order to make a troublesome child finish his food, my aunt asked my 8 year old cousin ‘to call the beggar from the street corner’ to take the child away in a gunny bag. My cousin really went looking for a beggar and came back with one having promised to give him left over food for taking the child away! Such was the innocence displayed by our generation. I dare not narrate this story to the present day kids lest they consider me a fool! I hope you now understand why I take advantage of my age and hear only half of what I am supposed to.
In a recent visit to Chennai I met a five year old nephew-the son of a distant cousin. I tried to engage him in a conversation just to keep him from running around.
“Do you go to school?” I asked him in English.
He looked suspiciously at me.
“Yes” he replied in Tamil.
“Which school?” I continued my side of the conversation in English.
He mentioned a name which did not register.
“Do you like your school?” I asked.
He asked me a counter question.
“Are you a teacher?”
“I am your aunt. But why do you ask?” I had a feeling that I was being cornered.
“Then why do you talk in English like my teacher?” and after a moment added, “Why do you talk in English at home?”
His question set me thinking. Having spent a good deal of time in Jamshedpur I seem to be comfortable switching from Tamil to Hindi and English according to the company of people I deal with at a given time. With my husband it is always Tamil and Hinglish or Hindi with my children. I seem to combine Tamil, English and Hindi with an ease that surprises me more than others. My students are mostly from Hindi medium schools so I deliver my lecture in English but simultaneously explain in Hindi too. In the 25 years that I’ve worked my Hindi has improved a lot. I had no answer to the little boy’s pertinent question. Had I insisted on talking in Tamil at home my children’s Tamil would not have been so pathetic. I wonder if there is anything I can do to rectify the situation. I derive some kind of satisfaction when I see that my Tamil has not deteriorated a bit. If it had, the little boy would have been correcting my mistakes.
Children these days are simply brilliant. With the kind of exposure they get, they are not children but mini adults. There is a story that does the round in our family. In order to make a troublesome child finish his food, my aunt asked my 8 year old cousin ‘to call the beggar from the street corner’ to take the child away in a gunny bag. My cousin really went looking for a beggar and came back with one having promised to give him left over food for taking the child away! Such was the innocence displayed by our generation. I dare not narrate this story to the present day kids lest they consider me a fool! I hope you now understand why I take advantage of my age and hear only half of what I am supposed to.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Falling leaves
Why are those who are so very important to their families asked to wind up and return to their heavenly abode leaving much of their work either undone or only half done? How does one explain why a ninety six year old man, whose sons and sons-in-law have retired, manages to survive 3 heart attacks and continues to live partly bed ridden much to the dismay of his family members who feel tied down on account of him?
Some forty-two years back my dad was given 6 to 8 months to live after cancer struck him without a warning. My younger brothers were just 3 and five years of age and it was unfair that they should be deprived of their father’s affection so early in life. In my naivety I prayed hard that I would willingly suffer and die on his behalf if only God granted him a lease of life. I was about fourteen years old and we were doing Moghul History. The story of emperor Babur who prayed for his son Humayun’s recovery and how he fell ill and died while Humayun recovered, seemed so impressive!. I studied in a Christian Missinary school and had a kind of bargaining session with God. I offered to convert to Christianity if only he allowed me to die in my father’s place. I made a quick mental calculation that since I would die in any case, it would hardly matter whether I converted or remained a Hindu. I only hoped that my mother would understand my reasons for doing so. But nothing happened. My father died in about 8 months and my maternal grandfather who was a practicing lawyer took over and life went on. Today I realize that life is not that simple and we all have a role to fulfill. Conversion too involves one’s head and heart and is not a business deal.
Since then I seem to make a special note of more such cases. M…. the Accounts Assistant in our college was not only an expert in her work but a caring mother too. I met on a Diwali day and she told me that she had sent her daughter to her mother’s place for the day. There was nothing unusual about a child spending a day at her grand mom’s place. What was unusual was the fact that the girl had been left there on her own for the first time. Little did M... know that the girl was to be totally left in the care of her grandmothers very soon? The day after I met her, M… fell sick, medical tests, hospitalization and emergency surgery followed and finally in less than 3 months she left us forever. The same was the fate of V…. who was in the Examination Department. Both of them were troubled with occasional gastric problems and would joke about starting a new Graduate School in heaven. Both of them left behind girls in their pre teens that were looked after by their relatives while the surviving parent was busy with office work.
And there was Dr. M.... who was an asset to our college. She was a born fighter. Her husband’s business wasn’t doing well and her children needed help in their studies. She did not want to unnecessarily spend for tuitions. She therefore would first come to us with doubts in Science subjects. (She was in the English Department) She would understand the concepts herself and then teach her children. She got a grant from UGC to carryout postdoctoral research in tribal languages and was doing a great job of it. She suddenly lost her voice and we thought it was a throat infection. We were amused at the way she’d write out whatever she wanted to say and even joked that it would be better if we all spoke less and worked more. She recovered her voice but the diagnosis was not good. Hers was a rare condition of an atypical cancer growth in the lungs where the line of treatment was more speculative than direct. I, for one, felt that it was unfair that a person of her caliber should be allowed to pass on. Time and tide wait for none. On the very day that tsunami struck Mimi joined the victims of tsunami in their final journey while her family dealt with a tsunami of its own.
Such examples leave me frustrated. I have a paternal aunt who is ninety-four years old. She has lost three of her four sons and last year she lost her only surviving brother too. She found her own way to deal with her grief. She has chosen to live on her own and says that keeping herself busy is important to her. I know better. She wants to be left alone to grieve in private.
Strange are the ways of God. When he takes away a parent he takes it on Himself to ensure the family’s well being. He does send someone to care for the children and often such children show a maturity and responsibility not found among their more fortunate counterparts. Very often, such people who are called back are assets to society and their family and the question oft asked is “What next?” However important the person may have been, life goes on with or without him/her. Is there perhaps some element of truth in the sentence I often hear when people refer to my father- that his blessings have accomplished that which he could not have done himself?
M… would have been proud of her daughter who has accomplished a lot as a golf player and has won a scholarship and has left for the USA where she pursues her studies. The same is true of M… the accounts assistant’s daughter. By some co-incidence I happened to read a poem relevant to this post. The jist of the poem was that the leaf that falls first laments the fact and asks why it should be the first to fall when all other leaves were merrily swaying and having fun. The leaf that was still stuck to the branch, while all its “branch brothers” had fallen, asks why it should be the last to go? Neither state is desirable but there is little one can do about it.
Some forty-two years back my dad was given 6 to 8 months to live after cancer struck him without a warning. My younger brothers were just 3 and five years of age and it was unfair that they should be deprived of their father’s affection so early in life. In my naivety I prayed hard that I would willingly suffer and die on his behalf if only God granted him a lease of life. I was about fourteen years old and we were doing Moghul History. The story of emperor Babur who prayed for his son Humayun’s recovery and how he fell ill and died while Humayun recovered, seemed so impressive!. I studied in a Christian Missinary school and had a kind of bargaining session with God. I offered to convert to Christianity if only he allowed me to die in my father’s place. I made a quick mental calculation that since I would die in any case, it would hardly matter whether I converted or remained a Hindu. I only hoped that my mother would understand my reasons for doing so. But nothing happened. My father died in about 8 months and my maternal grandfather who was a practicing lawyer took over and life went on. Today I realize that life is not that simple and we all have a role to fulfill. Conversion too involves one’s head and heart and is not a business deal.
Since then I seem to make a special note of more such cases. M…. the Accounts Assistant in our college was not only an expert in her work but a caring mother too. I met on a Diwali day and she told me that she had sent her daughter to her mother’s place for the day. There was nothing unusual about a child spending a day at her grand mom’s place. What was unusual was the fact that the girl had been left there on her own for the first time. Little did M... know that the girl was to be totally left in the care of her grandmothers very soon? The day after I met her, M… fell sick, medical tests, hospitalization and emergency surgery followed and finally in less than 3 months she left us forever. The same was the fate of V…. who was in the Examination Department. Both of them were troubled with occasional gastric problems and would joke about starting a new Graduate School in heaven. Both of them left behind girls in their pre teens that were looked after by their relatives while the surviving parent was busy with office work.
And there was Dr. M.... who was an asset to our college. She was a born fighter. Her husband’s business wasn’t doing well and her children needed help in their studies. She did not want to unnecessarily spend for tuitions. She therefore would first come to us with doubts in Science subjects. (She was in the English Department) She would understand the concepts herself and then teach her children. She got a grant from UGC to carryout postdoctoral research in tribal languages and was doing a great job of it. She suddenly lost her voice and we thought it was a throat infection. We were amused at the way she’d write out whatever she wanted to say and even joked that it would be better if we all spoke less and worked more. She recovered her voice but the diagnosis was not good. Hers was a rare condition of an atypical cancer growth in the lungs where the line of treatment was more speculative than direct. I, for one, felt that it was unfair that a person of her caliber should be allowed to pass on. Time and tide wait for none. On the very day that tsunami struck Mimi joined the victims of tsunami in their final journey while her family dealt with a tsunami of its own.
Such examples leave me frustrated. I have a paternal aunt who is ninety-four years old. She has lost three of her four sons and last year she lost her only surviving brother too. She found her own way to deal with her grief. She has chosen to live on her own and says that keeping herself busy is important to her. I know better. She wants to be left alone to grieve in private.
Strange are the ways of God. When he takes away a parent he takes it on Himself to ensure the family’s well being. He does send someone to care for the children and often such children show a maturity and responsibility not found among their more fortunate counterparts. Very often, such people who are called back are assets to society and their family and the question oft asked is “What next?” However important the person may have been, life goes on with or without him/her. Is there perhaps some element of truth in the sentence I often hear when people refer to my father- that his blessings have accomplished that which he could not have done himself?
M… would have been proud of her daughter who has accomplished a lot as a golf player and has won a scholarship and has left for the USA where she pursues her studies. The same is true of M… the accounts assistant’s daughter. By some co-incidence I happened to read a poem relevant to this post. The jist of the poem was that the leaf that falls first laments the fact and asks why it should be the first to fall when all other leaves were merrily swaying and having fun. The leaf that was still stuck to the branch, while all its “branch brothers” had fallen, asks why it should be the last to go? Neither state is desirable but there is little one can do about it.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Enjoy this
Some Rules that NEWTON forgot to mention
law of queue: If you change queues, the one you have left will start
to move faster than the one you are in now.
Law of the Telephone: When you dial a wrong number, you never get
an engaged tone.
Law of Mechanical Repair: After your hands become coated with
grease,yournose will begin to itch.
Law of the Workshop: Any tool, when dropped, will roll to the
least accessible corner.
Law of the Alibi: If you tell the boss you were late for work because
yu had a flat tire, the next morning you will have a flat tire.
Bath THEOREM: When the body is immersed in water, the telephone rings.
LAW OF ENCOUNTERS: The probability of meeting someone you know
increases when you are with someone you don't want to be seen with.
LAW of the RESULT: When you try to prove to someone that a machine
won't work, it will!
LAW OF BIOMECHANICS: The severity of the itch is inversely
proportional to the reach.
THEATRE RULE: People with the seats at the furthest from the aisle
arrive last.
LAW OF COFFEE: As soon as you sit down for a cup of hot coffee, your
boss will ask you to do something which will last until the coffee is cold.
_________________________________________________________________
law of queue: If you change queues, the one you have left will start
to move faster than the one you are in now.
Law of the Telephone: When you dial a wrong number, you never get
an engaged tone.
Law of Mechanical Repair: After your hands become coated with
grease,yournose will begin to itch.
Law of the Workshop: Any tool, when dropped, will roll to the
least accessible corner.
Law of the Alibi: If you tell the boss you were late for work because
yu had a flat tire, the next morning you will have a flat tire.
Bath THEOREM: When the body is immersed in water, the telephone rings.
LAW OF ENCOUNTERS: The probability of meeting someone you know
increases when you are with someone you don't want to be seen with.
LAW of the RESULT: When you try to prove to someone that a machine
won't work, it will!
LAW OF BIOMECHANICS: The severity of the itch is inversely
proportional to the reach.
THEATRE RULE: People with the seats at the furthest from the aisle
arrive last.
LAW OF COFFEE: As soon as you sit down for a cup of hot coffee, your
boss will ask you to do something which will last until the coffee is cold.
_________________________________________________________________
Thursday, January 18, 2007
My Style
Passerby has tagged me yet again. I hope I've measured up to her expectations.Here I go.
Pressure cookerLike a pressure cooker I get worked up when I see an injustice being done to those who cannot even defend themselves. I need to let out steam from time to time to remain sane.
Chewing gumI like chewing the cud both literally and figuratively. I used to sit for hours in a grassy field under a shady tree chewing grass while reading a book when I was a student. I could also spend hours recalling past events and reliving special moments. I’d only need some soothing music in the background. Unfortunately marriage and children have taken all that away from me.
BookshelfMy life I feel is like a well stacked bookshelf. In fact all our lives are the same. We have tragic experiences but can we not look for comedy despite tragedy? I am sure we can. Life is a bookshelf and caters to all tastes.
My eyesI happened to find a photograph of myself as a fresh graduate and oh my God!! I wondered if those eyes belonged to me. It was my proposal snap and they speak volumes of my expectations from life. My recent photographs show a kind of indulgence that comes with age and experience. I now understand why even total strangers feel comfortable talking to me.
A healing touchA touch…… and a gentle one at that….. says it all!! One has to just touch me. And I understand what they wish to tell me. Is this what one calls ‘ a healing touch’??
A touch does so much. It acts as a warning signal, a comforter and what not.
Fluffy pillows
Pillows help one relax. I am a very relaxed person, cool and comfortable, ready for use to all who need to do so.
A string of pearlsA string of natural pearls bound together by a silk thread appeals to me much more than diamonds and gold. They seem to symbolize a group of like minded people with a well rounded approach to life and a personality without sharp edges and cutting corners. Pearls seem to spread the message of love and tolerance.
Rangoli and Kolams that are based on geometrical designsYou start with a plus sign and expand it as far as your imagination takes you. There is just no limit. My dream for my motherland is something like that. Perhaps that is the reason why my heart goes out to all those youngsters who represent future India.
Crisp cottonsI love wearing a crisp cotton saree. As a schoolgirl I loved the way our principal dressed up in a well ironed crisp cotton saree. The dignity it symbolizes is incomparable.
Walking to healthI am lucky to live in a small town with well maintained roads. A morning walk in a road that seems to go on forever gives me immense pleasure. The road that winds on and on is not only a connector of places,When we walk on it it connects me to people from all walks of life.I look for familiar faces on the road-a cute couple in their late seventies with the husband walking 10 steps ahead of his wife, a little boy rushing to school on his bicycle with his mother invariably warning him to be careful, a father transporting his polio stricken teenaged daughter by cycle, perhaps to some coaching class and many others. When I fail to see even one of them, I worry about their well being. I haven’t spoken to them but I wonder if they notice me the way I notice them.
Let me tag Ardra and Srijith Unni and find out what their style is!!Ardra, I remember your tag.I've asked my brother for a few photos of our childhood.i'll post it as soon as I get them.
Pressure cookerLike a pressure cooker I get worked up when I see an injustice being done to those who cannot even defend themselves. I need to let out steam from time to time to remain sane.
Chewing gumI like chewing the cud both literally and figuratively. I used to sit for hours in a grassy field under a shady tree chewing grass while reading a book when I was a student. I could also spend hours recalling past events and reliving special moments. I’d only need some soothing music in the background. Unfortunately marriage and children have taken all that away from me.
BookshelfMy life I feel is like a well stacked bookshelf. In fact all our lives are the same. We have tragic experiences but can we not look for comedy despite tragedy? I am sure we can. Life is a bookshelf and caters to all tastes.
My eyesI happened to find a photograph of myself as a fresh graduate and oh my God!! I wondered if those eyes belonged to me. It was my proposal snap and they speak volumes of my expectations from life. My recent photographs show a kind of indulgence that comes with age and experience. I now understand why even total strangers feel comfortable talking to me.
A healing touchA touch…… and a gentle one at that….. says it all!! One has to just touch me. And I understand what they wish to tell me. Is this what one calls ‘ a healing touch’??
A touch does so much. It acts as a warning signal, a comforter and what not.
Fluffy pillows
Pillows help one relax. I am a very relaxed person, cool and comfortable, ready for use to all who need to do so.
A string of pearlsA string of natural pearls bound together by a silk thread appeals to me much more than diamonds and gold. They seem to symbolize a group of like minded people with a well rounded approach to life and a personality without sharp edges and cutting corners. Pearls seem to spread the message of love and tolerance.
Rangoli and Kolams that are based on geometrical designsYou start with a plus sign and expand it as far as your imagination takes you. There is just no limit. My dream for my motherland is something like that. Perhaps that is the reason why my heart goes out to all those youngsters who represent future India.
Crisp cottonsI love wearing a crisp cotton saree. As a schoolgirl I loved the way our principal dressed up in a well ironed crisp cotton saree. The dignity it symbolizes is incomparable.
Walking to healthI am lucky to live in a small town with well maintained roads. A morning walk in a road that seems to go on forever gives me immense pleasure. The road that winds on and on is not only a connector of places,When we walk on it it connects me to people from all walks of life.I look for familiar faces on the road-a cute couple in their late seventies with the husband walking 10 steps ahead of his wife, a little boy rushing to school on his bicycle with his mother invariably warning him to be careful, a father transporting his polio stricken teenaged daughter by cycle, perhaps to some coaching class and many others. When I fail to see even one of them, I worry about their well being. I haven’t spoken to them but I wonder if they notice me the way I notice them.
Let me tag Ardra and Srijith Unni and find out what their style is!!Ardra, I remember your tag.I've asked my brother for a few photos of our childhood.i'll post it as soon as I get them.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Are we out of focus?
The Nov.27, 2006 edition of India Today carries the report of an exclusive survey of top schools in Delhi, Mumbai, Chennai, Kolkata and Bangalore. It claims to have exposed ‘the alarming gaps in student learning, with performance falling way below International levels’. I grabbed the magazine and took it home and to be frank I was not prepared for the findings which stared into my face. In the following week we were to take a group of students on a tour to Orissa. I took the magazine along to either try involving our Honors students in a group discussion or at least get the opinion of my colleagues. Unfortunately I could do neither for want of time. The summary of what I understood is as follows-
1. Learning seems to be taking place in watertight compartments with little relation to real life.
2. Class VIII students consistently faltered even on concepts they had learnt in junior school.
3. Only 37% of the students were able make a two step reasoning that water is H2O and it evaporates to form steam. Therefore the chemical formula for water and steam is the same.
4. Class VI Indian students were outdone by international students of class IV in some tests.
5. Class VI students know that whales are mammals and mammal breathe through their lungs but many fail to make the connection.
6. Students fare well in rote questions but trip up on those needing interpretation and analysis.
I suggest that those of you with school going kids, go through the article, and, get first hand information of the outcome of the survey and come up with a strategy best suited to your child to make learning a pleasure. Do incorporate the practical application of book knowledge in their day to day life. Let their analytical skills develop to the maximum. On the one hand we send our wards to school even before they overcome stranger anxiety and pressurize them to come out in flying colors and on the other side is an education, that when imparted, is not even encouraging them to think logically. Do we have the right to force such methods down their throats? Could this be a reason for the spurt in teen age suicides and depression? I read with a heavy heart the news of a father who was so ambitious that he would beat up his son for every wrong shot he played while practicing Table Tennis. One day he hit him with some hard object for refusing to practice. The boy collapsed and died even before reaching the hospital. Would it not have been better if the father had tried to find out why the child did not want to practice? The world is in the grip of terrorists. Let us no alienate our children by setting unrealistic goals for them. It takes just one step in the wrong direction for us to lose them forever.
1. Learning seems to be taking place in watertight compartments with little relation to real life.
2. Class VIII students consistently faltered even on concepts they had learnt in junior school.
3. Only 37% of the students were able make a two step reasoning that water is H2O and it evaporates to form steam. Therefore the chemical formula for water and steam is the same.
4. Class VI Indian students were outdone by international students of class IV in some tests.
5. Class VI students know that whales are mammals and mammal breathe through their lungs but many fail to make the connection.
6. Students fare well in rote questions but trip up on those needing interpretation and analysis.
I suggest that those of you with school going kids, go through the article, and, get first hand information of the outcome of the survey and come up with a strategy best suited to your child to make learning a pleasure. Do incorporate the practical application of book knowledge in their day to day life. Let their analytical skills develop to the maximum. On the one hand we send our wards to school even before they overcome stranger anxiety and pressurize them to come out in flying colors and on the other side is an education, that when imparted, is not even encouraging them to think logically. Do we have the right to force such methods down their throats? Could this be a reason for the spurt in teen age suicides and depression? I read with a heavy heart the news of a father who was so ambitious that he would beat up his son for every wrong shot he played while practicing Table Tennis. One day he hit him with some hard object for refusing to practice. The boy collapsed and died even before reaching the hospital. Would it not have been better if the father had tried to find out why the child did not want to practice? The world is in the grip of terrorists. Let us no alienate our children by setting unrealistic goals for them. It takes just one step in the wrong direction for us to lose them forever.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Health,wealth or happiness?
I sometimes wonder what we want out of life. Is it health, wealth or happiness? Or a judicial mixture of all the three? I sometimes feel that while wealth cannot give health or happiness per se it could perhaps play the role of a facilitator. While wealth cannot ensure happiness, lack of it can definitely create problems which in turn can act as impediment to a healthy and happy life. It requires a highly seasoned mind to look for happiness in negative conditions. It is difficult but not impossible and once one gets the hang of it, believe me the experience is immensely enjoyable.
Let me give you an example. I have a good friend Prema. I met her on the very day that I arrived in Jamshedpur as a young bride of twenty -two. Her parents were good friends of the family, her father having gone to school with my father in law. The first thing I thought about her was ‘how cheerful this girl seems to be’. She had a high -spirited nature and her resounding laughter was infectious. I was later told that she had a job as a teacher in a semi government school and was practicing shorthand and typing hoping to take up the job of a stenographer in a good organization. She had an older brother, a qualified engineer who had to resign from his service with the Indian Railways due to his schizophrenic tendencies. The second brother was employed in Tata Steel and following an accident on duty he had lost an eye. She had a younger sister who was not a very good student and could not hope to have a career worth mentioning. She was actually studying at that time, but later took up a job as a poorly paid Hindi teacher in a private school. Prema had taken it on herself to support the family and put away all thoughts of marriage and family till at least the time when her younger sister would settle down in life. The family first got the youngest sister married after whom Prema was forced to marry a person who did not have a permanent job and she agreed to the proposal only because her brother wanted to marry and settle down and he would not consider marriage unless Prema settled down in life. Prema agreed, albeit half-heartedly, because the idea of marrying a man without a permanent job did not exactly appeal to her. She had by then taken up a job in Tata Robin Frasers and had a good career ahead. As luck would have it, her brother passed away within a month of his marriage. Her mother followed him within a year and her husband lost his job within six months of their marriage. He got in and out of jobs for the next ten years and Prema’s role as the breadwinner continued. She longed for a child of her own but fibroids in her uterus made sure that she did not. Then came the final blow. She suffered a massive stroke and went into a coma for 11 days and when she recovered her right hand was only partially functional and she had to drag her right leg to be able to walk. She had to attend to her ailing mother in law and humor her husband who still hadn’t landed a permanent job. She took medical separation from TRF and dreads the day when, upon her retirement, the paltry allowance that TRF pays her would also stop coming.
Another person in her place would have gone berserk but Prema continues to laugh and spread cheer. She is the perfect companion to her husband, maintains contact with all his relatives and takes up her responsibility as a homemaker without any grudge. She has a kind word of concern for my children and insists that I describe my trip to America in detail. I look at her with new respect and admiration each time I meet her.
What is it that keeps her going? She has neither health nor wealth. Yet she radiates a positive energy and spreads joy and hope in the hearts of all those who meet her. She may definitely have her moments of frustration but she definitely does not let it affect her interaction with others who are better off than her. Despite her handicap she takes her responsibilities seriously and is an asset to her husband who shows a better understanding now than when she had a job. Am I right in concluding that while health and wealth have a major role to play in life, they cannot have a lasting role in the joy or satisfaction that one feels from within?
Let me give you an example. I have a good friend Prema. I met her on the very day that I arrived in Jamshedpur as a young bride of twenty -two. Her parents were good friends of the family, her father having gone to school with my father in law. The first thing I thought about her was ‘how cheerful this girl seems to be’. She had a high -spirited nature and her resounding laughter was infectious. I was later told that she had a job as a teacher in a semi government school and was practicing shorthand and typing hoping to take up the job of a stenographer in a good organization. She had an older brother, a qualified engineer who had to resign from his service with the Indian Railways due to his schizophrenic tendencies. The second brother was employed in Tata Steel and following an accident on duty he had lost an eye. She had a younger sister who was not a very good student and could not hope to have a career worth mentioning. She was actually studying at that time, but later took up a job as a poorly paid Hindi teacher in a private school. Prema had taken it on herself to support the family and put away all thoughts of marriage and family till at least the time when her younger sister would settle down in life. The family first got the youngest sister married after whom Prema was forced to marry a person who did not have a permanent job and she agreed to the proposal only because her brother wanted to marry and settle down and he would not consider marriage unless Prema settled down in life. Prema agreed, albeit half-heartedly, because the idea of marrying a man without a permanent job did not exactly appeal to her. She had by then taken up a job in Tata Robin Frasers and had a good career ahead. As luck would have it, her brother passed away within a month of his marriage. Her mother followed him within a year and her husband lost his job within six months of their marriage. He got in and out of jobs for the next ten years and Prema’s role as the breadwinner continued. She longed for a child of her own but fibroids in her uterus made sure that she did not. Then came the final blow. She suffered a massive stroke and went into a coma for 11 days and when she recovered her right hand was only partially functional and she had to drag her right leg to be able to walk. She had to attend to her ailing mother in law and humor her husband who still hadn’t landed a permanent job. She took medical separation from TRF and dreads the day when, upon her retirement, the paltry allowance that TRF pays her would also stop coming.
Another person in her place would have gone berserk but Prema continues to laugh and spread cheer. She is the perfect companion to her husband, maintains contact with all his relatives and takes up her responsibility as a homemaker without any grudge. She has a kind word of concern for my children and insists that I describe my trip to America in detail. I look at her with new respect and admiration each time I meet her.
What is it that keeps her going? She has neither health nor wealth. Yet she radiates a positive energy and spreads joy and hope in the hearts of all those who meet her. She may definitely have her moments of frustration but she definitely does not let it affect her interaction with others who are better off than her. Despite her handicap she takes her responsibilities seriously and is an asset to her husband who shows a better understanding now than when she had a job. Am I right in concluding that while health and wealth have a major role to play in life, they cannot have a lasting role in the joy or satisfaction that one feels from within?
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
The World is Growing Small!!
A gentle knock at the door woke up Ramji. ‘ It must be Gowri’ he thought.
“Come in” he called out.
“How do you feel now uncle?” asked Gowri as she entered. “Has your fever subsided?”
“I’m better now Gowri” replied Ramji, “What are you doing here? Don’t you have classes today?”
“I’ll leave shortly uncle” Said Gowri, “Papa will drop me at college. I’ve brought some food for you. Have your lunch before it turns cold. I’ll come again in the evening. There is something important that I wish to tell you. Bye!”
Gowri sped off like a reindeer. Ramji wondered what it was that she wished to tell him.
Gowri was Ramji’s friend Govind’s daughter. She was bright and intelligent. He had known her as a child. Govind had been a pillar of strength when Ramji lost his wife at the age of twenty-six. Gowri was just two years old then. She would play on her own while the two friends chatted over coffee. The conversation invariably hovered around the need for Ramji to marry again at least for the sake of his children who were being looked after by their maternal grandmother as a temporary arrangement. There were plenty of good offers but Ramji refused to relent. He felt that his children would not be well looked after by a step mother and the risk involved outweighed the benefits of having a wife to attend to their needs. Govind finally gave up. The two friends had been transferred to different places but had continued to remain in touch over the years. Ramji had single-handedly brought up his children and now with his daughter married and his son employed as a chartered accountant he could sit back and relax. After twenty years they had been posted in the same town again and Gowri had now grown into a pretty young lady - self assured and confident. Since they lived close by Gowri would often drop in and chat with him on a wide range of subjects ranging from fashion trends to social issues. They would argue about the government’s policies, national and international events generally agreeing to disagree.
Sunder wondered again about Gowri’s intention to talk to him about something important. Gowri was doing her Masters at a reputed college in town. She had plans to join the administrative services and considering her perseverance and intelligence it did not appear impossible.
‘Gowri perhaps wants to talk to me about her choice of career’ he thought ‘I’ll advice her to take a course on public speaking. It will help her to face the interview and group discussion that were supposed to be tougher than the written exam. I hope she makes it to the top.’
He wondered if Gowri was in love and wanted him to talk to her father about it. He had hoped to ask for her hand for his son Srikant but if the girl had someone in mind he would stand by her choice. He was sure that, being a balanced young girl she would make the right choice.
The suspense was becoming unbearable. He could hardly wait for the evening to come. When Gowri brought him some snacks and tea in the evening she was in a pensive mood as if she was rehearsing an important dialogue.
“What is bothering you Gowri?” he asked “ You don’t seem normal. Is there anything that I can do?”
“It is something that only you can do uncle. Please don’t laugh it off since it is something serious. I’ve decided to marry.” Said Gowri.
“Good, that was not unexpected. Tell me who’s the lucky young man? Have you told your father? Do you want me to talk to him?” Ramji was keen to play the role of a matchmaker.
“Uncle” Gowri looked at him with pleading eyes. “ I wish to marry you. Please do not say no to me.”
Ramji was too shocked to respond. This silly girl must have lost her mind! He couldn’t have heard right. Oh God! What would Govind say on hearing this!
‘ My children would never agree,’ he thought. ‘At a time when I should be talking of my son’s marriage I cannot marry a girl younger than him.’
“Leave me alone child,” he almost screamed, “you do not know what you say. I’ll ask your father to get you married to the most eligible bachelor in town. Leave me alone I say! I did not consider marriage when my children were young and needed a mother to look after them. You are like a daughter to me. How could you even harbor such an idea?”
“I’ll go away uncle,” said Gowri in a voice that betrayed no emotions. “But I stand by what I said. Your children are now settling down in life. You are not yet fifty. Don’t you need a soul mate to look after you? I wish to be your companion for life. I see nothing wrong in it.”
“Gowri! Please listen to me. With your charming personality and intelligent mind you will never lack suitors. I am twenty-four years older than you. Almost like a father. Your father’s association means a lot to me and I cannot do this to him. You may also regret your decision later. Concentrate on your studies. Marriage can wait.” Ramji almost pleaded with her.
Gowri left.
Years went by, and Gowri joined the Administrative Services. She continued to visit Ramji but made no mention of the conversation that took place between them. It appeared as though she had gotten over her passing fancy. Govind started looking out for a suitable match for her and Ramji heaved a sigh of relief.
On a Sunday morning Govind stormed into Ramji’s room.
“This foolish girl of mine seems to have lost her mind. Do something about it Ram. I don’t understand a word of what she says. I asked her what she thought of your son Srikant and she says that he is like a son to her and refuses to consider the proposal. What on earth does she mean?”
Govind continued to fume and fret while Ramji tried in vain to pacify him. Just then Gowri entered the room.
“Papa” she said, “I’ve always wanted to tell you. However, I did not know how to bring up the subject. I do not feel inclined to marry the young and eligible bachelors of your choice. They seem light headed and frivolous. I’d like to marry uncle with your blessings. Love transcends caste, creed, physical appearance and also age. Should you both have any objection, just leave me alone. I have a job to support myself and I’ll concentrate on my career.”
The two men listened to her in a stunned silence. Such things happened to others or perhaps in romantic novels and movies. They could not take place in the lives of simple, ordinary people like them. Ultimately they had to relent and Gowri married Ramji proving that Love was both blind and deaf. Or was it?
This is a real life story that did the rounds in the early 70’s when I was newly married. I was very eager to meet the girl who, according to my source of information, was a very smart young lady, about the same age as me. I got to meet or rather seeher once at a common relative’s wedding. She was very much the person that I expected her to be and seemed quite at ease catering to her husband who was then nearing retirement. I had my own hectic schedule to cope with and I soon forgot about them.
Years later, I met a young man at my daughter’s place and the conversation hovered around strange marriages and when he started narrating the above story I had to stop him midway to check if he was talking about the person known to me by hearsay and of course he was!! The world was indeed growing small. I was glad that I could set right a misunderstanding he had about the couple. He had grown up believing that Ramji had ended up marrying Gowri having gone to Govind’s place with a marriage proposal for his son Srikant. He was happy to know that this was not so and was surprised that it was Gowri who had insisted on the marriage. I was glad to hear that their marriage was a success story and as far as Gowri was concerned LOVE was neither blind nor deaf!!
“Come in” he called out.
“How do you feel now uncle?” asked Gowri as she entered. “Has your fever subsided?”
“I’m better now Gowri” replied Ramji, “What are you doing here? Don’t you have classes today?”
“I’ll leave shortly uncle” Said Gowri, “Papa will drop me at college. I’ve brought some food for you. Have your lunch before it turns cold. I’ll come again in the evening. There is something important that I wish to tell you. Bye!”
Gowri sped off like a reindeer. Ramji wondered what it was that she wished to tell him.
Gowri was Ramji’s friend Govind’s daughter. She was bright and intelligent. He had known her as a child. Govind had been a pillar of strength when Ramji lost his wife at the age of twenty-six. Gowri was just two years old then. She would play on her own while the two friends chatted over coffee. The conversation invariably hovered around the need for Ramji to marry again at least for the sake of his children who were being looked after by their maternal grandmother as a temporary arrangement. There were plenty of good offers but Ramji refused to relent. He felt that his children would not be well looked after by a step mother and the risk involved outweighed the benefits of having a wife to attend to their needs. Govind finally gave up. The two friends had been transferred to different places but had continued to remain in touch over the years. Ramji had single-handedly brought up his children and now with his daughter married and his son employed as a chartered accountant he could sit back and relax. After twenty years they had been posted in the same town again and Gowri had now grown into a pretty young lady - self assured and confident. Since they lived close by Gowri would often drop in and chat with him on a wide range of subjects ranging from fashion trends to social issues. They would argue about the government’s policies, national and international events generally agreeing to disagree.
Sunder wondered again about Gowri’s intention to talk to him about something important. Gowri was doing her Masters at a reputed college in town. She had plans to join the administrative services and considering her perseverance and intelligence it did not appear impossible.
‘Gowri perhaps wants to talk to me about her choice of career’ he thought ‘I’ll advice her to take a course on public speaking. It will help her to face the interview and group discussion that were supposed to be tougher than the written exam. I hope she makes it to the top.’
He wondered if Gowri was in love and wanted him to talk to her father about it. He had hoped to ask for her hand for his son Srikant but if the girl had someone in mind he would stand by her choice. He was sure that, being a balanced young girl she would make the right choice.
The suspense was becoming unbearable. He could hardly wait for the evening to come. When Gowri brought him some snacks and tea in the evening she was in a pensive mood as if she was rehearsing an important dialogue.
“What is bothering you Gowri?” he asked “ You don’t seem normal. Is there anything that I can do?”
“It is something that only you can do uncle. Please don’t laugh it off since it is something serious. I’ve decided to marry.” Said Gowri.
“Good, that was not unexpected. Tell me who’s the lucky young man? Have you told your father? Do you want me to talk to him?” Ramji was keen to play the role of a matchmaker.
“Uncle” Gowri looked at him with pleading eyes. “ I wish to marry you. Please do not say no to me.”
Ramji was too shocked to respond. This silly girl must have lost her mind! He couldn’t have heard right. Oh God! What would Govind say on hearing this!
‘ My children would never agree,’ he thought. ‘At a time when I should be talking of my son’s marriage I cannot marry a girl younger than him.’
“Leave me alone child,” he almost screamed, “you do not know what you say. I’ll ask your father to get you married to the most eligible bachelor in town. Leave me alone I say! I did not consider marriage when my children were young and needed a mother to look after them. You are like a daughter to me. How could you even harbor such an idea?”
“I’ll go away uncle,” said Gowri in a voice that betrayed no emotions. “But I stand by what I said. Your children are now settling down in life. You are not yet fifty. Don’t you need a soul mate to look after you? I wish to be your companion for life. I see nothing wrong in it.”
“Gowri! Please listen to me. With your charming personality and intelligent mind you will never lack suitors. I am twenty-four years older than you. Almost like a father. Your father’s association means a lot to me and I cannot do this to him. You may also regret your decision later. Concentrate on your studies. Marriage can wait.” Ramji almost pleaded with her.
Gowri left.
Years went by, and Gowri joined the Administrative Services. She continued to visit Ramji but made no mention of the conversation that took place between them. It appeared as though she had gotten over her passing fancy. Govind started looking out for a suitable match for her and Ramji heaved a sigh of relief.
On a Sunday morning Govind stormed into Ramji’s room.
“This foolish girl of mine seems to have lost her mind. Do something about it Ram. I don’t understand a word of what she says. I asked her what she thought of your son Srikant and she says that he is like a son to her and refuses to consider the proposal. What on earth does she mean?”
Govind continued to fume and fret while Ramji tried in vain to pacify him. Just then Gowri entered the room.
“Papa” she said, “I’ve always wanted to tell you. However, I did not know how to bring up the subject. I do not feel inclined to marry the young and eligible bachelors of your choice. They seem light headed and frivolous. I’d like to marry uncle with your blessings. Love transcends caste, creed, physical appearance and also age. Should you both have any objection, just leave me alone. I have a job to support myself and I’ll concentrate on my career.”
The two men listened to her in a stunned silence. Such things happened to others or perhaps in romantic novels and movies. They could not take place in the lives of simple, ordinary people like them. Ultimately they had to relent and Gowri married Ramji proving that Love was both blind and deaf. Or was it?
This is a real life story that did the rounds in the early 70’s when I was newly married. I was very eager to meet the girl who, according to my source of information, was a very smart young lady, about the same age as me. I got to meet or rather seeher once at a common relative’s wedding. She was very much the person that I expected her to be and seemed quite at ease catering to her husband who was then nearing retirement. I had my own hectic schedule to cope with and I soon forgot about them.
Years later, I met a young man at my daughter’s place and the conversation hovered around strange marriages and when he started narrating the above story I had to stop him midway to check if he was talking about the person known to me by hearsay and of course he was!! The world was indeed growing small. I was glad that I could set right a misunderstanding he had about the couple. He had grown up believing that Ramji had ended up marrying Gowri having gone to Govind’s place with a marriage proposal for his son Srikant. He was happy to know that this was not so and was surprised that it was Gowri who had insisted on the marriage. I was glad to hear that their marriage was a success story and as far as Gowri was concerned LOVE was neither blind nor deaf!!
Monday, January 01, 2007
Happy New Year!!
Let me begin with my good wishes for a very happy year ahead. May this New Year bring sunshine in your lives.
Another year has gone by and I feel inclined to reflect on what a New Year means to us. Is it just another new calendar or could we strive to make it eventful? I went for a small get together last night and we had people reciting poems in Urdu and Hindi. One such recital was about there being no difference between the year that has gone by and the one that is being ushered in and the reference given was that of the rising cost of essential commodities. It was delivered in an apparently light vein. ‘Bitter truth delivered as sugar coated pills’ I thought to myself. I then made a quick list of what an ordinary person like me could do to make this New Year different. I cannot stop the price of potatoes from sky rocketing nor can I stop people from buying gold at ‘any cost’ but-
1) I can do my bit to sensitize society on the issue of female foeticide and infanticide. This is a problem that needs to be addressed immediately and I am going to do my bit by talking to my students, and, their parents if need be, to create awareness about the gravity of the problem.
2) I am going to ponder deeply on the emotional health of our school going kids and see if something can be done to give back to them, their childhood, which seems to be slipping away from their lives. This I plan to do by educating my students who will be dealing with families of their own in the near future. I feel it is the inferiority complex among the parents of today that makes them push their wards too far. I want my students to be proud and confident about their own capabilities. Only then can they have faith in their children and let them grow at their own pace.
The founder of our college Dr. N. K. Singh was accorded a grand felicitation by the Senior Citizen’s Council for Excellence and the views expressed by some of the speakers based on their experience and observations merit consideration. One such advice given to parents by Dr. N.K. Singh is –
You give the children your love, but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You house their body, but not their soul,
For their soul dwells in the house of tomorrow,
Where you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you,
For life goes neither backwards, nor tarries with yesterday.
I have almost fulfilled my duty as a parent and cannot rectify or undo any error in parenting that I may have unknowingly committed. But I do have a few more years as a teacher. I have decided to devote the remaining years of my teaching career to learn to let children explore and innovate instead of imposing myself on them by way of ‘teaching’. Who knows what I may end up learning from them!
For a New Year message this has been a serious piece of writing and that too from a person like me who is known to make light of everything. I’ve been listening to a lot of intellectual stuff recently and feel that the social problems that haunt us need to be addressed as best as they can. Let us all join hands and do our bit in the year 2007.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!
Another year has gone by and I feel inclined to reflect on what a New Year means to us. Is it just another new calendar or could we strive to make it eventful? I went for a small get together last night and we had people reciting poems in Urdu and Hindi. One such recital was about there being no difference between the year that has gone by and the one that is being ushered in and the reference given was that of the rising cost of essential commodities. It was delivered in an apparently light vein. ‘Bitter truth delivered as sugar coated pills’ I thought to myself. I then made a quick list of what an ordinary person like me could do to make this New Year different. I cannot stop the price of potatoes from sky rocketing nor can I stop people from buying gold at ‘any cost’ but-
1) I can do my bit to sensitize society on the issue of female foeticide and infanticide. This is a problem that needs to be addressed immediately and I am going to do my bit by talking to my students, and, their parents if need be, to create awareness about the gravity of the problem.
2) I am going to ponder deeply on the emotional health of our school going kids and see if something can be done to give back to them, their childhood, which seems to be slipping away from their lives. This I plan to do by educating my students who will be dealing with families of their own in the near future. I feel it is the inferiority complex among the parents of today that makes them push their wards too far. I want my students to be proud and confident about their own capabilities. Only then can they have faith in their children and let them grow at their own pace.
The founder of our college Dr. N. K. Singh was accorded a grand felicitation by the Senior Citizen’s Council for Excellence and the views expressed by some of the speakers based on their experience and observations merit consideration. One such advice given to parents by Dr. N.K. Singh is –
You give the children your love, but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You house their body, but not their soul,
For their soul dwells in the house of tomorrow,
Where you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you,
For life goes neither backwards, nor tarries with yesterday.
I have almost fulfilled my duty as a parent and cannot rectify or undo any error in parenting that I may have unknowingly committed. But I do have a few more years as a teacher. I have decided to devote the remaining years of my teaching career to learn to let children explore and innovate instead of imposing myself on them by way of ‘teaching’. Who knows what I may end up learning from them!
For a New Year message this has been a serious piece of writing and that too from a person like me who is known to make light of everything. I’ve been listening to a lot of intellectual stuff recently and feel that the social problems that haunt us need to be addressed as best as they can. Let us all join hands and do our bit in the year 2007.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!
Friday, December 22, 2006
Just ten minutes
Have you ever experienced the ‘ten more minutes syndrome’? I’m sure you have. There are so many things that we want to do but keep putting off just because we do not have those ten minutes that are required to get them done. I tried making a list of such things and found the list rather long. I then had to shortlist a few that were important to me. I invite all of you to add to this list your own experience and help me compare notes. I do understand that while we endlessly postpone certain things, we never seem to be too busy or tired to attend to some others. I’ve never been able to fully understand why this is so. I leave it to you to come up with answers.
When I started working I was kind of baffled at the thought of cooking for the family, getting three children ready for school and reaching my workplace by public transport at seven in the morning. I managed to do all these things but I never found time to have my breakfast. If only I had ‘ten minutes more’ I’d sigh. The college timing was shifted from 7 o’clock in the morning to 8:00 AM and later to 10:30 AM. Children left home to study and have now settled down in life. I still don’t find time to sit down and have a proper meal in the morning and it is almost certain that I am never going to have the time. I drive to college and my husband has now retired. I still stuff my brunch in a hurry and choke over it. My husband fetches water and gives me a look that says ‘when are you going to learn to be organized? What were you doing since morning?’ I cannot bring myself to admit that I read the newspaper at leisure and worked on my crossword and sudoku. Or that I had a peep into my blog and read my mails. I continue to wish that I had just ‘a little more time’.
I seem to find time to do so many things but I am a bit weird in that I don’t care too much about shopping in general and for myself in particular. I keep postponing and procrastinating and although I can easily pick up the items on my shopper’s list on my way home, I rush back as if I have a two year old crying out for mommy and waiting for me to get home. I don’t seem to have time. Once I reach home and change to a more comfortable attire, nothing in the world can make me get ready to go out again. I wonder if I really managed to put in all those hours doing combined study during my M. Sc. and if the person who attended PT meetings managed the routine bank and post office work was someone else.
I really want to keep a sparkling house with everything in perfect order. I manage to do it once a while. My friends have a way of absenting themselves on those days and landing home when I decide to relax with a book munching peanuts with the empty coffee cup right beside me. I feel like telling them that it was only yesterday that I tidied my kitchen and put away the magazines. With the children away I have to take whole and sole responsibility for a messy house. It may be a good idea to invite friends on the days that I am hit by the cleaning ‘bug’. My friends are rather tolerant and find excuses for me. For my part I always wonder why this is so. It may not be a bad idea to take a few photographs as proof that I am okay and it is they who choose to pop in just when I plan to clean up the house in just ten minutes. I am in awe of people whose house looks swabbed and cleaned throughout the day. I thought of hiring a servant to do it. I gave up the idea because I am very bad at extracting work. I literally apologize when there are extra vessels to wash and advise my servant to ‘do as much as you can’, offering to do the rest myself.
My Christmas break has just begun and I have great plans - the main one being to check on my loft and dispose of all unwanted items that have not been used for the past 14 years. I decide to do so many things during vacations. But summers are ‘hot’ and winters ‘cold’. I remain in the coolest room in summer like a sleepy crocodile and never seem to find time!
Please don’t imagine that I am a lazy person and a real good for nothing. I’d feel lousy if you do. I want to be the perfect mother, wife and teacher. I need ….. Well you’ve guessed it – just ten more minutes!!
When I started working I was kind of baffled at the thought of cooking for the family, getting three children ready for school and reaching my workplace by public transport at seven in the morning. I managed to do all these things but I never found time to have my breakfast. If only I had ‘ten minutes more’ I’d sigh. The college timing was shifted from 7 o’clock in the morning to 8:00 AM and later to 10:30 AM. Children left home to study and have now settled down in life. I still don’t find time to sit down and have a proper meal in the morning and it is almost certain that I am never going to have the time. I drive to college and my husband has now retired. I still stuff my brunch in a hurry and choke over it. My husband fetches water and gives me a look that says ‘when are you going to learn to be organized? What were you doing since morning?’ I cannot bring myself to admit that I read the newspaper at leisure and worked on my crossword and sudoku. Or that I had a peep into my blog and read my mails. I continue to wish that I had just ‘a little more time’.
I seem to find time to do so many things but I am a bit weird in that I don’t care too much about shopping in general and for myself in particular. I keep postponing and procrastinating and although I can easily pick up the items on my shopper’s list on my way home, I rush back as if I have a two year old crying out for mommy and waiting for me to get home. I don’t seem to have time. Once I reach home and change to a more comfortable attire, nothing in the world can make me get ready to go out again. I wonder if I really managed to put in all those hours doing combined study during my M. Sc. and if the person who attended PT meetings managed the routine bank and post office work was someone else.
I really want to keep a sparkling house with everything in perfect order. I manage to do it once a while. My friends have a way of absenting themselves on those days and landing home when I decide to relax with a book munching peanuts with the empty coffee cup right beside me. I feel like telling them that it was only yesterday that I tidied my kitchen and put away the magazines. With the children away I have to take whole and sole responsibility for a messy house. It may be a good idea to invite friends on the days that I am hit by the cleaning ‘bug’. My friends are rather tolerant and find excuses for me. For my part I always wonder why this is so. It may not be a bad idea to take a few photographs as proof that I am okay and it is they who choose to pop in just when I plan to clean up the house in just ten minutes. I am in awe of people whose house looks swabbed and cleaned throughout the day. I thought of hiring a servant to do it. I gave up the idea because I am very bad at extracting work. I literally apologize when there are extra vessels to wash and advise my servant to ‘do as much as you can’, offering to do the rest myself.
My Christmas break has just begun and I have great plans - the main one being to check on my loft and dispose of all unwanted items that have not been used for the past 14 years. I decide to do so many things during vacations. But summers are ‘hot’ and winters ‘cold’. I remain in the coolest room in summer like a sleepy crocodile and never seem to find time!
Please don’t imagine that I am a lazy person and a real good for nothing. I’d feel lousy if you do. I want to be the perfect mother, wife and teacher. I need ….. Well you’ve guessed it – just ten more minutes!!
Friday, December 01, 2006
Is it not our responsibility?
I happened to listen to an AIDS patient at a training program for teachers conducted by YMCA last week. He was a young man, thirty years old, and, getting over his own agony of being diagnosed as a victim of a dreaded disease, had come forward to warn others about the prevalence of the disease in our society. Having heard that we were teachers dealing with teenagers he had agreed to share his experience and expressed hope that the students whom we dealt with would be counseled by us and they would in turn spread the message among their peer group.
This was not the first time that we had attended a program on AIDS awareness nor were we ignorant about the epidemic levels it is soon expected to reach. What impressed me was the positive attitude of the young man. He admitted to have had a physical relationship with his girl friend in Mumbai and wasn’t too sure about her loyalty to him. He was initially upset and angry with her for being the cause of his anguish but later took it upon himself to ring up and warn her about the possibility of her being a carrier of the undetected virus and to ask her to get herself tested. He also asked his brother now in Mumbai to be careful citing his own example.
It is not very easy to talk to one’s grown up children about the common causes of HIV infection. We tend to imagine that this is someone else’s problem and our sympathies are with the victims. ‘But AIDS in my own family?? Oh! No!! Impossible’. I wish it were impossible. Alas! It is not. It is time for responsible citizens of India to take it upon them to educate the youngsters of today on the circumstances that lead to HIV infection and offer counsel without being judgmental.
The young man mentioned above was well informed about the disease and yet fell victim to it. He was in no way a ‘high risk’ candidate.But he was not spared. We have so many others like him who are National Treasures. Can we afford to let them waste their lives? More and more of our youngsters are leaving home and settling down in unknown places for their studies or career. They are an emotionally vulnerable group and easy targets. All victims may not be positive thinkers. Some may become sadistic and spiteful. Let us make it our responsibility to do our bit to spread awareness among our children. 1st December is WORLD AIDS DAY. Why don’t we all join hands for a good cause?
This was not the first time that we had attended a program on AIDS awareness nor were we ignorant about the epidemic levels it is soon expected to reach. What impressed me was the positive attitude of the young man. He admitted to have had a physical relationship with his girl friend in Mumbai and wasn’t too sure about her loyalty to him. He was initially upset and angry with her for being the cause of his anguish but later took it upon himself to ring up and warn her about the possibility of her being a carrier of the undetected virus and to ask her to get herself tested. He also asked his brother now in Mumbai to be careful citing his own example.
It is not very easy to talk to one’s grown up children about the common causes of HIV infection. We tend to imagine that this is someone else’s problem and our sympathies are with the victims. ‘But AIDS in my own family?? Oh! No!! Impossible’. I wish it were impossible. Alas! It is not. It is time for responsible citizens of India to take it upon them to educate the youngsters of today on the circumstances that lead to HIV infection and offer counsel without being judgmental.
The young man mentioned above was well informed about the disease and yet fell victim to it. He was in no way a ‘high risk’ candidate.But he was not spared. We have so many others like him who are National Treasures. Can we afford to let them waste their lives? More and more of our youngsters are leaving home and settling down in unknown places for their studies or career. They are an emotionally vulnerable group and easy targets. All victims may not be positive thinkers. Some may become sadistic and spiteful. Let us make it our responsibility to do our bit to spread awareness among our children. 1st December is WORLD AIDS DAY. Why don’t we all join hands for a good cause?
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
LIVING FOSSIL
Young working mothers please don't take offence.Just having fun at your expense.I wrote this 2 years back and though written in the first person not all the instances apply to me.For instance my daughters live in America where domestic help is unthinkable. So those of you who have the facility go ahead and enjoy the pleasure. However, I did undertake to teach a little girl and she stopped coming to me and I heard that the mother 'didn't mind paying any amount of fees' as long as the teacher wrote out her daughter's answers.
I like to call myself a living fossil. I seem to be such a major misfit in today’s world that I decided to take stock of areas that seem totally out of tune to what I perceive as normal. Take for instance my grandson’s upbringing. He is just 2 years old and he is being sent to 3 different places to “study”.
I assure you that I attended school. My dad had a transferable job and those were days when transfers did not coincide with our academic session. My father just barged into a school of his choice filled out a form and before we knew it we were enrolled in the appropriate class. We took care not to fail an exam and that was it. We studied on our own and were praised or punished according to our understanding of the subject. We played every kind of outdoor game, read a whole lot of storybooks, got in and out of trouble and studied just before bed-time often nodding off to sleep without even finishing our home work assignments.
My children had to face slightly more competition and the onus of preparing them for an admission interview in a reputed school fell on me. I trained them as best as I could without compromising on their playtime. I spoke to them in English and made them aware some general information like ‘we see with our eyes and breathe through the nose’. I designed the syllabus myself and we went through the routine twice a day. I must have overstepped my limits because my son decided that it was our milkman and not the cow that gave us milk and my daughter declared that the color of her hair was green at their respective interviews! Nevertheless they managed to get admission in the only school that I had applied. Once admitted we led our lives in peaceful co existence, with my children agreeing to sit with their books at a particular time of the day while I believed that they were studying.
Twenty-five years have gone by and my daughter is tensed about her son’s school admission. The child can barely make himself understood and throws a tantrum when he is woken up and sent to a playschool in the neighborhood. I fail to understand why a child should be sent to school to play. I may sound old fashioned but I was brought up to believe that children went to school to study and played with other kids free of cost in neighboring parks or wherever it suited them. We are six years into the 21st century and perhaps Internet parenting suggested that in order to make children socially acceptable they had to be sent to the most expensive play school to ‘interact’ with other children. I secretly wondered if it was the parent who was in need of social acceptance. In our times we lived in isolated bungalows and jumped over walls and ran across roads to meet our friends. My daughter lives in an apartment complex which houses 118 families and a bunch of kids are always available for interaction at the park in the complex at any given time. We have security guards at the gate to ensure that the children stay within the premises. Yet my daughter pays a tidy sum to avail the right kind of interaction. Luckily the duration of the school is only an hour so what if it starts at 7 in the morning! It is quite another matter that the child’s name was registered for admission to this school even before his first birthday. I tried to reason with my daughter but continued to be silenced by the famous one liner ‘ your times were different’. Unable to witness the child’s trauma I go for a morning walk at 6 o’ clock and return after he leaves for his playschool. Apart from this play school he goes to be coached by a retired Anglo Indian schoolteacher to pick up the “right accent”. She charges a fortune to teach him nursery rhymes that I could have taught him in my free time. But as my daughter says ‘times have changed’ and perhaps my accent that was good enough for the mother was below the standard stipulated for children of the 21st century!
I had waited for around 10 years after marriage to buy an electrified food processor and perhaps another 5 years before getting myself a washing machine. Till then I was happy to ‘process food’ manually and to be frank once the mixer arrived it took me a month to get used to it. I’d switch it on only when my husband was around and unplug it the minute I finished using it. I then decided that my daughter would have all the available kitchen gadgets from the day she set up a home and so she did. She has a food processor, washing machine, a microwave, a vacuum cleaner dish washer and what not! You name it and she has it. But if you think that having them also means that she’s using them you are wrong. She has a maid who took up the job after ensuring that all the above facilities were available and the servant is paid a cool fifteen hundred for her services which include heating up food in the microwave apart from putting these gadgets to good use! My daughter also stocks up all kinds of instant mixes, readymade ginger and garlic paste, pickles, packaged rotis, precooked dals and vegetables. I tried asking her why the servant could not render manual services and with the available gadgets doing their job and a well trained maid to handle them where was the need to stock instant food? There seemed no logic in it. I was silenced by a look that said it all! ‘Who has the time?’ True no one seems to have time. Not even the two-year-old! I had enough of it so I looked around to see if other families were better off.
A young girl in the neighborhood about the same age as my daughter came home the other day to find out if there was an art’s school near by where her school going children could learn to draw and paint on Sunday mornings.
‘Why Sunday mornings?’ I wondered. I did not have to wait for long to be enlightened. The children already went for karate and swimming classes on Saturdays and Sunday evenings were taken up by their music teacher. Bal - Vihar classes were also squeezed in to familiarize them with Hindu mythology and scriptures. In short the kids were busier during the weekends than on schooldays. I felt like asking them to rebel against parental ambition.
“ When do your children play?” I asked.
“ They attend cricket coaching after school three days a week and practice yoga in the mornings.” She replied.
‘ What happened to hop scotch and hide and seek games we played as children?’ I wondered. Those games had become redundant; as had the word building, ghost stories and riddles we took up when there was a power-cut in the locality. Our times were different and our games like us had perhaps become living fossils!
I tried to look for something to do in my free time and decided to teach a few school-going children free of cost in the evenings. Word got around and a mother sent her daughter to be tutored. The child wanted help in English and mathematics and I was glad to have found a student. I made her read the lesson in her English reader explained it to her as best as I could and asked her to answer a few questions based on the lesson.
“But these questions are not given at the end of the chapter.” Protested the child.
“I am asking you these questions to judge whether you have understood the lesson. They will encourage you to think for yourself.” I tried to reason with her. “You may write the answers at home but try to answer in your own words.”
I also asked her to look up the meaning of difficult words using a dictionary.
The next day it was the mother and not the daughter who came to me. I wondered if the child was ill. The mother told me that the little girl was unable to find time to look up meanings of difficult words and frame answers to questions. She wanted to know if I could please write out the answers to the questions given at the end of the chapter and underline difficult words, which she would look up, and note down for the child.
“But” I protested, “Why don’t you let the child work on her own? If we’re going to do her home work for her how will she learn?”
“She has to complete her History project by tomorrow. Her father is helping her to do it ” Said the lady.
I could not understand the logic behind the assignment of a project that the child could not work on without outside help. I wanted to ask her if the child was over worked and was missing out on simple pleasures that one derived by working on one’s own and the joy one felt when original work was appreciated. I felt outdated and unwanted. The world around me had changed beyond recognition, as had the rules of parenting. I felt a misfit in my surroundings.
Suddenly I seemed to remember something. Not long ago when I wanted to admit my daughter to a famous but expensive technical school my mother had made her displeasure known in all possible ways.
“ Why do you want to spend so much money on a daughter’s education?” she had said.
“She will not be supporting you after marriage. You may as well invest in some gold jewelry. After all, even with all that money you spend on her education, you still have to get her married. And you better teach her some housekeeping. As for your son, well his room is a mess at any given time of the day. And the kind of music they listen to is enough to drive one crazy.”
“Your times were different” I had replied. “Whether I buy gold or not I definitely am going to educate her. She will take up a job and invest in gold or diamonds as per her wish. That’s up to her. As for housekeeping she’ll pick it up when the time comes. Why worry now?”
I am sure my mother had then felt like a living fossil then very much the way I do now.
I like to call myself a living fossil. I seem to be such a major misfit in today’s world that I decided to take stock of areas that seem totally out of tune to what I perceive as normal. Take for instance my grandson’s upbringing. He is just 2 years old and he is being sent to 3 different places to “study”.
I assure you that I attended school. My dad had a transferable job and those were days when transfers did not coincide with our academic session. My father just barged into a school of his choice filled out a form and before we knew it we were enrolled in the appropriate class. We took care not to fail an exam and that was it. We studied on our own and were praised or punished according to our understanding of the subject. We played every kind of outdoor game, read a whole lot of storybooks, got in and out of trouble and studied just before bed-time often nodding off to sleep without even finishing our home work assignments.
My children had to face slightly more competition and the onus of preparing them for an admission interview in a reputed school fell on me. I trained them as best as I could without compromising on their playtime. I spoke to them in English and made them aware some general information like ‘we see with our eyes and breathe through the nose’. I designed the syllabus myself and we went through the routine twice a day. I must have overstepped my limits because my son decided that it was our milkman and not the cow that gave us milk and my daughter declared that the color of her hair was green at their respective interviews! Nevertheless they managed to get admission in the only school that I had applied. Once admitted we led our lives in peaceful co existence, with my children agreeing to sit with their books at a particular time of the day while I believed that they were studying.
Twenty-five years have gone by and my daughter is tensed about her son’s school admission. The child can barely make himself understood and throws a tantrum when he is woken up and sent to a playschool in the neighborhood. I fail to understand why a child should be sent to school to play. I may sound old fashioned but I was brought up to believe that children went to school to study and played with other kids free of cost in neighboring parks or wherever it suited them. We are six years into the 21st century and perhaps Internet parenting suggested that in order to make children socially acceptable they had to be sent to the most expensive play school to ‘interact’ with other children. I secretly wondered if it was the parent who was in need of social acceptance. In our times we lived in isolated bungalows and jumped over walls and ran across roads to meet our friends. My daughter lives in an apartment complex which houses 118 families and a bunch of kids are always available for interaction at the park in the complex at any given time. We have security guards at the gate to ensure that the children stay within the premises. Yet my daughter pays a tidy sum to avail the right kind of interaction. Luckily the duration of the school is only an hour so what if it starts at 7 in the morning! It is quite another matter that the child’s name was registered for admission to this school even before his first birthday. I tried to reason with my daughter but continued to be silenced by the famous one liner ‘ your times were different’. Unable to witness the child’s trauma I go for a morning walk at 6 o’ clock and return after he leaves for his playschool. Apart from this play school he goes to be coached by a retired Anglo Indian schoolteacher to pick up the “right accent”. She charges a fortune to teach him nursery rhymes that I could have taught him in my free time. But as my daughter says ‘times have changed’ and perhaps my accent that was good enough for the mother was below the standard stipulated for children of the 21st century!
I had waited for around 10 years after marriage to buy an electrified food processor and perhaps another 5 years before getting myself a washing machine. Till then I was happy to ‘process food’ manually and to be frank once the mixer arrived it took me a month to get used to it. I’d switch it on only when my husband was around and unplug it the minute I finished using it. I then decided that my daughter would have all the available kitchen gadgets from the day she set up a home and so she did. She has a food processor, washing machine, a microwave, a vacuum cleaner dish washer and what not! You name it and she has it. But if you think that having them also means that she’s using them you are wrong. She has a maid who took up the job after ensuring that all the above facilities were available and the servant is paid a cool fifteen hundred for her services which include heating up food in the microwave apart from putting these gadgets to good use! My daughter also stocks up all kinds of instant mixes, readymade ginger and garlic paste, pickles, packaged rotis, precooked dals and vegetables. I tried asking her why the servant could not render manual services and with the available gadgets doing their job and a well trained maid to handle them where was the need to stock instant food? There seemed no logic in it. I was silenced by a look that said it all! ‘Who has the time?’ True no one seems to have time. Not even the two-year-old! I had enough of it so I looked around to see if other families were better off.
A young girl in the neighborhood about the same age as my daughter came home the other day to find out if there was an art’s school near by where her school going children could learn to draw and paint on Sunday mornings.
‘Why Sunday mornings?’ I wondered. I did not have to wait for long to be enlightened. The children already went for karate and swimming classes on Saturdays and Sunday evenings were taken up by their music teacher. Bal - Vihar classes were also squeezed in to familiarize them with Hindu mythology and scriptures. In short the kids were busier during the weekends than on schooldays. I felt like asking them to rebel against parental ambition.
“ When do your children play?” I asked.
“ They attend cricket coaching after school three days a week and practice yoga in the mornings.” She replied.
‘ What happened to hop scotch and hide and seek games we played as children?’ I wondered. Those games had become redundant; as had the word building, ghost stories and riddles we took up when there was a power-cut in the locality. Our times were different and our games like us had perhaps become living fossils!
I tried to look for something to do in my free time and decided to teach a few school-going children free of cost in the evenings. Word got around and a mother sent her daughter to be tutored. The child wanted help in English and mathematics and I was glad to have found a student. I made her read the lesson in her English reader explained it to her as best as I could and asked her to answer a few questions based on the lesson.
“But these questions are not given at the end of the chapter.” Protested the child.
“I am asking you these questions to judge whether you have understood the lesson. They will encourage you to think for yourself.” I tried to reason with her. “You may write the answers at home but try to answer in your own words.”
I also asked her to look up the meaning of difficult words using a dictionary.
The next day it was the mother and not the daughter who came to me. I wondered if the child was ill. The mother told me that the little girl was unable to find time to look up meanings of difficult words and frame answers to questions. She wanted to know if I could please write out the answers to the questions given at the end of the chapter and underline difficult words, which she would look up, and note down for the child.
“But” I protested, “Why don’t you let the child work on her own? If we’re going to do her home work for her how will she learn?”
“She has to complete her History project by tomorrow. Her father is helping her to do it ” Said the lady.
I could not understand the logic behind the assignment of a project that the child could not work on without outside help. I wanted to ask her if the child was over worked and was missing out on simple pleasures that one derived by working on one’s own and the joy one felt when original work was appreciated. I felt outdated and unwanted. The world around me had changed beyond recognition, as had the rules of parenting. I felt a misfit in my surroundings.
Suddenly I seemed to remember something. Not long ago when I wanted to admit my daughter to a famous but expensive technical school my mother had made her displeasure known in all possible ways.
“ Why do you want to spend so much money on a daughter’s education?” she had said.
“She will not be supporting you after marriage. You may as well invest in some gold jewelry. After all, even with all that money you spend on her education, you still have to get her married. And you better teach her some housekeeping. As for your son, well his room is a mess at any given time of the day. And the kind of music they listen to is enough to drive one crazy.”
“Your times were different” I had replied. “Whether I buy gold or not I definitely am going to educate her. She will take up a job and invest in gold or diamonds as per her wish. That’s up to her. As for housekeeping she’ll pick it up when the time comes. Why worry now?”
I am sure my mother had then felt like a living fossil then very much the way I do now.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Tag Repeated !
I’ve tried to apply the parameters of an earlier tag to grandparents particularly grandfathers based on what I observed in my own father in law. I hope I’ve done justice to him.
Height of cruelty- Parents troubling a two year old grandson to learn the letters of alphabet and subjecting him to a rigorous routine of preparation for admission to a reputed playschool.
Height of reward- The child throwing a tantrum when the mother comes with a glass of milk but drinks it up like a lamb when grandma/grandpa give it to him. If the mom is the DIL so much the better.
Height of challenge- Answering the seemingly innocent question of grandkid with a straight face and without provoking a stern look of disapproval from the parent.
Height of vigilance-Checking the pockets of sleeping grandkids to make sure that they have no sharp or pointed objects in them such as pen knives and razor blades.
Height of dieting – Eating paani puri from a road side vendor when no one is around/ watching.
Height of desperation-Waiting for the office going son/DIL and school going grandchildren to finish using the bathroom before putting it to personal use. Worse when one’s spouse points out ‘Where is the hurry? Why can’t you wait?’ One tends to remember his/her hey days with despair.
Height of competition- Competing with grandkids for newspaper and magazines.
Height of comparison-Comparing the present times with the 1940s and saying ‘We would walk 6 miles to go to school’ or ‘ I would chop a whole lot of firewood on Sundays.’
Height of rivalry- Wanting to listen to Carnatic music at the very moment the grandson wants to listen to pop music. So what if the son/DIL are unable to settle the dispute!!
Height of anger- Angry with the wife for refusing to serve coconut chutney with idlis considering your soaring cholesterol level and throwing a tantrum knowing well that she alone would put up with it.
Height of table manners-Eating up grandchildren’s left over food to save them from their mom’s admonition.
Height of fitness-Getting up at five o’clock in the morning and going for a morning walk expecting the wife to get up just to lock the front door.
Height of choosiness- Choosing to advice one’s grandchildren’s friends on the merits of the earlier system ignoring the signal emitting from their eyes.
Height of dadagiri- Expecting each family member to report all their activities to you and seek your advice thereby respecting your capacity as the oldest family member.
Height of frustration- the grandchild wants to listen to a story just when you decide to take your afternoon nap. Turn to see if your wife can take over and find her already asleep.
Height of provocation – The grandchild hiding your spectacles or walking stick just when you decide to go to the park to meet other senior citizens and catch up on the latest news.
Friends my computer has developed some problem and is threatening to crash any time. I am unable to open my own blog or mail when I want to. I am at the mercy of this technical 'monster' and I still don't know if this post will be published. I deserve this for getting addicted to my blog world. I managed to open this after 3 days of trying. Please bear with me.
Height of cruelty- Parents troubling a two year old grandson to learn the letters of alphabet and subjecting him to a rigorous routine of preparation for admission to a reputed playschool.
Height of reward- The child throwing a tantrum when the mother comes with a glass of milk but drinks it up like a lamb when grandma/grandpa give it to him. If the mom is the DIL so much the better.
Height of challenge- Answering the seemingly innocent question of grandkid with a straight face and without provoking a stern look of disapproval from the parent.
Height of vigilance-Checking the pockets of sleeping grandkids to make sure that they have no sharp or pointed objects in them such as pen knives and razor blades.
Height of dieting – Eating paani puri from a road side vendor when no one is around/ watching.
Height of desperation-Waiting for the office going son/DIL and school going grandchildren to finish using the bathroom before putting it to personal use. Worse when one’s spouse points out ‘Where is the hurry? Why can’t you wait?’ One tends to remember his/her hey days with despair.
Height of competition- Competing with grandkids for newspaper and magazines.
Height of comparison-Comparing the present times with the 1940s and saying ‘We would walk 6 miles to go to school’ or ‘ I would chop a whole lot of firewood on Sundays.’
Height of rivalry- Wanting to listen to Carnatic music at the very moment the grandson wants to listen to pop music. So what if the son/DIL are unable to settle the dispute!!
Height of anger- Angry with the wife for refusing to serve coconut chutney with idlis considering your soaring cholesterol level and throwing a tantrum knowing well that she alone would put up with it.
Height of table manners-Eating up grandchildren’s left over food to save them from their mom’s admonition.
Height of fitness-Getting up at five o’clock in the morning and going for a morning walk expecting the wife to get up just to lock the front door.
Height of choosiness- Choosing to advice one’s grandchildren’s friends on the merits of the earlier system ignoring the signal emitting from their eyes.
Height of dadagiri- Expecting each family member to report all their activities to you and seek your advice thereby respecting your capacity as the oldest family member.
Height of frustration- the grandchild wants to listen to a story just when you decide to take your afternoon nap. Turn to see if your wife can take over and find her already asleep.
Height of provocation – The grandchild hiding your spectacles or walking stick just when you decide to go to the park to meet other senior citizens and catch up on the latest news.
Friends my computer has developed some problem and is threatening to crash any time. I am unable to open my own blog or mail when I want to. I am at the mercy of this technical 'monster' and I still don't know if this post will be published. I deserve this for getting addicted to my blog world. I managed to open this after 3 days of trying. Please bear with me.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Your opinion please!!
This is a rough translation of a story I read in a Tamil magazine and I’ve tried to stick to the story as far as possible. Since I did not have a copy of the story, I may have missed a few points. This story impressed a colleague so much that she asked for a translation to circulate among members of a mahila samity to set them thinking about it. I too tried to ask myself the question raised by my friend. Do children make one forget one’s duty towards parents or do our priorities change? Is it a natural phenomenon? Well, I must admit that I did not like the answers my ‘head’ gave me and found solace in the excuses offered by my heart. I leave the onus on my readers and request them to give me their true opinion.
Gayatri had just finished her work and was about to sit down with a book when the telephone rang.
‘Could it be Mayura?’ she wondered. The very next moment she remembered that it must be around midnight in America and Mayura wouldn’t be calling her at that time. Mayura was her daughter married and living with her husband and children in the United States. The phone call was from a friend of hers asking whether she was free to accompany her to the market. She was in no mood to go and politely refused citing an imaginary headache as an excuse.
Continuing to remember her daughter, Gayatri recalled the initial years that followed Mayura’s marriage. Phone calls were regular and letters had been frequent. Letters had now almost stopped except for the occasional e-mail and e-greetings. She remembered how she had pestered her husband to teach her to use the computer to be able to access her mail. The phone calls were more regular but this time it appeared as if it was it was unusually long since Mayura had called.
‘When was it that Mayura had last called?’ Gayatri wondered. ‘ Oh, yes’ she recalled. ‘ It was on Diwali day. Nearly a month ago. Twenty eight days to be precise.’ She normally rang up once a week or at least once in ten days. While the children kept her busy, her husband was worse than a child and depended on Mayura for every little thing. ‘The poor girl is over worked.’ She thought.
She wondered if the children were okay. It was wintertime and they were prone to cold and throat infection. She remembered that her son in law had plans to go to Germany on an official trip after Diwali. Mayura might be managing every thing on her own. However hard she tried Gayatri could not get Mayura off her mind. She continued to worry about her daughter when she spotted the postman at the gate thrusting something into the letterbox.
‘ Might be an invitation or greeting card’ She thought. ‘Who bothers to write these days?’
She nevertheless went to get the letter. It was from her seventy five year old mother written on a postcard.
‘ Dear Gayatri,’ the letter said, ‘ long since you wrote. I hope all is well with you. I keep worrying about your welfare. I hope Mayura is fine. When is she coming to India? How is your husband?’ and so the letter went on.
Gayatri had just finished her work and was about to sit down with a book when the telephone rang.
‘Could it be Mayura?’ she wondered. The very next moment she remembered that it must be around midnight in America and Mayura wouldn’t be calling her at that time. Mayura was her daughter married and living with her husband and children in the United States. The phone call was from a friend of hers asking whether she was free to accompany her to the market. She was in no mood to go and politely refused citing an imaginary headache as an excuse.
Continuing to remember her daughter, Gayatri recalled the initial years that followed Mayura’s marriage. Phone calls were regular and letters had been frequent. Letters had now almost stopped except for the occasional e-mail and e-greetings. She remembered how she had pestered her husband to teach her to use the computer to be able to access her mail. The phone calls were more regular but this time it appeared as if it was it was unusually long since Mayura had called.
‘When was it that Mayura had last called?’ Gayatri wondered. ‘ Oh, yes’ she recalled. ‘ It was on Diwali day. Nearly a month ago. Twenty eight days to be precise.’ She normally rang up once a week or at least once in ten days. While the children kept her busy, her husband was worse than a child and depended on Mayura for every little thing. ‘The poor girl is over worked.’ She thought.
She wondered if the children were okay. It was wintertime and they were prone to cold and throat infection. She remembered that her son in law had plans to go to Germany on an official trip after Diwali. Mayura might be managing every thing on her own. However hard she tried Gayatri could not get Mayura off her mind. She continued to worry about her daughter when she spotted the postman at the gate thrusting something into the letterbox.
‘ Might be an invitation or greeting card’ She thought. ‘Who bothers to write these days?’
She nevertheless went to get the letter. It was from her seventy five year old mother written on a postcard.
‘ Dear Gayatri,’ the letter said, ‘ long since you wrote. I hope all is well with you. I keep worrying about your welfare. I hope Mayura is fine. When is she coming to India? How is your husband?’ and so the letter went on.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Changing Times
Rajni was worried about her granddaughter Riya’s marriage. Riya was her son Raghu’s daughter. Unfortunately Raghu and his wife Uma had met with a fatal accident and Riya who was then a mere toddler became her responsibility. She was now professionally qualified and ran a consultancy service of her own. Marriage negotiations were tedious and eligible bachelors had a price tag to their names. The more they earned, the greater was their demand! It did not matter if the girl had a career of her own, professional or otherwise. Girls were not to be left behind. Compromises and adjustments were considered outdated concepts. The very suggestion appalled the Gen X kids. Difficult it was but as her guardians they had to do whatever it was in her best interest. Her husband Rajan was in touch with a suitable family and wanted to invite them to ‘see’ his granddaughter.
“NO WAY!” protested Riya, “ I’m NOT a cow to be inspected by strangers! At best the boy and I could meet at a restaurant for coffee and get to know each other with no commitments from my side. I reserve the right to reject him if I don’t take to him. Is that clear?”
Rajni sighed. Times had changed and education had made girls vocal and bold. Yet there was something missing. Her mind raced back to the time when Rajan had come to ‘see’ her from Bangalore. The memory brought a smile to her face. How very different was her own experience! The episode flashed back as she thought of the D-day….
Rajni was hardly able to suppress a smile. The ‘boy’ looked so serious. He had accompanied his parents to ‘see’ her. His mother seemed okay. She had a kind face and gentle eyes. She seemed to be of a friendly disposition. The father hardly spoke. Rajni was thirteen years of age and the oldest among five sisters. Her father had negotiated with a magistrate in far off Bangalore and had invited him over along with his wife and son to approve of his daughter. Rajan was a civil engineer about thirteen years her senior and had a government job. Those were days when dowry was neither offered nor accepted. A family’s status was determined according to the recommendations of friends and well wishers rather than their bank balance and a girl was ‘shown’ and ‘seen’ only after careful consideration by both families and rejection of the girl was very rare.
The ‘girl seeing’ ritual was carefully planned and she was given appropriate instructions.
“Don’t look up straight into the boy’s eyes,” her mother said, “elders will do the talking. You may answer questions but only to the point.”
They may ask you to sing,” her grand mother added “practice singing a few bhajans and don’t you start off on your own. Wait for your father to grant you permission.”
You may be asked to serve tea and snacks,” said her aunt “ that would be their way of judging your housekeeping skills. Be careful not to make a mess of it. Of course I’ll be there to assist you but it should appear as if you are used to doing it.”
“ If you are asked about your culinary skills tell them that you are in the learning process and assure them that you would willingly pick up their methods after marriage”
There had been so many instructions that Rajni got confused. She wanted the whole process to get over as soon as possible. The D-day finally arrived and the groom accompanied by his parents knocked at their door a whole week before the scheduled time! It was Rajni who had opened the door. Her father, accompanied by her siblings had gone to attend a marriage ceremony in a neighboring village. She had to stay back due to a cold and her mother had remained with her. The visiting trio introduced themselves and asked for her father.
Her mother came rushing out and invited them inside. She hurriedly sent for her aunt and directed her to get Rajni ready. She sent a boy from the neighborhood to inform her father.
“Please do not panic” the boy’s mother said “ and no formalities please. We came for wedding in these parts and suddenly decided to come over to your place. It was not possible for my son to avail leave next week. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all” her mother said “please make yourself comfortable”
“Ma’am” said the boy “ Do I have your permission to speak to your daughter?”
Now this was unexpected and her mother did not know how to respond. She turned to her mother in law who was quick to intervene.
“We normally don’t allow our girls to talk to the groom before marriage. Such things may be okay in Bangalore but we belong to a more conservative society. Moreover you have not yet conveyed your approval of the match.”
The boy’s father spoke for the first time.
“We would not have come all the way from Bangalore unless we were pleased with your proposal,” he said “With your permission my son would like to talk to your grand daughter right here in the presence of elders.”
“ In that case it seems alright.” Grandma grudgingly agreed, “Though I don’t understand what he would want to ask her. She is only a child and may not be able to respond. Let him ask me and I will clarify his doubts.”
“I will get to you later grandma” laughed Rajan, “ let me talk to my future wife first”
Without bothering to wait for the old lady’s response he directed his question to Rajni.
“Do you go to school?” he asked.
‘How unromantic’ thought Rajni ‘hardly like the hero in a movie she had watched a few months ago.’
She looked up straight into his eyes but remembering her mother’s instruction stared into a wall clock right above his head.
“I used to go to school but I dropped out last year” she replied.
“Why? Did you fail your exams?” Rajan meant to tease her. But Rajni felt insulted.
“Of course not. I was among the toppers in my class. There was this silly boy in my class who gave me a letter……..” she stopped in the middle of the sentence on seeing her mother’s expression of disapproval.
Rajan’s father laughed heartily while his mother tried to suppress a smile.
“Did you read the letter?” Rajan was beginning to enjoy himself.
“Oh! No!” Rajni was quick to reply, “I gave it to my class teacher who sent the boy to be caned by the principal.”
“How sad!” said Rajan in a tone of mock sympathy, “didn’t you feel sorry for him? Tell me what do you do at home all day?”
“I read story books and play indoor games like chess and ludo. I’m pretty good at these two games.”
Rajni’s grandmother started to get worried. This smart boy was cornering her grand daughter with all kinds of questions and this silly girl was talking a little too much. Her mother started serving coffee and snacks in an effort to distract them.
“Don’t tease the poor girl son” the boy’s mother who wanted to put the worried grandmother at ease, “do not worry about him child. Tell me, would you like to study further when you come over to Bangalore?”
“I’d love to if I’m allowed” Rajni jumped at the suggestion. “I love reading books!”
“I’ll arrange for a private tutor to teach you English and Maths” said the magistrate “my daughters could teach you to read and write Kannada.”
“And my mother would teach you to cook and keep the house” said Rajan “I will perhaps have nothing to do!”
“You will be going to your office so when will you have time?” said his mother. Then turning to his father she indicated her approval.
Everything had been so simple then. Girls got married at a tender age and easily adapted to the ways of their new homes. They were willing learners and the transition from bubbly teenagers to responsible homemakers was smooth. She could only hope that her granddaughter would settle down soon. Riya had set so many conditions that she was getting apprehensive. Just then the telephone rang.
“May I speak to Mrs. Rajan?” a voice enquired.
“Yes it is Rajni here” said Rajni “may I know who is calling?”
“Rajniji this is Preeta here. I’m Ravi’s mom. Does the name suggest anything?”
Of course it did! Ravi was the boy they had in mind for Riya. Why on earth was the lady calling her?
“How do you do Preetaji? I was looking forward to meeting you. I hope everything is fine with you” Rajni tried to remain calm.
“Would it be alright if my son met your daughter over coffee tomorrow?” Preeta almost sounded apologetic. “ Let them approve of each other first. We could perhaps meet later.”
“Times have changed” Preeta continued “ my daughter Shoba refused to subject herself to the ritual of ‘girl seeing’ and I don’t expect Riya to be different. Our children are mature enough to decide for themselves. I do hope they take to each other.”
“Of course it is fine with us. Negotiations are held directly between the children these days. We cannot do much about it” said Rajni.
“Our children live in more competitive times so their dealings are different.” Said Preeta “Let us remain relaxed. They are both quite capable of arriving at an appropriate decision. We can sit back and enjoy the day and if our children decide to marry all we have to do is to bless them and wish them well.”
“We have the best of both worlds. Our parents took care of our marriage arrangements while our children deal with theirs. Aren’t we lucky?” the two women laughed heartily.
“NO WAY!” protested Riya, “ I’m NOT a cow to be inspected by strangers! At best the boy and I could meet at a restaurant for coffee and get to know each other with no commitments from my side. I reserve the right to reject him if I don’t take to him. Is that clear?”
Rajni sighed. Times had changed and education had made girls vocal and bold. Yet there was something missing. Her mind raced back to the time when Rajan had come to ‘see’ her from Bangalore. The memory brought a smile to her face. How very different was her own experience! The episode flashed back as she thought of the D-day….
Rajni was hardly able to suppress a smile. The ‘boy’ looked so serious. He had accompanied his parents to ‘see’ her. His mother seemed okay. She had a kind face and gentle eyes. She seemed to be of a friendly disposition. The father hardly spoke. Rajni was thirteen years of age and the oldest among five sisters. Her father had negotiated with a magistrate in far off Bangalore and had invited him over along with his wife and son to approve of his daughter. Rajan was a civil engineer about thirteen years her senior and had a government job. Those were days when dowry was neither offered nor accepted. A family’s status was determined according to the recommendations of friends and well wishers rather than their bank balance and a girl was ‘shown’ and ‘seen’ only after careful consideration by both families and rejection of the girl was very rare.
The ‘girl seeing’ ritual was carefully planned and she was given appropriate instructions.
“Don’t look up straight into the boy’s eyes,” her mother said, “elders will do the talking. You may answer questions but only to the point.”
They may ask you to sing,” her grand mother added “practice singing a few bhajans and don’t you start off on your own. Wait for your father to grant you permission.”
You may be asked to serve tea and snacks,” said her aunt “ that would be their way of judging your housekeeping skills. Be careful not to make a mess of it. Of course I’ll be there to assist you but it should appear as if you are used to doing it.”
“ If you are asked about your culinary skills tell them that you are in the learning process and assure them that you would willingly pick up their methods after marriage”
There had been so many instructions that Rajni got confused. She wanted the whole process to get over as soon as possible. The D-day finally arrived and the groom accompanied by his parents knocked at their door a whole week before the scheduled time! It was Rajni who had opened the door. Her father, accompanied by her siblings had gone to attend a marriage ceremony in a neighboring village. She had to stay back due to a cold and her mother had remained with her. The visiting trio introduced themselves and asked for her father.
Her mother came rushing out and invited them inside. She hurriedly sent for her aunt and directed her to get Rajni ready. She sent a boy from the neighborhood to inform her father.
“Please do not panic” the boy’s mother said “ and no formalities please. We came for wedding in these parts and suddenly decided to come over to your place. It was not possible for my son to avail leave next week. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all” her mother said “please make yourself comfortable”
“Ma’am” said the boy “ Do I have your permission to speak to your daughter?”
Now this was unexpected and her mother did not know how to respond. She turned to her mother in law who was quick to intervene.
“We normally don’t allow our girls to talk to the groom before marriage. Such things may be okay in Bangalore but we belong to a more conservative society. Moreover you have not yet conveyed your approval of the match.”
The boy’s father spoke for the first time.
“We would not have come all the way from Bangalore unless we were pleased with your proposal,” he said “With your permission my son would like to talk to your grand daughter right here in the presence of elders.”
“ In that case it seems alright.” Grandma grudgingly agreed, “Though I don’t understand what he would want to ask her. She is only a child and may not be able to respond. Let him ask me and I will clarify his doubts.”
“I will get to you later grandma” laughed Rajan, “ let me talk to my future wife first”
Without bothering to wait for the old lady’s response he directed his question to Rajni.
“Do you go to school?” he asked.
‘How unromantic’ thought Rajni ‘hardly like the hero in a movie she had watched a few months ago.’
She looked up straight into his eyes but remembering her mother’s instruction stared into a wall clock right above his head.
“I used to go to school but I dropped out last year” she replied.
“Why? Did you fail your exams?” Rajan meant to tease her. But Rajni felt insulted.
“Of course not. I was among the toppers in my class. There was this silly boy in my class who gave me a letter……..” she stopped in the middle of the sentence on seeing her mother’s expression of disapproval.
Rajan’s father laughed heartily while his mother tried to suppress a smile.
“Did you read the letter?” Rajan was beginning to enjoy himself.
“Oh! No!” Rajni was quick to reply, “I gave it to my class teacher who sent the boy to be caned by the principal.”
“How sad!” said Rajan in a tone of mock sympathy, “didn’t you feel sorry for him? Tell me what do you do at home all day?”
“I read story books and play indoor games like chess and ludo. I’m pretty good at these two games.”
Rajni’s grandmother started to get worried. This smart boy was cornering her grand daughter with all kinds of questions and this silly girl was talking a little too much. Her mother started serving coffee and snacks in an effort to distract them.
“Don’t tease the poor girl son” the boy’s mother who wanted to put the worried grandmother at ease, “do not worry about him child. Tell me, would you like to study further when you come over to Bangalore?”
“I’d love to if I’m allowed” Rajni jumped at the suggestion. “I love reading books!”
“I’ll arrange for a private tutor to teach you English and Maths” said the magistrate “my daughters could teach you to read and write Kannada.”
“And my mother would teach you to cook and keep the house” said Rajan “I will perhaps have nothing to do!”
“You will be going to your office so when will you have time?” said his mother. Then turning to his father she indicated her approval.
Everything had been so simple then. Girls got married at a tender age and easily adapted to the ways of their new homes. They were willing learners and the transition from bubbly teenagers to responsible homemakers was smooth. She could only hope that her granddaughter would settle down soon. Riya had set so many conditions that she was getting apprehensive. Just then the telephone rang.
“May I speak to Mrs. Rajan?” a voice enquired.
“Yes it is Rajni here” said Rajni “may I know who is calling?”
“Rajniji this is Preeta here. I’m Ravi’s mom. Does the name suggest anything?”
Of course it did! Ravi was the boy they had in mind for Riya. Why on earth was the lady calling her?
“How do you do Preetaji? I was looking forward to meeting you. I hope everything is fine with you” Rajni tried to remain calm.
“Would it be alright if my son met your daughter over coffee tomorrow?” Preeta almost sounded apologetic. “ Let them approve of each other first. We could perhaps meet later.”
“Times have changed” Preeta continued “ my daughter Shoba refused to subject herself to the ritual of ‘girl seeing’ and I don’t expect Riya to be different. Our children are mature enough to decide for themselves. I do hope they take to each other.”
“Of course it is fine with us. Negotiations are held directly between the children these days. We cannot do much about it” said Rajni.
“Our children live in more competitive times so their dealings are different.” Said Preeta “Let us remain relaxed. They are both quite capable of arriving at an appropriate decision. We can sit back and enjoy the day and if our children decide to marry all we have to do is to bless them and wish them well.”
“We have the best of both worlds. Our parents took care of our marriage arrangements while our children deal with theirs. Aren’t we lucky?” the two women laughed heartily.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Hi Friends!!
Hi Friends,
I'm stuck with a faulty phone line and cannot access my blog as much as I'd like to.India being India the telephone services aren't prompt.It is 3 days since I've complained and no one has turned up to check it yet.I'll get back soon.In the mean time I'll get used to life here and make the best out of it.My college has reopened and a new building was inaugurated yesterday.More abt. it later.I see Passerby is back after her sabbatical.How did you enjoy your break?I'll be back ASAP.
I'm stuck with a faulty phone line and cannot access my blog as much as I'd like to.India being India the telephone services aren't prompt.It is 3 days since I've complained and no one has turned up to check it yet.I'll get back soon.In the mean time I'll get used to life here and make the best out of it.My college has reopened and a new building was inaugurated yesterday.More abt. it later.I see Passerby is back after her sabbatical.How did you enjoy your break?I'll be back ASAP.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Let us contribute
Reporters Without Borders / Internet Freedom desk
REPORTERS WITHOUT BORDERS URGES INTERNET USERS TO JOIN
IN 24-HOUR ONLINE DEMO AGAINST INTERNET CENSORSHIP
Where: www.rsf.org
When : 11 A.M. on 7 November to 11 A.M. on 8 November
No one should ever be prevented from posting news
online or writing a blog, but they are in the 13
countries singled out by Reporters Without Borders for
a 24-hour online protest against Internet censorship.
Worldwide, 61 people are currently in prison for
posting "subversive" content on a blog or website.
Reporters Without Borders is compiling a list of 13
countries whose governments are "Internet enemies"
because they censor and block online content that
criticises them. The Internet scares. Censors of every
kind exploit its flaws and attack those who pin their
hopes on it. Multinationals such as Yahoo! cooperate
with the Chinese government in filtering the Internet
and tracking down cyber-dissidents.
The defence of online free expression and the fate of
bloggers in repressive countries concern everyone. So
Reporters Without Borders is offering Internet users
tools to campaign against Internet predators and is
calling on them to participate in an INTERNATIONAL
CYBER-DEMO.
Everyone is invited to support this struggle by
connecting to the Reporters Without Borders website
(www.rsf.org) between 11 a.m. (Paris time) on Tuesday,
7 November, and 11 a.m. on Wednesday, 8 November.
Each click will help to change the "Internet Black
Holes" map and help to combat censorship. As many
people as possible must participate so that this
operation
Can be a success and have an impact on those
governments that try to seal off what is meant to be a
space where people can express themselves freely.
Protests will also be staged by Reporters Without
Borders bureaux around the world to condemn Internet
censorship and ethical misconduct of the Internet
giants when operating in one of these countries.
Reporters Without Borders will publish the list of the
13 Internet enemies on 7 November and at the same time
will launch its blog platform, rsfblog, and an
Arabic-language version of its press freedom website.
The agency Saatchi & Saatchi has created an Internet
ad calling on the entire Internet community to take
part in the 24-hour campaign. All media, websites and
blogs that want to support this large-scale protest
are invited to get in touch with Cédric Gervet at
+331 4483-8474.
REPORTERS WITHOUT BORDERS URGES INTERNET USERS TO JOIN
IN 24-HOUR ONLINE DEMO AGAINST INTERNET CENSORSHIP
Where: www.rsf.org
When : 11 A.M. on 7 November to 11 A.M. on 8 November
No one should ever be prevented from posting news
online or writing a blog, but they are in the 13
countries singled out by Reporters Without Borders for
a 24-hour online protest against Internet censorship.
Worldwide, 61 people are currently in prison for
posting "subversive" content on a blog or website.
Reporters Without Borders is compiling a list of 13
countries whose governments are "Internet enemies"
because they censor and block online content that
criticises them. The Internet scares. Censors of every
kind exploit its flaws and attack those who pin their
hopes on it. Multinationals such as Yahoo! cooperate
with the Chinese government in filtering the Internet
and tracking down cyber-dissidents.
The defence of online free expression and the fate of
bloggers in repressive countries concern everyone. So
Reporters Without Borders is offering Internet users
tools to campaign against Internet predators and is
calling on them to participate in an INTERNATIONAL
CYBER-DEMO.
Everyone is invited to support this struggle by
connecting to the Reporters Without Borders website
(www.rsf.org) between 11 a.m. (Paris time) on Tuesday,
7 November, and 11 a.m. on Wednesday, 8 November.
Each click will help to change the "Internet Black
Holes" map and help to combat censorship. As many
people as possible must participate so that this
operation
Can be a success and have an impact on those
governments that try to seal off what is meant to be a
space where people can express themselves freely.
Protests will also be staged by Reporters Without
Borders bureaux around the world to condemn Internet
censorship and ethical misconduct of the Internet
giants when operating in one of these countries.
Reporters Without Borders will publish the list of the
13 Internet enemies on 7 November and at the same time
will launch its blog platform, rsfblog, and an
Arabic-language version of its press freedom website.
The agency Saatchi & Saatchi has created an Internet
ad calling on the entire Internet community to take
part in the 24-hour campaign. All media, websites and
blogs that want to support this large-scale protest
are invited to get in touch with Cédric Gervet at
+331 4483-8474.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
My version of KANK
Though Though this piece is written in first person it is based on events that took place in two different families. I write in first person to save my own skin as also because the combination of events has given rise to an entirely different story that cannot be solely attributed to either one or the other family.
“I plan to marry Pammi,” Announced my twenty five year old son Manu. “We plan to have a civil marriage next week.”
May we know who Pammi happens to be?” I asked speaking for my husband as well. “ I don’t think I’ve met her.”
“Pammi is a colleague of mine. She joined our company last week.” My son was kind enough to inform me. But this piece of enlightenment was a little too much for me to handle.
“ Don’t you think you’re rushing things.” I ventured to ask in as mild a tone as possible for fear of annoying him. “I mean you hardly know each other. Moreover, I thought you were interested in Vidya.”
“I still am but her mom does not approve of me.” Said Manu “ I want to show her that Vidya isn’t the only girl in the world. I therefore proposed to Pamela Singh, Pammi for short. Moreover you too hardly knew daddy before marriage. If your marriage worked so will ours.”
“But how can you be interested in Vidya and marry Pammi? And why doesn’t Vidya’s mom approve of you?” I was confused.
“ How does Vidya feel about it?”
Manu was beginning to get impatient.
“The problem with your generation is that you ask too many questions. If Vidya’s mom doesn’t approve of me that’s her problem not mine. As for Vidya, she does not have a problem with my marrying Pammi. She was rather nice about it. In fact the very idea was hers. Leave it mummy you won’t understand. After marriage we’ll be moving into a flat of our own. It is closer to our office. It is getting late so let me go. I can’t stand and talk to you all day. By the way I won’t be repeating all this to daddy. Pass on the information to him.”
My head started reeling. My son seemed to be speaking an alien language. In our times people had arranged marriages and the entire family including a whole lot of uncles and aunts joined together to make the function a success. Grandparents supervised the arrangements and one dared not go against their suggestions. Of course there were a few who married a person of their choice but these marriages were not well received.
Later there came a time when children chose their partners and parents got them married, grudgingly or otherwise. Unlike love marriages of the previous generation these were calculated ventures where the head ruled over the heart. I could not categorize my son’s marriage to a girl whom he hardly knew. If it was not arranged by either set of parents, it was also not a marriage that could be called love marriage. My son wanted to settle scores with his girl friend’s mother and the girl was also game to it. I wondered how my son’s fiancée felt about it. I was kind of sure that she would back out on hearing about Vidya’s interest in Manu. I decided to talk to her.
“Oh yes aunty.” Pammi seemed to be quite at ease on being told about Vidya. “ I know about Vidya and Manish. He also knows about Peter and me.”
“Peter!” I could take no more of it “ Now who is this Peter?”
“ My ex husband” replied the girl “ We’re divorced now”
I tried to be patient.
“Listen child, I have no problem with your divorce.” I said in as sweet a voice as I could manage. “ But don’t you think that both of you are rushing things. Where is the need to marry within a week?”
“ Manish may have forgotten to tell you but let me clarify.” She said. “ Vidya is marrying Diwakar in a fortnight. We want to marry before that.”
“I presume Diwakar has been properly briefed and hopefully plans to attend your wedding along with Vidya.” I was glad to be able to understand the mindset of the next generation. Better late than never!
“I’m glad you get the point. Now if you don’t mind I have to leave for a meeting. Bye! See you at our wedding.” The girl waved a hasty goodbye and sped off in her car.
I went home and conveyed the information to my parents in law. They were somehow able to take the news in their stride.
“ We hear of children living together before marriage,” said my mother in law “ Manu at least plans to marry the girl. All we can do is to put on a brave front and wish them well.”
‘Very practical.’ I thought ‘ Will it work?’ I wondered.
To be frank it didn’t.
The problem was not the usual mother in law/daughter in law struggle to prove their monopoly or adjustment hurdles in a joint family. In fact Pammi got on rather well not only with us but also with a host of relatives including my parents in law. She’d take my father in law to the doctor and drop my mother in law at the temple and they were all praise for her. She visited us regularly and was warm and affectionate. In fact I regretted my earlier error in judgment. Two years had gone by and their marriage seemed to work well enough or so I thought.
One fine day Pammi walked out of our lives very much the way she walked in! Again it was Manu who broke the news.
“ Pammi has left for Mumbai” he announced, “ We are applying for a divorce.”
“But why?” I asked, “You both seemed so happy. What went wrong?”
“Nothing went wrong mummy,” explained my son. “It’s only that we are both very busy and have no time for each other. Though in the same office we hardly meet. Our schedule is erratic and weekends hectic. Rather than live as strangers in the same house we decided to part ways. She’s getting a transfer with promotion and I decided to let go. No ill feelings at all.”
Suddenly the telephone rang and I picked it up. It was Pammi calling from Mumbai.
“Sorry aunty I had to join immediately. So I could not say goodbye in person. Could you please ask Manish to arrange for a nurse to attend to my mother? She is not keeping well and I don’t want her to stay alone. Also ask him to call on her whenever possible. I am rather worried.”
Manu took the phone from me.
“ Hi Pammi! Settling down in Bombay?” he did not sound upset in the least. “ Don’t worry about your mom. I’ll be visiting her as often as possible and as for the nurse I’ve spoken to an agent and he’ll arrange for one. I’ll let you know in a day or two. Take care and be in touch.”
I stood by his side staring into his face with a Zombie like expression.
‘What went wrong?’ I wondered aloud.
“Nothing went wrong,” said my husband who had been listening to our conversation from his room, “ its time we retired gracefully from our duties as parents and let our children lead their lives. They’re under immense pressure and are better off without our interference. They have problems but are equipped to handle them. Have you not heard of Vanaprasthashram mentioned in our scriptures? It is now time to let go.”
And of course he was right!
“I plan to marry Pammi,” Announced my twenty five year old son Manu. “We plan to have a civil marriage next week.”
May we know who Pammi happens to be?” I asked speaking for my husband as well. “ I don’t think I’ve met her.”
“Pammi is a colleague of mine. She joined our company last week.” My son was kind enough to inform me. But this piece of enlightenment was a little too much for me to handle.
“ Don’t you think you’re rushing things.” I ventured to ask in as mild a tone as possible for fear of annoying him. “I mean you hardly know each other. Moreover, I thought you were interested in Vidya.”
“I still am but her mom does not approve of me.” Said Manu “ I want to show her that Vidya isn’t the only girl in the world. I therefore proposed to Pamela Singh, Pammi for short. Moreover you too hardly knew daddy before marriage. If your marriage worked so will ours.”
“But how can you be interested in Vidya and marry Pammi? And why doesn’t Vidya’s mom approve of you?” I was confused.
“ How does Vidya feel about it?”
Manu was beginning to get impatient.
“The problem with your generation is that you ask too many questions. If Vidya’s mom doesn’t approve of me that’s her problem not mine. As for Vidya, she does not have a problem with my marrying Pammi. She was rather nice about it. In fact the very idea was hers. Leave it mummy you won’t understand. After marriage we’ll be moving into a flat of our own. It is closer to our office. It is getting late so let me go. I can’t stand and talk to you all day. By the way I won’t be repeating all this to daddy. Pass on the information to him.”
My head started reeling. My son seemed to be speaking an alien language. In our times people had arranged marriages and the entire family including a whole lot of uncles and aunts joined together to make the function a success. Grandparents supervised the arrangements and one dared not go against their suggestions. Of course there were a few who married a person of their choice but these marriages were not well received.
Later there came a time when children chose their partners and parents got them married, grudgingly or otherwise. Unlike love marriages of the previous generation these were calculated ventures where the head ruled over the heart. I could not categorize my son’s marriage to a girl whom he hardly knew. If it was not arranged by either set of parents, it was also not a marriage that could be called love marriage. My son wanted to settle scores with his girl friend’s mother and the girl was also game to it. I wondered how my son’s fiancée felt about it. I was kind of sure that she would back out on hearing about Vidya’s interest in Manu. I decided to talk to her.
“Oh yes aunty.” Pammi seemed to be quite at ease on being told about Vidya. “ I know about Vidya and Manish. He also knows about Peter and me.”
“Peter!” I could take no more of it “ Now who is this Peter?”
“ My ex husband” replied the girl “ We’re divorced now”
I tried to be patient.
“Listen child, I have no problem with your divorce.” I said in as sweet a voice as I could manage. “ But don’t you think that both of you are rushing things. Where is the need to marry within a week?”
“ Manish may have forgotten to tell you but let me clarify.” She said. “ Vidya is marrying Diwakar in a fortnight. We want to marry before that.”
“I presume Diwakar has been properly briefed and hopefully plans to attend your wedding along with Vidya.” I was glad to be able to understand the mindset of the next generation. Better late than never!
“I’m glad you get the point. Now if you don’t mind I have to leave for a meeting. Bye! See you at our wedding.” The girl waved a hasty goodbye and sped off in her car.
I went home and conveyed the information to my parents in law. They were somehow able to take the news in their stride.
“ We hear of children living together before marriage,” said my mother in law “ Manu at least plans to marry the girl. All we can do is to put on a brave front and wish them well.”
‘Very practical.’ I thought ‘ Will it work?’ I wondered.
To be frank it didn’t.
The problem was not the usual mother in law/daughter in law struggle to prove their monopoly or adjustment hurdles in a joint family. In fact Pammi got on rather well not only with us but also with a host of relatives including my parents in law. She’d take my father in law to the doctor and drop my mother in law at the temple and they were all praise for her. She visited us regularly and was warm and affectionate. In fact I regretted my earlier error in judgment. Two years had gone by and their marriage seemed to work well enough or so I thought.
One fine day Pammi walked out of our lives very much the way she walked in! Again it was Manu who broke the news.
“ Pammi has left for Mumbai” he announced, “ We are applying for a divorce.”
“But why?” I asked, “You both seemed so happy. What went wrong?”
“Nothing went wrong mummy,” explained my son. “It’s only that we are both very busy and have no time for each other. Though in the same office we hardly meet. Our schedule is erratic and weekends hectic. Rather than live as strangers in the same house we decided to part ways. She’s getting a transfer with promotion and I decided to let go. No ill feelings at all.”
Suddenly the telephone rang and I picked it up. It was Pammi calling from Mumbai.
“Sorry aunty I had to join immediately. So I could not say goodbye in person. Could you please ask Manish to arrange for a nurse to attend to my mother? She is not keeping well and I don’t want her to stay alone. Also ask him to call on her whenever possible. I am rather worried.”
Manu took the phone from me.
“ Hi Pammi! Settling down in Bombay?” he did not sound upset in the least. “ Don’t worry about your mom. I’ll be visiting her as often as possible and as for the nurse I’ve spoken to an agent and he’ll arrange for one. I’ll let you know in a day or two. Take care and be in touch.”
I stood by his side staring into his face with a Zombie like expression.
‘What went wrong?’ I wondered aloud.
“Nothing went wrong,” said my husband who had been listening to our conversation from his room, “ its time we retired gracefully from our duties as parents and let our children lead their lives. They’re under immense pressure and are better off without our interference. They have problems but are equipped to handle them. Have you not heard of Vanaprasthashram mentioned in our scriptures? It is now time to let go.”
And of course he was right!
Monday, October 23, 2006
Golden Retirement
A Warning: Iwould advise my male reders to refrain from reading this "Women Only" post if they are unable to accept a little leg pulling from me. This was an article published in the August 2nd 2004 edition Newsweek. I enjoyed the article immensely and took the magazine back with me to India. It remained in the suitcase and popped up when I was arranging my belongings in preparation for my return journey. It was as enjoyable as it was 2 years back and made me realize with amusement that human beings are the same everywhere.It was written by Jan Zeh and if I had her e mail ID I'd have written to her myself on her wonderful sense of humor. Please go ahead and enjoy reading the article as 'mirth that hath no bitter spring'
The ‘Golden Years’ are beginning to tarnish
by Jan Zeh
After 45 years and one son, I thought the best was yet to come. Then my husband retired.
My worst nightmare has become reality. My husband retired. As the CEO of his own software company, he used to make important decisions daily. Now he decides when to take a nap and for how long. He does not play golf, tennis or bridge, which means that he is at home for what it seems like 48 hours a day. That’s a lot of togetherness.
Much has changed since he stopped working. My husband now defines sleeping in as staying in bed until 6 a.m. He often walks in the morning for exercise but says he can’t walk if he gets up late.Late is 5:30. His morning routine is to take out the dog, plug in the coffee and await the morning newspaper. (And it better not be late!) When the paper finally arrives, his favorite section is the obits. He reads each and every one – often aloud – and becomes angry if the deceased’s age is not listed. I’d like to work on my crossword puzzle in peace. When I bring this to his attention, he stops briefly – but soon finds another article that must be shared.
Some retirement couple enjoy this time of life together. Usually these are couple who are not dependent on their spouses for their happiness and well – being. My husband is not one of these individuals. Many wives I’ve spoken to, identify with my experience and are happy to know that they’re not alone. One friend told me that when her husband retired, he grew a strip of Velcro on his side and attached himself to her. They were married 43 years and she hinted that they may not make it to 44. Another woman said that her husband not only takes her to the beauty shop, but goes inside and waits! Another said her husband follows her everywhere but to the bathroom…..and that’s only because she locks the bathroom door.
When I leave the house my husband asks:” Where are you going?” followed by “When will you be back?” Even when I’m at home he needs to know where I am every moment. “Where is Jan?” he asks the dog. This is bad enough but atleast he hasn’t velcroed himself to me - yet.
I often see retired people shopping together in the grocery store. Usually they are arguing. I hate it when my husband goes shopping with me. He takes charge of the cart and disappears. With my arms full of cans, I have to search the aisles until I locate the cart, which is now loaded with strange smelling cheeses, high fat snacks and greasy sausages none of which were on the shopping list.
Putting up with annoying habits is easier when the hubby is at work all day and at home only in the evenings and weekends. But little annoying habits become BIG annoying habits when done on a daily basis. Hearing my husband yell and curse at the TV during the evening news was bad enough when he was working and it was just once a day. Now he has all day to get riled up watching Fox News. Sometimes leaving the houseisn’t even a satisfying reprieve. When I went out of town for a week and put him in charge of the house and animals, I returned to have my parrot greet me with a mouth full of expletives and deep bellied belches. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had been going on in my absence.
Not that my husband has any problems acting out while I am around. He recently noticed that our cat had been climbing the palm trees, causing their leaves to bend. His solution? Buy a huge roll of barbed wire and wrap the trunks. After wrapping 10 palms he looked like he had been in a fight with the tiger and the house took on the appearance of a high security prison. Neighbors stopped mid-stride while on their daily walks to stare. I stayed out of sight. In the mean time, the cat learnt to negotiate the barbed wires and climbed the palms anyway.
It is now another hot, dry summer, and the leaves on our trees are starting to fall. Yesterday my husband decided to take the dog out for some fresh air. They stood in the driveway while he counted the leaves falling from the ash tree. Aloud. Another meaningful retirement activity.
I Think my husband enjoys being at home with me. I am the one with the problem. I am the person who wants a lot of “alone time” and I get crazy when someone is following me around or wanting to know my every move. My husband is full of questions and comments when I am on the phone, working on my computer or taking time out to read.It is his way of telling me that he wants to be included, wanted and needed. I love that he cares – but he still drives me up the wall.
I receive a lot of catalogs. In one there is an advertisement that says GROW OLD WITH ME. THE BEST IS YET TO BE. Another catalog has a different pillow. It reads SCREW THE GOLDEN YEARS. Right now it is a toss up as to which pillow will best describe out retirement years together. Just don’t ask me while I am working on my crossword puzzle.
The ‘Golden Years’ are beginning to tarnish
by Jan Zeh
After 45 years and one son, I thought the best was yet to come. Then my husband retired.
My worst nightmare has become reality. My husband retired. As the CEO of his own software company, he used to make important decisions daily. Now he decides when to take a nap and for how long. He does not play golf, tennis or bridge, which means that he is at home for what it seems like 48 hours a day. That’s a lot of togetherness.
Much has changed since he stopped working. My husband now defines sleeping in as staying in bed until 6 a.m. He often walks in the morning for exercise but says he can’t walk if he gets up late.Late is 5:30. His morning routine is to take out the dog, plug in the coffee and await the morning newspaper. (And it better not be late!) When the paper finally arrives, his favorite section is the obits. He reads each and every one – often aloud – and becomes angry if the deceased’s age is not listed. I’d like to work on my crossword puzzle in peace. When I bring this to his attention, he stops briefly – but soon finds another article that must be shared.
Some retirement couple enjoy this time of life together. Usually these are couple who are not dependent on their spouses for their happiness and well – being. My husband is not one of these individuals. Many wives I’ve spoken to, identify with my experience and are happy to know that they’re not alone. One friend told me that when her husband retired, he grew a strip of Velcro on his side and attached himself to her. They were married 43 years and she hinted that they may not make it to 44. Another woman said that her husband not only takes her to the beauty shop, but goes inside and waits! Another said her husband follows her everywhere but to the bathroom…..and that’s only because she locks the bathroom door.
When I leave the house my husband asks:” Where are you going?” followed by “When will you be back?” Even when I’m at home he needs to know where I am every moment. “Where is Jan?” he asks the dog. This is bad enough but atleast he hasn’t velcroed himself to me - yet.
I often see retired people shopping together in the grocery store. Usually they are arguing. I hate it when my husband goes shopping with me. He takes charge of the cart and disappears. With my arms full of cans, I have to search the aisles until I locate the cart, which is now loaded with strange smelling cheeses, high fat snacks and greasy sausages none of which were on the shopping list.
Putting up with annoying habits is easier when the hubby is at work all day and at home only in the evenings and weekends. But little annoying habits become BIG annoying habits when done on a daily basis. Hearing my husband yell and curse at the TV during the evening news was bad enough when he was working and it was just once a day. Now he has all day to get riled up watching Fox News. Sometimes leaving the houseisn’t even a satisfying reprieve. When I went out of town for a week and put him in charge of the house and animals, I returned to have my parrot greet me with a mouth full of expletives and deep bellied belches. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had been going on in my absence.
Not that my husband has any problems acting out while I am around. He recently noticed that our cat had been climbing the palm trees, causing their leaves to bend. His solution? Buy a huge roll of barbed wire and wrap the trunks. After wrapping 10 palms he looked like he had been in a fight with the tiger and the house took on the appearance of a high security prison. Neighbors stopped mid-stride while on their daily walks to stare. I stayed out of sight. In the mean time, the cat learnt to negotiate the barbed wires and climbed the palms anyway.
It is now another hot, dry summer, and the leaves on our trees are starting to fall. Yesterday my husband decided to take the dog out for some fresh air. They stood in the driveway while he counted the leaves falling from the ash tree. Aloud. Another meaningful retirement activity.
I Think my husband enjoys being at home with me. I am the one with the problem. I am the person who wants a lot of “alone time” and I get crazy when someone is following me around or wanting to know my every move. My husband is full of questions and comments when I am on the phone, working on my computer or taking time out to read.It is his way of telling me that he wants to be included, wanted and needed. I love that he cares – but he still drives me up the wall.
I receive a lot of catalogs. In one there is an advertisement that says GROW OLD WITH ME. THE BEST IS YET TO BE. Another catalog has a different pillow. It reads SCREW THE GOLDEN YEARS. Right now it is a toss up as to which pillow will best describe out retirement years together. Just don’t ask me while I am working on my crossword puzzle.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Happy Diwali!!
Deepavali is approaching and I take this opportunity to wish all of you a ‘HAPPY DIWALI AND A PROSPEROUS NEW YEAR’.
I was reminded of the time when we lived in company quarters some 20 years back. I would celebrate Deepavali the traditional Tamilian way and we would bathe and wear new clothes before daybreak. There were about 6 tamilian families in the immediate neighborhood and we’d compete to see who burst the first cracker. Exchange of sweets would start around six in the morning and the first door to knock would be that of the Sinhas who lived just below our flat.
Mrs. Sinha would invariably grumble about the ruckus we created and found our Deepavali celebration very odd.
“Deepavali is a festival of lamps and is to be celebrated in the evening. You Tamilians seem to be opposite to us in so many ways”, she’d say.
Not knowing how best to defend myself, I’d stay quiet or say that we found it odd to wait till evening to burst crackers. I’d also add that since I finished celebrating Diwali in the morning I was free to prepare laddoos for her in the afternoon. Yes, on Diwali day, I had the enthusiasm to prepare laddoos for her too. Her family looked forward to the treat with a lot of eagerness.
Many years later, after they moved to another area and we were not able to meet regularly during Diwali and Holi, I stumbled upon an explanation for the difference in the time of Deepavali celebration of in the south as compared to the northern India. A friend of mine explained to me that Lord Ram after conquering Ravan crossed Tamilnadu at daybreak and reached Ayodhya in the evening and this is the reason why Tamilians celebrate Diwali in the morning and people in the north wait till evening to do the same. Well, Deepavali is celebrated to mark the victory of Lord Krishna over Narakasura in Tamilnadu and Lord Rama doesn’t actually come into the picture as far as I know. However my friend’s explanation seemed acceptable enough. Unfortunately I did not get a chance to offer the explanation to Mrs. Sinha and since she is no more I never will be able to pull her legs about it.
Whether it was Lord Ram’s victory or Lord Krishna’s is not an important issue. What is important is that we all have a Ram and a Ravan residing right within us and let us try to conquer the evil forces in our minds and in society by using the good side of our nature to crush evil beyond recognition and celebrate our success with carefree abandon by spreading the message of universal brotherhood. Happy Diwali once again!
I was reminded of the time when we lived in company quarters some 20 years back. I would celebrate Deepavali the traditional Tamilian way and we would bathe and wear new clothes before daybreak. There were about 6 tamilian families in the immediate neighborhood and we’d compete to see who burst the first cracker. Exchange of sweets would start around six in the morning and the first door to knock would be that of the Sinhas who lived just below our flat.
Mrs. Sinha would invariably grumble about the ruckus we created and found our Deepavali celebration very odd.
“Deepavali is a festival of lamps and is to be celebrated in the evening. You Tamilians seem to be opposite to us in so many ways”, she’d say.
Not knowing how best to defend myself, I’d stay quiet or say that we found it odd to wait till evening to burst crackers. I’d also add that since I finished celebrating Diwali in the morning I was free to prepare laddoos for her in the afternoon. Yes, on Diwali day, I had the enthusiasm to prepare laddoos for her too. Her family looked forward to the treat with a lot of eagerness.
Many years later, after they moved to another area and we were not able to meet regularly during Diwali and Holi, I stumbled upon an explanation for the difference in the time of Deepavali celebration of in the south as compared to the northern India. A friend of mine explained to me that Lord Ram after conquering Ravan crossed Tamilnadu at daybreak and reached Ayodhya in the evening and this is the reason why Tamilians celebrate Diwali in the morning and people in the north wait till evening to do the same. Well, Deepavali is celebrated to mark the victory of Lord Krishna over Narakasura in Tamilnadu and Lord Rama doesn’t actually come into the picture as far as I know. However my friend’s explanation seemed acceptable enough. Unfortunately I did not get a chance to offer the explanation to Mrs. Sinha and since she is no more I never will be able to pull her legs about it.
Whether it was Lord Ram’s victory or Lord Krishna’s is not an important issue. What is important is that we all have a Ram and a Ravan residing right within us and let us try to conquer the evil forces in our minds and in society by using the good side of our nature to crush evil beyond recognition and celebrate our success with carefree abandon by spreading the message of universal brotherhood. Happy Diwali once again!
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Tag of heights...
I took a long time to do this tag because I could not decide whether I should write about old people or small kids. Finally I decided to write about my own grand daughters – Megha who is two and a half years old and five month old Aarya. I hope I’ve done a good job of it. They belong to two sets of parents.
Height of cruelty- Putting the light out for the child to sleep, when all she wants to do is to laugh and play, saying ‘enough it is bed time now’. Parenting rule I suppose.
Height of reward- Megha comes running to me when her mom gets angry with her acknowledging me as an important person in her life.
Height of challenge- To keep a serious face when grandkids smile at you after being naughty, fearing a ‘Don’t spoil her’ from the parent.
Height of vigilance- Keeping a watch on what the five month old Aarya will put into her mouth.
Height of dieting - Megha having blueberries for breakfast lunch and dinner.
Height of desperation- My brother in law’s 3 year old son taking to the feeding bottle once again when his little brother arrived, much to his mom’s desperation.
Height of competition- Megha expects to be served the exact spicy food that I serve her grandpa.
Height of comparison – Megha comparing her mini sized bindi with my bigger one.
Height of rivalry- Megha expects to be carried in preference to Aarya and that too by Aarya’s dad.
Height of anger- Aarya yelling when we place a pillow on the way to prevent her from rolling over.
Height of table manners- Though given a separate plate Meghu insists on eating from her grandpa’s plate.
Height of fitness- Aarya’s toes being permanently thrust into her mouth looking like Balakrishna on a peepal leaf.
Height of choice- Five month old Aarya preferring a particular song that her mom learnt when she was in her tummy. She hates car seats. When tied up in it she starts crying. The minute the song is sung she stops crying and the moment she switches to another she starts yelling again.
Height of choosiness- Meghu insisting on wearing summer clothes in peak winter. Aarya preferring one toy to the rest.
Height of dadagiri- Aarya insisting on being carried vertically when she was just 2 months old,yelling when I sit down and she wants me to walk around. Meghu insisting that I carry her upstairs and refusing to let my husband to do it. Megha insisting that my husband watch Cartoon channels and objecting to his switching to football during the world cup series.
Height of frustration- Aarya trying to get to a toy placed in front of her. Tries to get there by rolling instead of crawling.
Height of provocation – Can’t think of any.
Grandkids add joy to our lives even when they twist us around on their finger tips!<
Height of cruelty- Putting the light out for the child to sleep, when all she wants to do is to laugh and play, saying ‘enough it is bed time now’. Parenting rule I suppose.
Height of reward- Megha comes running to me when her mom gets angry with her acknowledging me as an important person in her life.
Height of challenge- To keep a serious face when grandkids smile at you after being naughty, fearing a ‘Don’t spoil her’ from the parent.
Height of vigilance- Keeping a watch on what the five month old Aarya will put into her mouth.
Height of dieting - Megha having blueberries for breakfast lunch and dinner.
Height of desperation- My brother in law’s 3 year old son taking to the feeding bottle once again when his little brother arrived, much to his mom’s desperation.
Height of competition- Megha expects to be served the exact spicy food that I serve her grandpa.
Height of comparison – Megha comparing her mini sized bindi with my bigger one.
Height of rivalry- Megha expects to be carried in preference to Aarya and that too by Aarya’s dad.
Height of anger- Aarya yelling when we place a pillow on the way to prevent her from rolling over.
Height of table manners- Though given a separate plate Meghu insists on eating from her grandpa’s plate.
Height of fitness- Aarya’s toes being permanently thrust into her mouth looking like Balakrishna on a peepal leaf.
Height of choice- Five month old Aarya preferring a particular song that her mom learnt when she was in her tummy. She hates car seats. When tied up in it she starts crying. The minute the song is sung she stops crying and the moment she switches to another she starts yelling again.
Height of choosiness- Meghu insisting on wearing summer clothes in peak winter. Aarya preferring one toy to the rest.
Height of dadagiri- Aarya insisting on being carried vertically when she was just 2 months old,yelling when I sit down and she wants me to walk around. Meghu insisting that I carry her upstairs and refusing to let my husband to do it. Megha insisting that my husband watch Cartoon channels and objecting to his switching to football during the world cup series.
Height of frustration- Aarya trying to get to a toy placed in front of her. Tries to get there by rolling instead of crawling.
Height of provocation – Can’t think of any.
Grandkids add joy to our lives even when they twist us around on their finger tips!<
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Do we love our Women?
Friends, this may be my last serious post before I leave for India in a fortnight. I have a lot of pending work to finish and I also wish to spend as much time as possible with Aarya, my little grand daughter, whom I am going to really and truly miss. I already miss not having spent enough time with my other grand daughter Megha. Hopefully there will be another visit when I’ll get to spend an equal amount of time with both of them. I dedicate this post to their bright future.
I begin by acknowledging that I’ve been influenced a great deal by what I understood from Rabbi Shmuley Boteach has said in his book ‘ Hating Women’. He discusses in detail the degradation of women in the name of feminism with reference to the status of women in America. It is a book I’d recommend for every thinking adult of the world and Indian parents with teen aged children would do well to read it for two reasons. Firstly, what is happening in America today is bound to happen in India tomorrow. Secondly, with the world growing smaller they are not going to escape being exposed to it even before it reaches India. Rabbi Boteach speaks as a father with genuine concern for his daughters who will soon occupy their rightful place in the American society. I have two grand daughters who are likely to grow in America and my concern extends to them too. I cannot reproduce the whole book but these are some points that caught my attention.
1. Fall of the feminist Dream:
The feminist movement aimed at raising the status of women by encouraging them to take up careers, involve themselves in decision making at the political, official and domestic levels. To day reality shows portray women as shallow brainless creatures who’d fall to any level just for money and celebrity status. No woman seems to object. On the other hand the popularity of the shows seem to indicate that women seem to consider this as harmless fun. Translate this into the Indian scenario. Our TV serials show women as schemers and plotters, an illegitimate son or daughter pops up out of the blue and every hero has an extra marital affair. And we watch these serials instead of boycotting them.
2. Courting has been replaced by dating:
Earlier men would court women. These days, dating, often initiated by women, is the rule. Courting required the men to prove themselves worthy of the ladies' attention let alone affection. They had to work towards being approved by her parents. Dating on the other hand seems to need no such criteria and girls barely thirteen and fifteen years of age go out on dates with equally young boys. All that parents seem to do is to mumble a word of caution-“ Don’t be too late”. According to Rabbi Boteach girls should not be allowed to date before the age of nineteen or twenty which is approximately the age that they could be expected to have attained physical and mental maturity. The culture they’re exposed to at home should be one in which enables them to carry themselves with a dignity so that their date would not dare to make undue demands of them. I don’t need to add that this applies to all countries and cultures.
3. Women are Nature’s system of checks and balances:
Women have a sobering effect on man. Women are catalysts that unearth masculine virtue. Even the most aggressive of men tones down when he faces a dignified woman. Unfortunately, society is becoming more and more desensitized towards feminine attributes like modesty, sanctity and the mystique of femininity. We have our pop culture to thank for this situation. Due to this harshness will triumph over subtlety and ruthlessness over ethics. Society should never lose its reverence for women and if it does one is not too far from doom. One needs to look at the degradation of women in the west, by portraying them as mindless and vulgar in the visual medium and the oppression of woman in certain Islamic states of the east, to get an idea of what he means. I quote from the book -
“Rabbi IsaacLuria, the greatest Kabbalist of our times predicted that the world would be redeemed by women, and women would teach men how to bring forth their more nurturing, harmonious energy. Women would help men create a messianic era based on peace and prosperity by teaching men to see all beings as brothers instead of competitors, teaching them how to love rather than conquer.” In these days of terrorist attacks and suicide bombers is this not the requirement of the day?
There is a lot more in the book but unfortunately I cannot touch every thing that is mentioned. But here are a few things we can do-
1. Let us teach our boys the necessity to treat house hold chores as dignified work and encourage them to help out in whatever way they can. While a mother asks a girl child to clear the table or fold her clothes they seldom make the boy to do it. He grows up thinking that he can watch TV after a hard day’s work while his wife is supposed to do the cooking and cleaning. A little effort in this direction can save a lot of frustration.
2. Let our children understand that they would be hurting us very badly if they misuse the trust we place on them. In response to my earlier post Monika Manchanda had mentioned that she did not agree to my point on physical strength of females and that the strength displayed by a woman at child - birth was an example. I think that nothing in the world can equal a woman’s role as the bearer of her child. Nature has made her much superior to man in equipping her thus. She senses the child within her from day 1 but her husband waits for nine months to do so. But to be worthy of the supremacy accorded to her by nature isn’t it equally important that a woman exercises a sense of responsibility and caution? This is what I meant in the post.
3. Equal opportunities in the job front is a popular demand. I agree 100%. But one should be thankful to the Indian Government that it shows consideration to its women employees while considering transfers. I know of a government doctor in Jamshedpur who traveled for nearly 4 hours each day to reach his workplace. He’d take 3 different modes of transport, reaching the bus stand by car, travel for two hours by bus, walk 1 kilometer before taking a boat to cross a river and finally be taken to the government dispensary by his compounder on a motorcycle. He’d spend the night there and return the next evening commuting in reverse order. His female colleagues who draw the same salary are never posted to such remote areas and I’ve never heard him complain. I am also an employee of a government college and I am indeed grateful for the consideration shown by our policy makers. I don’t know whether I am eligible to be called a feminist but I definitely call our government’s approach as humanistic. Can we deny that equal rights means equal responsibility as well?
I have tried to address some questions raised by readers of my earlier post. I still believe that we should all strive to make the world a better place to live in and women should feel free to walk on the street at mid night. As of now I dare not let my daughters do it. I have given my children education and good values and that was something that i could do. I cannot protect them from all that is evil. I can only hope. I end with the concluding words of Rabbi Boteach –
“Together, men and women working can usher in a golden age of feminine awe and magic. Together, we can create a softer, gentler and brighter world illuminated with the light and warmth of the nurturer.”
This, I feel, will be the true achievement of feminism if it ever happens.
I begin by acknowledging that I’ve been influenced a great deal by what I understood from Rabbi Shmuley Boteach has said in his book ‘ Hating Women’. He discusses in detail the degradation of women in the name of feminism with reference to the status of women in America. It is a book I’d recommend for every thinking adult of the world and Indian parents with teen aged children would do well to read it for two reasons. Firstly, what is happening in America today is bound to happen in India tomorrow. Secondly, with the world growing smaller they are not going to escape being exposed to it even before it reaches India. Rabbi Boteach speaks as a father with genuine concern for his daughters who will soon occupy their rightful place in the American society. I have two grand daughters who are likely to grow in America and my concern extends to them too. I cannot reproduce the whole book but these are some points that caught my attention.
1. Fall of the feminist Dream:
The feminist movement aimed at raising the status of women by encouraging them to take up careers, involve themselves in decision making at the political, official and domestic levels. To day reality shows portray women as shallow brainless creatures who’d fall to any level just for money and celebrity status. No woman seems to object. On the other hand the popularity of the shows seem to indicate that women seem to consider this as harmless fun. Translate this into the Indian scenario. Our TV serials show women as schemers and plotters, an illegitimate son or daughter pops up out of the blue and every hero has an extra marital affair. And we watch these serials instead of boycotting them.
2. Courting has been replaced by dating:
Earlier men would court women. These days, dating, often initiated by women, is the rule. Courting required the men to prove themselves worthy of the ladies' attention let alone affection. They had to work towards being approved by her parents. Dating on the other hand seems to need no such criteria and girls barely thirteen and fifteen years of age go out on dates with equally young boys. All that parents seem to do is to mumble a word of caution-“ Don’t be too late”. According to Rabbi Boteach girls should not be allowed to date before the age of nineteen or twenty which is approximately the age that they could be expected to have attained physical and mental maturity. The culture they’re exposed to at home should be one in which enables them to carry themselves with a dignity so that their date would not dare to make undue demands of them. I don’t need to add that this applies to all countries and cultures.
3. Women are Nature’s system of checks and balances:
Women have a sobering effect on man. Women are catalysts that unearth masculine virtue. Even the most aggressive of men tones down when he faces a dignified woman. Unfortunately, society is becoming more and more desensitized towards feminine attributes like modesty, sanctity and the mystique of femininity. We have our pop culture to thank for this situation. Due to this harshness will triumph over subtlety and ruthlessness over ethics. Society should never lose its reverence for women and if it does one is not too far from doom. One needs to look at the degradation of women in the west, by portraying them as mindless and vulgar in the visual medium and the oppression of woman in certain Islamic states of the east, to get an idea of what he means. I quote from the book -
“Rabbi IsaacLuria, the greatest Kabbalist of our times predicted that the world would be redeemed by women, and women would teach men how to bring forth their more nurturing, harmonious energy. Women would help men create a messianic era based on peace and prosperity by teaching men to see all beings as brothers instead of competitors, teaching them how to love rather than conquer.” In these days of terrorist attacks and suicide bombers is this not the requirement of the day?
There is a lot more in the book but unfortunately I cannot touch every thing that is mentioned. But here are a few things we can do-
1. Let us teach our boys the necessity to treat house hold chores as dignified work and encourage them to help out in whatever way they can. While a mother asks a girl child to clear the table or fold her clothes they seldom make the boy to do it. He grows up thinking that he can watch TV after a hard day’s work while his wife is supposed to do the cooking and cleaning. A little effort in this direction can save a lot of frustration.
2. Let our children understand that they would be hurting us very badly if they misuse the trust we place on them. In response to my earlier post Monika Manchanda had mentioned that she did not agree to my point on physical strength of females and that the strength displayed by a woman at child - birth was an example. I think that nothing in the world can equal a woman’s role as the bearer of her child. Nature has made her much superior to man in equipping her thus. She senses the child within her from day 1 but her husband waits for nine months to do so. But to be worthy of the supremacy accorded to her by nature isn’t it equally important that a woman exercises a sense of responsibility and caution? This is what I meant in the post.
3. Equal opportunities in the job front is a popular demand. I agree 100%. But one should be thankful to the Indian Government that it shows consideration to its women employees while considering transfers. I know of a government doctor in Jamshedpur who traveled for nearly 4 hours each day to reach his workplace. He’d take 3 different modes of transport, reaching the bus stand by car, travel for two hours by bus, walk 1 kilometer before taking a boat to cross a river and finally be taken to the government dispensary by his compounder on a motorcycle. He’d spend the night there and return the next evening commuting in reverse order. His female colleagues who draw the same salary are never posted to such remote areas and I’ve never heard him complain. I am also an employee of a government college and I am indeed grateful for the consideration shown by our policy makers. I don’t know whether I am eligible to be called a feminist but I definitely call our government’s approach as humanistic. Can we deny that equal rights means equal responsibility as well?
I have tried to address some questions raised by readers of my earlier post. I still believe that we should all strive to make the world a better place to live in and women should feel free to walk on the street at mid night. As of now I dare not let my daughters do it. I have given my children education and good values and that was something that i could do. I cannot protect them from all that is evil. I can only hope. I end with the concluding words of Rabbi Boteach –
“Together, men and women working can usher in a golden age of feminine awe and magic. Together, we can create a softer, gentler and brighter world illuminated with the light and warmth of the nurturer.”
This, I feel, will be the true achievement of feminism if it ever happens.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Real masterpiece!
When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem.
Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.
One nurse took her copy to Ireland.
The old lady's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health.
A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem.
And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this "anonymous" poem winging across the Internet:
Crabby Old Woman
What do you see, nurses ........ What do you see?
What are you thinking ...........When you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman ..............Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, .............With faraway eyes?
Who dribbles her food .......................... And makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice, .. "I do wish you'd try!"
Who seems not to notice ........ The things that you do,
And forever is losing ........... A stocking or shoe?
Who, resisting or not, ..........Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, .......The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? ...Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse, .....You're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am ..........As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, ........As I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten ........With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters ............Who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen .........With wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now ......... A lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at twenty, ........ My heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows ............That I promised to keep.
At twenty-five now, .............I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide ............And a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, ..............My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other .............With ties that should last.
At forty, my young sons .........Have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me ......... To see I don't mourn
At fifty once more, ............Babies play round my knee,
Again we know children, .........My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, ..........My husband is dead,
I look at the future, ...........I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing ....Young of their own,
And I think of the years ........And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old woman.............And nature is cruel;
Tis jest to make old age ........Look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, ..........Grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone ............Where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass .....A young girl still dwells,
And now and again, ..............My battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, ............I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living .......Life over again.
I think of the years ............All too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact .......That nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people, ......Open and see,
Not a crabby old woman; .........Look closer....see, ME!!
Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within...
we will all, one day, be there, too!
PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM. IT'S SOMETHING WE ALL NEED TO READ.
Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem.
Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.
One nurse took her copy to Ireland.
The old lady's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health.
A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem.
And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this "anonymous" poem winging across the Internet:
Crabby Old Woman
What do you see, nurses ........ What do you see?
What are you thinking ...........When you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman ..............Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, .............With faraway eyes?
Who dribbles her food .......................... And makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice, .. "I do wish you'd try!"
Who seems not to notice ........ The things that you do,
And forever is losing ........... A stocking or shoe?
Who, resisting or not, ..........Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, .......The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? ...Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse, .....You're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am ..........As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, ........As I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten ........With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters ............Who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen .........With wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now ......... A lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at twenty, ........ My heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows ............That I promised to keep.
At twenty-five now, .............I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide ............And a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, ..............My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other .............With ties that should last.
At forty, my young sons .........Have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me ......... To see I don't mourn
At fifty once more, ............Babies play round my knee,
Again we know children, .........My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, ..........My husband is dead,
I look at the future, ...........I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing ....Young of their own,
And I think of the years ........And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old woman.............And nature is cruel;
Tis jest to make old age ........Look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, ..........Grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone ............Where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass .....A young girl still dwells,
And now and again, ..............My battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, ............I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living .......Life over again.
I think of the years ............All too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact .......That nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people, ......Open and see,
Not a crabby old woman; .........Look closer....see, ME!!
Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within...
we will all, one day, be there, too!
PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM. IT'S SOMETHING WE ALL NEED TO READ.
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