Before I Kick The Bucket ?!

"Dream small that your dreams may come true.  Dream large that you may always have a dream." (Robert Brault )

I have a list of things I'd like to do in my lifetime, and it grows longer each year! The more years I add, the more dreams I have. It doesn't matter that ground realities make most of them highly improbable and near impossible. Before I added any more this year, I decided to pick out the top ten....actually it's only the first nine that I really want to happen....the tenth is a fun thing that makes me laugh, but if it does happen wow!  So here goes.....

This one has topped the list ever since I wrote it....a house of my own!

To compile a cookbook with family recipes that have come down the years, for posterity.

Publish some of my work....small would also do.

Finally make a friend; a 3.00 am one; one who has no personal agenda attached to the friendship except being a friend in the truest sense of the word, who will be there whenever needed come hail or sunshine!!

Spend some time luxuriating at Ananda spa in the Himalayas

Take the Orient Express through Europe...bliss!

Fly business/first class round trip.....to wherever I want to go!

                                Stomp grapes in France or Italy.

Start a small business of my own!

                                                                             



This last one is self explanatory....:))











Note: I do not own any of the pictures.

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The 'Awesome' Of You

A few remarks about me made by a few people I reconnected with after years and years, got me wondering about the manner in which people think and comment with such insensitivity, and the way these remarks could affect the person they were aimed at. Not only do these people have nothing worthwhile to comment on or talk about other than my weight gain and why I had allowed myself to become "like this" (which translates to overweight) but they also avoid meeting me in person, because they "refuse to recognise the present you as the old 'awesome' you."



Thankfully such things are like water on a duck's back for me, but is that how it would roll off another person without any negative effect? To me being or feeling awesome has nothing to do with physical appearance and most importantly never ever dependent on another's perception or yardstick or socially accepted benchmark. But not everyone would think the same way. Confidence levels vary, self perceptions are influenced when approval matters and such thoughtless remarks have the potential to damage a person's self esteem. I was ruminating on the subject when I happened to read someone's thoughts on the same topic. It is simple, honest and seems to come from one who has experienced directly or indirectly the harshness of social disapproval. I am sharing the note whose author remains anonymous.





"There was a time when you were five years old, and you woke up full of ‘awesome! You knew you were awesome. You loved yourself. You thought you were beautiful even with missing teeth and messy hair, and mismatched socks inside your grubby sneakers. You loved your body and the things it could do. You thought you were strong. You knew you were smart.



Do you still have it.....the ‘awesome’? Or did someone take it from you? Did you let them?



Did you hand it over because someone told you, you weren’t beautiful enough, thin enough, smart enough, good enough? Why would you listen to them? Did you consider that they might be wrong?



Wouldn’t it be nuts to tell a little five year old that in another five or ten years she might hate herself because she doesn’t look like a starving or photoshop(ped) fashion model? Or even more bizarre, that she should be sexy over smart; beautiful over bold. Are you kidding me? Look at that five year old...look at her, she is full of awesome!



You were once and maybe you still are. Or maybe you are in the process of getting it back. All I know is that if you are not waking up feeling like this about yourself, you are really missing out!"

(Anonymous)



It's a pity most of us can not see the child inside; can not feel the awesomeness of the 'being' we are. Do you wake up feeling awesome? Do you look at the mirror and see an awesome you?

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Holi - the festival of colours

This year Holi fell on Women's Day: 8th March. Holi is a Hindu festival of colour, celebrated mainly in the North of India. We don’t celebrate the festival, but the kids used to like colouring their friends and having water balloon fights when they were young! I have never liked the colouring stuff. Now I’m not knocking something without trying it....I did join David a couple of times when he insisted I join the revelry with his friends and colleagues. I didn’t like it one bit though I acted like I did.


However, with Hindu daughters-in-law coming in, I began celebrating the festival cooking. There wasn’t much that was different from traditional foods cooked at Christmas, so I enjoyed it. That was my participation and contribution. This year one of my daughters-in-law was here so I made some Indian sweets and savouries and added some baked dishes too, which are certainly not traditional!

What you see here is samosa(The triangular savoury)It's stuffed with mashed boiled potato, peas and cottage cheese. The little squares are called 'besan ki chakki' and is a sweet made out of chickpea flour. The third savoury is called 'mattar' and it's made out of refined flour(all purpose flour)

The empanadas had chicken sausage, diced potato and cherry tomato filling.

This was filled with zucchini and chicken mince

Picture courtesy: National Geographic News

Kids with the 'colours of holi' also called 'gulal' smeared all over!

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Anarkali

Picture Courtesy: National Geographic




My experiences of the close kind with animals, especially in my childhood and youth, have been with the young ones rather than the adults. Whether it was a murgabi (wild fowl) or a chipmunk, puppies of some breed or no breed, rabbits, and yes even snakes, tadpoles, frogs, fish; I rescued, adopted or simply kept them to observe their growth and development. The latter part of that goes for the tadpoles and caterpillars. Caterpillars which of course would specifically be insects, but a butterfly would come under animal too or wouldn’t it? It really doesn’t matter as I’m trying to get to the point. And the point is Anarkali.


Anarkali was a pachyderm in the Amber Fort in Rajasthan. She was one of the three (or four perhaps) elephants, which were used to give rides to the tourists. Sometimes to transport them up to the fort along the long winding path from base point in the town. Since I didn’t fancy a ride up, up and up to the fort (it looked frightening from below) we didn’t go the elephant way. However, I allowed myself to be cajoled into an elephant ride around, and inside a dedicated area at the Fort.

Picture Courtesy: National geographic



Anarkali, a huge female elephant, and her mahout were assigned to us for a couple of turns around the elephant route. The way to board her was to get up on the rampart, against which she stood, and climb a few wooden steps then get onto her back and seat yourself in a sort of rectangular seat which was strapped onto her. It had guardrails on all sides and one had to stick one’s legs under these and hold on to the rails. So we sat with our legs dangling over the sides of our pachyderm friend. Did I say friend?


I need to go back to the pre-boarding stage, when my fear and hesitation prompted the mahout to show me how friendly, and intelligent and courteous Anarkali was. She was told to kneel before us and she did. Then he said something and she lifted her trunk and brought it down to bless me...only she didn’t get to my head, which was her target, because I jumped away with a scream. The mahout admonished me, very respectfully of course and reassured me there was nothing to be afraid of! Then she performed a little jig for us, trumpeted, went up on her hind legs (that was terrifyingly awesome!) Finally, he told us to pat her trunk. I stretched out my hand but didn’t actually touch her. See, how friendly and tame she was! There was nothing to be scared of. Therefore, I was on her back with three others. The majestic animal began her leisurely, swaying walk. I peered down. We were quite high up, jumping off wasn’t an option. I resigned myself to the ride. What an idiot, I said to myself; these elephants give rides to so many everyday and have been doing so for a long time. What could happen here in this controlled environment?


That rhetoric question tempted fate.


Suddenly there was a shout from the mahout on the elephant a few metres ahead of us. He was yelling “bachche, bachche,”(children, children) and gesturing for us to turn back. Ours began to shout too and there were other workers yelling. Mingled with all the frantic yelling were the voices of excited children as they rushed in through the entry gates, and began spreading out at random. There were men, mahouts or workers, running towards the kids in an effort to herd them away from us. By then Anarkali was in a rage. She was stomping, stamping, trumpeting and shaking herself angrily, and if our hearts weren’t in our mouths we would have been screaming too. Someone managed to find a voice and ask what was happening. “Yeh bachchon se chidti hai. Is ko bachche achche nahin lagte. Is ko bahut gussa atta hai,” (Kids aggravate her. She doesn’t like children. She gets angry)yelled the mahout as he struggled to pacify Anarkali and control her.


Then he was shouting orders at us above the din. “Jor se pakkad ke baitho. Kudne ki koshish mat karo. Kuchle jayoge. Kuch nahin hoga. Main isko sambhaloonga. Cheekhna nahin. Chup baitho. Yeh zyaada gussa hogayi toh khadi ho jaayegi. Pakkad ke baitho.” ( Hold fast and sit tight. Don’t try to jump off. You will certainly get trampled. Nothing will happen. I’ll control her. Don’t scream. Keep quiet. If she loses her temper she will rise on her hind legs. Hold on and sit tight)


We didn’t need instructions. We were petrified. My throat was dry; I was mumbling prayers, and kicking myself for getting into this situation, and clutching on for dear life. I was also wondering which side I’d fall if she stood up! I had already pulled my legs half-way up, careful not to pull them up all the way and free myself and risk tumbling off without the rail support holding me in place.


I do not know how long it actually lasted. It seemed like eternity. Time is irrelevant at these times...even a few minutes seemed like an hour! Anyway, the kids didn’t need much convincing, they ran in the opposite direction as soon as they saw Anarkali and realised it was a temper tantrum and could be dangerous. The mahout managed to calm her down. The ride was truncated and she turned around and went back to the starting point. We dismounted as fast as we could on trembling legs.


My big animal adventures began and ended there. This happened sometime in the early nineteen eighties! Almost three decades later, I find that the closest I’ve come to them since then has been with my pets...a Lhasa Apso, a Dachshund, a golden retriever...and it was divine!

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I'm not 'Lucky'.......

"Happiness is dependent on success and success depends on luck," said a friend. I didn't agree. Soon the conversation veered to 'what is luck?'


The question was thrown at me and since I had not thought about it I had no answer. I'm no believer in luck. So I sat down and thought it over. The word I would at times use instead of 'lucky' or 'unlucky' was fortunate or unfortunately. A dictionary would tell you 'fortunate' means (n.) Coming by good luck or favorable chance; bringing some good thing not foreseen as certain; presaging happiness; auspicious; as, a fortunate event; a fortunate concurrence of circumstances; a fortunate investment.
(n.) Receiving some unforeseen or unexpected good, or some good which was not dependent on one's own skill or efforts; favored with good fortune; lucky. Look up synonyms and you would have these:Favoured, hopeful, golden, rosy among some others. So where was I not in sync with the word 'Lucky? I don't seriously refer to any good fortune, or unexpected favourable outcome as our being lucky just as I don't tag an unfortunate or disppointing result as unlucky.


I personally believe, what is generally referred to as "luck" is actually 'blessing' from above. I approached the point from my own perspective...luck is nothing because we don't pursue it, we don't work for it, it has no source and it isn't the outcome of anything. It didn't seem to answer the question. I was certainly getting tickled by this one. What I'm saying is, being happy and staying happy is no mean task. And since happiness is in 'being' it cannot be set as a SMART goal to be achieved. Similarly luck is not something that can be acquired. While happiness is in 'being' one cannot in any conceivable way 'be' or 'become' lucky.


I texted a friend: "What is luck? Is it pivotal to success and happiness?"


He replied he would rather go with luck. His rationale was that if he were lucky, success and happiness would follow.


But wasn't that true in the inverse, too. If you were happy, wouldn't you feel better equipped to reach your goals and be successful? Where did luck fit in? It's almost like the question...What would you prefer, an egg today or a hen tomorrow, with arguments that an egg would hatch into a fowl anyways. Well the pros and cons can be thrashed out till kingdom come. This swing makes us try to reach out for both all our lives, like a pendulum in an eternal to and fro motion, sometimes in your grasp, sometimes slipping through your fingers. To misquote a quote....'Blessing (Luck) is the pseudonym God uses when he doesn't want to sign his name.'


Whenever people tell me I am 'lucky' I correct them with , "I'm blessed." Being lucky to me indicates that I have got something which I didn't deserve. Like being born into wealth or royalty. Even these people can not rely on that stroke of luck to sustain them. When one puts in one's best in every way, one leaves the rest to God; on His will. If it has to be, it will be. When one achieves beyond expectations, then to call the person 'lucky' is in some way demeaning. All the person's hard work is trashed and luck is given the credit. On the flip side to tag a hard-working person 'unlucky' would only shrivel the soul and demotivate. William Gaines says it well in these words: "Most of my major disappointments have turned out to be blessings in disguise. So whenever anything bad does happen to me, I kind of sit back and feel, well, if I give this enough time, it’ll turn out that this was good, so I shan’t worry about it too much."



I use the word 'lucky' for those who get what they don't really deserve. When a person gets away with some wrong-doing, then I suppose, to say he is lucky is fitting. (We don't say the person is blessed!!)The person doesn't deserve to get away, but nevertheless has. However, at some point luck runs out. As opposed to this there is no end to blessings.



Often not achieving what we have worked for is a blessing in disguise. Many of us on hindsight, can recall instances where a failure turned into an advantage.One has to look into what one is working towards; whether it is the right direction, and the right time. Making wrong choices, moving in the wrong direction, faulty perceptions will end in nothing. People either approach things the wrong way, or have bad attitudes and blame luck for the bad results. 'Unlucky' is what they say it is. So which ever way one views it luck has to do with unworthiness. Luck is a convenient scapegoat for losers.



It makes it simpler to decide between the two if one would renounce luck and seek blessings. Blessings don't appear as elusive and ephemeral as luck does. I mean one can actually count one's blessings! Blessings can be asked for and received (* conditions apply)The fact that there are rules and conditions signify an entity who has blessings to shower! One doesn't seem to know what to do to get Lady Luck to come a calling. Waiting for luck doesn't even kindle a spark of hope. After all who do you ask for luck and whose is this largesse to distribute? It does nothing to strengthen the spirit, and causes more hopelessness and resignation in those who are not favoured. Whereas, blessings have a giver who we can address. It kindles hope and keeps the spark going. A believer in blessings may be down at times but never beaten. The believer grows stronger with every challenge, and patient in hope and trust. How fulfilling it would be, if we worked towards blessings......give me my blessings any day, it's a package deal........buy one get one free.....happiness with every blessing.



To sum it up in John O'Donohue's words: "If you live the life you love, you will receive shelter and blessings. Sometimes the great famine of blessings in and around us derives from the fact that we are not living the life we love; rather, we are living the life that is expected of us. We have fallen out of rhythm with the secret signature and light of our own nature."


Simple, but sensible. Forget about luck, give your best shot in all endeavours. Even if you fail, you'll be a happy person knowing that you gave it your best and more! Perhaps you're on a divergent course, pursuing the wrong goals. So go get your blessings there's always one at the end of the day for everyone.


Stay Blessed!

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Hundred Percent Country; Hundred Percent Real

When my father put in his papers for a pre-mature retirement, I was only ten and didn’t understand the implications of moving from a city life and up-bringing, to a small town in Punjab. I was excited because we were going to a new place and for a girl who was a tomboy, well that spelt adventure with a capital ‘A.’


I wasn’t disappointed, three months into our stay in my father’s hometown, the Indo-Pak war rattled my world, my bones and my teeth. I witnessed a dog-fight over our house and the Pak plane go down in flames not too far from our house. Bombings became more real than the II world War stories my father told us. Paratroopers were no figures in the war comics I loved to read. I discovered how real when gunshots went back and forth between them and us. I learned what collaborator meant when a neighbour was under suspicion. I learned what courage was when I saw my grandmother walk through the night with my father as they kept vigil around our boundary walls, while my uncle had his post on the roof with sand bags and his rifle. She would not get into the trench as all of us did, including Grandpa.


Grandma is the one I want to talk about. Her courage and fearlessness was unbelievable. Nothing fazed her. To look at her one wouldn’t believe it. She was five feet, not an ounce of fat, small frame and a shock of snow-white hair. She smoked a hookah openly, and besides all the other activity that kept her busy the whole day, she loved to walk in the garden and talk to the fruit trees.


It was a big garden with many fruit trees. Mango, jamun, sweet lime, mulberry, big green ber, peach, lime, tangerine,Papaya, goonda (we called it “snotty fruit”), kachnar, drumstick, sapodilla...Gulmohar and her favourite flowers May Blossom. I would walk with her from tree to tree, bush to bush and wonder at the way she’d communicate and take care of the plants and trees. She would water the garden all by herself pumping water out of a hand-pump.


She had two favourites among the mangoes. She called one Krishanji Maharaj and the other Jungli. The former was her most favourite. She told me how she christened it. The trunk was very oddly shaped. From the base it branched out in two trunks with one crossed over the other like one would cross ones legs at the ankles. Above two branches grew out and turned slightly in, like two arms and they. It really looked like a person playing a flute. This is why she called it Krishna after the Hindu god. It was quite a leafy tree, and bore the most delicious mangoes in such abundance that it took care of pickles, jams, and chutneys as well.


Jungli got its name from its ‘desi’ species. She explained that it was unkempt, the mangoes had hairy seeds, and weren’t very big in size but they were sweet, very sweet...like most unsophisticated kids. I didn’t understand her of course but I was intrigued that she could talk to plants. She was like someone out of a book. She told me the history of three of the guava trees as she lovingly touched the leaves and patted the trunk. And that’s how I developed a friendship with an amazing guava tree. It bore guavas with red centres on its left branches and white centre ones on the branches on the right! It wasn’t very tall and had strong branches that spread out in all directions. In this tree I would spend many afternoons with a book, a pillow and something to munch if guavas were not in season. Ensconced comfortably between two branches that made a great lounger for me, I’d try to communicate with it like Grandma did.


With fields all around us needless to say we had reptilian visitors like vipers and others. We also had a cobra couple living on the premises. But none of us was ever bitten. Grandma explained that her presence “blinded” the snakes as she was the first-born child. So strong was her belief that indeed I saw snakes just waiting still, while she got up, brought a stick and smashed it. This was magic and Grandma was a magician!


Then the inevitable happened. Grandma died. The garden looked morose. Krishanji Maharaj and Jungli didn’t bear fruit for the first time. The first season most of the trees didn’t bear fruit and those that did bore poor quality fruit. Soon the fruit trees stopped bearing fruit. The tangerine, peaches, guavas, lemon, sweet lime dried up.


That’s when I realised that this was not fiction. It was not something I read in books, this was real. She was real, her beliefs were real, her courage was real, her insouciance in smoking a hookah openly; her sitting down with Grandpa’s friends to a challenge of Pacheesee, her poultry, her dog, and her interest in me, was real. No longer would the garden and her precious trees hear her sing her favourite hymns. No longer would snakes go “blind” for the first-born had gone. It was all so real...

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You Sang To Me (Re-posted)

I am going to celebrate Valentine's Day with golden memories, like these!



It all started when I was eighteen, at a dinner hosted by my parents. Mrs Joel had called up to ask if she could bring her brother David along. He had arrived that afternoon to join a new job in our city. My parents said he was welcome.



As the party progressed, the youngsters present began to sing and dance. David joined in. He asked if he could do a solo number and we cheered him on. Soon we were rolling with laughter as he sang the most hilarious parody I had ever heard. That was definitely the first time I 'noticed' him. I never met him again for months, till the big Convention. Mr Joel, who was incharge of the choir was conducting auditions. I didn't think I'd make it but I did get into the sopranos. David was singing bass. Singing practice had never been so enjoyable before.



Then the week-long Convention was over. I got busy with college and David with his job and teaching guitar at weekends. It was some time before I ran into him again.



The Youth Fellowship had to conduct the Sunday service and desperately needed someone to sing bass in the choir. One day to go, no luck. We resigned ourselves to what we had.



Each one of us was assigned some work in preparation for the Sunday Youth Service. I had to see to the flower arrangements on the Altar. The fresh blooms arrived in the evening and by the time I carried the big bunches of flowers into the church, it was already getting dark outside. I'd never been in the church at this hour and looking down at the rows of empty pews, from where I stood on the altar steps, gave me an eerie feeling which I should not have felt considering I was in a church! So I gave myself a mental kick and set to work.



Did I imagine it or was that a guitar I heard ? I turned around slowly. The pews were unoccupied. I looked further, at the Choir Stand - no one. Ghosts ! I thought and then shook myself. Can't be. This was a new building. That was a reassuring argument!! It took all the courage I could muster up, to walk down the aisle and cautiously peer into the Choir Stand. There on a bench, doubled over his guitar was David.



" It's you," I exclaimed more with relief than surprise. " What are you doing here?" I continued. He stopped strumming and raised his head and looked straight at me, he was so handsome and the way he looked at me just took my breath away.


" Playing for you," was the simple reply which got me flustered and at a loss for words.


" Oh," I blurted and turned and walked away, so that he couldn't see the puce colour that was spreading all over my face. What's he doing here was all I could think. He doesn't ever come to church. I walked back and continued with the flowers. He continued to play, and the melody seemed to seek me out as it reverberated off the walls and filled the void. So I was startled when I heard him speak just behind me.



"I see you've almost finished. Can I help you with the bucket?" he said and without waiting for a reply picked up the bucket with the left-over flowers, and walked out. I walked behind in a trance.



That Sunday the Youth Fellowship choir outdid itself with the new bass singer.



It was back to study and exams. I didn't see David for three months. With the exams finished, the Summer holidays loomed over my head in a rather dreary way.


" Would you like to play the guitar ?" asked Daddy.


" Of course, if I could that is," I laughed.


The next day my mother announced that my guitar lessons would be starting on Saturday. I gaped at her.


" Well isn't that what you wanted ? You better be punctual for practice. Mr Joel is very particular," she said.



On Saturday, as I was getting ready to leave for guitar classes, the doorbell rang. David stood there with a guitar case.


" My brother-in-law will not be able to conduct classes for a while, so he has sent me to teach you at home. And here is your new guitar. Can I come in ?"


I realised that we were still at the door. I mumbled an apology and told him to come in.



My heart was beating like a bongo. This Adonis was going to teach me how to play the guitar! It seemed like the entire universe was indeed conspiring to create some magic here.



At some point the guitar lessons took a backseat as our conversations took over. Then it was cycling, walks, movies, sitting in the coffee-shop nursing our coffees that had long turned cold.



A year later David sang the Hawaiian Wedding Song to me on our wedding night.



The years that followed were full of fun, laughter, song and romance that made the ups and downs that much lighter. At every get-together with friends and even at parties David was always asked to sing. He'd pick up the guitar and while he checked the notes and took a while to decide the song he should sing, his eyes would surreptitiously seek me out. This was our little secret and our very special moment. Because wherever David sang, whenever he sang there was always a special song for me. He would catch my eye across a crowded room and silently dedicate his song to me.



And then one day, the angels came.



David joined the heavenly choir above, leaving behind a neverending interlude. How was I to survive in this vacuum, I thought to myself. I needed strength and right then I didn't feel very strong. Neither in mind nor in body. For years he had told me over and over again that I was his strength......now I looked to him to make me strong.



I dredged the past and picked each special moment. Like pearls, one by one I strung them on the thread of melody that had bound us for fifteen years. And as I battled with denial and then depression, I managed to hang on to a sliver of sanity that kept me and my two little boys afloat.



My beautiful string of pearls will always see me through. When despair threatens to drown me, I shall finger each pearl like a rosary.



PS: I still love that old melody he was playing in the church....

Ek ajnabi hasina se, yun mulakaat ho gayi.

Phir kya hua yeh na poochcho, kuch aisi baat ho gayi....

(I happened to meet a beautiful stranger. Don't ask me what happened next, it's hard to explain, it was something like that...)






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Soon it will be Christmas Day

Soon it will be Christmas day! That’s what I said to myself, not in the way it should be said with excitement or great, joyful anticipation....I was panicking. I had everything ready for the Christmas cake...but power cuts (long, erratic, and frequent) were the pain in my you-know-where. I knew exactly where I was going to put up the tree, and the nativity and the this, that and the other...but getting the boxes, in which they were packed safely last year, down and opened needed another back and pair of hands. My back and arms couldn’t, wouldn’t and shouldn’t do it, thus saith my doc! And I had to adhere.



That was yesterday’s lament. As I type this out, I am overwhelmed by the aromas of freshly baked cakes, wafting through the home as they sit cooling on racks in the kitchen. I managed to bake three so far. There was a moment, actually a long time that saw my chin touching the floor. Just as I had poured the cake mixture into the baking tins, the power went off. I thought all was lost...one and a half hours later power was restored and joy of joys, nothing went wrong! I plan on doing another three this evening. I’m keeping all fingers and toes crossed. As for the decorations, Lolita has offered to help me out and she’s promised to get the boxes down and opened this Sunday and she’d also unwrap whatever I needed from them. Well that’s a good start to the day. Positivity and good spirits reign Hallelujah!



I’m in the process of planning Christmas dinner. Since there will be two vegetarians as well, it is challenging to not repeat the dishes I made last year and the year before that. Is it important that I don’t repeat the dishes? Am I over-thinking things too much? A psychologist I know says I do that....I hate to admit it but she’s right.



I keep slipping in and out of the 16th century to the 21st. I’m reading a book called The Emperor’s Writings. It’s all about the Mughal King Akbar’s life and times. Written by Dirk Collier, it has the style of an autobiography. The account unfolds through Akbar’s letters written to his son and heir to the throne, Salim (who would go on to become better known as Jehangir) The Mughal period in India has always fascinated me, especially the times of Akbar, Jehangir and Shah Jehan. I have enjoyed visiting many monuments in Delhi and Agra, built during this time. But Akbar certainly catches my interest the most.


I have stepped out of the Diwan-i-Khas into my humble abode for now and I better get cracking with the chores at hand...I do not have a retinue of servants and attendants at my beck and call as the emperor had!!

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Meandering Thoughts.....

Am I a SAD person?

“Learn to enjoy every minute of your life. Be happy now. Don’t wait for something outside of yourself to make you happy in the future. Think how really precious is the time you have to spend, whether it’s at work or with your family”......(Earl Nightingale)


The end of November normally indicated upbeat moods and a lot of suppressed excitement barely concealed under a calm veneer; but this time it wasn’t that way. I tried unsuccessfully, to kick start the enthusiasm that preceded the coming festive season but all in vain. I continued to be lethargic, despondent, aloof, and even melancholic....and would keep searching the net for winter getaways. I just didn’t want to stay here for Christmas...I wanted to escape to somewhere, where it wouldn’t matter that it’s Christmas and there’s no one home to share and celebrate with you. I wallowed in this miserable feeling from the beginning of November and as it began to dig its tentacles deeper, I decided it was enough. This wasn’t ME.


I don’t host pity-parties and I don’t attend any either. So what was getting to me? I googled ‘pre-wint
er blues’ and came up with the acronym SAD: Season Affective Disorder. According to the article, SAD occurs due to the lack of sunlight. Since sunlight is a great source of Vitamin D, which in turn is important for general well-being, the lack of bright sunny days affects some people, making them feel the way I was feeling. So that’s what it’s all about?! Naah! We still have quite a lot of sunshine around and I am getting my share of natural vitamin D. I’m missing something else. But I’m definitely not a SAD person.



So I snap out of it and decide to learn how to enjoy a festival like Christmas, without decorations, the children and grandchild. Christmas is so much larger than life’s disappointments. In fact, it permeates the depths of the soul and once again revives the grieving spirit with joy. I shall not sail, fly or drive away from life as it is, but celebrate it as I always have....besides it’s too late to change my inherent nature now. Joy doesn’t succumb to SAD!



Did I lose my identity?


“Each tree is recognized by its own fruit. People do not pick figs from thornbushes, or grapes from briers.” (Luke 6:44)



Many years back, around 1987-88, I realized I was better known or shall we say recognised as Viny’s mom, around the new neighbourhood we had shifted into in Udaipur, Rajasthan. Later on at the school where I taught and in which both the kids studied, I was called “Joy Ma’am” but identified as Ranjit and Vineet’s mother. I found it amusing and often commented on how I had lost my identity to two rascals!!



Just the other day I was contemplating on the verse in the Bible that says “a tree is known by its fruit”(Luke 6:44) and I asked myself if the tree lost its identity to the fruit or was enriched by it. After all a tree is recognised by the fruit it has produced and its worthiness by the quality of that fruit. Putting this into a simple, everyday situation, I believe each family and home rejoices in the worthy achievements of its children, because they do contribute to it in many supportive ways. Yes, I feel blessed, proud, grateful, and honoured to be known as Tintin and Viny’s mom. And I am further blessed to be called Alyssa’s Daadi. My identity is embellished by such references and it endorses the fact that our tree has grown and branched out; reaching for The Light, which is the most important and magical thing a tree needs to nurture and enrich its roots and fruit.



I am blessed abundantly and may you also be gladdened when you lose your identity to your worthy children.....




How do I tell thee?


“To me there are three things we should do every day. We should do this every day of our lives. Number one is laugh. You should laugh every day. Number two is think. You should spend time in thought. And number three is, you should have your emotions moved to tears, could be happiness or joy. But think about it. If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that’s a full day. That’s a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you’re going to have something special”........(Jim Valvano)



I get tongue-tied and at a total loss of words many times. There have been occasions for which I have rehearsed lines I would say, and then when faced with the right time, the cat gets my tongue. Those are the words my mind has coined. Reticence, nervousness, anxiety, fright or any such immense emotion play on the mind and tangle up speech. That’s what happens very often to me. Yet, communication doesn’t end there. When words become inadequate to express feelings tears do the job!



I am moved to tears by happiness and extreme joy. I am moved to tears by anything beautiful; an experience, music, verses, story, movie, happy memories, funny things....Copious tears express anger, frustration, helplessness. Grief and loneliness seldom move me to tears, but the memory of good times in sad moments make me teary yet happy. I’m moved by gratefulness for those precious moments.


When the mind fails, the heart speaks...through tears. Happy, joyous, funny, tickled, angry, helpless, ecstatic tears speak as eloquently and effectively as words.


These are those silent moments of release...of tears or unshed ones, which may or may not be understood. But if you don’t understand my silences, how will you understand my words?

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The Chair And I

When one chair says to the other, “Yonder comes another bum,” you had better believe it! We are on our derrieres more often these days and for longer periods. Kudos to the health freaks that jog, walk, swim, and go ‘gymming’ religiously, but they are a minority. I was just “another bum” until recently. I was so sedentary that I could grow roots, branches, moss all together. Yes, I grew you know, and grew, and grew, like Alice but unlike her, I grew horizontally and found that it wasn’t only the mirror that was getting smaller.



Every time I decided to exercise or go for a walk, the pain in my bones sent me back to the chair. All I needed was a stronger will and conviction that exercise (certain ones) would help me immensely. I had to believe that; bear the pain and start with ‘baby’ steps literally. But sceptic me wouldn’t budge. The stronger the doubts became, the more beached I got...a beached whale! The doctor persisted tirelessly in goading me to lift myself out of defeat, depression and that chair. Only something drastic would get me to move. It took an earthquake to rock the chair I had permanently lodged myself into. Finally, reality hit hard and I got up and walked out of that chair in my head.



Today I am addicted to my morning and evening walk. I count my steps and time myself...I’m counting my steps to a healthier me. Exercises have added benefits too like de-stressing the mind, stimulating the digestive system, and giving one a ‘feel good’ feeling within, and I’m the better for it. The chair and I are still friends, we have been through ‘thick’ and thin and it has been a strong support, however we give each other a bit more space. I’m less of a ‘bum’ and it has stopped being my crutch!

“Health is Wealth” is an old adage. I didn’t realize the literal, hard truth behind it till I lost health and with it a lot of wealth....I see many young people at the orthopaedic’s with lumbar, cervical problems. Modern life has made us sedentary...that’s a mild way of putting it...in truth it has made us lazy, slothful, and totally unhealthy. Everything is instant, like coffee, and we want easy and fast. Exercise and balanced diets, freshly cooked home food involve time and work....Don’t we do enough work at our desks, and don't we deserve 'easy' and 'fast'?! If your answer to that is "No" you're not just "another bum" for sure...but if it's "Yes"....Hmmm....no wonder the chair has become sarcastic!

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Little joys and moments......

It's been a long time...I had a nice break, enjoyed a trip to the mountains, attended a wedding, spent quality time with family and Alyssa in particular! I did get a bit of a scare when I did something to my back which laid me down for a few days, but thanks to my concerned and helpful orthopaedic, he monitored the situation on the phone and I was back on my feet with rest and a few meds. Now I'm back home, it's quiet, like it normally would be, only this time it seems odd without the patter of Alyssa's little feet and her constant prattle. She and her mom are with her maternal grandparents (Naana & Naani)to celebrate Diwali, which falls today 26th Oct.

A few pics to tell you about the little joys and moments that filled my life these past few days.

I came home to find luscious green chillies on my potted chilli plant. This is just one variety of the many kinds available in India.

Alyssa thought she should sweep the fallen autumn leaves with her balloon!!!

It was tiring, so she takes a break!

I woke to a misty Diwali morning. There's a pleasant nip in the early morning air. I decided to catch the lazy sun that has decided to rise later these days and also much weaker...:)))

Specially designed Diwali cupcakes. There are two cakes with edible 'Diyas'(A diya is an earthen oil lamp) and two with gold coins that symbolise wealth and prosperity. These will be gifted this evening to my hosts who have invited me to dinner.



This it friends. I'm so glad to reconnect with you. I hope my pictoral account works out on the page. This is the first time I'm attempting something like this. I'm technically challenged and haven't a clue about photo resizing or blog page setting etc....but that doesn't put me off...does it...hahah.


Happy Diwali to those of you who celebrate the festival.

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I'm on cloud 9 and I didn't get my laptop along........

I'm sitting on Cloud nine...oh yeah, I am! My grand-daughter (1yr 8mths) is arriving tomorrow, from Canada, with her mother for a month long holiday. Isn't that enough to send me to a higher stratoshere?!

We'll be going to the Shimla hills for some days and we will be attending a wedding too. All this means I will be off blogging for a while. I hope to enjoy myself in Alyssa's company...it's a welcome break from being 'home alone' and mostly grounded...:))

Don't forget me my friends, will miss reading your blogs.


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There’s Something About......

There’s something about shoes; new shoes in particular! I’m hopelessly in love with them.
I remember, when I was a little girl, I went to bed with my new shoes, every time a pair came home. I would push my little hands into each and gently rub the smooth soles on my cheeks.... I’d kiss them, and cuddle them and wake up in the middle of the night to make sure they hadn’t walked away or worse, I hadn’t crushed them under me! But that was short-lived: it all ended when I turned eight. The passion hasn’t died, but I don’t cuddle , kiss or go to bed with them! There’s something about the leathery smell of new shoes!


There’s something about walking on dew drenched grass, bare foot! An early morning walk, before the fresh drops evaporate...nothing could be more refreshing. In my country, it is believed that doing this is not only relaxing but also good for the eyes. Well, I don’t subscribe to the eyesight thing but endorse the relaxing bit. There’s something about the combination of dew and green grass and early mornings!


There’s something about sitting on a rock with your feet in a running, mountain stream. It’s about clear, cool water washing over your feet and through your toes as you wiggle them...about blue skies and white clouds...about rustling leaves, languid sunrays, silence and vast open spaces. Yes, there’s something about feet, running water and the mountains.


There’s something about sunsets! It just shuts me up...no words to break the magic. Vibrant changing colours, darkness slowly creeping in as daylight fades...poetic, romantic, stirring. There’s something about watching the sun slide behind a mountain range or sink into the sea...so grand yet so peaceful.


There’s something about shopping at Christmas time! Hustle-bustle, lights, decorations, beckoning window displays, sales...the air is warm, friendly, frantic, hectic, exasperated and sheer fun! There’s something about Christmas shopping that makes me more generous than I usually am...carols, mid-night church service, freezing cold, warm blowers, woollies, gormandising, family get-togethers....yes, there’s something about this time of the year.


There’s something about old albums! Old photographs and warm memories: I could go through old pictures for hours. Each one sparks a memory...and I relive beautiful, funny, touching and sweet moments. There’s something about the way it connects the past and the present...family and friends and moments.


There’s something everlasting about old songs! Most of the new ones are hear(d) today and gone tomorrow...but the golden oldies go on forever.


There’s something about living with all this technology! I can’t imagine life without the internet, mobile phones, laptops, computers, Blogs, Face Book, Skype...Yes, there’s something addictive about these technological luxuries...they make you dependent.


There’s something about life and living....helping, sharing, caring, loving and forgiving...yes, there’s something about life that’s addictive.

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Yesterday......

Yesterday, the 5th of September, was Teacher’s Day. I revelled in the warmth of messages and wishes from old students. There’s something so special about old students remembering you: They bring back memories of another day; of celebrations in school, of being made to feel special....and a celebration at home that kept me on my toes. The first celebration at school felicitated and honoured the teachers. An honour I got by default: I was a teacher. The second one at home felicitated my late husband whose birthday fell on the fifth. I will always remember 5 September for the joie de vivre, food and company that invariably overflowed at home: he was a popular man.


Yesterday was different from the yesterdays I remembered. It was quiet, peaceful and relaxed....I loved it as much as I had loved the hustle-bustle ones of my yesteryears.


Yesterday, I read that personalities differ according to blood groups! I am acquainted with zodiac and sun signs thanks to Linda Goodman’s books. She writes about how these signs are responsible for certain characteristics of personality and their significant role in shaping one’s destiny. I do not take any part of it seriously. However, I was intrigued by this new information, but could not find much written about it.


I recalled another yesterday many years back. A friend, from France, had sent me pages and pages of information about food, medical treatment, and general healthcare of people with my blood group. I was not keeping too well in those days, and was recuperating from a major surgery. She meant well, but I was sceptical. I had never heard about blood group based treatments or food. It sounded bizarre and way out. Since then I have heard of such practices around the world, but they haven’t gained many followers.



The memory connected with the new information I had come across. It seems like the theory of the effects of different blood groups on personality, food requirements and general healthcare has its believers all around the world. It’s interesting to go through even though you might pooh-pooh it at the end of the reading! I’m giving you the personality for AB+ compiled from different sources......you will guess why I found it amusing and interesting at the same time.

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Type AB "CARE-FREE"

Population: 4% of the world is AB + and 1% AB –

Your traits: Easy-going, Diplomatic, Creative, Unpredictable, Artistic, Flexible and Moody.

People with type “AB” are blends of opposites. They can be shy with some issues and bold with others. They are both introvert and extrovert. They are unpredictable and seem to have a calm exterior. They are very creative, good at spotting problems and skirting them. They can get bored easily. Everything they do is compelling. (they)Never take things for granted. Appear mysterious. Contribute harmoniously to society. They dislike touching or being touched by others.


Cool and controlled, you are generally well-liked and always put people at ease. You are a natural entertainer who is tactful and fair. But, you are standoffish, blunt, and have difficulty making decisions.


It is called the "The Enigma."

Wikipedia definition: An enigma is a puzzle, something mysterious or inexplicable, or a riddle or difficult problem.


Type AB's are the split personalities of the blood groups.


According to all the research I have done, the first positive date for AB blood type was 700 AD. However, if you believe the Shroud of Turin, which was found to have AB blood on it, was the cloth that Jesus was wrapped in after his crucifixion, then it would be much earlier than that.


What does AB mean in blood types?


Those who have type AB blood do not make any A,B, or O antibodies. It will accept any blood type in a transfusion. AB is the universal recipient.


So how did it come into being when the rest of the world was O, A, and B?
If an A is inherited from one parent and a B from the other, the type will be AB


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See what I mean......."population worldwide 4%"....."Shroud of Turin"....."AB blood on i"t........"split personalities".....:)!!



I remembered Sidney Poitier yesterday. Oh no I didn’t know him beyond the silver screen! His role as a teacher in the movie ‘To Sir with Love’ remains one of my favourites. It appealed to us young ones quite a bit because it was in stark contrast to what we had on the other side of the table most of the time. And that made me remember Lulu...oh I didn’t know her either beyond the records on the turn-table. She sang that lovely song for Mark Thackeray (Sidney Poitier) Much later, as a young teacher, new to the profession, I dreamt of other 'Lulus' singing that lovely title song to me! Yesterday, I dedicated it to my favourite teachers, who won’t even know about it: Two aren’t on the social site and one has passed away. But that doesn’t matter...they have given me wonderful yesterdays, and tomorrows.


Yesterday I wove a lovely fabric from old yarn.
Today it is time for something else.


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Suffer The Idiots

The Ceat Tyre advertisement warning: “The streets are filled with idiots...” brought home the truth a couple of days back. I had a busy schedule, with a new assignment keeping me on the edge. So I wasn’t sitting so easy in the car as we drove out to work.


Barely fifty yards into the drive and the car screeched to a halt and my heart almost popped out of my mouth! We had barely missed a child of about three, who decided to cross the road on her own. Her parents, a young couple, stood by the road and called out to her but didn’t think it prudent to stop her physically. As if that was not enough, they had a younger one of about a year and a half, running along ahead of them in the middle of the road. I thought both of them would be shaken but was in for a surprise, when they stood there giving us the kind of dirty looks one could kill someone with. The kind that said, ‘Don’t you know there are unattended kids on the road?’


“There are Idiots on the road,” I muttered, “and they have to be out so early and in my way!”


When my heart slowly made its way back to where it belonged, I settled in, praised the driver for his quick reflexes and cautioned him to keep alert. Things went smoothly, we were on a stretch that does not have much traffic so early in the morning and I was thankful for that: It was premature. I lurched forward as the brakes hit the floorboard once again. Thankfully, I had on my lumbar support and cervical collar. Another “Idiot” had conveniently stopped his car in the middle of a turn around a traffic island, and was talking on his mobile phone. He was so engrossed in his conversation that he remained blissfully unaware of his foolish action and its potentially disastrous consequences. He did not hear the screech of brakes and neither did he notice the strike down dead looks we gave him, as we drove off. “Please God no more,” I pleaded as my heart took its time settling into a more comfortable rhythm.


I was shook up nice and proper and decided it would be better to close my eyes for a while and shut out the idiotic chaos. Before that, I gave the driver who was new, directions about the route he would take to my workplace. We would be getting into the rush hour traffic and I had some time for a bit of shuteye.


It was taking too long to reach my destination. Was the congestion heavier or was there a jam? I opened my eyes and looked out. There was no traffic jam; in fact, there was no familiar landmark either! Where were we? A wrong left turn and many other wrong right and left turns had brought us to unfamiliar territory. The driver sheepishly admitted we were lost and he had forgotten to get his mobile phone.


“As if the Idiots on the roads were not enough, I had to get one in the car too,” I muttered.

“Kya baat hai ma’am?” he asked.

“Kuch nahin,” was my deceptively sweet reply.


As he asked passers-by, autorickshaw drivers, cycle-rickshaw riders and whoever was kind enough to stop and give us directions (none of the cars stopped!) I searched for my mobile phone in every pocket in my handbag. It wasn’t there. Well, well there was another idiot in the car who had forgotten to carry her phone too.

Ah! Suffer the Idiots!



Glossary:

Kya baat hai ma'am........what is it ma'am or what's the matter

Kuch nahin........................Nothing (at all)

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Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.......

Hola! I'm back after one of those unscheduled breaks (from blogger) that keep happening despite my efforts at organisation and day agendas etc, etc!


The first thing that laid me low was a lesion in a lumbar disc, which I stupidly allowed to happen while I sat in an uncomfortable, unstable chair in a multiplex and refused to get up and leave because I was enjoying the movie so much (not to mention the money I'd paid) So bed rest it was....or so I thought!


The ongoing water situation (read: no water supply) which had started four days prior to my visit to the cinema hall, which the society supervisor had promised would get solved in three days, had not been fully resolved. However complaints and necessity moved the people in charge to buy huge quantities of water everyday. This came in water tankers and would then be pumped up to the overhead tanks. However they could not meet the desired level of need, so water was rationed and we had to be alert to fill up or then do without. Needless to say what happened to my back! The water situation continues, with hope gleaming on the horizon. A lot of drilling went on throughout last night...work is in progress, Hallelujah! I'm happy to report my back is doing better. I decided to leave everything on hold and fill water and rest...it worked!!!

(FYI our side of modern Gurgaon uses ground water. It seems that the original pump had not been drilled deep enough and in the eight years since then the water level had gone down)


I have also been on flood control duty...(hyperbole ha!) A few heavy showers during this period threatened to flood my dining room! The balcony onto which the room opens out to, was getting flooded as both the outlet drains were clogged. Thankfully one was cleared.


I was worried about my potted plants. Rationed water left none for them...but the rains obliged so far. Let's see how I manage to keep them alive and well.


I've visited a few blogs and will be reading the ones I've left. It's nice to be back.

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Tryst With Destiny

"Long years ago, we made a tryst with destiny. Now the time has come when we shall redeem our pledge - not wholly or in full measure - but very substantially. At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom. A moment comes, but rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new, when an age ends, and when the soul of a nation, long suppressed, finds utterance."


This is an excerpt from the famous Independence Day speech made by our first Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru at midnight, on 14th August 1947. Today we celebrate sixty-five years of Independence. We are a young nation.


I am a post Independence child and did not experience life in the British Raj. There were many interesting stories our parents and grandparents told us about those days and about the turmoil of the partition, which created another nation called Pakistan. However, I remember that Goa, a small state on the coast of the Arabian Sea, remained under Portuguese rule until 1961. Portugal held a handful of enclaves on the Indian subcontinent - the districts of Goa, Daman and Diu (now in the state of Gujarat) and Dadra and Nagar Haveli - collectively known as the Estado da Índia. The armed action in December 1961, by the Indian government, ended in a decisive victory for India, ending 451 years of Portuguese colonial rule in Goa! I was a small child and could only understand bits and pieces of the conversation around the dining table. However, I knew there was a battle going on because talk revolved around the safety of my uncle who was in the thick of it.



I woke up to a grey, wet Independence Day this morning. It rains practically every year on the early morning celebrations at the Red Fort, from where the Prime Minister addresses the nation. People in raincoats gathered despite the inclement weather, holding a thatch of umbrellas aloft, against the steady ‘showers of blessing’! Closer home, in our society block of apartments, the rain had thrown all the outdoor preparations for today’s celebrations into disarray. The organisers, comprising mainly women whose children would be performing, did the best of talking, discussing, laughing and worrying they could do, then decided to delay all celebrations until the rain stopped. As I write, it’s 11.00 am and the rain has ceased, I guess things will start moving now.



Today many challenges arise for our young nation, both internal and external. I will not go into these but express my wish and pray for her, in the words of Rabindranath Tagore:


Where The Mind Is Without Fear


Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

Happy Independence Day!

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‘Real’ bros and ‘Rakhi’ bros!!

This year on the thirteenth of August, people in some states of India will be celebrating Raksha Bandhan. This festival celebrates the sister-brother relationship. The significance of the coloured and often embellished thread, which a sister ties around her brother’s wrist, is symbolic of his vows to protect her and help her if she needs his help, as long as he lives. In return the brother gives the sister gifts ; these could be gifts in cash or kind or both! The sister can demand for anything. This is an ancient custom and has its origins in Hindu mythology as well as in historical legends. Many stories have filtered down the ages but I find these two quite imaginative and interesting.


A legendary narrative about Alexander’s invasion of India in 326 BC, suggests that Roxana (or Roshanak) Alexander’s wife, sent a sacred thread to King Porus asking him not to harm her husband in combat. Porus, the Hindu ruler, who battled Alexander at the Hydaspes(Jhelum) river, honoured the request and tied the thread on his wrist as a reminder. When Porus met Alexander in battle, and overpowered him at one point, it is said that the sight of the rakhi (sacred thread) on his wrist prevented him from delivering the final blow. Of course, there is no historical record of this, but the battle ended in defeat for Porus. The legend might have been born out of the fact that Alexander did not kill Porus, instead he made him a Macedonian Satrap or viceroy.



Another well known story built around the rakhi thread is about Rani Karnavati, the Rajput queen of Chittor, a city in Rajasthan and Mughal Emperor Humayun. The Sultan of Gujarat, Bahadur Shah invaded Chittor. In order to save the kingdom, Rani Karnavati sent a rakhi to Humayun, with the request for help. Touched, the Emperor set off with his troops to defend Chittor. However, he arrived too late and Chittor had fallen. The queen along with 13,000 other women in the fortress, had committed Jauhar, preferring to kill themselves to avoid dishonour at the hands of the invading army. Humayun met Bahadur Shah sixty miles from Chittor and laid siege to his camp, blocking his return to Gujarat. Historical records and memoirs do not mention the Rakhi episode and some historians are sceptical about it, but it is mentioned in a mid-seventeenth century Rajasthani account.



My experience of Raksha Bandhan, which is not celebrated in our family, resulted from group extortion plans in college...yes it was emotional blackmail. We were a group of four girls and I was the only one who didn’t observe this ritual, so my two brothers didn’t count in our scheme of things. Raani was the other one who had ‘real’ brothers. “Your bros are our bros,” we declared and that got us two rakhi brothers. Rita was the one who had a boy friend. He was an Iranian called Rada. The majority felt, by virtue of being our friend’s boy friend, Rada became our brother too! He didn’t have a chance against this bizarre argument! All three boys took it with good humour and as we loaded our pockets, theirs got lighter. They remained our ‘rakhi’ bros until we were in college. What had started as fun and games to collect some extra pocket money ended into a sister-brother bonding! It was amazing how a little bit of coloured thread could alter attitudes and bond strangers into a sacred relationship. However, that was then...years ago in a small, conservative city. Today would be a different story.


Rada and Rita broke up, Raani died and our group lost contact as each one moved away to different parts of the country. Every year I’m reminded of my rakhi virjis and the sweetness of a relationship that was beyond mere friendship and blood ties...


Glossary:

Raksha Bandhan.......raksha means to protect/protection. Bandhan means bond or ties

Rakhi..........sacred or holy threads, made of coloured fibre and embellished with beads, sequins etc. Some are quite big and cumbersome. Most people prefer the simple threads.

Rani.......Hindi word for Queen

Jauhar......... Mass suicide...ancient Indian tradition of honorary self immolation of women and subsequent march of men to the battle field (against any odds) to end their life with respect. It was followed by the Rajput clans in order to avoid capture and dishonour at the hands of their enemies. Such painful method (burning) was preferred over other ways like poisoning or hanging, because Muslim invaders buried the dead women instead of cremating them.(Wikipedia)


Virji...........'Vir' is one of the Punjabi words for brother. 'Ji' is suffixed as a sign of respect. I have added an 's' to make it plural and this is an anglicised way of speaking and not the Punjabi way of making plurals.


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My first award...

I received this award from Rachna. Thanks Rachna, I've never received an award and I'm thrilled. (In fact I don't even know from where one gets these awards on the blogoshere to present)

A Traveller's travails

A visit to the Railway Museum revealed some gems of information, the best of course was that the trains in India in the early 1900's did not have ensuite toilets in the carriages, and one would have to wait for the next station to use the facilities. God help you if it were an emergency. And that brings me to the post for today...the result of one such emergency!

Following is an actual complaint made by Okhil Chandra Sen, in shall we say 'Hinglish.' It is hilarious in expression and language employed, but that was no impediment to the consequent, productive result.




Okhil Babu’s letter to the Railway Department (early 1900’s )


“I am arrive by passenger train Ahmedpur station and my belly is too much swelling with jackfruit. I am therefore went to privy. Just I doing the nuisance that guard making whistle blow for train to go off and I am running with ‘lotah’ in one hand and ‘dhoti’ in the next when I am fall over and expose all my shocking to man and female women on plateform. I am got leaved at Ahmedpur station. This too much bad, if passenger go to make dung that dam guard not wait train five minutes for him. I am therefore pray your honour to make big fine on that guard for public sake. Otherwise I am making big report to papers.”


Okhil Chandra Sen wrote this letter to the Sahibganj Divisional Railway Office in 1909. It is on display at the Railway Museum in New Delhi. It was also reproduced under the caption “Travellers’ Tales” in the Far Eastern Economic Review.

Any guesses why this letter is of historic value?

It led to the introduction of TOILETS in Indian trains!!!!!!!!!


Three cheers for Okhil Babu......Hip..hip...hurray!



Glossary:

Lotah............a globular water container used in India, Myanmar etc.

Dhoti......it is a traditional garment worn by men in India and many other countries in the Asian sub-continent. It'sa rectanglar piece of unstitched cloth, wrapped around the waist and knotted. It covers the lower part of the body including the legs.

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