This Sunday morning I saw a middle-aged couple in their balcony. The man was sitting reading the paper while his wife coloured his hair. Their retriever was watching the whole process too. Would this man do the same for his wife? I wonder....
I observed the pigeons that live in the nooks of apartment blocks all around us. They sure are lovey-dovey couples! But it’s the doves that symbolise love and peace not the gawky pigeon. I wonder why....
I just don’t like Sundays....but I look forward to Mondays. I’m not in a regular job, so I wonder why week days or weekends should make any difference....
My maid loves Hindi soaps. She goes all googly eyes and flapping ears if one is playing on the TV. But I don’t like them one bit, yet I switch on a particular soap....Now why do I do that, I wonder.....
Tell me to fill a form, any form and I get an anxiety attack. I’ve filled N number of forms; just filled two recently, but the stress stays. I wonder why...
I’m terrified of lizards. I don’t recall any frightening incident concerning them, or any such thing, but I even get nightmares with lizards in them at times....makes me wonder why.....
I love to sing in the kitchen, while I’m engrossed with cooking....one hears of bathroom singers I wonder why no one mentions kitchen singers....
I rarely feel lonely when I’m alone, most of my loneliest moments have been those when I had people around me. Wonder why....
I was with a group of teachers (women) recently and they were all talking at the same time. All of a sudden one looked at 'quiet' me and said apologetically, “We’re teachers you know we can’t stay quiet for long and neither can we sit still for long. It’s the bane of the job.”
I replied I’ve taught for over twenty-two years, I’ve never suffered the “bane of the job,” I wonder why......”
I go out for meals alone, I shop alone, I travel alone, I live alone but I can’t watch a movie alone in a cinema hall....I keep wondering why...
When people ask me what I do the whole day at home....I start to wonder....!
I’ve been walking religiously for half an hour in the morning and half an hour in the evening, and I’m beginning to wonder if the lard’s gonna melt away.....(don’t even suggest that I walk longer. My condition limits me to this time at present !)
There are moments when words seem inadequate so I employ tears....I’m moved to tears with joy, I’m moved to tears by anger, I’m moved to tears by beautiful music or poetry, I cry when someone I know cries, my eyes get wet reading sad stories, tears flow when I laugh. Why do my tears have to speak when I’m pretty articulate? I wonder....
During the day I rarely miss company, but come evening, especially my evening tea...and I would love to have good company. I do wonder about these evening blues....
I needed some passport snaps, which meant I’d have to go to the photographer, which also meant I’d have to call for a cab, which meant I’d have to pay more for the cab than for ten copies of my PP pictures. On the advice of someone, I went to a small photo shop called Light Of Life (LOL) in the market near my place. I paid the advance and returned home quite thrilled that I had saved money. When I went to pick up the pictures, the shop wasn’t there. They had shut down overnight and vamoosed! Well, LOL...wonder why I'm laughing out loud....
I used to have an elephant’s memory before...now I just have the body...and there’s nothing to wonder about that... I’m actually smiling you know!! I’ve finally found something I don’t have to wonder about today and I can wrap up this piece and look forward to a great week.
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Sunday, July 31, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Nanaji and the Dirty Fellas
We have very specific names for our relatives, which make it clear how one is related to another and from which side of the family they belong to. For instance, paternal grandparents are Daada (male) and Daadi (female). So the moment a child refers to someone as Daada or Daadi, everyone knows it’s a son’s child. And when the terms Nana or Nani are used, you know it’s a daughter’s child. There is no confusion about any relationship unlike the common terms uncle and aunt or grandma, grandpa, brother-in-law, sister-in-law etc. To come back to my father becoming a nana or nanaji, as the kids called him (the 'ji' is suffixed as a sign of respect) and a few memories of the kids’ interactions with a man, who had been a strict disciplinarian as a father, and had grown more reserved and serious with the years. Everyone was still in awe of this man, who although mellowed with age, yet held a commanding demeanour and a sarcastic sense of humour. My sons learnt to talk rather early so their interaction with nanaji began early too. By this time Daddy had already transitioned to the grandparent level, courtesy my elder sister’s son.
Daddy used all his sarcastic humour on the kids, who just loved it. They were quick to retort and he would have his laugh. They often got into little kiddie fights with him, and when we’d hear “Dirty fella, I’m not talking to you,” we knew we would witness a wonderful, funny incident soon.
One day Daddy had a bit of a falling out with my sister’s son Chiku aged three and a half.
“Go away, I’m not talking to you, dirty fella,” says nanaji to the scowling boy. Both walk off to their rooms; the grey haired one hiding a broad grin and the younger one certainly miffed.
A few minutes later a chubby face peeks into nanaji’s room, he is ignored. The second and third attempt to reconcile is also ignored. The fourth time he comes with a bunch of grapes as a peace offering. Nanaji refuses to accept it, closes his eyes and appears to have fallen asleep.
Chiku stands and stares at him for a while. Then he decides it’s too much. He plucks two grapes off the bunch and before nanaji can say “dirty f...” the grapes are stuffed into his nostrils and Chiku scampers out like a grinning monkey.
Thankfully the grapes weren’t far in and were snorted out easily! And nanaji was in splits. We saw them sitting together and eating the rest of the grapes soon after.
Daddy would sit in the back verandah or in the back lawn and write when the weather was cooler. On one such day, nanaji had an encounter with another three and half year old named Tintin; Elder son of yours truly. Nanaji was immersed in his study and writing while Tintin played with his toys. Nanaji had an old, in fact very old, Bible which he loved and in which he had written many notes, on pages specially inserted into the binding. It had a thick, hard leather cover which had faded and cracked over the years. It was open and lying face down on a table beside him. Tintin sauntered over and looked at it. Apparently he didn't like the look of it. He screwed up his little arrogant nose and asked what book it was. Nanaji answered him without stopping his work. A few moments later he needed to refer to something in the Book and well, it wasn’t on the table. He looked around and what do you think he saw?
“You dirty fella, what are you doing?” he said and jumped out of the chair to rescue his precious Bible from a washing.
Tintin had decided that nanaji shouldn’t have a dirty Bible and had dunked it into a tub full of water, that was kept for the two small tortoises naniji had bought for him. He was just getting to the washing part when it was retrieved by nanaji.
“What are you doing, you dirty fella? Why did you put it in the water?”
“It was dirty so I was washing it,” replied the “dirty fella” blissfully unaware of the damage he could have caused. Nanaji found the explanation quite plausible, and though he was worried about the Bible, he couldn’t stop laughing. Once again thankfully, except for some pages getting smudged with ink and a loss of notes, the Bible was dried out. Well the cover looked more thumped than it did before!
Nanaji got a lesson in etiquette and right practice from yet another of his dirty fellas, when he came on a holiday to Rajasthan. This time it was Viny, not quite three yet. The days passed off fast and nanaji and the boys had a rollicking time. Then it was time to leave. Our littlest one was over eager to help; push and tug bags to the waiting taxi. Everyone was mightily impressed by the offer of help, as all the bags were too big and too heavy anyway for him to even budge a centimetre, yet he was lending the proverbial helping hand. He hung around nanaji, who once again saw through all the show, and was wanting to get his last laugh before leaving.
It was time to leave and nanaji got into the taxi. He didn’t close the door, but kept making small talk with his “dirty fellas.” We tried to hurry him but he kept stalling. Finally, what he was waiting for happened. Afraid that it would be too late, Viny took the initiative to inform his nanaji about Rajasthani customs.
“Nanaji,” he said seriously, “jab koi jaata hai na, woh kuch de kar jaata hai.” (Nanaji, when someone leaves he gives something and goes.”
Nanaji was thrilled, he had got his laughs. He dug into his pockets and handed both the boys some money. It was customary in those days for elder relatives to give the kids some money before they left. Needless to describe the glee with which the cash was handed over to mother dear, as Viny rattled off all that he would buy with it, including a car. I didn’t spoil his joy by telling him that he would fall a bit short of cash for a car.
Just for the record, he was thinking of buying a real life size car...LOL
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Daddy used all his sarcastic humour on the kids, who just loved it. They were quick to retort and he would have his laugh. They often got into little kiddie fights with him, and when we’d hear “Dirty fella, I’m not talking to you,” we knew we would witness a wonderful, funny incident soon.
One day Daddy had a bit of a falling out with my sister’s son Chiku aged three and a half.
“Go away, I’m not talking to you, dirty fella,” says nanaji to the scowling boy. Both walk off to their rooms; the grey haired one hiding a broad grin and the younger one certainly miffed.
A few minutes later a chubby face peeks into nanaji’s room, he is ignored. The second and third attempt to reconcile is also ignored. The fourth time he comes with a bunch of grapes as a peace offering. Nanaji refuses to accept it, closes his eyes and appears to have fallen asleep.
Chiku stands and stares at him for a while. Then he decides it’s too much. He plucks two grapes off the bunch and before nanaji can say “dirty f...” the grapes are stuffed into his nostrils and Chiku scampers out like a grinning monkey.
Thankfully the grapes weren’t far in and were snorted out easily! And nanaji was in splits. We saw them sitting together and eating the rest of the grapes soon after.
Daddy would sit in the back verandah or in the back lawn and write when the weather was cooler. On one such day, nanaji had an encounter with another three and half year old named Tintin; Elder son of yours truly. Nanaji was immersed in his study and writing while Tintin played with his toys. Nanaji had an old, in fact very old, Bible which he loved and in which he had written many notes, on pages specially inserted into the binding. It had a thick, hard leather cover which had faded and cracked over the years. It was open and lying face down on a table beside him. Tintin sauntered over and looked at it. Apparently he didn't like the look of it. He screwed up his little arrogant nose and asked what book it was. Nanaji answered him without stopping his work. A few moments later he needed to refer to something in the Book and well, it wasn’t on the table. He looked around and what do you think he saw?
“You dirty fella, what are you doing?” he said and jumped out of the chair to rescue his precious Bible from a washing.
Tintin had decided that nanaji shouldn’t have a dirty Bible and had dunked it into a tub full of water, that was kept for the two small tortoises naniji had bought for him. He was just getting to the washing part when it was retrieved by nanaji.
“What are you doing, you dirty fella? Why did you put it in the water?”
“It was dirty so I was washing it,” replied the “dirty fella” blissfully unaware of the damage he could have caused. Nanaji found the explanation quite plausible, and though he was worried about the Bible, he couldn’t stop laughing. Once again thankfully, except for some pages getting smudged with ink and a loss of notes, the Bible was dried out. Well the cover looked more thumped than it did before!
Nanaji got a lesson in etiquette and right practice from yet another of his dirty fellas, when he came on a holiday to Rajasthan. This time it was Viny, not quite three yet. The days passed off fast and nanaji and the boys had a rollicking time. Then it was time to leave. Our littlest one was over eager to help; push and tug bags to the waiting taxi. Everyone was mightily impressed by the offer of help, as all the bags were too big and too heavy anyway for him to even budge a centimetre, yet he was lending the proverbial helping hand. He hung around nanaji, who once again saw through all the show, and was wanting to get his last laugh before leaving.
It was time to leave and nanaji got into the taxi. He didn’t close the door, but kept making small talk with his “dirty fellas.” We tried to hurry him but he kept stalling. Finally, what he was waiting for happened. Afraid that it would be too late, Viny took the initiative to inform his nanaji about Rajasthani customs.
“Nanaji,” he said seriously, “jab koi jaata hai na, woh kuch de kar jaata hai.” (Nanaji, when someone leaves he gives something and goes.”
Nanaji was thrilled, he had got his laughs. He dug into his pockets and handed both the boys some money. It was customary in those days for elder relatives to give the kids some money before they left. Needless to describe the glee with which the cash was handed over to mother dear, as Viny rattled off all that he would buy with it, including a car. I didn’t spoil his joy by telling him that he would fall a bit short of cash for a car.
Just for the record, he was thinking of buying a real life size car...LOL
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sunday, July 3, 2011
General Knowledge....forgotten!!
My previous post, The Messenger, would be unbelievable to some, so here are some more believable and interesting pieces of GK, which I know I knew but didn't know now....can you make any sense of that?!
Note:The blogger is not responsible for any discrepencies or falsehoods...the blogger didn't have anything to write so has posted a forward (forwarded several times over) which she received!
In the 1400's a law was set forth in England that a man was allowed to beat his wife with a stick no thicker than his thumb.
Hence we have 'the rule of thumb'
------------
Many years ago in Scotland , a new game was invented.
It was ruled 'Gentlemen Only...Ladies Forbidden'.. .
and thus, the word GOLF entered into the English language.
------------
The first couple to be shown in bed together on prime time TV was Fred and Wilma Flintstone. (Really? I find that hard to believe)
------------
Coca-Cola was originally green.(Yuck)
------------
It is impossible to lick your elbow.
------------
The cost of raising a medium-size dog
to the age of eleven:
£ 10,120.00 (Dunno about this, my Heidi died at seven...)
------------
The first novel ever
written on a typewriter, Tom Sawyer.
------------
Each king in a deck of playing cards represents
a great king from history:
Spades - King David
Hearts - Charlemagne
Clubs -Alexander, the Great
Diamonds - Julius Caesar
------------
111,111,111 x
111,111,111 = 12,345,678,987, 654,321
------------
If a commemorative statue, of a person on a horse, has the horse with both front legs in the air, the person died in battle.
If the horse has one front leg in the air, the person died because of wounds received in battle.
If the horse has all four legs on the ground, the person died
of natural causes
------------
Q.. If you were to spell out numbers, how far would you have to go until you would find the letter 'A'?
A. One thousand
------------
Q. What do bulletproof vests, fire escapes, windshield wipers and laser printers have in common?
A. All were invented by women. (yay, yay, yay...)
------------
Q. What is the only food that doesn't spoil?
A. Honey
------------
In Shakespeare's time, mattresses were secured on bed frames by ropes.
When you pulled on the ropes, the mattress tightened,
making the bed firmer to sleep on.
Hence the phrase...'Goodnight , sleep tight'
------------
It was the accepted practice in Babylon 4,000 years ago, that for a month after the wedding, the bride's father would supply his son-in-law with all the mead he could drink. Mead is a honey beer and because their calendar was lunar based, this period was called the honey month, which we know today as the honeymoon. ( Betcha didn't know that)
------------
In English pubs, ale is ordered by pints and quarts....
So in old England , when customers got unruly, the bartender would yell at them 'Mind your pints and quarts, and settle down. It's where we get the phrase 'mind your P's and Q's'
------------
Many years ago in England , pub frequenters had a whistle baked into the rim, or handle, of their ceramic cups. When they needed a refill, they used the whistle to get some service. 'Wet your whistle'
is the phrase inspired by this practice.
------------
At least 75% of people who read this will try to
lick their elbow!
------------
YOU KNOW YOU ARE LIVING IN 2011 when...
1. You accidentally enter your PIN on the microwave.
2. You haven't played solitaire with real cards in years.
3. You have a list of 15 phone numbers, to reach your family
of three.
4. You e-mail the person who works at the desk next to you.
5. Your reason for not staying in touch with friends and family is that they don't have e-mail addresses.
6. You pull up in your own driveway and use your mobile phone to see if anyone is home to help you carry in the groceries...
7. Every commercial on television has a web site at the bottom
of the screen
8. Leaving the house without your mobile phone, which you didn't even have the first 20 or 30 (or 60) years of your life, is now a cause for panic and you turn around to go and get it
10. You get up in the morning and go on line before getting
your coffee
11. You start tilting your head sideways to smile. : )
12 You're reading this and nodding and laughing.
13. Even worse, you know exactly to whom you are going to forward this message.
14. You are too busy to notice there was no 9 on this list.
15. You actually scrolled back up to check that there wasn't
a 9 on this list
~~~~~~~~~~~AND FINALLY~~~~~ ~~~~~~~
NOW U R LAUGHING. The post wasn't that bad after all.....
And stop trying to lick your elbow!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note:The blogger is not responsible for any discrepencies or falsehoods...the blogger didn't have anything to write so has posted a forward (forwarded several times over) which she received!
In the 1400's a law was set forth in England that a man was allowed to beat his wife with a stick no thicker than his thumb.
Hence we have 'the rule of thumb'
------------
Many years ago in Scotland , a new game was invented.
It was ruled 'Gentlemen Only...Ladies Forbidden'.. .
and thus, the word GOLF entered into the English language.
------------
The first couple to be shown in bed together on prime time TV was Fred and Wilma Flintstone. (Really? I find that hard to believe)
------------
Coca-Cola was originally green.(Yuck)
------------
It is impossible to lick your elbow.
------------
The cost of raising a medium-size dog
to the age of eleven:
£ 10,120.00 (Dunno about this, my Heidi died at seven...)
------------
The first novel ever
written on a typewriter, Tom Sawyer.
------------
Each king in a deck of playing cards represents
a great king from history:
Spades - King David
Hearts - Charlemagne
Clubs -Alexander, the Great
Diamonds - Julius Caesar
------------
111,111,111 x
111,111,111 = 12,345,678,987, 654,321
------------
If a commemorative statue, of a person on a horse, has the horse with both front legs in the air, the person died in battle.
If the horse has one front leg in the air, the person died because of wounds received in battle.
If the horse has all four legs on the ground, the person died
of natural causes
------------
Q.. If you were to spell out numbers, how far would you have to go until you would find the letter 'A'?
A. One thousand
------------
Q. What do bulletproof vests, fire escapes, windshield wipers and laser printers have in common?
A. All were invented by women. (yay, yay, yay...)
------------
Q. What is the only food that doesn't spoil?
A. Honey
------------
In Shakespeare's time, mattresses were secured on bed frames by ropes.
When you pulled on the ropes, the mattress tightened,
making the bed firmer to sleep on.
Hence the phrase...'Goodnight , sleep tight'
------------
It was the accepted practice in Babylon 4,000 years ago, that for a month after the wedding, the bride's father would supply his son-in-law with all the mead he could drink. Mead is a honey beer and because their calendar was lunar based, this period was called the honey month, which we know today as the honeymoon. ( Betcha didn't know that)
------------
In English pubs, ale is ordered by pints and quarts....
So in old England , when customers got unruly, the bartender would yell at them 'Mind your pints and quarts, and settle down. It's where we get the phrase 'mind your P's and Q's'
------------
Many years ago in England , pub frequenters had a whistle baked into the rim, or handle, of their ceramic cups. When they needed a refill, they used the whistle to get some service. 'Wet your whistle'
is the phrase inspired by this practice.
------------
At least 75% of people who read this will try to
lick their elbow!
------------
YOU KNOW YOU ARE LIVING IN 2011 when...
1. You accidentally enter your PIN on the microwave.
2. You haven't played solitaire with real cards in years.
3. You have a list of 15 phone numbers, to reach your family
of three.
4. You e-mail the person who works at the desk next to you.
5. Your reason for not staying in touch with friends and family is that they don't have e-mail addresses.
6. You pull up in your own driveway and use your mobile phone to see if anyone is home to help you carry in the groceries...
7. Every commercial on television has a web site at the bottom
of the screen
8. Leaving the house without your mobile phone, which you didn't even have the first 20 or 30 (or 60) years of your life, is now a cause for panic and you turn around to go and get it
10. You get up in the morning and go on line before getting
your coffee
11. You start tilting your head sideways to smile. : )
12 You're reading this and nodding and laughing.
13. Even worse, you know exactly to whom you are going to forward this message.
14. You are too busy to notice there was no 9 on this list.
15. You actually scrolled back up to check that there wasn't
a 9 on this list
~~~~~~~~~~~AND FINALLY~~~~~ ~~~~~~~
NOW U R LAUGHING. The post wasn't that bad after all.....
And stop trying to lick your elbow!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday, July 2, 2011
The Messenger
This is an old article and I'm posting it after an interesting conversation with a friend about intuition, telepathy, sixth sense, spirits, superstitions etc reminded me of this experience.
It was the month of September 1991, and the clock chimed eleven times to tell me it was an hour to mid-night and I better hurry. The house was shrouded in the blessed silence that comes with slumber. I was the only one awake. I usually did my baking at night as I struggled to juggle my time between home chores and a career.
In order to understand what occurred next, I must explain how the kitchen was built. A long corridor led from the dining room, past the children's room, staircase and ended in a little cul-de-sac, which had ample storing facilities. I used it to keep all the crockery. From this little store a door opened into the beautiful, large kitchen where I was working, softly humming to myself. Then I experienced the strangest of sensations! I stopped humming, stopped what I was doing and stood stock still.
My back, down the entire backbone, was tingling and slight shivers ran down my spine. I sensed someone staring at me from the store area, which was behind me. My heart was pounding wildly while my ears strained for some sound. I couldn't stand the tension any longer and turned around. Nothing! No one! I was puzzled. I brushed it off without dwelling on it too long. I had a cake to bake and I had to be up early the next day. Picking up the tune I had left off, I happily popped the cake into the oven.
Then it happened again! Once again tingling, shivers, turn around – no one! I was beginning to get a bit uneasy now. I switched to singing hymns for good measure, and a bit loud too, as I mustered all the courage I had, to make my way through the store, down the corridor and into our bedroom, where I felt safer. I thought of waking my husband, but decided against it, knowing he wouldn't believe me and I'd be the new drawing-room joke. Instead, I sat it out till the cake was done. Now I had to go back. I switched on all the extra lights and finding myself in a better shape to face my 'demons,' ventured into the kitchen, making sure I zipped through the store. Nothing happened. I took out the cake, left it to cool and went to bed.
As expected, husband dear pooh-poohed the whole thing as the result of an over-imaginative mind, fuelled by the horror movies I watched.
"You had better not talk about it. And especially not in front of the kids, you'll only scare them," he laughed.
"You've got to believe me Nanan. I'm not a loony. This was real," I said emphatically. But who was listening.
My husband was often out on tours, so I was quite used to living alone with the kids and was never scared or nervous about it. However, after a month or so when the incident occurred again, I wasn't very comfortable any more. This time it was a bit different, I sensed the presence of a person or thing or whatever it may be called. I could see nothing, but I could tell where the person was and also that it was a male. I still can't explain this but I felt it as strongly and surely as if I could see him. I also sensed that he was on the advanced side of 'middle-age'. Once again, my husband laughed it off. As the 'being' didn't visit in the next few days, the topic was closed.
A month later, it happened again and it became a frequent occurrence. Almost every day….afternoons, evenings….and always it stood in the same place. The most unimaginable thing was that all fear had dissipated. I sensed that I was in no danger. Once my comfort level had been restored, I began to feel that ' It' was trying to tell me something. When it started or how I do not know, but I was communicating without words or any visible signs with my invisible visitor. I became aware of a deep sympathy flowing from it. As if it was feeling sorry I wondered why. "Why, why, why,"…my mind cried out. The answer I got knocked the air out of my lungs. "I'm going to die? When? How?"… I was in total shock.
I can still recall how I felt. I went about my chores in a trance. In the evening, as I passed the children's room, something snapped. I stood and watched them as they waged a pillow fight and I was swept with grief and pain. That day I communicated a lot with God. I begged Him not to take me away just yet, as my children needed me. I reminded Him that they were His gifts to me. I knew that my husband would never be capable of looking after them by himself. He would pack them off to his relatives. Where would they study and how would they adjust to life in a remote village in Rajasthan? I also knew that my husband would be married off before a year had even passed. The thought of my children's plight wrenched my heart and I cried. All that I prayed for at the end was, "If it is possible, for the sake of my children, spare me. Otherwise help me to accept your will, Lord." I was exhausted and I slept very deeply that night.
After carrying this burden within and no one to share it with, this prayer released me of all anguish and I felt, strangely, very relaxed. It was the first week of January 1992, and after this encounter I never felt the presence again. Life went on as usual. Sometimes I wondered what fate had been decided for me – but these were fleeting thoughts. Republic Day was approaching, and the preparation for the parade and cultural function took up a major part of both time and energy, leaving me with very little scope for reflections on my life.
On a beautiful, sunny winter morning, I sat in the lawn drinking my coffee, planning and listing all the jobs that my husband would have to see to, when he came back from his tour.
Suddenly I was cut off from reality – out of nowhere, a picture flashed across the screen of my mind – I saw Mr Singh, a friend, telling me that my husband had met with a fatal accident. Then the frame changed to a picture of me dressed in white, looking bewildered at a number of women wailing around me. It ended abruptly and I was back in my beautiful garden with an empty coffee mug in my hand.
I shook myself and got up immediately, immersing myself in work lest my mind painted any more horrifying pictures. My husband was right; I did have an over-imaginative mind. Still I was on tenterhooks the whole day. In the evening, the familiar honk of the car sent me dashing out, and I was more ecstatic than usual to see hubby dear. He kept trying to figure it out, but I passed it off as the end to an unusually hard week. The next day was Republic Day. Nanan had to leave on yet another tour in the evening. He found it odd that I should be a bit put out by his tour.
" It's only a two day tour. I'll be back on the twenty-ninth," he said consolingly. He had been out a lot lately.
On the twenty-seventh night, while the kids and I were watching TV, the doorbell rang. Mr Singh stood there with tears in his eyes, "He's not coming back Bhabi, he has succumbed to a major heart attack," he said and broke down.
Two days later, on the day of his funeral, I was dressed in white and I was bewildered as I looked at the women crying around me. "Why are they crying?" I thought to myself. "Why are they asking me to be strong for the kids? What do they mean he's gone…of course he's gone on tour. I hope they stop crying, they're making me cry too. Don't they know I can't see any one cry? What do they mean that he was so young…he is young. Thirty-nine is young." I was in shock and denial.
Prior to this, I would take such a narrative with a huge pinch of salt and scepticism. To me these things oozed of superstition, ignorance and misplaced faith. Even today, I often ponder over this event, wondering what to make of it. I have no definite opinion. Was it imagination running wild? Then how does one explain the events that followed? Or was it mere coincidence? I'm torn between unbelief and credulity.
Later I confided to Sudhaji, an elderly neighbour, about the presence I had felt and all that had happened. She listened quietly and patiently, and then asked who I thought the presence was.
"I'm not sure," I said, "but I did feel it was my Father-in-law, which is very strange because I have never seen him. He expired many years before our marriage."
She nodded her sage head and said, "It could be. Yes, it's possible. Lekin, there's something I must tell you. Some years back the landlady rented out this house, for the first time, to a Mathur family. The place you store the crockery didn’t exist at the time. Mr Mathur got it made himself at his own expense. He died a few months later of cardiac arrest."
You could hear a pin drop in the silence.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Glossary:
Bhabi....a term of respect used for a brother's wife. It is also used by a man's friends to address his wife, in small towns or orthodox families.
Lekin....a Hindi word meaning 'but'
Nanan....David's pet name
------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was the month of September 1991, and the clock chimed eleven times to tell me it was an hour to mid-night and I better hurry. The house was shrouded in the blessed silence that comes with slumber. I was the only one awake. I usually did my baking at night as I struggled to juggle my time between home chores and a career.
In order to understand what occurred next, I must explain how the kitchen was built. A long corridor led from the dining room, past the children's room, staircase and ended in a little cul-de-sac, which had ample storing facilities. I used it to keep all the crockery. From this little store a door opened into the beautiful, large kitchen where I was working, softly humming to myself. Then I experienced the strangest of sensations! I stopped humming, stopped what I was doing and stood stock still.
My back, down the entire backbone, was tingling and slight shivers ran down my spine. I sensed someone staring at me from the store area, which was behind me. My heart was pounding wildly while my ears strained for some sound. I couldn't stand the tension any longer and turned around. Nothing! No one! I was puzzled. I brushed it off without dwelling on it too long. I had a cake to bake and I had to be up early the next day. Picking up the tune I had left off, I happily popped the cake into the oven.
Then it happened again! Once again tingling, shivers, turn around – no one! I was beginning to get a bit uneasy now. I switched to singing hymns for good measure, and a bit loud too, as I mustered all the courage I had, to make my way through the store, down the corridor and into our bedroom, where I felt safer. I thought of waking my husband, but decided against it, knowing he wouldn't believe me and I'd be the new drawing-room joke. Instead, I sat it out till the cake was done. Now I had to go back. I switched on all the extra lights and finding myself in a better shape to face my 'demons,' ventured into the kitchen, making sure I zipped through the store. Nothing happened. I took out the cake, left it to cool and went to bed.
As expected, husband dear pooh-poohed the whole thing as the result of an over-imaginative mind, fuelled by the horror movies I watched.
"You had better not talk about it. And especially not in front of the kids, you'll only scare them," he laughed.
"You've got to believe me Nanan. I'm not a loony. This was real," I said emphatically. But who was listening.
My husband was often out on tours, so I was quite used to living alone with the kids and was never scared or nervous about it. However, after a month or so when the incident occurred again, I wasn't very comfortable any more. This time it was a bit different, I sensed the presence of a person or thing or whatever it may be called. I could see nothing, but I could tell where the person was and also that it was a male. I still can't explain this but I felt it as strongly and surely as if I could see him. I also sensed that he was on the advanced side of 'middle-age'. Once again, my husband laughed it off. As the 'being' didn't visit in the next few days, the topic was closed.
A month later, it happened again and it became a frequent occurrence. Almost every day….afternoons, evenings….and always it stood in the same place. The most unimaginable thing was that all fear had dissipated. I sensed that I was in no danger. Once my comfort level had been restored, I began to feel that ' It' was trying to tell me something. When it started or how I do not know, but I was communicating without words or any visible signs with my invisible visitor. I became aware of a deep sympathy flowing from it. As if it was feeling sorry I wondered why. "Why, why, why,"…my mind cried out. The answer I got knocked the air out of my lungs. "I'm going to die? When? How?"… I was in total shock.
I can still recall how I felt. I went about my chores in a trance. In the evening, as I passed the children's room, something snapped. I stood and watched them as they waged a pillow fight and I was swept with grief and pain. That day I communicated a lot with God. I begged Him not to take me away just yet, as my children needed me. I reminded Him that they were His gifts to me. I knew that my husband would never be capable of looking after them by himself. He would pack them off to his relatives. Where would they study and how would they adjust to life in a remote village in Rajasthan? I also knew that my husband would be married off before a year had even passed. The thought of my children's plight wrenched my heart and I cried. All that I prayed for at the end was, "If it is possible, for the sake of my children, spare me. Otherwise help me to accept your will, Lord." I was exhausted and I slept very deeply that night.
After carrying this burden within and no one to share it with, this prayer released me of all anguish and I felt, strangely, very relaxed. It was the first week of January 1992, and after this encounter I never felt the presence again. Life went on as usual. Sometimes I wondered what fate had been decided for me – but these were fleeting thoughts. Republic Day was approaching, and the preparation for the parade and cultural function took up a major part of both time and energy, leaving me with very little scope for reflections on my life.
On a beautiful, sunny winter morning, I sat in the lawn drinking my coffee, planning and listing all the jobs that my husband would have to see to, when he came back from his tour.
Suddenly I was cut off from reality – out of nowhere, a picture flashed across the screen of my mind – I saw Mr Singh, a friend, telling me that my husband had met with a fatal accident. Then the frame changed to a picture of me dressed in white, looking bewildered at a number of women wailing around me. It ended abruptly and I was back in my beautiful garden with an empty coffee mug in my hand.
I shook myself and got up immediately, immersing myself in work lest my mind painted any more horrifying pictures. My husband was right; I did have an over-imaginative mind. Still I was on tenterhooks the whole day. In the evening, the familiar honk of the car sent me dashing out, and I was more ecstatic than usual to see hubby dear. He kept trying to figure it out, but I passed it off as the end to an unusually hard week. The next day was Republic Day. Nanan had to leave on yet another tour in the evening. He found it odd that I should be a bit put out by his tour.
" It's only a two day tour. I'll be back on the twenty-ninth," he said consolingly. He had been out a lot lately.
On the twenty-seventh night, while the kids and I were watching TV, the doorbell rang. Mr Singh stood there with tears in his eyes, "He's not coming back Bhabi, he has succumbed to a major heart attack," he said and broke down.
Two days later, on the day of his funeral, I was dressed in white and I was bewildered as I looked at the women crying around me. "Why are they crying?" I thought to myself. "Why are they asking me to be strong for the kids? What do they mean he's gone…of course he's gone on tour. I hope they stop crying, they're making me cry too. Don't they know I can't see any one cry? What do they mean that he was so young…he is young. Thirty-nine is young." I was in shock and denial.
Prior to this, I would take such a narrative with a huge pinch of salt and scepticism. To me these things oozed of superstition, ignorance and misplaced faith. Even today, I often ponder over this event, wondering what to make of it. I have no definite opinion. Was it imagination running wild? Then how does one explain the events that followed? Or was it mere coincidence? I'm torn between unbelief and credulity.
Later I confided to Sudhaji, an elderly neighbour, about the presence I had felt and all that had happened. She listened quietly and patiently, and then asked who I thought the presence was.
"I'm not sure," I said, "but I did feel it was my Father-in-law, which is very strange because I have never seen him. He expired many years before our marriage."
She nodded her sage head and said, "It could be. Yes, it's possible. Lekin, there's something I must tell you. Some years back the landlady rented out this house, for the first time, to a Mathur family. The place you store the crockery didn’t exist at the time. Mr Mathur got it made himself at his own expense. He died a few months later of cardiac arrest."
You could hear a pin drop in the silence.
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Glossary:
Bhabi....a term of respect used for a brother's wife. It is also used by a man's friends to address his wife, in small towns or orthodox families.
Lekin....a Hindi word meaning 'but'
Nanan....David's pet name
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Saturday, June 18, 2011
PS: I LOVE YOU DADDY
"The words that a father speaks to his children in the privacy of home are not heard by the world, but, as in whispering-galleries, they are clearly heard at the end and by posterity." ~Jean Paul Richter
I lugged the picnic-basket up the little hillock. It was a bit heavy for me but that didn't matter. After all, it contained our “victory treat." I just managed to keep up with my brother and father, who were carrying our prized kite and the paraphernalia that goes with kite flying. Daddy had clubbed a picnic along with the kite-flying event. I was flushed with excitement. We were going to "finish off " all our contenders that day with our daddy-of-all kites, in our area at least. It was between 3 1/2 - 4 ft I think.
The kite was a beauty, really big and daddy had reinforced the ordinary twine to hold and lift it against the wind. All this was painstakingly made by my father because my brother and I lamented that we never "got the better of the others."
Indeed, it was a day to remember. A victory constructed for us by Daddy.
I was six years old then but many decades later, the memory is as fresh as ever. There are myriad memories painted on the canvas of my childhood, and Daddy made the best of these. Some of these stand out more than the others because they have moulded me; given me strength; inspired me and filled my heart with eternal hope.
I was the youngest then, of four children. My younger brother was born much later. I was a tomboy and this aggravated my mother especially since my other siblings were docile and quiet.
Daddy had a big hand in moulding my interest in boyish pursuits. Of course, he didn’t realise it but the tales of his boyhood, which rivalled Tom Sawyer's, fired my imagination. It drove me almost to the point of setting out to explore the world at the ripe old age of eight. I got into scraps with boys who picked on my brother, crept through the underbelly of a bridge to the middle, to catch a whale from the backwaters of the Arabian Sea with string and a tiny hook! I even jumped off an eight-foot high ledge with a parachute made of a tablecloth, in order to be the youngest para-jumper at age seven (fortunately I didn't break any bones!) And these adventures are only a minuscule part of my life back then!
I suspect Daddy liked the firebrand element in my nature, for he never reprimanded me nor criticised my escapades. However, I'm sure it began to alarm him at some point because he introduced me to music, dance, drama, drawing and painting. He began taking me to visit museums and historical monuments and encouraged my interest in History and Art.
At about this time he also began talking to me about the values of life and Jesus. Not as one would with a child but as he would with an adult. There was much I didn't comprehend at that age, but this was to be the drift of our conversations in the future. So, what went over my head then, finally went into my head and my heart, as I grew older in years and understanding.
I have to tell you about Daddy's singing. To my mother's embarrassment, Daddy would burst into song while walking down the street, causing passersby to turn and stare. Oblivious to my mother's scowl, I'd clap and laugh and join him if I knew the chorus - for those were the songs he sang. His favourite was -
Trust in the Lord and don't despair
He is a friend so true
No matter what your troubles are
Jesus will see you through.
Sing when the day is bright
Sing through the darkest night
Every day, all the way
Let us sing, sing, sing.
Marriage took me away from home, widowhood brought me back. My husband's death unleashed years of turmoil and struggle. I saw many masks fall off, and many of my idols topple from their pedestals. Bereft of comfort and support, I found myself falling back on all that Daddy had taught me. My trust and faith in God grew stronger with every onslaught of misfortune. Was it surprising then to find myself singing – “Trust in the Lord...” as I wearily lay my head on my pillow? It was Daddy again.
My idols had toppled from their pedestals - but not my Daddy.
When I look back today, it is with immense gratitude to a parent who gave me a goal and showed me the path to tread. It's been a long haul Daddy and I want you to know how much you have meant to me...I love you and remember you fondly.
________________________________________
I lugged the picnic-basket up the little hillock. It was a bit heavy for me but that didn't matter. After all, it contained our “victory treat." I just managed to keep up with my brother and father, who were carrying our prized kite and the paraphernalia that goes with kite flying. Daddy had clubbed a picnic along with the kite-flying event. I was flushed with excitement. We were going to "finish off " all our contenders that day with our daddy-of-all kites, in our area at least. It was between 3 1/2 - 4 ft I think.
The kite was a beauty, really big and daddy had reinforced the ordinary twine to hold and lift it against the wind. All this was painstakingly made by my father because my brother and I lamented that we never "got the better of the others."
Indeed, it was a day to remember. A victory constructed for us by Daddy.
I was six years old then but many decades later, the memory is as fresh as ever. There are myriad memories painted on the canvas of my childhood, and Daddy made the best of these. Some of these stand out more than the others because they have moulded me; given me strength; inspired me and filled my heart with eternal hope.
I was the youngest then, of four children. My younger brother was born much later. I was a tomboy and this aggravated my mother especially since my other siblings were docile and quiet.
Daddy had a big hand in moulding my interest in boyish pursuits. Of course, he didn’t realise it but the tales of his boyhood, which rivalled Tom Sawyer's, fired my imagination. It drove me almost to the point of setting out to explore the world at the ripe old age of eight. I got into scraps with boys who picked on my brother, crept through the underbelly of a bridge to the middle, to catch a whale from the backwaters of the Arabian Sea with string and a tiny hook! I even jumped off an eight-foot high ledge with a parachute made of a tablecloth, in order to be the youngest para-jumper at age seven (fortunately I didn't break any bones!) And these adventures are only a minuscule part of my life back then!
I suspect Daddy liked the firebrand element in my nature, for he never reprimanded me nor criticised my escapades. However, I'm sure it began to alarm him at some point because he introduced me to music, dance, drama, drawing and painting. He began taking me to visit museums and historical monuments and encouraged my interest in History and Art.
At about this time he also began talking to me about the values of life and Jesus. Not as one would with a child but as he would with an adult. There was much I didn't comprehend at that age, but this was to be the drift of our conversations in the future. So, what went over my head then, finally went into my head and my heart, as I grew older in years and understanding.
I have to tell you about Daddy's singing. To my mother's embarrassment, Daddy would burst into song while walking down the street, causing passersby to turn and stare. Oblivious to my mother's scowl, I'd clap and laugh and join him if I knew the chorus - for those were the songs he sang. His favourite was -
Trust in the Lord and don't despair
He is a friend so true
No matter what your troubles are
Jesus will see you through.
Sing when the day is bright
Sing through the darkest night
Every day, all the way
Let us sing, sing, sing.
Marriage took me away from home, widowhood brought me back. My husband's death unleashed years of turmoil and struggle. I saw many masks fall off, and many of my idols topple from their pedestals. Bereft of comfort and support, I found myself falling back on all that Daddy had taught me. My trust and faith in God grew stronger with every onslaught of misfortune. Was it surprising then to find myself singing – “Trust in the Lord...” as I wearily lay my head on my pillow? It was Daddy again.
My idols had toppled from their pedestals - but not my Daddy.
When I look back today, it is with immense gratitude to a parent who gave me a goal and showed me the path to tread. It's been a long haul Daddy and I want you to know how much you have meant to me...I love you and remember you fondly.
________________________________________
Friday, June 17, 2011
Murder She Said.......
I met Sudha for the first time twenty-four years ago, when we moved to a city in the south of Rajasthan. She was our immediate neighbour on the right, if you were facing the house. At the first meeting, I found her very friendly as she sent trays of cold water and snacks on our arrival and even offered food which of course we declined. We were dusty and tired as we unloaded the luggage and shifted and pulled furniture, boxes, suitcases, cartons into their right places. Her thoughtfulness impressed us; she was so helpful. It wasn’t the usual behaviour a newcomer expected. They say the first impression is the last impression, but my impression of her would change a couple of times before the ‘last’ confirmed the first. She was indeed very helpful even when it came to the crunch. But that’s another story which I’ll save up for later.
Sudha was much older than us and according to the prevalent customs, we as younger people would have to address her with respect. That meant we either called her ‘didi,’(sister) ‘aunty,’ or simply suffixed a ‘ji’ to her name. Since the kids called her aunty she decided how we should address her, so ‘Sudhaji’ it was from then on. She was a gregarious person and an incorrigible gossip as well. So we had to be wary. She had a knack of getting people to talk, and this is how she knew everything about everyone. This knowledge coupled with her cheerful nature opened many doors for her. Sudhaji hadn’t studied English but she wanted to speak it because it would add to her prestige. So she picked up words and phrases and liberally peppered her conversation with it.
There was the day water was pouring down the drainpipe profusely and it wasn’t raining. She explained it this way:
“Overhead tank fulfil ho gaya and the football is spoil is liye paani flow out ho raha hai.”
(The overhead tank is full and the float valve is spoilt so the water is overflowing)
She met my elder sis and exclaimed:
“So much reflections in the face, pata chalta hai you are sisters.”
(So much resemblance, one gets to know you are sisters)
Then when she was leaving to attend a funeral:
“Doodhwala se hamare liye please doodh le lena, mujhe criminal mein jaana hai.”
(Please take milk for us too from the milkman, I have to attend a criminal (funeral))
When they were trying to get her son into college:
“Percentage best nahin hai, so by who and by croo hamein admission karwana hai.”
(His percentage isn't good enough, we'll have to get him admitted by hook or by crook)
About a member of her kitty party group:
“She is very proudy. Uske husband ka promotion hua hai. Ab woh bahut impotent man hai aur she is hawaa mein flying.”
(She is a very proud lady. Her husband has been promoted and is an important man now, so she is flying in the air)
When she tried out a recipe successfully:
“Mera project sexfully ho gaya. Everybody was happy.”
(My project was successful. Everybody was happy)
Pointing to a picture of her son, who was two and a half at the time it was clicked, she said:
"He is only half past two iss picture mein."
(He is only two and a half in this picture)
No one could say it the way Sudhji could! She was so entertaining. She had become friendly over the days and rarely probed for information, so I welcomed her company. My efforts to correct her atrocious use of English met with uproarious laughter. She didn’t care a hoot about her mistakes, it was enough that she was using English. According to her, most of the women in her circle were not even at her level of “proficientcy” so it didn’t make any difference and the dubious prestige of "knewing" English remained intact. I told her that I would quote her funnies, and she laughed and said that I could do so as long as it wasn’t to people who knew her, as that would tarnish her “im-age.” And so she continued happily murdering English with impunity!
Sudha was much older than us and according to the prevalent customs, we as younger people would have to address her with respect. That meant we either called her ‘didi,’(sister) ‘aunty,’ or simply suffixed a ‘ji’ to her name. Since the kids called her aunty she decided how we should address her, so ‘Sudhaji’ it was from then on. She was a gregarious person and an incorrigible gossip as well. So we had to be wary. She had a knack of getting people to talk, and this is how she knew everything about everyone. This knowledge coupled with her cheerful nature opened many doors for her. Sudhaji hadn’t studied English but she wanted to speak it because it would add to her prestige. So she picked up words and phrases and liberally peppered her conversation with it.
There was the day water was pouring down the drainpipe profusely and it wasn’t raining. She explained it this way:
“Overhead tank fulfil ho gaya and the football is spoil is liye paani flow out ho raha hai.”
(The overhead tank is full and the float valve is spoilt so the water is overflowing)
She met my elder sis and exclaimed:
“So much reflections in the face, pata chalta hai you are sisters.”
(So much resemblance, one gets to know you are sisters)
Then when she was leaving to attend a funeral:
“Doodhwala se hamare liye please doodh le lena, mujhe criminal mein jaana hai.”
(Please take milk for us too from the milkman, I have to attend a criminal (funeral))
When they were trying to get her son into college:
“Percentage best nahin hai, so by who and by croo hamein admission karwana hai.”
(His percentage isn't good enough, we'll have to get him admitted by hook or by crook)
About a member of her kitty party group:
“She is very proudy. Uske husband ka promotion hua hai. Ab woh bahut impotent man hai aur she is hawaa mein flying.”
(She is a very proud lady. Her husband has been promoted and is an important man now, so she is flying in the air)
When she tried out a recipe successfully:
“Mera project sexfully ho gaya. Everybody was happy.”
(My project was successful. Everybody was happy)
Pointing to a picture of her son, who was two and a half at the time it was clicked, she said:
"He is only half past two iss picture mein."
(He is only two and a half in this picture)
No one could say it the way Sudhji could! She was so entertaining. She had become friendly over the days and rarely probed for information, so I welcomed her company. My efforts to correct her atrocious use of English met with uproarious laughter. She didn’t care a hoot about her mistakes, it was enough that she was using English. According to her, most of the women in her circle were not even at her level of “proficientcy” so it didn’t make any difference and the dubious prestige of "knewing" English remained intact. I told her that I would quote her funnies, and she laughed and said that I could do so as long as it wasn’t to people who knew her, as that would tarnish her “im-age.” And so she continued happily murdering English with impunity!
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Money Bags Year
"Ignorance and superstition ever bear a close and mathematical relation to each other."
James F. Cooper
Yesterday I got a forward that told me 2011 is the 'Money Bags Year' and it went on to explain why. I read through it, found the math amazing; felt a bit more knowledgable but nowhere did I see why the year was seen as a money generating one, and if forwarding a mail to eight or twelve or sixteen people could get me money in "four days" I could do some more math and multiply the number of forwards. But then some of the believers warned me against doing that. It would divide my money gains they said ominously! But why, I asked. I didn't understand the math. "It's feng Shui," was the answer.
Superstitions abound. I believe the only time money abounds with out hard work in such a short time, is when you are born with a silver spoon in your mouth, or you inherit a legacy from your parents/grandparents or a wealthy, childless relative pops suddenly leaving you rich. Or then you stumble upon a pot of gold in your backyard, while digging a plot for a vegetable garden...(that involves hard work too!) Anyways, this is interesting so I'm posting it. Of course I've knocked off the part that assures you will get money if you send this to eight other people...Oops! the cat is out of the bag!
Year 2011 - is called as Money bags Year
In the Year 2011 July has
....5 Fridays,
....5 Saturdays
....5 Sundays.
And this happens once every 823 years.
This is called money bags.
This year we're going to experience four unusual dates.
1/1/11, 1/11/11, 11/1/11, 11/11/11
And that's not all...
AMAZING ACTIVITY
Take the last two digits of the year in which you were born -
Now add it to the age you will be/are this year.......
The results will be 111 for everyone in the whole world.
This is the year of the Money!!!
Do you see any connection with money? Please let me know if you do....I'll send it to eight friends too....:)))
...........................................................................
James F. Cooper
Yesterday I got a forward that told me 2011 is the 'Money Bags Year' and it went on to explain why. I read through it, found the math amazing; felt a bit more knowledgable but nowhere did I see why the year was seen as a money generating one, and if forwarding a mail to eight or twelve or sixteen people could get me money in "four days" I could do some more math and multiply the number of forwards. But then some of the believers warned me against doing that. It would divide my money gains they said ominously! But why, I asked. I didn't understand the math. "It's feng Shui," was the answer.
Superstitions abound. I believe the only time money abounds with out hard work in such a short time, is when you are born with a silver spoon in your mouth, or you inherit a legacy from your parents/grandparents or a wealthy, childless relative pops suddenly leaving you rich. Or then you stumble upon a pot of gold in your backyard, while digging a plot for a vegetable garden...(that involves hard work too!) Anyways, this is interesting so I'm posting it. Of course I've knocked off the part that assures you will get money if you send this to eight other people...Oops! the cat is out of the bag!
Year 2011 - is called as Money bags Year
In the Year 2011 July has
....5 Fridays,
....5 Saturdays
....5 Sundays.
And this happens once every 823 years.
This is called money bags.
This year we're going to experience four unusual dates.
1/1/11, 1/11/11, 11/1/11, 11/11/11
And that's not all...
AMAZING ACTIVITY
Take the last two digits of the year in which you were born -
Now add it to the age you will be/are this year.......
The results will be 111 for everyone in the whole world.
This is the year of the Money!!!
Do you see any connection with money? Please let me know if you do....I'll send it to eight friends too....:)))
...........................................................................
Thursday, June 9, 2011
A Senior Moment
This post was prompted by a forward I found in my inbox. It was an illustration of how a member of the younger generation (a college freshman) perceives the older one, as primitive beings. While I haven't run into many youngsters like the obnoxious one mentioned there,I can safely say they exist with all their pompous arrogance. I've seen it as road rage and disparaging remarks thrown at senior citizens driving on the road. I have noted the frustration of young drivers honking madly as an old person laboriously crosses the road. I've heard and seen enough to wonder from where all this comes. On the brighter side I have heard and seen a majority of young people, being kind, gentle and patient with their elders. These are the ones, who you will not find airing their disapproval, of the oldies they encounter outside their families and homes.
Generally one can safely say, youngsters these days are becoming quite impatient and intolerant of older people, who have not kept abreast of the times. Being born in a world where everything has to be superfast, almost instant, they adopt arrogance and condescension with those they perceive as ‘primitive,’ and slow. They fail to understand that, the fruits of progress they enjoy today, didn’t happen overnight. These senior citizens have been a part of the process. They have moved through the stages of development and each has seen an improvement on a previous generation in terms of inventions and discoveries.
As children, we grew up with some new inventions, that our parents' never knew in their childhood. We also enjoyed improvements on existing devices which made them, faster, quicker and more efficient. But I can’t recall impatience, intolerance or arrogance being a part of our interactions with senior citizens. In fact we would be very keen to explain about new inventions and even try to convince them they were safe and good to use.
I know how difficult it was for companies to sell pressure cookers to housewives in small towns, back in the late 50’s and early 60’s. The general fear being that it would explode. It was the same when kerosene stoves were introduced to replace coal, firewood etc. Later the introduction of LPG for cooking found the same initial response. I was never intolerant of my grandmother, who lived in a village and used firewood and coal to cook and heat the house in winter.
Computers are the biggest challenge for older people in my country these days. Some have learned or taught themselves the basics, so they can surf the net and stay in contact through emails etc. Yet many still don’t know how to operate a computer, the largest percentage being women. Youngsters are impatient with such people.
The progress in the past two decades has happened at a faster pace than earlier years. Not many who carry the senior citizen tag have been able to catch up with recent developments. I’m sure that is no reason to view them as stupid or inefficient. But that’s just me. Tell it to a generation that has grown up on ‘instant.’
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Generally one can safely say, youngsters these days are becoming quite impatient and intolerant of older people, who have not kept abreast of the times. Being born in a world where everything has to be superfast, almost instant, they adopt arrogance and condescension with those they perceive as ‘primitive,’ and slow. They fail to understand that, the fruits of progress they enjoy today, didn’t happen overnight. These senior citizens have been a part of the process. They have moved through the stages of development and each has seen an improvement on a previous generation in terms of inventions and discoveries.
As children, we grew up with some new inventions, that our parents' never knew in their childhood. We also enjoyed improvements on existing devices which made them, faster, quicker and more efficient. But I can’t recall impatience, intolerance or arrogance being a part of our interactions with senior citizens. In fact we would be very keen to explain about new inventions and even try to convince them they were safe and good to use.
I know how difficult it was for companies to sell pressure cookers to housewives in small towns, back in the late 50’s and early 60’s. The general fear being that it would explode. It was the same when kerosene stoves were introduced to replace coal, firewood etc. Later the introduction of LPG for cooking found the same initial response. I was never intolerant of my grandmother, who lived in a village and used firewood and coal to cook and heat the house in winter.
Computers are the biggest challenge for older people in my country these days. Some have learned or taught themselves the basics, so they can surf the net and stay in contact through emails etc. Yet many still don’t know how to operate a computer, the largest percentage being women. Youngsters are impatient with such people.
The progress in the past two decades has happened at a faster pace than earlier years. Not many who carry the senior citizen tag have been able to catch up with recent developments. I’m sure that is no reason to view them as stupid or inefficient. But that’s just me. Tell it to a generation that has grown up on ‘instant.’
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Sunday, June 5, 2011
LEFTOVERS
Leftovers in their less visible form are called memories. Stored in the refrigerator of the mind and the cupboard of the heart.
(Thomas Fuller)
Leftovers always present challenges that I can’t resist, and I rise to meet them.
A bowl of last night’s chicken, veggies, chappatis, old bread or even a bowl of humble dal fires my imagination and challenges my culinary skills. It becomes imperative that I transform these miserable leftovers, which everyone would rather see given away or better still dumped than on the table, into respectable dishes that can hold their own against any discriminating palate. And very often I am stunned by the amazing results!
I see so many possibilities in bits and pieces of cloth, wool, old clothes, ceramic tiles, empty bottles anything that would appear as waste. A stitch or two here, a dab of paint there, some embroidery, a little crochet or knitting, a bit of glue to stick imagination to an otherwise useless bit of garbage, and what lovely things emerge with new value of utility and beauty.
As I travel through life, I view the leftover part of my journey and I’m fired up to do wondrously beautiful things with it. I start to collect bits and pieces of memories, experiences, the good, the bad and the ugly to make up an intricate mosaic. Each moment has so many possibilities and potential to develop into life points, aha-moments, thought provoking points, crazy, hilarious nonsense, tender and loving snapshots, thoughtful silences, romance, moon-light and tears and so much more. It excites me, it humbles me.
I appreciate leftovers. I love the way it pushes me to find what is good and useful in each day of my life and put it to good use.
Glossary:
Chappati........an Indian flatbread made from whole wheat dough, cooked on a gridle. Resembles tortillas.
Dal.........lentils made as a thick soup with added spices and tempered. It's a basic food and is eaten with rice or chappatis.
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(Thomas Fuller)
Leftovers always present challenges that I can’t resist, and I rise to meet them.
A bowl of last night’s chicken, veggies, chappatis, old bread or even a bowl of humble dal fires my imagination and challenges my culinary skills. It becomes imperative that I transform these miserable leftovers, which everyone would rather see given away or better still dumped than on the table, into respectable dishes that can hold their own against any discriminating palate. And very often I am stunned by the amazing results!
I see so many possibilities in bits and pieces of cloth, wool, old clothes, ceramic tiles, empty bottles anything that would appear as waste. A stitch or two here, a dab of paint there, some embroidery, a little crochet or knitting, a bit of glue to stick imagination to an otherwise useless bit of garbage, and what lovely things emerge with new value of utility and beauty.
As I travel through life, I view the leftover part of my journey and I’m fired up to do wondrously beautiful things with it. I start to collect bits and pieces of memories, experiences, the good, the bad and the ugly to make up an intricate mosaic. Each moment has so many possibilities and potential to develop into life points, aha-moments, thought provoking points, crazy, hilarious nonsense, tender and loving snapshots, thoughtful silences, romance, moon-light and tears and so much more. It excites me, it humbles me.
I appreciate leftovers. I love the way it pushes me to find what is good and useful in each day of my life and put it to good use.
Glossary:
Chappati........an Indian flatbread made from whole wheat dough, cooked on a gridle. Resembles tortillas.
Dal.........lentils made as a thick soup with added spices and tempered. It's a basic food and is eaten with rice or chappatis.
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Sunday, May 15, 2011
My favourites from around the world
I find it interesting to read the adages and proverbs of different lands. Here are a few that I like from around the world.
Irish definitions:
of a gossiper:
She has a tongue that would clip a hedge.
of a coarse, ill-mannered person using poor language:
What would you expect out of a pig but a grunt?
on trying to change a stubborn person's mind:
You might as well be whistling jigs to a milestone.
of very bad music:
Aw, that's the tune the old cow died of.
of one who overstays their welcome:
If that man went to a wedding, he'd stay for the christening.
of a talkative person:
That man would talk the teeth out of a saw.
in praise of strong whiskey:
I felt it like a torchlight procession going down my throat.
said of a woman who had made a bad marriage:
She burnt her coal and did not warm herself.
of an unfortunate one:
He is always in the field when luck is on the road.
of very wet weather:
It's a fine day for young ducks.
of someone who always plans carefully:
If he's not fishing he's mending his nets.
Pearls from Africa:
A low-class man will just talk; deeds are the hallmark of a gentleman. (Swahili)
God is our neighbour when our brother is absent. - (Swahili)
A donkey knows no gratitude. - (Swahili)
The good looks of a moron do not stay that way for long. - (Ethiopia)
The haughty blind person picks a fight with his guide. - (Ethiopia)
Do not vacillate or you will be left in between doing something, having something and being nothing. - (Ethiopia)
It is foolhardy to climb two trees at once just because one has two feet. - (Ethiopia)
Though the lion and the antelope happen to live in the same forest, the antelope still has time to grow up. - (Ghana)
When you are at home, your troubles can never defeat you. - (Ghana)
Israeli sayings:
A bird that you set free may be caught again, but a word that escapes your lips will not return.
A mother understands what a child does not say.
A slave shows his true character, not while he is enslaved, but when he becomes a master.
Commit a sin twice and it will not seem a crime.
Don't approach a goat from the front, a horse from the back, or a fool from any side.
Don't be too sweet lest you be eaten up; don't be too bitter lest you be spewed out
Never trust the man who tells you all his troubles but keeps from you all his joys.
One of life's greatest mysteries is how the boy who wasn't good enough to marry your daughter can be the father of the smartest grandchild in the world.
Time heals old pain, while it creates new ones.
From India, sayings of the Buddha:
Men give up one thing to take up another, but in spite of numerous changes they do not find peace. They are no better than monkeys who let go one bough to take hold of another, only to let it go again.
Silence is an empty space, space is the home of the awakened mind.
Flower and thorn are in the same stem.
He who slings mud loses ground.
He who lives by the sword eats with bloody hands.
What's done to the children is done to society.
A truly wise man does not play leapfrog with a unicorn.
To light a candle is to cast a shadow.
A dog is not considered a good dog because he is a good barker. A man is not considered a good man because he is a good talker.
Ambition is like love, impatient both of delays and rivals.
In the sky, there is no distinction of east and west; people create distinctions out of their own minds and then believe them to be true.
A few from Scotland:
Fools look to tomorrow; wise men use tonight.
Friends are lost by calling often and calling seldom.
Give you an inch and you'll tak an ell. (An ell was a Scottish yard of 37 inches).
He goes long barefoot that waits for dead men's shoes.
He's the slave of all slaves who serve's none but himself.
He that teaches himself has a fool for a master.
Money is flat and was meant to be piled up.
Whisky may not cure the common cold, but it fails more agreeably than most other things.
Willful waste makes woeful want.
Wink at small faults - your own are muckle (great)
Ye canna make a silk purse of a sow's lug (a pig's ear).
You may as well keep your breath to cool your porridge.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Irish definitions:
of a gossiper:
She has a tongue that would clip a hedge.
of a coarse, ill-mannered person using poor language:
What would you expect out of a pig but a grunt?
on trying to change a stubborn person's mind:
You might as well be whistling jigs to a milestone.
of very bad music:
Aw, that's the tune the old cow died of.
of one who overstays their welcome:
If that man went to a wedding, he'd stay for the christening.
of a talkative person:
That man would talk the teeth out of a saw.
in praise of strong whiskey:
I felt it like a torchlight procession going down my throat.
said of a woman who had made a bad marriage:
She burnt her coal and did not warm herself.
of an unfortunate one:
He is always in the field when luck is on the road.
of very wet weather:
It's a fine day for young ducks.
of someone who always plans carefully:
If he's not fishing he's mending his nets.
Pearls from Africa:
A low-class man will just talk; deeds are the hallmark of a gentleman. (Swahili)
God is our neighbour when our brother is absent. - (Swahili)
A donkey knows no gratitude. - (Swahili)
The good looks of a moron do not stay that way for long. - (Ethiopia)
The haughty blind person picks a fight with his guide. - (Ethiopia)
Do not vacillate or you will be left in between doing something, having something and being nothing. - (Ethiopia)
It is foolhardy to climb two trees at once just because one has two feet. - (Ethiopia)
Though the lion and the antelope happen to live in the same forest, the antelope still has time to grow up. - (Ghana)
When you are at home, your troubles can never defeat you. - (Ghana)
Israeli sayings:
A bird that you set free may be caught again, but a word that escapes your lips will not return.
A mother understands what a child does not say.
A slave shows his true character, not while he is enslaved, but when he becomes a master.
Commit a sin twice and it will not seem a crime.
Don't approach a goat from the front, a horse from the back, or a fool from any side.
Don't be too sweet lest you be eaten up; don't be too bitter lest you be spewed out
Never trust the man who tells you all his troubles but keeps from you all his joys.
One of life's greatest mysteries is how the boy who wasn't good enough to marry your daughter can be the father of the smartest grandchild in the world.
Time heals old pain, while it creates new ones.
From India, sayings of the Buddha:
Men give up one thing to take up another, but in spite of numerous changes they do not find peace. They are no better than monkeys who let go one bough to take hold of another, only to let it go again.
Silence is an empty space, space is the home of the awakened mind.
Flower and thorn are in the same stem.
He who slings mud loses ground.
He who lives by the sword eats with bloody hands.
What's done to the children is done to society.
A truly wise man does not play leapfrog with a unicorn.
To light a candle is to cast a shadow.
A dog is not considered a good dog because he is a good barker. A man is not considered a good man because he is a good talker.
Ambition is like love, impatient both of delays and rivals.
In the sky, there is no distinction of east and west; people create distinctions out of their own minds and then believe them to be true.
A few from Scotland:
Fools look to tomorrow; wise men use tonight.
Friends are lost by calling often and calling seldom.
Give you an inch and you'll tak an ell. (An ell was a Scottish yard of 37 inches).
He goes long barefoot that waits for dead men's shoes.
He's the slave of all slaves who serve's none but himself.
He that teaches himself has a fool for a master.
Money is flat and was meant to be piled up.
Whisky may not cure the common cold, but it fails more agreeably than most other things.
Willful waste makes woeful want.
Wink at small faults - your own are muckle (great)
Ye canna make a silk purse of a sow's lug (a pig's ear).
You may as well keep your breath to cool your porridge.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Are you heading for Alzheimer's ?
After reading my post ‘Did I say losing it?’ a friend sent this to me so I could check and reassure myself once again that all was fine with me.
Anyways I didn’t want to save it all to myself, so here it comes for you. Remember no cheating, follow instructions honestly. Your time 2 minutes for question 1,2 & 3.
Short Neurological Test
1 - Find the C below, Please do not use any cursor help.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
2 - If you already found the C, now find the 6 below.
99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
69999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
3 - Now find the N below. It's a little more difficult.
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMNMM
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
This is NOT a joke. If you were able to pass these 3 tests, in less than two minutes, without cheating...you can cancel your annual visit to your neurologist. Your brain is great and you're far from having a close relationship with Alzheimer.
Congratulations
PART 2
eonvrye that can raed this rsaie your hnad.
To my 'selected' strange-minded friends:
If you can read the following paragraph, forward it on to your friends and the person that sent it to you with 'yes' in the subject line.
Only great minds can read this. This is weird, but interesting!
If you can raed this, you have a sgtrane mnid too
Can you raed this? Olny 55 plepoe out of 100 can.
I cdnuolt blveiee that I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd what I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it dseno't mtaetr in what oerdr the ltteres in a word are, the olny iproamtnt tihng is that the frsit and last ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can still raed it whotuit a pboerlm. This is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the word as a wlohe. Azanmig huh? Yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt! If you can raed this forwrad it.
Pat yourself on the back if you read it through smoothly, without hesitation and hemming and hawing!!!
Now look down and check if one leg is a wee bit longer than the other. Trust me, mine was after I went through this test!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Anyways I didn’t want to save it all to myself, so here it comes for you. Remember no cheating, follow instructions honestly. Your time 2 minutes for question 1,2 & 3.
Short Neurological Test
1 - Find the C below, Please do not use any cursor help.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
2 - If you already found the C, now find the 6 below.
99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
69999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
3 - Now find the N below. It's a little more difficult.
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMNMM
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
This is NOT a joke. If you were able to pass these 3 tests, in less than two minutes, without cheating...you can cancel your annual visit to your neurologist. Your brain is great and you're far from having a close relationship with Alzheimer.
Congratulations
PART 2
eonvrye that can raed this rsaie your hnad.
To my 'selected' strange-minded friends:
If you can read the following paragraph, forward it on to your friends and the person that sent it to you with 'yes' in the subject line.
Only great minds can read this. This is weird, but interesting!
If you can raed this, you have a sgtrane mnid too
Can you raed this? Olny 55 plepoe out of 100 can.
I cdnuolt blveiee that I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd what I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it dseno't mtaetr in what oerdr the ltteres in a word are, the olny iproamtnt tihng is that the frsit and last ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can still raed it whotuit a pboerlm. This is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the word as a wlohe. Azanmig huh? Yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt! If you can raed this forwrad it.
Pat yourself on the back if you read it through smoothly, without hesitation and hemming and hawing!!!
Now look down and check if one leg is a wee bit longer than the other. Trust me, mine was after I went through this test!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Some Mornings....
Yesterday I woke up to an overcast sky and a cool breeze. I heard the harmonious choir of winged creatures as they flitted among the trees and garden bushes. I espied sparrows, a group of seven sisters, mynahs, honey suckles, bulbuls and though I couldn't see them I heard the distinguishable call of the koel and a peacock.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the peace and tranquillity. I was Eve in Eden......and then the Adam next door shattered the illusion and brought me down to earth as he leaned over the balcony and yelled, "Oye Ram Singh, paani nahin hai, motor chala do..."
Soon the cacaphony of the world drowned out the sounds of my winged friends.' Good Morning world,' I said as I carried on walking to a hot breakfast and Breakfast news!
Glossary:
"Oye Ram Singh, paani nahin hai, motor chala do".....Oye Ram Singh there's no water, turn on the motor (water pump)
Seven Sisters: Jungle Babblers. Commonly called seven sisters because of their tendency to forage in groups of seven to ten.
Koel/koyal: You can hear this bird at this link: http://youtu.be/GoOMlG1Vd_E
Bulbul: Bulbuls are of different kinds. The one that i see regularly is a bird with a black pointy hood, a red patch behind his eye and a red bottom, also called the red vented bulbul. Here is a link: http://youtu.be/sjCmedlFHhA
I closed my eyes and breathed in the peace and tranquillity. I was Eve in Eden......and then the Adam next door shattered the illusion and brought me down to earth as he leaned over the balcony and yelled, "Oye Ram Singh, paani nahin hai, motor chala do..."
Soon the cacaphony of the world drowned out the sounds of my winged friends.' Good Morning world,' I said as I carried on walking to a hot breakfast and Breakfast news!
Glossary:
"Oye Ram Singh, paani nahin hai, motor chala do".....Oye Ram Singh there's no water, turn on the motor (water pump)
Seven Sisters: Jungle Babblers. Commonly called seven sisters because of their tendency to forage in groups of seven to ten.
Koel/koyal: You can hear this bird at this link: http://youtu.be/GoOMlG1Vd_E
Bulbul: Bulbuls are of different kinds. The one that i see regularly is a bird with a black pointy hood, a red patch behind his eye and a red bottom, also called the red vented bulbul. Here is a link: http://youtu.be/sjCmedlFHhA
Sunday, May 1, 2011
A Whimsical Little Mind
Watching Alyssa as she went about her day, dancing, prancing, laughing, crying, demanding, deciding, manipulating, teasing, remonstrating; being as unpredictable as a fourteen month old can be, set the whirligig of time spinning and I found myself at different time zones with my boys.
I was with Tintin aged five, who had just returned from a school fete. It was the first time he had attended a fete in school. He was happy, I could tell from the way his eyes glowed and by his non-stop chatter about his day.
“I bought poha for you because you like it,” he said handing me his plastic tiffin box. I was pleased. I opened it and saw a lot of chopped green chilli, carefully collected in one corner.
“Wow! That’s a lot of chilli,” I exclaimed.
“Yes, that’s why I picked them out. You don’t like too much chilli, na?” My heart melted.
“So where is the poha, beta?” I asked looking at the few turmeric yellow grains of rice sticking to the sides.
“Oh, I ate it.”
He didn’t see the broad grin on my face because he had already turned his attention to something else.
“You are so thoughtful about Mama,” I said.
I knew I was not going to forget the day my little boy thought of buying me something I liked, on his first fete. Well, that he picked out the chillies was also so thoughtful. That he ate it up is the whimsical part!
The whirligig spins again and I go further back in time. Tintin is one and a half. I have tutored him about not putting things from the floor into his mouth, because they were “dirty.” “Dhirty,” he had repeated bobbing his head. I was pleased as Punch.
I had left him sitting on a small stool on the balcony. He was munching on almonds, cashewnuts and raisins from a bowl. Then I heard it, a low chant in a monotone; Dhirty...dhirty..dhirty...
I went to see what was so ‘dhirty’ and there he was, meticulously picking up the spilled nuts and raisins from the floor and pitching them over the wall, having pronounced each as dirty! I tried to stop him but the look he gave me as he held one up to me and said dhirty, left no room for retrieval. He insisted on throwing each dhirty, not to mention expensive, nut out.
I wondered if it would be a good idea to teach him about ‘not so dirty.’ After all weren’t almonds supposed to be brain food? However I chucked the idea along with the few remaining almonds. There was much more the brain could feed on. Tintin found books, the best food for thought!
When Tintin was three, we were on our first ever trip to his father’s home town. It was as new for me as it was for him. The people, the language, the culture, everything was new and had a different tone and nuance. Our first lunch with the family found Tintin sitting between an older cousin, much older by about twenty-two years, and one of his father’s college pals.
He was a picture of decorum and good table manners and I puffed up like a mother hen, as my mother-in-law praised him. However, I noticed he was leaning away from the man on his right, the college pal. Thinking he had some sort of discomfort with the chair, I made the big mistake of asking out loud, why he was sitting that way. He nodded his head and kept quiet. So the cousin whispered a query. That was it.
He leaned further away from the pal and said in a stage whisper, “This man is dangerous.”
Nothing could be more far removed from the image of “dangerous” than this thin, meek man sitting bent over his plate.
Given the cultural setting we were in this could be construed as a big insult especially, coming from someone so young. It could also be reflective of the manner of upbringing, thus bringing our parenting skills into question. All of a sudden there was a clash of emotions between the inflated mother hen and the mother. The former deflated and the latter burst out laughing. Thankfully, everyone found it not just funny but charmingly funny; even the pal.
I guess he had no option given the cheerful scenario.
Glossary
Poha....a light dish made of beaten rice and spices.
Beta...son
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I was with Tintin aged five, who had just returned from a school fete. It was the first time he had attended a fete in school. He was happy, I could tell from the way his eyes glowed and by his non-stop chatter about his day.
“I bought poha for you because you like it,” he said handing me his plastic tiffin box. I was pleased. I opened it and saw a lot of chopped green chilli, carefully collected in one corner.
“Wow! That’s a lot of chilli,” I exclaimed.
“Yes, that’s why I picked them out. You don’t like too much chilli, na?” My heart melted.
“So where is the poha, beta?” I asked looking at the few turmeric yellow grains of rice sticking to the sides.
“Oh, I ate it.”
He didn’t see the broad grin on my face because he had already turned his attention to something else.
“You are so thoughtful about Mama,” I said.
I knew I was not going to forget the day my little boy thought of buying me something I liked, on his first fete. Well, that he picked out the chillies was also so thoughtful. That he ate it up is the whimsical part!
The whirligig spins again and I go further back in time. Tintin is one and a half. I have tutored him about not putting things from the floor into his mouth, because they were “dirty.” “Dhirty,” he had repeated bobbing his head. I was pleased as Punch.
I had left him sitting on a small stool on the balcony. He was munching on almonds, cashewnuts and raisins from a bowl. Then I heard it, a low chant in a monotone; Dhirty...dhirty..dhirty...
I went to see what was so ‘dhirty’ and there he was, meticulously picking up the spilled nuts and raisins from the floor and pitching them over the wall, having pronounced each as dirty! I tried to stop him but the look he gave me as he held one up to me and said dhirty, left no room for retrieval. He insisted on throwing each dhirty, not to mention expensive, nut out.
I wondered if it would be a good idea to teach him about ‘not so dirty.’ After all weren’t almonds supposed to be brain food? However I chucked the idea along with the few remaining almonds. There was much more the brain could feed on. Tintin found books, the best food for thought!
When Tintin was three, we were on our first ever trip to his father’s home town. It was as new for me as it was for him. The people, the language, the culture, everything was new and had a different tone and nuance. Our first lunch with the family found Tintin sitting between an older cousin, much older by about twenty-two years, and one of his father’s college pals.
He was a picture of decorum and good table manners and I puffed up like a mother hen, as my mother-in-law praised him. However, I noticed he was leaning away from the man on his right, the college pal. Thinking he had some sort of discomfort with the chair, I made the big mistake of asking out loud, why he was sitting that way. He nodded his head and kept quiet. So the cousin whispered a query. That was it.
He leaned further away from the pal and said in a stage whisper, “This man is dangerous.”
Nothing could be more far removed from the image of “dangerous” than this thin, meek man sitting bent over his plate.
Given the cultural setting we were in this could be construed as a big insult especially, coming from someone so young. It could also be reflective of the manner of upbringing, thus bringing our parenting skills into question. All of a sudden there was a clash of emotions between the inflated mother hen and the mother. The former deflated and the latter burst out laughing. Thankfully, everyone found it not just funny but charmingly funny; even the pal.
I guess he had no option given the cheerful scenario.
Glossary
Poha....a light dish made of beaten rice and spices.
Beta...son
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Friday, April 29, 2011
Did I say losing it?
When you pick up the clothes, that you have just changed, and carry them with every intention of putting them into the laundry bag, but instead you walk to the kitchen and throw them in the dustbin...you’ve got a problem baby!
When you can’t remember if you had your morning dose of vitamins & meds, an hour or two after breakfast...honey you’ve got a problem!
When you sit to play Solitaire and Hearts for a little while to pass the evening and suddenly realize your arm hurts, your eyes are blurred and it’s 1.30 am or sometimes even 2.30 am....it is a problem!
When you find telltale signs of social withdrawal......you talk to yourself and the walls listen....sweetie go to the doctor!
When you find it hard to remember which regiment your brother is in.....you worry and ask yourself....am I losing it?
When you find yourself groping for simple words because all of a sudden your mind goes blank....and the inner panic makes it worse....yell, it is trouble!
When you stop while talking because you realize you just said something that wasn’t what you meant like “wheels” instead of wind and many such disassociations...it’s not a comforting feeling and you want to talk to someone about it. Someone who will understand, be patient and above all is knowledgeable.
So you go to the only medical person you know and trust....your orthopaedic surgeon. You tell him what’s happening and barely whisper, “Is it Alzheimer’s?”
You aren’t prepared for the loud burst of laughter. You did not crack a joke...or did you, your brow crinkles as you try to go over what you said just in case....
“I’m serious doc,” you say a bit louder.
“Ma’am, you are still young for that, besides not many Indians are afflicted with the disease. Don’t worry no one dies of Alzheimer’s, the people who look after them die,” he ends with another burst of mirth.
Then he notices the look in your eyes. It is telling him you don’t find it funny. It is saying that the statistics for Indians with Alzheimer’s is questionable. Your eyes want to know at what age the first signs of the ailment are detectable. Yes, you want to know if you are a possible host for Mr Alzheimer.
“You are stressed. It’s nothing else, take a break, go for a holiday; meet more people” he says gently.
“You mean I’m not losing it?” you ask hopefully.
“No, not at all,” he says in his rich baritone, “you’re not losing it, it’s just that you are not using it.”
He had a point.
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When you can’t remember if you had your morning dose of vitamins & meds, an hour or two after breakfast...honey you’ve got a problem!
When you sit to play Solitaire and Hearts for a little while to pass the evening and suddenly realize your arm hurts, your eyes are blurred and it’s 1.30 am or sometimes even 2.30 am....it is a problem!
When you find telltale signs of social withdrawal......you talk to yourself and the walls listen....sweetie go to the doctor!
When you find it hard to remember which regiment your brother is in.....you worry and ask yourself....am I losing it?
When you find yourself groping for simple words because all of a sudden your mind goes blank....and the inner panic makes it worse....yell, it is trouble!
When you stop while talking because you realize you just said something that wasn’t what you meant like “wheels” instead of wind and many such disassociations...it’s not a comforting feeling and you want to talk to someone about it. Someone who will understand, be patient and above all is knowledgeable.
So you go to the only medical person you know and trust....your orthopaedic surgeon. You tell him what’s happening and barely whisper, “Is it Alzheimer’s?”
You aren’t prepared for the loud burst of laughter. You did not crack a joke...or did you, your brow crinkles as you try to go over what you said just in case....
“I’m serious doc,” you say a bit louder.
“Ma’am, you are still young for that, besides not many Indians are afflicted with the disease. Don’t worry no one dies of Alzheimer’s, the people who look after them die,” he ends with another burst of mirth.
Then he notices the look in your eyes. It is telling him you don’t find it funny. It is saying that the statistics for Indians with Alzheimer’s is questionable. Your eyes want to know at what age the first signs of the ailment are detectable. Yes, you want to know if you are a possible host for Mr Alzheimer.
“You are stressed. It’s nothing else, take a break, go for a holiday; meet more people” he says gently.
“You mean I’m not losing it?” you ask hopefully.
“No, not at all,” he says in his rich baritone, “you’re not losing it, it’s just that you are not using it.”
He had a point.
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Thursday, April 14, 2011
Backing the backbone
When I first heard the word osteoporosis, I was sitting with my doctor and staring at my BMD and MRI scan reports. The films clipped onto a board on the wall lit up a picture which wasn’t too bright. My reluctant affair with a raging disease had begun and it was to be more than a bony affair. I knew how important my skeletal structure was, but now I learnt how bones could lose mass, and how just having a skeleton wasn’t going to keep you up; You had to feed it and care for it in the right way. Hollow structures didn’t hold up anything.
All of a sudden little gestures and movements that I had taken for granted became restricted. Those that weren’t had to be executed with utmost care. Nonetheless, I managed to rupture discs, or in the least cause a tear, which would put me in bed with excruciating pain in both my body and my mind. The ordinary task of walking became a feat; the rest and peace one hoped for through sleep was missing; pain had become a way of life for me and I learned to bear it with mental strength rather than stuff myself with pain-killers. My conversation was dotted with L1, L2,L3,L4,L5 and C2, C3, C4, C5 and bulging discs and my life was reduced to redundancy within the four walls of my home. It was harder for the mind to accept this than for the body to deal with it. As I said earlier, it was more than a bony affair, it became a lesson in fortification: of the spirit, of determination, of the will to overcome. What was hardest of all was the way people looked at me. I saw a whole gamut of emotions written on people’s faces from pity, dismissal, underestimation and impatience to the general disgust few people have for those with some form of disability. That is when I got the biggest lesson of my life. A strong spiritual backbone keeps us erect while we are bent in half physically. So it needs to be developed too.
Our spiritual backbone needs our attention . Just as we need to fortify our bones with the right nutrition and exercise, we have to feed on spiritual food too and constantly exercise our faith. Faith and prayer constitute the spiritual backbone.
There are many who are actually bent in half spiritually even as they stand erect physically.
I think many of us exercise and strengthen our wishbones more than our backbones. When I was a child I loved getting the chicken 'wishbone', which I would break with one of my siblings hoping I would get the wish! Well since then I too have had my share of wishing on a bone. Zoom to the present and I'm hanging on a wing and a prayer. I am glad that I had the gumption to refurbish and restore my faith thus building up a back-up for my weakening bony structure. All my battles whether related to health or any aspect of life, have been won through my mind and spirit; my spiritual backbone. Whether I lay in bed nursing a ruptured disc or hobbled along painfully, I always stood tall inside.
As Joyce loves to say, “We need backbones not wishbones.”
It's been over three years since that day in the doctor's room. There have been ups and downs but I'm glad to report that I am responding well to treatment and can walk and do quite a few things I wasn't able to do earlier. I understand I will never be able to do many things and that my condition is not totally curable. Medical interventions will aid me and reverse conditions a bit, but eventually the aging process will determine the final outcome. Each day is unpredictable. It could be great for days and then one small movement can go awry. Thank God for another backbone!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
All of a sudden little gestures and movements that I had taken for granted became restricted. Those that weren’t had to be executed with utmost care. Nonetheless, I managed to rupture discs, or in the least cause a tear, which would put me in bed with excruciating pain in both my body and my mind. The ordinary task of walking became a feat; the rest and peace one hoped for through sleep was missing; pain had become a way of life for me and I learned to bear it with mental strength rather than stuff myself with pain-killers. My conversation was dotted with L1, L2,L3,L4,L5 and C2, C3, C4, C5 and bulging discs and my life was reduced to redundancy within the four walls of my home. It was harder for the mind to accept this than for the body to deal with it. As I said earlier, it was more than a bony affair, it became a lesson in fortification: of the spirit, of determination, of the will to overcome. What was hardest of all was the way people looked at me. I saw a whole gamut of emotions written on people’s faces from pity, dismissal, underestimation and impatience to the general disgust few people have for those with some form of disability. That is when I got the biggest lesson of my life. A strong spiritual backbone keeps us erect while we are bent in half physically. So it needs to be developed too.
Our spiritual backbone needs our attention . Just as we need to fortify our bones with the right nutrition and exercise, we have to feed on spiritual food too and constantly exercise our faith. Faith and prayer constitute the spiritual backbone.
There are many who are actually bent in half spiritually even as they stand erect physically.
I think many of us exercise and strengthen our wishbones more than our backbones. When I was a child I loved getting the chicken 'wishbone', which I would break with one of my siblings hoping I would get the wish! Well since then I too have had my share of wishing on a bone. Zoom to the present and I'm hanging on a wing and a prayer. I am glad that I had the gumption to refurbish and restore my faith thus building up a back-up for my weakening bony structure. All my battles whether related to health or any aspect of life, have been won through my mind and spirit; my spiritual backbone. Whether I lay in bed nursing a ruptured disc or hobbled along painfully, I always stood tall inside.
As Joyce loves to say, “We need backbones not wishbones.”
It's been over three years since that day in the doctor's room. There have been ups and downs but I'm glad to report that I am responding well to treatment and can walk and do quite a few things I wasn't able to do earlier. I understand I will never be able to do many things and that my condition is not totally curable. Medical interventions will aid me and reverse conditions a bit, but eventually the aging process will determine the final outcome. Each day is unpredictable. It could be great for days and then one small movement can go awry. Thank God for another backbone!
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Sunday, March 27, 2011
From Tragedy Queen to Comedy Queen
An unexpected break on Saturday...I needed it badly...Needed the rest. Friday was an eventful day........I went from (nearly)tragedy queen to comedy queen! Well, an exaggeration really but stretching it makes it funny and also brings home the possibilities of reality!
To start at the beginning, here I was intent on making my lunch before I left for work....Rajma, chawal, aaloo-mattar sabzi (red kidney beans curry, rice and potato-green peas vegetable). The maid tells me "Aunty peeche hato," (she's mopping the kitchen floor) I step back with alacrity, to get done with the interruption fast, and I tumble over the bucket she has conveniently placed right behind me!! I lost balance and as I toppled backwards I grabbed frantically for something to break the fall. My mind totally taking in the seriousness of my backbone getting injured with a fall on my back...not to mention knees and wrists.... Thank God for the two sturdy wooden stands I've got against the wall. If it weren't for these I'd be on my back on the floor. Being solid and heavy they held my weight, broke my fall by giving me something to hold on to. And it was fortunate the girl was there, to hold me and get me back on my feet. I couldn't regain balance in the position I was, bent backwards grasping onto the stands with my arms outspread and behind, and my feet in an awkward position. But all's well that ends well. No damage done but it aggravated the already irking discs. It was a very tiring day at work and I did play around with the idea of taking an off the next day. Thankfully it became an official off for me.
All this drama delayed me and I was in a hurry to get into a cab that had come for me. I got in and only then noticed that the car and the driver were unknown and unfamiliar.I have been using the same taxi service for some years now and know most of their cabbies. Without thinking I asked the driver if he had come for flat number 101. He gave me an affirmative. I wasn't convinced and blundered on by asking him if Satish had sent him, another affirmative. By then my hand was on the door and I discovered that it wouldn't open even though it hadn't been locked. I brought it to his notice and he nonchalantly assured me that the door could only be opened from outside and he would open it for me when we reached our destination. Not a very happy situation. It had all the masala of a daily third-rate soap. I asked him to get out and check my door. He did and then conveyed to me that he didn't know about the fault earlier and he'd get it repaired later in the day. That's when he sensed what my issue was and reminded me that he was the new driver who had accompanied the known one a couple of days back, to learn the routes. Well that diffused the tension and I became a comedy queen! There's never a dull moment, is there! Just when you think life's too mundane it startles you with absolutely thankful and hilarious times.
I will have to explain briefly about my concern about the unfamiliar cab and driver. The city where I live has been recording many incidents of rape and murder committed by unscrupulous cabbies. As such women living alone as well as senior citizens alone or as a couple become soft targets. One needs to exercise caution. An earlier incident at the New delhi Railway Station has put me on my guard, but that's another story. Having said all this I must add it isn't as scary as it might sound but these incidents are no longer rare, so it's better to be safe than sorry...cautious but not paranoid!
Glossary
Aunty peeche hato......Aunty step back..(Depending on one's age the maids here address one as Aunty, Didi (sister))
Masala.....spice
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To start at the beginning, here I was intent on making my lunch before I left for work....Rajma, chawal, aaloo-mattar sabzi (red kidney beans curry, rice and potato-green peas vegetable). The maid tells me "Aunty peeche hato," (she's mopping the kitchen floor) I step back with alacrity, to get done with the interruption fast, and I tumble over the bucket she has conveniently placed right behind me!! I lost balance and as I toppled backwards I grabbed frantically for something to break the fall. My mind totally taking in the seriousness of my backbone getting injured with a fall on my back...not to mention knees and wrists.... Thank God for the two sturdy wooden stands I've got against the wall. If it weren't for these I'd be on my back on the floor. Being solid and heavy they held my weight, broke my fall by giving me something to hold on to. And it was fortunate the girl was there, to hold me and get me back on my feet. I couldn't regain balance in the position I was, bent backwards grasping onto the stands with my arms outspread and behind, and my feet in an awkward position. But all's well that ends well. No damage done but it aggravated the already irking discs. It was a very tiring day at work and I did play around with the idea of taking an off the next day. Thankfully it became an official off for me.
All this drama delayed me and I was in a hurry to get into a cab that had come for me. I got in and only then noticed that the car and the driver were unknown and unfamiliar.I have been using the same taxi service for some years now and know most of their cabbies. Without thinking I asked the driver if he had come for flat number 101. He gave me an affirmative. I wasn't convinced and blundered on by asking him if Satish had sent him, another affirmative. By then my hand was on the door and I discovered that it wouldn't open even though it hadn't been locked. I brought it to his notice and he nonchalantly assured me that the door could only be opened from outside and he would open it for me when we reached our destination. Not a very happy situation. It had all the masala of a daily third-rate soap. I asked him to get out and check my door. He did and then conveyed to me that he didn't know about the fault earlier and he'd get it repaired later in the day. That's when he sensed what my issue was and reminded me that he was the new driver who had accompanied the known one a couple of days back, to learn the routes. Well that diffused the tension and I became a comedy queen! There's never a dull moment, is there! Just when you think life's too mundane it startles you with absolutely thankful and hilarious times.
I will have to explain briefly about my concern about the unfamiliar cab and driver. The city where I live has been recording many incidents of rape and murder committed by unscrupulous cabbies. As such women living alone as well as senior citizens alone or as a couple become soft targets. One needs to exercise caution. An earlier incident at the New delhi Railway Station has put me on my guard, but that's another story. Having said all this I must add it isn't as scary as it might sound but these incidents are no longer rare, so it's better to be safe than sorry...cautious but not paranoid!
Glossary
Aunty peeche hato......Aunty step back..(Depending on one's age the maids here address one as Aunty, Didi (sister))
Masala.....spice
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Sunday, March 20, 2011
Cruising On The Global Superhighway
I've been away for quite some time and I missed the few people I interact with even though we only have intermittent communication. The fact that that we don't really know each other doesn't seem to matter. Over the distances we peek into each window or door that is kept ajar to welcome us...and voice our thoughts through our comments, left in a box. I don't know your voices, I don't know how you smile but I feel it in the words you leave for me to read.
Sometimes I try to put a voice to a face in the DP. I draw pictures in my mind as I read your accounts of your days! I could be way off the mark, but that's the magic of internet friendships. Unknown yet known. We're all real people on this global superhighway.
I've joined an educational organization, which is connected with Cambridge's ESOL exams in India. It's a temporary job so I am free to decide if I want to go to work on a particular day or not. However I find that I am eager to go daily. It gives me relief from the home alone situation that I have not got used to yet. And the income is always welcome! But it does leave me exhausted by the time I get back in the evening. So I haven't been a regular visitor here.
Yesterday I worked half the day, so found ample time to rest my weary bones and make it possible to drive around my 'blogway' today. I wonder if any one of you even noticed that I was gone? I like to think that you did...:))
Well, That's it for now...till the next, Ciao.
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Sometimes I try to put a voice to a face in the DP. I draw pictures in my mind as I read your accounts of your days! I could be way off the mark, but that's the magic of internet friendships. Unknown yet known. We're all real people on this global superhighway.
I've joined an educational organization, which is connected with Cambridge's ESOL exams in India. It's a temporary job so I am free to decide if I want to go to work on a particular day or not. However I find that I am eager to go daily. It gives me relief from the home alone situation that I have not got used to yet. And the income is always welcome! But it does leave me exhausted by the time I get back in the evening. So I haven't been a regular visitor here.
Yesterday I worked half the day, so found ample time to rest my weary bones and make it possible to drive around my 'blogway' today. I wonder if any one of you even noticed that I was gone? I like to think that you did...:))
Well, That's it for now...till the next, Ciao.
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Monday, January 31, 2011
PERCEPTIONS
“We don’t see people the way they are, we see them the way we are.” Great quote I said to myself. “Applies,” I added absent-mindedly, wondering if the vanishing distinction between obese and fat and ‘pleasantly plump,’ as I had started calling myself lately, was related to it in some way. I mean when I weighed fifteen kilos lighter I saw people as obese, fat and even tubs of lard (forgive me!) but definitely not ‘pleasantly plump.’ As I said it was just a half thought which hardly registered at the time. I filed it away under ‘Later’ and forgot about it.
But I suppose when you label something ‘Later’ it’s bound to come up sooner or later! One day a lady who knows me quite well, commented on my life with a sweeping statement that had more pessimism and defeat as a basis, than truth. She said, “Jis ki barbadi likhi hai, woh lakh koshish kare toh bhi kuch nahin hota. Sab kuch ujjadta rehta hai.” (If it is your fate to be destroyed, no matter how hard you try nothing will come of it. All your efforts will be in vain) In other words, what she was saying was that I was doomed to be a failure! That hit hard and I must have been gaping at her stupidly while I gathered my wits, because taking my blank stare for incomprehension, she began to elaborate. I twisted and turned as she wrung out my life underlining all my losses; my roller-coaster life, unsuccessful efforts, blah...blah...blah. What about the successes, the small victories...I wondered. Were they real or not? I figured out they weren’t to her. So I resigned myself to listen.
I listened to her theory in awe. According to her reckoning, I would not find success in anything and it would be a waste of time, effort and money (which I did not have much of anyway!) to try to fight fate. I was wondering which path to take; get into a useless discussion with her to defend myself or let her walk away happy that she had imparted some knowledge and sound advice to me. I opted for the latter, it was the easier way out. Besides, she had a right to her opinion. After all, she was viewing it the way she was. Ah! The quote was back.
I am sure she went away feeling very nice and fuzzy-wuzzy inside after passing that (dubiously) prophetic statement and commiserating with me. I felt relieved that in some way, that conversation had made her feel good and I got out of an unwanted discussion. She had a right to her opinion, especially, when she refused to see the brighter side I presented.
I realised at this point how we saw people not as they were but as we were. This lady is highly superstitious and uses superstition to justify any kind of failure or loss. She likes to be a martyr and is happy only when she imagines herself suffering. A chance “how are you?” will elicit a long list of ailments and problems she has to bear. Often I would tell her in jest, “Look at the doughnut, not at the hole.” So it would have been impossible for her to see the positives, she was too used to seeing the negatives. It was one of those contradictions where her happiness stemmed from her misery and I suppose the miseries in another’s life.
I was feeling quite light and enlightened by the co-relation I had discovered through our conversation and wondered if I would meet someone else with an equally strong perception and who would be equally eloquent about it. As it occurred I did. And unfortunately or fortunately I was once again the subject.
Another close acquaintance called me. I cannot recollect how or why the conversation took a turn to me being the subject, but she began praising me and telling me how much she admired my grit and perseverance. I was a bit embarrassed, and laughed it away in an effort to make small of my struggles. This did not throw her off the topic, on the contrary, it stoked her fervour further. So once again, I had to hear the same list of the known challenges I had faced and how I had done so well despite it all. What a change in perspective! Once again I realised the best way to end the discussion was to agree. I am sure she felt better that day having praised me and for having passed on some positive energy my side. I must admit I felt good about it.
I found I had agreed with two women who had entirely opposed views about me!
In retrospect, I am glad I had both those conversations. The attitudes and perceptions of both the women were a direct reflection of who they were. Both had the same information and knowledge of my circumstances but one saw me as a failure; a victim preordained by fate and the other as a fighter; a survivor, a victor.
Perceptions!
.................................................................................
But I suppose when you label something ‘Later’ it’s bound to come up sooner or later! One day a lady who knows me quite well, commented on my life with a sweeping statement that had more pessimism and defeat as a basis, than truth. She said, “Jis ki barbadi likhi hai, woh lakh koshish kare toh bhi kuch nahin hota. Sab kuch ujjadta rehta hai.” (If it is your fate to be destroyed, no matter how hard you try nothing will come of it. All your efforts will be in vain) In other words, what she was saying was that I was doomed to be a failure! That hit hard and I must have been gaping at her stupidly while I gathered my wits, because taking my blank stare for incomprehension, she began to elaborate. I twisted and turned as she wrung out my life underlining all my losses; my roller-coaster life, unsuccessful efforts, blah...blah...blah. What about the successes, the small victories...I wondered. Were they real or not? I figured out they weren’t to her. So I resigned myself to listen.
I listened to her theory in awe. According to her reckoning, I would not find success in anything and it would be a waste of time, effort and money (which I did not have much of anyway!) to try to fight fate. I was wondering which path to take; get into a useless discussion with her to defend myself or let her walk away happy that she had imparted some knowledge and sound advice to me. I opted for the latter, it was the easier way out. Besides, she had a right to her opinion. After all, she was viewing it the way she was. Ah! The quote was back.
I am sure she went away feeling very nice and fuzzy-wuzzy inside after passing that (dubiously) prophetic statement and commiserating with me. I felt relieved that in some way, that conversation had made her feel good and I got out of an unwanted discussion. She had a right to her opinion, especially, when she refused to see the brighter side I presented.
I realised at this point how we saw people not as they were but as we were. This lady is highly superstitious and uses superstition to justify any kind of failure or loss. She likes to be a martyr and is happy only when she imagines herself suffering. A chance “how are you?” will elicit a long list of ailments and problems she has to bear. Often I would tell her in jest, “Look at the doughnut, not at the hole.” So it would have been impossible for her to see the positives, she was too used to seeing the negatives. It was one of those contradictions where her happiness stemmed from her misery and I suppose the miseries in another’s life.
I was feeling quite light and enlightened by the co-relation I had discovered through our conversation and wondered if I would meet someone else with an equally strong perception and who would be equally eloquent about it. As it occurred I did. And unfortunately or fortunately I was once again the subject.
Another close acquaintance called me. I cannot recollect how or why the conversation took a turn to me being the subject, but she began praising me and telling me how much she admired my grit and perseverance. I was a bit embarrassed, and laughed it away in an effort to make small of my struggles. This did not throw her off the topic, on the contrary, it stoked her fervour further. So once again, I had to hear the same list of the known challenges I had faced and how I had done so well despite it all. What a change in perspective! Once again I realised the best way to end the discussion was to agree. I am sure she felt better that day having praised me and for having passed on some positive energy my side. I must admit I felt good about it.
I found I had agreed with two women who had entirely opposed views about me!
In retrospect, I am glad I had both those conversations. The attitudes and perceptions of both the women were a direct reflection of who they were. Both had the same information and knowledge of my circumstances but one saw me as a failure; a victim preordained by fate and the other as a fighter; a survivor, a victor.
Perceptions!
.................................................................................
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Our Indian Christmas
I've finally finished taking down all the decorations and the Christmas tree! I took my time and worked at my own pace, unlike the frenzy almost a month back. I was desperately trying to pack forty-eight hours into my day. There were so many things that had to be done in preparation for Christmas. Cakes to be baked, gifts to be bought, traditional sweets and savouries to be prepared, decorations to be put up, furniture to be upholstered, carpet to be replaced, party to be planned...it was endless. Oh yes ! The salon, how could that be left out. The last thing I needed on Christmas was bad hair, dull skin and rough hands.
How I love Christmas. The whole world seems so beautiful and happy in its preparation to celebrate the birth of Jesus. Personally, I feel more charitable; more forgiving; able to overlook the meanness of people and truly meet it with joy and love. Whether you are a believer or not, nevertheless the spirit of Christmas embraces you with love and a feeling of caring and sharing.
The malls are decorated. Santa caps sell like hot cakes. People like to strut about with these red caps. The church is open throughout the day for people of other faiths, who come in a continuous stream to pray, despite the cold, even at midnight on Christmas Eve.
All of us 'busy' folk who don't find time to go to church throughout the year, can be seen in the front pews on Christmas in our Sunday Best.
" Seasonal Christians," whisper the hoity-toity regulars, and then don their church faces.
I smile and bow my head to thank God for making it possible for me to be in His House to share in the joy of His birth.
" I'm a seasonal churchgoer but a regular Christian," I whisper to my neighbour, who raises her eyebrows as we all rise to sing.
I've never been able to outgrow the excitement and pleasure of buying and receiving Christmas gifts. The hunt for the right gifts, the mental arithmetic as you try to adjust everything into your budget, the minor disappointments, the major delight in giving and receiving " just what I wanted " gifts.
An overflow of this feeling is also present in my culinary pursuits. The most arduous task is making salt meat. The entire process takes about ten-twelve days. And the beetroot wine takes longer. However this is a simpler preparation which only needs time to ferment. The successes and disasters in the kitchen, as the goodies get in and out of the oven and the fry pan, fill the home with laughter and much consoling too.
Decorating the house and tree is a family affair. As each one pitches in. At times it does run into mild differences of opinion, which are quickly resolved....That's the spirit of Christmas. The flower rangoli is designed and diyas placed at the entrance as well as a wreath on the door! Tea lights are put on the balcony wall. Candles of various shapes and sizes are a part of the decor. The ubiquitous star is hung from the ceiling in the balcony.
Finally when all the baubles, tinsel, lights, tree, bells and bows are in place and the cakes, sweets and savouries are done --- It's Christmas Eve and the refrain of 'Silent Night, Holy Night...' wafts through the house as we light all the candles and switch off the lights. The star hanging in the balcony is lit and it swings in the breeze casting dancing shadows on the walls. The wind-chimes pick soft notes. The carol is the only other sound as it plays softly...." All is calm, all is bright, Round yon Virgin mother and child.......Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace..."
A transformation takes place; Such peace descends on each one; A peace that passes all understanding.
.................................................................................
NOTE: Rangoli: An artistic design made on the floor with flower petals or dry coloured powder.
Diyas : Small earthen lamps.
How I love Christmas. The whole world seems so beautiful and happy in its preparation to celebrate the birth of Jesus. Personally, I feel more charitable; more forgiving; able to overlook the meanness of people and truly meet it with joy and love. Whether you are a believer or not, nevertheless the spirit of Christmas embraces you with love and a feeling of caring and sharing.
The malls are decorated. Santa caps sell like hot cakes. People like to strut about with these red caps. The church is open throughout the day for people of other faiths, who come in a continuous stream to pray, despite the cold, even at midnight on Christmas Eve.
All of us 'busy' folk who don't find time to go to church throughout the year, can be seen in the front pews on Christmas in our Sunday Best.
" Seasonal Christians," whisper the hoity-toity regulars, and then don their church faces.
I smile and bow my head to thank God for making it possible for me to be in His House to share in the joy of His birth.
" I'm a seasonal churchgoer but a regular Christian," I whisper to my neighbour, who raises her eyebrows as we all rise to sing.
I've never been able to outgrow the excitement and pleasure of buying and receiving Christmas gifts. The hunt for the right gifts, the mental arithmetic as you try to adjust everything into your budget, the minor disappointments, the major delight in giving and receiving " just what I wanted " gifts.
An overflow of this feeling is also present in my culinary pursuits. The most arduous task is making salt meat. The entire process takes about ten-twelve days. And the beetroot wine takes longer. However this is a simpler preparation which only needs time to ferment. The successes and disasters in the kitchen, as the goodies get in and out of the oven and the fry pan, fill the home with laughter and much consoling too.
Decorating the house and tree is a family affair. As each one pitches in. At times it does run into mild differences of opinion, which are quickly resolved....That's the spirit of Christmas. The flower rangoli is designed and diyas placed at the entrance as well as a wreath on the door! Tea lights are put on the balcony wall. Candles of various shapes and sizes are a part of the decor. The ubiquitous star is hung from the ceiling in the balcony.
Finally when all the baubles, tinsel, lights, tree, bells and bows are in place and the cakes, sweets and savouries are done --- It's Christmas Eve and the refrain of 'Silent Night, Holy Night...' wafts through the house as we light all the candles and switch off the lights. The star hanging in the balcony is lit and it swings in the breeze casting dancing shadows on the walls. The wind-chimes pick soft notes. The carol is the only other sound as it plays softly...." All is calm, all is bright, Round yon Virgin mother and child.......Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace..."
A transformation takes place; Such peace descends on each one; A peace that passes all understanding.
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NOTE: Rangoli: An artistic design made on the floor with flower petals or dry coloured powder.
Diyas : Small earthen lamps.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Ring Out The Old, Ring In The New
Shivering, yes I was shivering inside of me. Partly from the cold which resulted from an unusually freezing winter for our part of the country, but it wasn't only the cold the wall clock told me as it merrily ticked in the New Year. I couldn’t understand it. I was experiencing a mixed bag of feelings as I hugged a few friends who had especially driven up to wish me, knowing that I would be all alone. My heart was like a huge jumble sale, there was every kind of feeling bunched up there...I just dug in a pulled out whatever I needed; a warm glow, a radiant face mask, just the right gestures or an appropriate answer...anything! So while I was aware of gratitude for a year of God’s grace, thoughtful friends, relatively good health, blessings showered on our family, I couldn’t be free of the lurking “something” that I couldn’t identify. Whichever way I tried to explain it, I wasn’t really putting my finger on a satisfactory explanation. Finally, I gave up and decided to just be.
At my keypad the next morning, I typed out: “What I want right now is a long itinerary of fabulous places to travel to – confirmed tickets (executive class) reservations complete at each destination in comfortable resorts/ hotels/ home-stays...whatever spells beauty, leisure, fun, goodness, fabulous! Money enough and more to not worry about how and where; a travel companion with loads of humour, travel experience, confidence, thoughtfulness, patience, gumption and no fiscal problems; a person of honour and excellent character...in short a fairy tale being!!!!”
Travel seemed to hit a key. Restlessness, I needed to move. I don’t seem to belong to any one place – I belong to all places. I think that’s the only way I can fit into this world and its peoples. Was there a gypsy ancestor? If there was, I haven’t heard of it! But if facts be faced I’ve been a gypsy since I was born in a hospital by the sea-side; numerous moves due to dad’s postings, hubby’s job transfers, single parent on the move with job and residence shifts, trying to make a go of it, and every effort to settle down going in vain. I am a gypsy and by no conscious design. That’s all in a light vein!
Seriously, it takes on the garb of transformation in a different, more interesting way in these lines by Elizabeth Gilbert in the novel Eat, Pray, Love:
“I find the Augusteum so reassuring, that this structure has had such an erratic career, yet always adjusted to the particular wildness of the times. To me the Augusteum is like a person who’s led a totally crazy life – who maybe started out as a housewife, then unexpectedly became a widow, then took up fan dancing to make money, ended up somehow as the first female dentist in outer space, and then tried her hand at national politics – yet who has managed to hold an intact sense of herself throughout every upheaval.”
I have not been chaotic. However chaotic circumstances and situations have brought about “changes that nobody, least of all I, had anticipated.” Time has been the gypsy moving through my life. And I still wouldn’t like to say: “Time you old gypsy man will you not stay? Put up your caravan just for one day...?”
It definitely is going to be a very fruitful, satisfying year!
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At my keypad the next morning, I typed out: “What I want right now is a long itinerary of fabulous places to travel to – confirmed tickets (executive class) reservations complete at each destination in comfortable resorts/ hotels/ home-stays...whatever spells beauty, leisure, fun, goodness, fabulous! Money enough and more to not worry about how and where; a travel companion with loads of humour, travel experience, confidence, thoughtfulness, patience, gumption and no fiscal problems; a person of honour and excellent character...in short a fairy tale being!!!!”
Travel seemed to hit a key. Restlessness, I needed to move. I don’t seem to belong to any one place – I belong to all places. I think that’s the only way I can fit into this world and its peoples. Was there a gypsy ancestor? If there was, I haven’t heard of it! But if facts be faced I’ve been a gypsy since I was born in a hospital by the sea-side; numerous moves due to dad’s postings, hubby’s job transfers, single parent on the move with job and residence shifts, trying to make a go of it, and every effort to settle down going in vain. I am a gypsy and by no conscious design. That’s all in a light vein!
Seriously, it takes on the garb of transformation in a different, more interesting way in these lines by Elizabeth Gilbert in the novel Eat, Pray, Love:
“I find the Augusteum so reassuring, that this structure has had such an erratic career, yet always adjusted to the particular wildness of the times. To me the Augusteum is like a person who’s led a totally crazy life – who maybe started out as a housewife, then unexpectedly became a widow, then took up fan dancing to make money, ended up somehow as the first female dentist in outer space, and then tried her hand at national politics – yet who has managed to hold an intact sense of herself throughout every upheaval.”
I have not been chaotic. However chaotic circumstances and situations have brought about “changes that nobody, least of all I, had anticipated.” Time has been the gypsy moving through my life. And I still wouldn’t like to say: “Time you old gypsy man will you not stay? Put up your caravan just for one day...?”
It definitely is going to be a very fruitful, satisfying year!
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