How often and easily we use the word “hate” in our daily lives – we say we “hate” math, bittergourd, dogs, Bangalore traffic or the next door neighbour. We just use it as a substitute for “extreme dislike” which is the impotent version of “hate”. Hate is as intense as “EVIL” or the DEVIL himself. It is an emotion that most of us are not even capable of imagining to understand. Hatred is more difficult to sustain than love, or at least needs very strong motivation to sustain. Hatred goes with an unceasing desire to seek revenge and requires focused energy and sustained anger. It does not let you rest until you have seen the offender suffer as much. More often than not, it requires a lot of time too. The retribution is not instant – it comes too late to be meaningful. So you seethe with anger, spend sleepless nights, and move on with that sole motive to the exclusion of everything else.This pain of keeping the anger alive in the quest for revenge makes the avenger unhappy and bitter and in the end you are still not happy because by inflicting the worst punishment on the offender you still cannot make it all ok. You are just participating in a cycle of anger, hatred and revenge. That is the futility of hatred and revenge. The success of organisations in the business of hatred stems from their ability to elevate personal grievances of individuals to the level of a grander "cause" - religion,race, nationality, caste, class to provide a "motivation"for sustaining the anger and hatred. Then the futility of revenge at personal level seems to get compensated by the delusion of being soldiers for a greater cause.
I set out to complete one simple task this morning - surrender the telephone instrument for the connection which I had already surrendered 2 days ago. Yeah, you have to give it back to them when you give up your connection, so dont trash it even if it is broken or doesnt work - of course it doesn't work, the telephone company gave it to you remember?
Well, the instrument is to be returned at a different office and not at the office that accepts the request for the termination of service. The job assigned to me was to take the instrument to the telephone office on 15th cross . Sounded easy as I had passed this office on my way to the bank ever so often. It had a board which said BESCOM which had a vague ring of telecom and I was pretty sure that it was the telephone office - it smelt of a government office, dirty and ancient and a lot of workers dressed in Khaki were seen around the place - this must be it! But when I queued at the information counter, i was slightly uncomfortable to notice electricity bills in the hands of those before me. Now are they not supposed to go to the K.E.B. office.?Why are they in the telephones office? Something was surely wrong, unless they paid electricity bills in the telephones office these days? In any case i decided to confirm and asked the person next to me whether it was the telephones office. He gave me a long hard look to check if I was blind, or if I was someone from "Candid Camera" or Mad TV . When he had confirmed that I was just a batty middle aged woman, he said" electricity office - Bangalore Electricity supply company!" So Bescom had nothing to do with telecom! Now that BESCOM was NOT the telephones office I wondered what Bangalore telphone company might be called - Batcom, Btel- I had no idea!! It used to be called BT just like the electricity office used to be called K.E.B. - and then one day when I wasn't paying attention they changed the names!! So i asked my neighbour in the queue where the telephone office was and he told me it was down the same road and helpfully added that it was called BSNL! That was when I looked at the telephone bill in my hand and saw of course it was called B.S.N.L!
And so I went to the office and was asked where the directories were - I said I was only asked to surrender the equipment and the lady told me "Equipment means telephone equipment and the directories". Very useful information but given a little too late.
I asked them when I could return and the girl said" oh, you come.we will be here." When I went back with the directories at 1:55, I was told it was lunch time between 2 and 3 and I had come at the wrong time. (Yet another lesson . Telephones offices have lunch between 2 and 3 and it starts by 1:50)
Anyway finally i was given a recepit for the "equipment" received and told to go to yet another office for the account settlement.
After so much of learning, I need some rest and so this will have to wait till Monday. I am sure it will be as exciting!
Well, the instrument is to be returned at a different office and not at the office that accepts the request for the termination of service. The job assigned to me was to take the instrument to the telephone office on 15th cross . Sounded easy as I had passed this office on my way to the bank ever so often. It had a board which said BESCOM which had a vague ring of telecom and I was pretty sure that it was the telephone office - it smelt of a government office, dirty and ancient and a lot of workers dressed in Khaki were seen around the place - this must be it! But when I queued at the information counter, i was slightly uncomfortable to notice electricity bills in the hands of those before me. Now are they not supposed to go to the K.E.B. office.?Why are they in the telephones office? Something was surely wrong, unless they paid electricity bills in the telephones office these days? In any case i decided to confirm and asked the person next to me whether it was the telephones office. He gave me a long hard look to check if I was blind, or if I was someone from "Candid Camera" or Mad TV . When he had confirmed that I was just a batty middle aged woman, he said" electricity office - Bangalore Electricity supply company!" So Bescom had nothing to do with telecom! Now that BESCOM was NOT the telephones office I wondered what Bangalore telphone company might be called - Batcom, Btel- I had no idea!! It used to be called BT just like the electricity office used to be called K.E.B. - and then one day when I wasn't paying attention they changed the names!! So i asked my neighbour in the queue where the telephone office was and he told me it was down the same road and helpfully added that it was called BSNL! That was when I looked at the telephone bill in my hand and saw of course it was called B.S.N.L!
And so I went to the office and was asked where the directories were - I said I was only asked to surrender the equipment and the lady told me "Equipment means telephone equipment and the directories". Very useful information but given a little too late.
I asked them when I could return and the girl said" oh, you come.we will be here." When I went back with the directories at 1:55, I was told it was lunch time between 2 and 3 and I had come at the wrong time. (Yet another lesson . Telephones offices have lunch between 2 and 3 and it starts by 1:50)
Anyway finally i was given a recepit for the "equipment" received and told to go to yet another office for the account settlement.
After so much of learning, I need some rest and so this will have to wait till Monday. I am sure it will be as exciting!
7:30 a.m everyday:They are outside my gate - a young mother with a beautiful kid in her arms and another slightly older, sleepy boy attending kindergarten. They wait there for the school bus that stops outside my house. Over the past week, a secret rapport has developed between me and the kid unnoticed by others - I wave to him and he smiles shyly. Earlier he would bury his face in his mother's shoulders and then slowly look up to see if I am gone. Now he knows I am a friend. There is trust and speechless bonding - as he stretches a tiny finger and points out things to me that I would not have observed myself - a blackbird on the electric wire, a squirrel running on the wall, rain water dripping from the palm fronds or a huge milliped slowly crossing the space between two trees. Following his little fingers, I see some miracle everyday. And another wonderful thing I see is how the child is totally in the moment - he smiles at these and you can see that he is one with what he observes and his whole being is happy. He looks at the bird as if it is the only black bird in the world and the only one he will ever see. His face lights up and the day feels brighter for me.
”Former Miss India Nafisa Joseph dead”
When I saw the headlines in the television news this morning I remembered the beautiful girl I had seen in “The Wearhouse” on commercial street 4 years ago. She was autographing tee shirts all of that day there for her fans who had queued up. When the sales assistant asked me if I wanted the tee shirt I had purchased to be autographed, she looked up and I saw a very pretty face and flawless skin. I remembered feeling a little jealous that nature had showered so much of her bounty on one person. Later I had seen her anchoring many television shows and admired the way she carried herself with so much confidence and her ability to articulate so well. She was not just a pretty face. She spoke sensibly and well and deserved every bit of her success. She had so much going for her and so much she could have done if she had decided to. Judging by the number of youngsters who had queued up for her autograph, she was obviously some kind of a role model to the younger generation – she could have worked for a cause is only she had channelised her gifts in that direction.
I have read that people resort to suicide if they perceive one of the following:
No hope for the future.
No hope that things will ever change.
No hope that about ever being well or stable.
No hope about their ability to meet their goals in life
No hope that the pain will ever stop.
No hope about being able to change it.
This was a woman who was anchoring the celebrations on Star TV for Simi Garewal’s completion of 100 episodes of her show “Rendezvous”. There she was among the who’s who of Indian business and society carrying all of her 25 years with total comfort and ease among the ambanis and the bachchans.
Are we increasingly learning better social skills and the ability to deal with others while we are unable to cope with our own selves? Are we becoming too soft that we would rather opt out of tough situations than stand up to them and face them bravely? Is it too tough to ask for help, are there only fair weather friends?
********************************************************
From "If" by Rudyard Kipling:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings-nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And-which is more-you'll be a Man, my son!
When I saw the headlines in the television news this morning I remembered the beautiful girl I had seen in “The Wearhouse” on commercial street 4 years ago. She was autographing tee shirts all of that day there for her fans who had queued up. When the sales assistant asked me if I wanted the tee shirt I had purchased to be autographed, she looked up and I saw a very pretty face and flawless skin. I remembered feeling a little jealous that nature had showered so much of her bounty on one person. Later I had seen her anchoring many television shows and admired the way she carried herself with so much confidence and her ability to articulate so well. She was not just a pretty face. She spoke sensibly and well and deserved every bit of her success. She had so much going for her and so much she could have done if she had decided to. Judging by the number of youngsters who had queued up for her autograph, she was obviously some kind of a role model to the younger generation – she could have worked for a cause is only she had channelised her gifts in that direction.
I have read that people resort to suicide if they perceive one of the following:
No hope for the future.
No hope that things will ever change.
No hope that about ever being well or stable.
No hope about their ability to meet their goals in life
No hope that the pain will ever stop.
No hope about being able to change it.
This was a woman who was anchoring the celebrations on Star TV for Simi Garewal’s completion of 100 episodes of her show “Rendezvous”. There she was among the who’s who of Indian business and society carrying all of her 25 years with total comfort and ease among the ambanis and the bachchans.
Are we increasingly learning better social skills and the ability to deal with others while we are unable to cope with our own selves? Are we becoming too soft that we would rather opt out of tough situations than stand up to them and face them bravely? Is it too tough to ask for help, are there only fair weather friends?
********************************************************
From "If" by Rudyard Kipling:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings-nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And-which is more-you'll be a Man, my son!
There is a television quiz program for school children called “India’s Child Genius”. The children who qualify to participate in the program are extremely bright and clever, good in academics (They invariably introduce themselves as “ I always top in my class”) and seem to have an extraordinary memory for facts and figures and obviously have a very high Intelligence quotient.
But is this what genius is all about? This is the etymology of the word:
genius - 1390, from L. genius "guardian deity or spirit which watches over each person from birth; spirit, incarnation, wit, talent," from root of gignere "beget, produce" (see kin), from PIE base *gen- "produce." Meaning "person of natural intelligence or talent" first recorded 1649.
All these children obviously have a natural gift for learning but still genius seems inappropriate to define them. It seems to me that a true genius would never be able to qualify for one of these competitions because if a child is able to conform to the demands of a structured educational system and these type of competitions , his genius would have been numbed if he was born with one. That explains why a mathematical genius like Srinivasan Ramanujam actually failed in their school (of course not in math but in English and History and all other sciences!) R.K.Narayan failed twice in his university entrance examination. Einstein failed the qualifying examination for Engineering studies!!
Genius cannot be acquired, taught, developed, practiced. You have to born with it. An advertisement for Apple Computers defines genius best:
“Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round heads in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules. You can quote them. Disagree with them. Glorify or vilify them. But the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.”
So it may actually be good news for kids who did not qualify for these programs - they may not know who invented the telescope or what the parliament of Russia is called but may actually have genius for something else. Parents, please do yourselves and the world a favour - stop pushing them to be "like" others and help bring out the best in them! No television program or competition or examination has yet been designed to discover a genius!!
But is this what genius is all about? This is the etymology of the word:
genius - 1390, from L. genius "guardian deity or spirit which watches over each person from birth; spirit, incarnation, wit, talent," from root of gignere "beget, produce" (see kin), from PIE base *gen- "produce." Meaning "person of natural intelligence or talent" first recorded 1649.
All these children obviously have a natural gift for learning but still genius seems inappropriate to define them. It seems to me that a true genius would never be able to qualify for one of these competitions because if a child is able to conform to the demands of a structured educational system and these type of competitions , his genius would have been numbed if he was born with one. That explains why a mathematical genius like Srinivasan Ramanujam actually failed in their school (of course not in math but in English and History and all other sciences!) R.K.Narayan failed twice in his university entrance examination. Einstein failed the qualifying examination for Engineering studies!!
Genius cannot be acquired, taught, developed, practiced. You have to born with it. An advertisement for Apple Computers defines genius best:
“Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round heads in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules. You can quote them. Disagree with them. Glorify or vilify them. But the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.”
So it may actually be good news for kids who did not qualify for these programs - they may not know who invented the telescope or what the parliament of Russia is called but may actually have genius for something else. Parents, please do yourselves and the world a favour - stop pushing them to be "like" others and help bring out the best in them! No television program or competition or examination has yet been designed to discover a genius!!
While comparing Carnatic music with Hindustani or Western Classical, I have always wondered about the importance attached to the lyrics by using specific compositions generally known to lovers of music. It seemed so much of a limiting factor, and sometimes even a distraction from enjoying the beauty of the raga being rendered. On the contrary, a Hindustani rendition seemed to have unlimited space available for the singer to scale up and down, in and through, exploring a raga completely,pushing to the fullest limits of the singer's creativity.
I realised the value of lyrics suddenly the other day when I heard Lalgudi jayaraman playing a famous song by Subramanya Bharathi - "Theerada Vilayaatu Pillai". The song is about the uncontrollable prankster ( theerada vilayattu pillai) Kannan ( another name for Lord Krishna) and goes on to talk about his naughty tricks on his playmates. Jayaraman's violin told the story with the frustration of a Gopi who was so fed up of the incessant tricks - it complained but not out of anger but with the indulgence of one who could not help loving the naughty rascal; it narrated the tales half smiling and half annoyed at the little one's audacity. And in the tale of Krishna bringing fruits to the gopi to eat and then snatching it away while she is settling down to enjoy it, one could actually hear the fruit being slapped out of the girl's hand - it was such magic. The experience was so total - a lovely story,a nice poem and music that brought it all to life. My knowledge of the song and the words created this special rapport between me and the music which would have been lost on someone who just related to the music and didnt know the words of the song.
Perhaps this is the reason why lyrics still have such importance in Carnatic music - to reach out to a larger audience, to create the mood and a rapport between the singer and the listener. And that also explains why so many South Indians can relate to carnatic music so easily.Otherwise it would have remained too elitist and exclusive.
I realised the value of lyrics suddenly the other day when I heard Lalgudi jayaraman playing a famous song by Subramanya Bharathi - "Theerada Vilayaatu Pillai". The song is about the uncontrollable prankster ( theerada vilayattu pillai) Kannan ( another name for Lord Krishna) and goes on to talk about his naughty tricks on his playmates. Jayaraman's violin told the story with the frustration of a Gopi who was so fed up of the incessant tricks - it complained but not out of anger but with the indulgence of one who could not help loving the naughty rascal; it narrated the tales half smiling and half annoyed at the little one's audacity. And in the tale of Krishna bringing fruits to the gopi to eat and then snatching it away while she is settling down to enjoy it, one could actually hear the fruit being slapped out of the girl's hand - it was such magic. The experience was so total - a lovely story,a nice poem and music that brought it all to life. My knowledge of the song and the words created this special rapport between me and the music which would have been lost on someone who just related to the music and didnt know the words of the song.
Perhaps this is the reason why lyrics still have such importance in Carnatic music - to reach out to a larger audience, to create the mood and a rapport between the singer and the listener. And that also explains why so many South Indians can relate to carnatic music so easily.Otherwise it would have remained too elitist and exclusive.
No way an angel, but it's Charlize all the way
(Review of film "Monster" by Siddhartha Vaidyanathan)
There are a few characters who plead to be brushed
aside. And if you have watched her previous films,
Charlize Theron’s roles would perfectly fit the bill.
Her presence is in all her previous movies was just
that – a presence - and was easily replaceable.
Whether it was doing cartwheels on the beach and
leading a chic lifestyle in ‘Sweet November’ – apart
from devoting one month to each of her boyfriends – or
a sweet goody-two-shoes in ‘Cider House Rules’ or even
a paranoid wife in Devil’s Advocate – whose sole
purpose is to get a supernatural vision – we hardly
bother. So it’s no wonder that the recurring theme
when the Oscar nominations were announced was,
‘Charlize who’.
And then we realize Charlize why, when we see
‘Monster’. No goody maneuvers here as she crisply
slips into the character of Aileen Wuornos, a
prostitute who killed seven of her clients, was
famously branded as ‘America’s first female serial
killer’ and was convicted in Florida in 2002.
Ironically, the witness who gives the evidence against
her is her lesbian lover, Selby Wall (Christina
Ricci), and for whose love Aileen was willing to go to
any extent.
A miserable childhood riddled with fantasies of
stardom; of true love and a fretting for the ideal
guy. All this result in Aileen turning into a
hitchhiking hooker - a deeply frustrated one – and
takes her to point where she has just five dollars and
seriously contemplating suicide. That’s when she meets
Selby, in a gay bar.
It’s ironic that Aileen, who has fantasized about men
all her life, would ultimately find her ideal partner
in Selby, an ideal example of muddled adolescence. At
the same time Aileen has a terrible experience –
ending in murder - with a man who acts like a john but
actually tries to rape and kill her. Completely
shaken, Aileen wants to lead a respectable life and
give up the ways of the street once and for all. But
after some humiliating interview experiences and
Selby’s constant nagging for a fun and party life, she
is left with no choice.
Back to the ways of the street, but this time of blood
and gore. As a paranoid response to the rape-attempt,
she unleashes her anger on her clients. She takes
their money, traps them semi-naked – pretty much a
point of no return – and then shoots them with
cold-blooded venom. With that money, and her client’s
car on most occasions, she keeps Selby happy as they
swing through clubs and bars of Florida. The tough act
of oscillating from a psychotic killer to a loving
girlfriend within such a short period of time is
executed without the viewer even noticing. And
Charlize pulls it off with a fantastic swagger -
pushing her hair back with machismo, puffing a
cigarette with eyes askance, and spewing profanity at
one and all.
The most disappointing aspect about the movie is how
Ricci (Selby) dampens the intensity with her inept
performance. There are occasions when Aileen is
desperately traumatized, when Selby chooses to contort
her face into a apparently confused state and utters
some powerful statements insipidly. In this case,
Selby will probably be the character being brushed
aside by many.
Inevitably, Aileen gets caught, when she is looking
for some change to make a phone call, and gets her due
from the jury. But the enduring moment is when she is
captured outside a bar, surrounded by cops and she
wails out, ‘I just want to call my girl’.
The phenomenal face-change that Toni G has given
Charlize and her ability to sustain the intensity
lives on once the movie is done. There are shades of
Hilary Swank, winner of the best actress award in 2000
for her role as a cross-dressing teenager in ‘Boys
Don’t Cry’. Swank’s performace was described by the
New York Times as “a bleak slice of American life that
leaves a bitter aftertaste”. Charlize's deliverence
isn’t too far behind.
(Review of film "Monster" by Siddhartha Vaidyanathan)
There are a few characters who plead to be brushed
aside. And if you have watched her previous films,
Charlize Theron’s roles would perfectly fit the bill.
Her presence is in all her previous movies was just
that – a presence - and was easily replaceable.
Whether it was doing cartwheels on the beach and
leading a chic lifestyle in ‘Sweet November’ – apart
from devoting one month to each of her boyfriends – or
a sweet goody-two-shoes in ‘Cider House Rules’ or even
a paranoid wife in Devil’s Advocate – whose sole
purpose is to get a supernatural vision – we hardly
bother. So it’s no wonder that the recurring theme
when the Oscar nominations were announced was,
‘Charlize who’.
And then we realize Charlize why, when we see
‘Monster’. No goody maneuvers here as she crisply
slips into the character of Aileen Wuornos, a
prostitute who killed seven of her clients, was
famously branded as ‘America’s first female serial
killer’ and was convicted in Florida in 2002.
Ironically, the witness who gives the evidence against
her is her lesbian lover, Selby Wall (Christina
Ricci), and for whose love Aileen was willing to go to
any extent.
A miserable childhood riddled with fantasies of
stardom; of true love and a fretting for the ideal
guy. All this result in Aileen turning into a
hitchhiking hooker - a deeply frustrated one – and
takes her to point where she has just five dollars and
seriously contemplating suicide. That’s when she meets
Selby, in a gay bar.
It’s ironic that Aileen, who has fantasized about men
all her life, would ultimately find her ideal partner
in Selby, an ideal example of muddled adolescence. At
the same time Aileen has a terrible experience –
ending in murder - with a man who acts like a john but
actually tries to rape and kill her. Completely
shaken, Aileen wants to lead a respectable life and
give up the ways of the street once and for all. But
after some humiliating interview experiences and
Selby’s constant nagging for a fun and party life, she
is left with no choice.
Back to the ways of the street, but this time of blood
and gore. As a paranoid response to the rape-attempt,
she unleashes her anger on her clients. She takes
their money, traps them semi-naked – pretty much a
point of no return – and then shoots them with
cold-blooded venom. With that money, and her client’s
car on most occasions, she keeps Selby happy as they
swing through clubs and bars of Florida. The tough act
of oscillating from a psychotic killer to a loving
girlfriend within such a short period of time is
executed without the viewer even noticing. And
Charlize pulls it off with a fantastic swagger -
pushing her hair back with machismo, puffing a
cigarette with eyes askance, and spewing profanity at
one and all.
The most disappointing aspect about the movie is how
Ricci (Selby) dampens the intensity with her inept
performance. There are occasions when Aileen is
desperately traumatized, when Selby chooses to contort
her face into a apparently confused state and utters
some powerful statements insipidly. In this case,
Selby will probably be the character being brushed
aside by many.
Inevitably, Aileen gets caught, when she is looking
for some change to make a phone call, and gets her due
from the jury. But the enduring moment is when she is
captured outside a bar, surrounded by cops and she
wails out, ‘I just want to call my girl’.
The phenomenal face-change that Toni G has given
Charlize and her ability to sustain the intensity
lives on once the movie is done. There are shades of
Hilary Swank, winner of the best actress award in 2000
for her role as a cross-dressing teenager in ‘Boys
Don’t Cry’. Swank’s performace was described by the
New York Times as “a bleak slice of American life that
leaves a bitter aftertaste”. Charlize's deliverence
isn’t too far behind.
Yesterday, there was a message on the answering machine from someone called Manjiri. Normally I would have ignored any call from strangers . Must be one more person selling me credit cards or home loans – but Manjri? The name was too classy to be associated with someone who would call you at odd hours and pester you to take a loan. Though everyone says almost reflexively that oft abused statement, “what is in a name?” and feel good like they invented the phrase, names do carry their value at least for me. I find it impossible to be rude to people with names as sensitive as Charulatha, Chitralekha,Kalpana and Madhulika.
It is the same when it comes to ordering drinks. I invariably end up ordering something with a name like Green eye opener, Pink sunrise, Blue Sky, Electric lemonade or frozen passion without caring to see what it might contain.While you cannot force me to have even a drop of grasshopper or screwdriver - no, not even with a gun pressed to my temple!
And when it comes to desserts and sweets, while I am indifferent to the laddoos and Mysorepaks and Jalebis , it is entirely impossible when you offer me something with a name like champakali or abor khabo or rum n raisin,death by chocolate or wild n reckless.
Very highly creative minds must be working at naming these for the likes of dumb me. But there is a down side to this too. Names such as this tend to set the expectation level very high and can put off the customer if they do not live up to it. For example I would be more disappointed with a Manjiri selling loans or slimming capsules than if it were a Geetha or a Sudha.I would feel very cheated with Manjiri for not living up to her name.
My aunt tells me that I am not alone in this - she asked her son, my cousin, to buy snakegourd from the vegetable market. He refused to ask for something with a name as slimy as snake gourd. She tried persuading him with its Tamil name " Pudalangai". No go!! equally bad or may be worse! He saw her disappointment and tried to meet her halfway. May be it had abetter name in Hindi? She said "Chichinda." That was the final straw! she never got to eat her favorite pudalangai as long as he did the shopping!!!
Looks like this runs in the family!
It is the same when it comes to ordering drinks. I invariably end up ordering something with a name like Green eye opener, Pink sunrise, Blue Sky, Electric lemonade or frozen passion without caring to see what it might contain.While you cannot force me to have even a drop of grasshopper or screwdriver - no, not even with a gun pressed to my temple!
And when it comes to desserts and sweets, while I am indifferent to the laddoos and Mysorepaks and Jalebis , it is entirely impossible when you offer me something with a name like champakali or abor khabo or rum n raisin,death by chocolate or wild n reckless.
Very highly creative minds must be working at naming these for the likes of dumb me. But there is a down side to this too. Names such as this tend to set the expectation level very high and can put off the customer if they do not live up to it. For example I would be more disappointed with a Manjiri selling loans or slimming capsules than if it were a Geetha or a Sudha.I would feel very cheated with Manjiri for not living up to her name.
My aunt tells me that I am not alone in this - she asked her son, my cousin, to buy snakegourd from the vegetable market. He refused to ask for something with a name as slimy as snake gourd. She tried persuading him with its Tamil name " Pudalangai". No go!! equally bad or may be worse! He saw her disappointment and tried to meet her halfway. May be it had abetter name in Hindi? She said "Chichinda." That was the final straw! she never got to eat her favorite pudalangai as long as he did the shopping!!!
Looks like this runs in the family!
Life is so strange – sometimes total strangers leave a mark in your memory forever.
Like the song that floated from the window of a house in a street where you went just once for something.
Or the warm smile of an old lady after you helped her cross the road
Or a scene outside a house where you had stopped the car during a traffic jam – a father and daughter sharing a joke or a little girl with a dog .
There is something intense and captivating in that moment that your memory just captures it like a photograph. You never knew these people but they have touched some part of you.
Today Julie Tisdale, a complete stranger , whom I shall never meet, came into my life for a few moments.I shared a whiff of a special moment from her life through a thank you note that she wrote which found its way into my hands after many years.
I had picked up “Still Life with Woodpecker” at a used book store yesterday. This morning as I turned over to page 39 this card fell from the page. I should have thrown the card away and proceeded to read but somehow it had the fascination of a clue in a treasure hunt. So I tossed the book aside and read the card in stead:
A tiny elegant personalized card used for thank you notes or short private notes, the top flap announced the sender’s name in a stylish font:
Mr.& Mrs William E.Tisdale, jr.
Inside was a handwritten note:
Dear Kar-Kar,
You guys are the greatest ! What a perfect gift you chose in the T.V. In fact, it really was my favorite. The shower was so much fun; I couldn't have asked for a funner evening. Thanks for everything.
Love
Julie
P.S. Bill loves the T.V. too. So, now he can cook & I can watch Knots on the big one!
This note gave me the thrill of a cryptic clue in a treasure hunt. I tried to see what clues lay in the letter about the person who wrote it and the background of the note.
There was a shower where Karkarand company had gifted a T.V to Julie, currently Mrs Tinsdale Jr..- More likely a bridal shower .
Julie is English or American? “favorite” and “funner” are certainly American and then the reference to Knots – most certainly American!
Knots Landing, television's second longest running drama (after Gunsmoke), ran from 1979 to 1993 on CBS television. Produced by Lorimar (owned by Time/Warner) the 14 seasons focused on the lives and loves of neighbors who lived in a southern California cul-de-sac.
So Kar- Kar used the thank you note as a bookmark, which found its way into the used book store along with the book.
Kar-Kar, very thoughtful of you! Btw,how did you like the book?
Julie, I hope you still love the television as much. Which soap do you watch now that Knots is over?
Bill, how is the cooking coming along?
This is much like watching one episode of a long running soap – you don’t know what happened before and will never know what happened afterward.
This tiny card and the 4 lines told a story better than some of our 2 and half hour movies.
Like the song that floated from the window of a house in a street where you went just once for something.
Or the warm smile of an old lady after you helped her cross the road
Or a scene outside a house where you had stopped the car during a traffic jam – a father and daughter sharing a joke or a little girl with a dog .
There is something intense and captivating in that moment that your memory just captures it like a photograph. You never knew these people but they have touched some part of you.
Today Julie Tisdale, a complete stranger , whom I shall never meet, came into my life for a few moments.I shared a whiff of a special moment from her life through a thank you note that she wrote which found its way into my hands after many years.
I had picked up “Still Life with Woodpecker” at a used book store yesterday. This morning as I turned over to page 39 this card fell from the page. I should have thrown the card away and proceeded to read but somehow it had the fascination of a clue in a treasure hunt. So I tossed the book aside and read the card in stead:
A tiny elegant personalized card used for thank you notes or short private notes, the top flap announced the sender’s name in a stylish font:
Mr.& Mrs William E.Tisdale, jr.
Inside was a handwritten note:
Dear Kar-Kar,
You guys are the greatest ! What a perfect gift you chose in the T.V. In fact, it really was my favorite. The shower was so much fun; I couldn't have asked for a funner evening. Thanks for everything.
Love
Julie
P.S. Bill loves the T.V. too. So, now he can cook & I can watch Knots on the big one!
This note gave me the thrill of a cryptic clue in a treasure hunt. I tried to see what clues lay in the letter about the person who wrote it and the background of the note.
There was a shower where Karkarand company had gifted a T.V to Julie, currently Mrs Tinsdale Jr..- More likely a bridal shower .
Julie is English or American? “favorite” and “funner” are certainly American and then the reference to Knots – most certainly American!
Knots Landing, television's second longest running drama (after Gunsmoke), ran from 1979 to 1993 on CBS television. Produced by Lorimar (owned by Time/Warner) the 14 seasons focused on the lives and loves of neighbors who lived in a southern California cul-de-sac.
So Kar- Kar used the thank you note as a bookmark, which found its way into the used book store along with the book.
Kar-Kar, very thoughtful of you! Btw,how did you like the book?
Julie, I hope you still love the television as much. Which soap do you watch now that Knots is over?
Bill, how is the cooking coming along?
This is much like watching one episode of a long running soap – you don’t know what happened before and will never know what happened afterward.
This tiny card and the 4 lines told a story better than some of our 2 and half hour movies.
Recently I read the biography of a living legend in Indian Music – an icon whose name is pronounced with a near reverence by one and all. She is held in esteem not only for her lovely voice and her contribution to music but also for her personality. There is an aura almost spiritual about her. She never seemed to even know the magnitude of her success. For her, singing was just something she did naturally from her soul like the lark and the cuckoo – she did not do it for money or fame.
She was born into a caste which did not have much acceptance in society – they were called the “entertainment class” but her marriage, her dedication to her work, her personality and her way of life raised her completely above her birth and totally “Sanskritised” her that no one cares to mention anything disparaging about the class she came from. She is celebrated and loved for what she is – the person, the singer, one of the rare gems of India, yes, a Bharat Ratna..
As a twenty year old, she too had a great love; a handsome and brilliant young man who was another musical phenomenon of her time. She thought there would be no purpose in her life if she did not marry him.
But fate had other plans and she married another man who was deeply in love with her. This man polished her, drew the career path for her, steered its course to the last detail, found the powerful backing for show casing her music in the right arenas and managed the publicity and literally created her brand equity. She just knew how to sing and sing from her heart and he did the rest. Without him, her biographer says, she “ might just have been a face in the crowd, a great voice among several great voices. With him she became the “queen of music, a title bestowed upon her by Jawaharlal Nehru.
But in the end was she happy? Would she have been happier had she married the man she was so much in love with? Hypothetical questions for which one will never know the answers including herself. Who knows what might have been?
Perhaps, just perhaps, the woman in her might have been fulfilled and contented if she had followed the course of her love but the singer would have had a brilliant few years and then become a footnote in musical history. Voices like that are not created by God to be lost in a crowd . She deserves every bit of all the adulations, accolades and adoration that she has enjoyed all her life, sharing space with presidents and princes. We should be grateful that she chose the path she did for what she gave to the world and what the world gave back to her.
What might have brought her more happiness than the contentment of having served Man and God well during one’s limited life and be recognized for one’s worth during one’s lifetime?
She was born into a caste which did not have much acceptance in society – they were called the “entertainment class” but her marriage, her dedication to her work, her personality and her way of life raised her completely above her birth and totally “Sanskritised” her that no one cares to mention anything disparaging about the class she came from. She is celebrated and loved for what she is – the person, the singer, one of the rare gems of India, yes, a Bharat Ratna..
As a twenty year old, she too had a great love; a handsome and brilliant young man who was another musical phenomenon of her time. She thought there would be no purpose in her life if she did not marry him.
But fate had other plans and she married another man who was deeply in love with her. This man polished her, drew the career path for her, steered its course to the last detail, found the powerful backing for show casing her music in the right arenas and managed the publicity and literally created her brand equity. She just knew how to sing and sing from her heart and he did the rest. Without him, her biographer says, she “ might just have been a face in the crowd, a great voice among several great voices. With him she became the “queen of music, a title bestowed upon her by Jawaharlal Nehru.
But in the end was she happy? Would she have been happier had she married the man she was so much in love with? Hypothetical questions for which one will never know the answers including herself. Who knows what might have been?
Perhaps, just perhaps, the woman in her might have been fulfilled and contented if she had followed the course of her love but the singer would have had a brilliant few years and then become a footnote in musical history. Voices like that are not created by God to be lost in a crowd . She deserves every bit of all the adulations, accolades and adoration that she has enjoyed all her life, sharing space with presidents and princes. We should be grateful that she chose the path she did for what she gave to the world and what the world gave back to her.
What might have brought her more happiness than the contentment of having served Man and God well during one’s limited life and be recognized for one’s worth during one’s lifetime?
There is something to be said about going to school again as an adult. I realised that it brings out some of the nice things in us which we forget as we grow old:
You do not hesitate to admit that you don't know something.
You make mistakes but still keep trying.
You can laugh at yourself with others easily without any hurt.
You prefer to keep things simple.
Finally,
you are not afraid of failing.
Simple principles but so tough to apply in our day to day life - wonder why?
You do not hesitate to admit that you don't know something.
You make mistakes but still keep trying.
You can laugh at yourself with others easily without any hurt.
You prefer to keep things simple.
Finally,
you are not afraid of failing.
Simple principles but so tough to apply in our day to day life - wonder why?
I have always been fascinated by the picture of the two headed bird on the BMTC buses. The two heads look away from one another and its body seems to be made of gold. It is called the Ghanda Bherunda and it is a mythical two headed bird which was the symbol of the Mysore kingdom and now used by the BMTC in its logo. Not much is known of this bird except that Vishnu in the form of Lakshminarasimha has a shrine where he is worshipped in this form in the Pancha Narasimha ksetram in Andhra Pradesh. It is believed that Lord Vishnu took this form during his Narasimha avatar .
Hindu mythology and folklore has its own share of such interesting birds and animals,
Some of which are very poetic:
Chakora, a Himalayan partridge, the lover of the moon, is said to feed on the rays of the moon.
Chakravaha is a variety of duck. Legend has it that pairs of these birds are souls of two lovers, who are supposed to sleep apart at night endlessly calling to one another:
“chakava,,may I come” and “ No. Chakavi!”
The Chataka bird is supposed to be a type of swallow that drinks only drops of rain as they fall from the clouds and nothing else!
Hamsa, the swan immortalized by Ravivarma in his famous painting Hamsa Damayanthi, was supposed to be a celestial bird that separated water from milk!
But some of the undocumented mythical creatures of my childhood have continued to fascinate me. These were used by the elders in the house to bring disobedient children under control.
One was a man called Poochandi – his name was typically brought out to make children eat, go to bed early or when they refused to do something. My image of poochandi has been one who had matted hair, brownish, with an unkempt beard, red eyes and dressed in rags. Since he was only used to scare children, he was probably some kind of a cannibal who delighted on young human meat! Of course each family had a personalised version of poochandi depending on what they thought was scary enough!!
Needless to say that generations of children in tamil households have heard of him but he has never been seen!
Actually he has been a very convenient invention to make life easy for parents with troublesome children - wonder if he still comes in handy to the parents of today.
Two other creatures that have haunted my imagination from childhood are the vedalam and the pisasu – the former is supposed to dwell on drumstick trees while the latter preferred tamarind trees. They were usually supposed to be active during noon time and after dark! Well these were of both sexes and were disembodied spirits . Only their voices were supposed to be heard. They were usually looking to get into the bodies of bad children!
I have spent many afternoons under the drumstick tree in my house clandestinely looking for this Vedalam character but never had any luck!!
Perhaps he was so lonely that he went out socializing with the pisasu in the tamarind tree in the neighbourhood – who knows!
Hindu mythology and folklore has its own share of such interesting birds and animals,
Some of which are very poetic:
Chakora, a Himalayan partridge, the lover of the moon, is said to feed on the rays of the moon.
Chakravaha is a variety of duck. Legend has it that pairs of these birds are souls of two lovers, who are supposed to sleep apart at night endlessly calling to one another:
“chakava,,may I come” and “ No. Chakavi!”
The Chataka bird is supposed to be a type of swallow that drinks only drops of rain as they fall from the clouds and nothing else!
Hamsa, the swan immortalized by Ravivarma in his famous painting Hamsa Damayanthi, was supposed to be a celestial bird that separated water from milk!
But some of the undocumented mythical creatures of my childhood have continued to fascinate me. These were used by the elders in the house to bring disobedient children under control.
One was a man called Poochandi – his name was typically brought out to make children eat, go to bed early or when they refused to do something. My image of poochandi has been one who had matted hair, brownish, with an unkempt beard, red eyes and dressed in rags. Since he was only used to scare children, he was probably some kind of a cannibal who delighted on young human meat! Of course each family had a personalised version of poochandi depending on what they thought was scary enough!!
Needless to say that generations of children in tamil households have heard of him but he has never been seen!
Actually he has been a very convenient invention to make life easy for parents with troublesome children - wonder if he still comes in handy to the parents of today.
Two other creatures that have haunted my imagination from childhood are the vedalam and the pisasu – the former is supposed to dwell on drumstick trees while the latter preferred tamarind trees. They were usually supposed to be active during noon time and after dark! Well these were of both sexes and were disembodied spirits . Only their voices were supposed to be heard. They were usually looking to get into the bodies of bad children!
I have spent many afternoons under the drumstick tree in my house clandestinely looking for this Vedalam character but never had any luck!!
Perhaps he was so lonely that he went out socializing with the pisasu in the tamarind tree in the neighbourhood – who knows!
Today we learnt numbers in French class which just made me say in an obelix style “ The Gauls are crazy!”
It all starts innocently until you reach fifteen as each number has a distinct name. Then they begin to be called ten and six, ten and seven and so on. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty and sixty also mercifully have their own names but the range of numbers between them still get called as twenty and one to nine, thirty and one to nine and so on - just like english you say and begin to relax thinking you have it all figured. And then comes the big blow! Seventy has no name – so the numbers 70 to 79 get called as sixty and ten to sixty and nineteen and just while you are about to say sixty and twenty for eighty you hear a new name for eighty – four times twenty! And so the madness goes on until 99 which is described as four times twenty and ten plus nine! And then hundred gets its own name – Cent!
Imagine a child of 4 looking at a number like 78 and figuring it out as sixty and ten plus eight - phew!
Hey ...but to come to think of it, 60 plus 15 sounds younger than 75 and four twenties does sound smaller than eighty - may be that is why they use these!!!!
It all starts innocently until you reach fifteen as each number has a distinct name. Then they begin to be called ten and six, ten and seven and so on. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty and sixty also mercifully have their own names but the range of numbers between them still get called as twenty and one to nine, thirty and one to nine and so on - just like english you say and begin to relax thinking you have it all figured. And then comes the big blow! Seventy has no name – so the numbers 70 to 79 get called as sixty and ten to sixty and nineteen and just while you are about to say sixty and twenty for eighty you hear a new name for eighty – four times twenty! And so the madness goes on until 99 which is described as four times twenty and ten plus nine! And then hundred gets its own name – Cent!
Imagine a child of 4 looking at a number like 78 and figuring it out as sixty and ten plus eight - phew!
Hey ...but to come to think of it, 60 plus 15 sounds younger than 75 and four twenties does sound smaller than eighty - may be that is why they use these!!!!
There is a certain kick that one gets out of doing things outside the sphere of ones normal roles at every stage in life. Normally we have an urge to fast forward a little to the future and try out the things that are a little beyond reach or forbidden. There is a fantasy about the freedom and happiness of adult life. We spend our childhood and adoloscence in such a hurry to get to this promised land. Then we actually reach there and realise there is no such rainbow there and what is worse, you know that the remaining years of your life will all be the same and there is nothing that you want to hurry into. And you wish you had lived your a life a little more slowly enjoying all those earlier phases. Tough to rewind and replay.So when I saw an opportunity to go back and be a student again, I decided to give it a shot and enrolled for a beginner’s course in French with alliance francais.
The classes started on Wednesday morning at Jyothi Nivas College. It felt strange to walk into a class room and sit on one of those benches twenty four years after passing out of college – but there was a comforting familiarity about the ambience – same type of benches, the platform for the lecturer and the large black board. Thank God, some things in life do not change! It is a different kind of experience to be learning from the alphabets onwards at this age, sitting along with kids who are less than half your age and where the teacher hesitates every time she has to address you because she doesn’t know whether to use your name or stick to the safe “madam”. Some of the girls charmingly call me “aunty” while the male students take the safe route by addressing me “excuse me!”
I look around and see the kids earnestly struggling with the pronunciation, vocabulary and grammar as much as I do but I seem to be getting a little more out of the whole experience than any of them. They are learning only the language but I am learning much more by just being with these young kids and observing them.
The classes started on Wednesday morning at Jyothi Nivas College. It felt strange to walk into a class room and sit on one of those benches twenty four years after passing out of college – but there was a comforting familiarity about the ambience – same type of benches, the platform for the lecturer and the large black board. Thank God, some things in life do not change! It is a different kind of experience to be learning from the alphabets onwards at this age, sitting along with kids who are less than half your age and where the teacher hesitates every time she has to address you because she doesn’t know whether to use your name or stick to the safe “madam”. Some of the girls charmingly call me “aunty” while the male students take the safe route by addressing me “excuse me!”
I look around and see the kids earnestly struggling with the pronunciation, vocabulary and grammar as much as I do but I seem to be getting a little more out of the whole experience than any of them. They are learning only the language but I am learning much more by just being with these young kids and observing them.
“ ‘WHY?’ is one question that stays forever
in all the pleasure and pain of humanity
What remains is the question”
These words are from one of my favorite songs from a Tamil movie called “Apoorva Ragam”.
Down the ages, philosophers have pondered on the why of our existence and given us many theories. The why quest has been the spark for all our breakthroughs in science and technology. I completely agree that we would not be where we are today if men had not been asking Why.
One of the interesting and irritating phases with children is the “why phase”. For a while it is fun when they “why?” everything and you feel superior having all the answers. Then one day when you have explained a “why” at length to the minutest detail and are about to feel proud of yourself, you are thrown off balance with another “why?” That is when you save your face with a nonsense poem like:
why?
because the sky is so high
and the bee married the butterfly
in the month of july!
I thought I had heard the last of the whys when my son started looking up the encyclopaedia first and googling later.
Wrong!
The whys started attacking me from unexpected quarters.
First it was the spate of “friendly” salesmen from Eureka Forbes. When I tried to cut them off by saying I do not need a vacuum cleaner, they challenged me with a mean “why?” What followed usually was a long defence from me on why I did not need a vacuum cleaner, or for that matter any convenience gadget because owning them resulted in a lot of dependence on the vagaries of power supply as well as chasing the vendor company for after sale support. This went on regularly until one day it dawned on me that I could actually lie and tell them that I already have a vacuum cleaner.
Then came the endless telephone calls from marketing executives of credit card agencies who demanded that I explain “why” I do not feel the need for a credit card. I think I was getting older by then to face the onslaught. Result: I have 3 credit cards now.
The latest is “Why” I do not own a cell phone. When people I meet ask for my cell phone number and tell them I do not own one, their first reaction is that probably I am lying and that I do not fell close enough to share the number with them. When they are convinced otherwise, they look at me like I am a dinosaur. And then they start lecturing me on why I should have a cell phone – how their lives have changed since they started using one! Which is when i start pondering
"why,lord, why me?"
Wonder whether the poet had been harrassed in a similar fashion which inspired him to write those immortal lines:
(Theirs) " not to reason why..(theirs) but to do and die"
in all the pleasure and pain of humanity
What remains is the question”
These words are from one of my favorite songs from a Tamil movie called “Apoorva Ragam”.
Down the ages, philosophers have pondered on the why of our existence and given us many theories. The why quest has been the spark for all our breakthroughs in science and technology. I completely agree that we would not be where we are today if men had not been asking Why.
One of the interesting and irritating phases with children is the “why phase”. For a while it is fun when they “why?” everything and you feel superior having all the answers. Then one day when you have explained a “why” at length to the minutest detail and are about to feel proud of yourself, you are thrown off balance with another “why?” That is when you save your face with a nonsense poem like:
why?
because the sky is so high
and the bee married the butterfly
in the month of july!
I thought I had heard the last of the whys when my son started looking up the encyclopaedia first and googling later.
Wrong!
The whys started attacking me from unexpected quarters.
First it was the spate of “friendly” salesmen from Eureka Forbes. When I tried to cut them off by saying I do not need a vacuum cleaner, they challenged me with a mean “why?” What followed usually was a long defence from me on why I did not need a vacuum cleaner, or for that matter any convenience gadget because owning them resulted in a lot of dependence on the vagaries of power supply as well as chasing the vendor company for after sale support. This went on regularly until one day it dawned on me that I could actually lie and tell them that I already have a vacuum cleaner.
Then came the endless telephone calls from marketing executives of credit card agencies who demanded that I explain “why” I do not feel the need for a credit card. I think I was getting older by then to face the onslaught. Result: I have 3 credit cards now.
The latest is “Why” I do not own a cell phone. When people I meet ask for my cell phone number and tell them I do not own one, their first reaction is that probably I am lying and that I do not fell close enough to share the number with them. When they are convinced otherwise, they look at me like I am a dinosaur. And then they start lecturing me on why I should have a cell phone – how their lives have changed since they started using one! Which is when i start pondering
"why,lord, why me?"
Wonder whether the poet had been harrassed in a similar fashion which inspired him to write those immortal lines:
(Theirs) " not to reason why..(theirs) but to do and die"
I was in Chennai last week end and we went to visit Chelli mami. My sister and I walked into her house unannounced and were welcomed with a warm smile that touches your heart and tells you that your visit is genuinely appreciated. Within 10 minutes we had been persuaded to eat (mami always seems to have extra food) and the drumstick Sambar and potato curry combination was perhaps the best meal I had in years now. I was reminded of the many times I had eaten in her house as a young girl and wondered how she managed to get the recipes perfect every time – it always smelled and tasted the same. When we left after half hour, she had packed a large bottle of tender mango pickles for us to take home. And all I remember of the time we were there is that we were laughing all the time – again like old times.
Mami is not one of those wealthy old ladies living a life of leisure. In all her 72 years of life there has never been a day when she has not had to worry about something or other and money has always been scarce. Having lost her parents as a child, she was brought up by a widowed childless aunt who worked as a cook to bring up the orphaned kids – mami and her siblings. After completing school, she worked as an elementary school teacher in a Sarada Vidyalaya school and was the bread winner for her family as the man she married was a very kind man but never made any money. Both mama and mami had a very large heart and were always helping their poorer relatives even though they had 2 daughters and a son to take care of. It was always amazing to see how they managed to do all this on mami’s meager salary as a school teacher. I have never known her to be insecure or worry about anything. There is nothing petty about her house – her heart is so generous that she gives away everything. It is impossible for you to leave her house without eating something – at least a cup of coffee. She has always lived in very small apartments but they seem to have a way of expanding to hold any number of people who choose to walk in, so much like her heart. She has so little money but in the final analysis, she is always the “giver”. And she gives you the things that you cannot buy anywhere for money – genuine affection, traditional simple food and lots of laughter. When you leave her house your heart is always light and stomach is always full.
Life has been pretty one sided in giving her more than a fair share of misfortunes but mami has never stopped laughing. And she never complains.I was happy to see that her children have inherited her ability to laugh. There was always laughter in their house and it continues to this day – they know how to laugh back at life whatever life may throw at them. She has taught them something they don’t teach you anywhere else and so tough to master.
Mami is not one of those wealthy old ladies living a life of leisure. In all her 72 years of life there has never been a day when she has not had to worry about something or other and money has always been scarce. Having lost her parents as a child, she was brought up by a widowed childless aunt who worked as a cook to bring up the orphaned kids – mami and her siblings. After completing school, she worked as an elementary school teacher in a Sarada Vidyalaya school and was the bread winner for her family as the man she married was a very kind man but never made any money. Both mama and mami had a very large heart and were always helping their poorer relatives even though they had 2 daughters and a son to take care of. It was always amazing to see how they managed to do all this on mami’s meager salary as a school teacher. I have never known her to be insecure or worry about anything. There is nothing petty about her house – her heart is so generous that she gives away everything. It is impossible for you to leave her house without eating something – at least a cup of coffee. She has always lived in very small apartments but they seem to have a way of expanding to hold any number of people who choose to walk in, so much like her heart. She has so little money but in the final analysis, she is always the “giver”. And she gives you the things that you cannot buy anywhere for money – genuine affection, traditional simple food and lots of laughter. When you leave her house your heart is always light and stomach is always full.
Life has been pretty one sided in giving her more than a fair share of misfortunes but mami has never stopped laughing. And she never complains.I was happy to see that her children have inherited her ability to laugh. There was always laughter in their house and it continues to this day – they know how to laugh back at life whatever life may throw at them. She has taught them something they don’t teach you anywhere else and so tough to master.
Would you say that an overall score of 54% is too bad - bad enough to be expelled from a school? This is exactly what a school has said to the child of a friend. In the 9th standard she has scored 54% and the school wants her out because they do not want any child scoring less than 60% to appear for the board exams. Reason: It will affect the reputation of the school if they do not have a 100% first class result in the board exams.
Now whose fault is it if the child did not score first class marks so far? Is it not as much a comment on the abilities of the teachers at the school if they could not motivate the child to do better in the nine years the child was there? If a school chooses the brightest of children and gets first class results, why do we need a school?
In any case who decides these grades anyway? Is there room in the world only for human beings who can score 60% and above? Is the system so fool proof as to label children’s capabilities ? And for god’s sake, this is just school leaving certificate not a specialization degree. Do they realize the blow this has given to an adoloscent’s self confidence?
And the pity is no one cares. There is a long queue outside the principal’s office for application forms to admit children into the school.
If it is any consolation, we are not alone in this. There is a very illuminating article on this written by John Taylor Gatto, New York State Teacher of the Year, 1991. It is called the
“Six-Lesson Schoolteacher” (You can read the whole article at http://www.cantrip.org/gatto.html)
Here are some excerpts:
Teaching means many different things, but six lessons are common to school teaching from Harlem to Hollywood. You pay for these lessons in more ways than you can imagine, so you might as well know what they are:
The first lesson I teach is: "Stay in the class where you belong
The second lesson I teach kids is to turn on and off like a light switch.
The third lesson I teach you is to surrender your will to a predestined chain of command. Rights may be granted or withheld, by authority, without appeal.
The fourth lesson I teach is that only I determine what curriculum you will study.
In lesson five I teach that your self-respect should depend on an observer's measure of your worth. My kids are constantly evaluated and judged. A monthly report, impressive in its precision, is sent into students' homes to spread approval or to mark exactly -- down to a single percentage point -- how dissatisfied with their children parents should be. Although some people might be surprised how little time or reflection goes into making up these records, the cumulative weight of the objective- seeming documents establishes a profile of defect which compels a child to arrive at a certain decisions about himself and his future based on the casual judgment of strangers.
In lesson six I teach children that they are being watched.
Self-evaluation -- the staple of every major philosophical system that ever appeared on the planet -- is never a factor in these things. The lesson of report cards, grades, and tests is that children should not trust themselves or their parents, but must rely on the evaluation of certified officials. People need to be told what they are worth.
It only takes about 50 contact hours to transmit basic literacy and math skills well enough that kids can be self-teachers from then on. The cry for "basic skills" practice is a smokescreen behind which schools pre-empt the time of children for twelve years and teach them the six lessons I've just taught you
Institutional schoolteachers are destructive to children's development. Nobody survives the Six-Lesson Curriculum unscathed, not even the instructors. The method is deeply and profoundly anti-educational. No tinkering will fix it. In one of the great ironies of human affairs, the massive rethinking that schools require would cost so much less than we are spending now that it is not likely to happen. First and foremost, the business I am in is a jobs project and a contract-letting agency. We cannot afford to save money, not even to help children.
At the pass we've come to historically, and after 26 years of teaching, I must conclude that one of the only alternatives on the horizon for most families is to teach their own children at home. Small, de- institutionalized schools are another. Some form of free-market system for public schooling is the likeliest place to look for answers. But the near impossibility of these things for the shattered families of the poor, and for too many on the fringes of the economic middle class, foretell that the disaster of Six-Lesson Schools is likely to continue.
…the lessons of school prevent children from keeping important appointments with themselves and their families, to learn lessons in self-motivation, perseverance, self-reliance, courage, dignity and love -- and, of course, lessons in service to others, which are among the key lessons of home life.
Thirty years ago these things could still be learned in the time left after school. But television has eaten most of that time, and a combination of television and the stresses peculiar to two-income or single-parent families have swallowed up most of what used to be family time. Our kids have no time left to grow up fully human, and only thin-soil wastelands to do it in.
A future is rushing down upon our culture which will insist that all of us learn the wisdom of non-material experience; this future will demand, as the price of survival, that we follow a pace of natural life economical in material cost. These lessons cannot be learned in schools as they are. School is like starting life with a 12-year jail sentence in which bad habits are the only curriculum truly learned. I teach school and win awards doing it. I should know.
Now whose fault is it if the child did not score first class marks so far? Is it not as much a comment on the abilities of the teachers at the school if they could not motivate the child to do better in the nine years the child was there? If a school chooses the brightest of children and gets first class results, why do we need a school?
In any case who decides these grades anyway? Is there room in the world only for human beings who can score 60% and above? Is the system so fool proof as to label children’s capabilities ? And for god’s sake, this is just school leaving certificate not a specialization degree. Do they realize the blow this has given to an adoloscent’s self confidence?
And the pity is no one cares. There is a long queue outside the principal’s office for application forms to admit children into the school.
If it is any consolation, we are not alone in this. There is a very illuminating article on this written by John Taylor Gatto, New York State Teacher of the Year, 1991. It is called the
“Six-Lesson Schoolteacher” (You can read the whole article at http://www.cantrip.org/gatto.html)
Here are some excerpts:
Teaching means many different things, but six lessons are common to school teaching from Harlem to Hollywood. You pay for these lessons in more ways than you can imagine, so you might as well know what they are:
The first lesson I teach is: "Stay in the class where you belong
The second lesson I teach kids is to turn on and off like a light switch.
The third lesson I teach you is to surrender your will to a predestined chain of command. Rights may be granted or withheld, by authority, without appeal.
The fourth lesson I teach is that only I determine what curriculum you will study.
In lesson five I teach that your self-respect should depend on an observer's measure of your worth. My kids are constantly evaluated and judged. A monthly report, impressive in its precision, is sent into students' homes to spread approval or to mark exactly -- down to a single percentage point -- how dissatisfied with their children parents should be. Although some people might be surprised how little time or reflection goes into making up these records, the cumulative weight of the objective- seeming documents establishes a profile of defect which compels a child to arrive at a certain decisions about himself and his future based on the casual judgment of strangers.
In lesson six I teach children that they are being watched.
Self-evaluation -- the staple of every major philosophical system that ever appeared on the planet -- is never a factor in these things. The lesson of report cards, grades, and tests is that children should not trust themselves or their parents, but must rely on the evaluation of certified officials. People need to be told what they are worth.
It only takes about 50 contact hours to transmit basic literacy and math skills well enough that kids can be self-teachers from then on. The cry for "basic skills" practice is a smokescreen behind which schools pre-empt the time of children for twelve years and teach them the six lessons I've just taught you
Institutional schoolteachers are destructive to children's development. Nobody survives the Six-Lesson Curriculum unscathed, not even the instructors. The method is deeply and profoundly anti-educational. No tinkering will fix it. In one of the great ironies of human affairs, the massive rethinking that schools require would cost so much less than we are spending now that it is not likely to happen. First and foremost, the business I am in is a jobs project and a contract-letting agency. We cannot afford to save money, not even to help children.
At the pass we've come to historically, and after 26 years of teaching, I must conclude that one of the only alternatives on the horizon for most families is to teach their own children at home. Small, de- institutionalized schools are another. Some form of free-market system for public schooling is the likeliest place to look for answers. But the near impossibility of these things for the shattered families of the poor, and for too many on the fringes of the economic middle class, foretell that the disaster of Six-Lesson Schools is likely to continue.
…the lessons of school prevent children from keeping important appointments with themselves and their families, to learn lessons in self-motivation, perseverance, self-reliance, courage, dignity and love -- and, of course, lessons in service to others, which are among the key lessons of home life.
Thirty years ago these things could still be learned in the time left after school. But television has eaten most of that time, and a combination of television and the stresses peculiar to two-income or single-parent families have swallowed up most of what used to be family time. Our kids have no time left to grow up fully human, and only thin-soil wastelands to do it in.
A future is rushing down upon our culture which will insist that all of us learn the wisdom of non-material experience; this future will demand, as the price of survival, that we follow a pace of natural life economical in material cost. These lessons cannot be learned in schools as they are. School is like starting life with a 12-year jail sentence in which bad habits are the only curriculum truly learned. I teach school and win awards doing it. I should know.
Speaking of a South Indian actor who is perhaps the most talented actor in India today, a lady said that her admiration for him came down several notches after she read about his extra marital affairs and that he had no respect for marriage as an institution. So…??? I did not understand what the personal life of this actor had to do with his brilliant acting genius and why he fell in her esteem.
Is it important for actors, writers, poets and singers to have a private life that is impeccable or at least “acceptable” to the society they live in for their talent to be recognized?
Is it not enough for them to be terrific in their job and have a private life of their choice however “immoral” it might be?
Does the charm in the writing of a Gide or a Wilde diminish because they were homosexual? Does the voice of a great singer sound less melodious if he is a misogynist?
Would Shakespeare’s works fall in value if we learnt about the skeletons in his cupboard?
Why are the prejudices and peeves of these professionals a matter of concern to the audience except in as much as they are part of their work?
Is this the result of the “Page three” and “pin up” culture that takes the private life of these people to the drawing rooms of people and makes them into “role models” for ordinary people and elevates them to the level of heroes? Then it builds the pressure on the “famous” to live a life that is expected of them by their fans and “followers”.
Why cant actors, musicians and writers just be treated like others with a special talent for their job and be appreciated as such for that skill and then be allowed to live their private lives the way they want? I understand the need to know about their private personalities if one were to marry them, work in partnership with them or entrust them with any responsibility that affected their lives (or the nation say, by electing them to a public office.) But why do we need to know about their prejudices and personality disorders just to go and watch their performance in a movie or a concert or read a book written by them?
And who is responsible for this? The “fans” who place these personalities on a pedestal, the press which thrives on fishing out juicy and gory details of the private lives of these people or the stars themselves who like to live out their life in public?
Is it all because there are no 'real" heroes anymore that people are desperately seeking to fill the void with these imaginary ones?
Is it important for actors, writers, poets and singers to have a private life that is impeccable or at least “acceptable” to the society they live in for their talent to be recognized?
Is it not enough for them to be terrific in their job and have a private life of their choice however “immoral” it might be?
Does the charm in the writing of a Gide or a Wilde diminish because they were homosexual? Does the voice of a great singer sound less melodious if he is a misogynist?
Would Shakespeare’s works fall in value if we learnt about the skeletons in his cupboard?
Why are the prejudices and peeves of these professionals a matter of concern to the audience except in as much as they are part of their work?
Is this the result of the “Page three” and “pin up” culture that takes the private life of these people to the drawing rooms of people and makes them into “role models” for ordinary people and elevates them to the level of heroes? Then it builds the pressure on the “famous” to live a life that is expected of them by their fans and “followers”.
Why cant actors, musicians and writers just be treated like others with a special talent for their job and be appreciated as such for that skill and then be allowed to live their private lives the way they want? I understand the need to know about their private personalities if one were to marry them, work in partnership with them or entrust them with any responsibility that affected their lives (or the nation say, by electing them to a public office.) But why do we need to know about their prejudices and personality disorders just to go and watch their performance in a movie or a concert or read a book written by them?
And who is responsible for this? The “fans” who place these personalities on a pedestal, the press which thrives on fishing out juicy and gory details of the private lives of these people or the stars themselves who like to live out their life in public?
Is it all because there are no 'real" heroes anymore that people are desperately seeking to fill the void with these imaginary ones?
How would you like to live a life without feeling any pain?
Recently I read a news item about a five year old American child who was born with a genetic defect called "Hereditary Sensory and Autonomic Neuropathy Type-5. She does not feel any pain. Reason?
Her doctors say "Little tiny nerve fibers, the smallest of the nerve fibers, that are supposed to record pain, send that signal to the brain, so you can interpret what it is. Those fibers are not working," It is so rare her doctors don't know of another person with it in this country. Research done for her parents turned up a dozen known cases in the world.
Seems like a blessing? Hear this:
The poor child does not get the signal of pain from her body when she is hurt or when something is wrong with her body and so she cannot be treated until someone else notices it. Sometimes treatment can be started after what is ailing her has reached an advanced stage which often makes the treatment complicated and prolonged!
Although pain seems like a negative feeling, it is s signal from the body to the brain. It protects us, saves us by letting us know that all is not well.
Thank you God, for letting me “feel” pain.
Recently I read a news item about a five year old American child who was born with a genetic defect called "Hereditary Sensory and Autonomic Neuropathy Type-5. She does not feel any pain. Reason?
Her doctors say "Little tiny nerve fibers, the smallest of the nerve fibers, that are supposed to record pain, send that signal to the brain, so you can interpret what it is. Those fibers are not working," It is so rare her doctors don't know of another person with it in this country. Research done for her parents turned up a dozen known cases in the world.
Seems like a blessing? Hear this:
The poor child does not get the signal of pain from her body when she is hurt or when something is wrong with her body and so she cannot be treated until someone else notices it. Sometimes treatment can be started after what is ailing her has reached an advanced stage which often makes the treatment complicated and prolonged!
Although pain seems like a negative feeling, it is s signal from the body to the brain. It protects us, saves us by letting us know that all is not well.
Thank you God, for letting me “feel” pain.
I presume most people driving a vehicle have been punished for a minor traffic violation – conscious or inadvertent- at some point or other. It was certainly inadvertent when I lost my way on miller’s road yesterday and spotting a group of traffic policemen, decided to ask them the way hardly realizing I was turning into a one way street to go and meet them. Walking into the arms of Law as it were with outstretched arms to be cuffed! “You should have seen the sign board” I was told and further “where are your seat belts?” – So the fine was 600!
I explained that I had just removed the belt when I had got out to ask for directions before turning and the fine still stood at 300! Very gently but firmly and with a smile as a bonus, I was told that there was no getting away without a fine for entering a one way street even if it was to meet the policemen! And very politely and helpfully they gave me the directions for my way back with the receipt for the fine collected.
So I paid but felt very ashamed and angry. They were not rude and the amount was not huge but it hurt – it hurt to be considered an offender, to be punished with a fine! A youngster told me that he and his friends routinely pay fines for jumping red lights and driving on one way streets and that it was no big deal! “Happens all the time!” I was told.
I don’t know what it was about the values that were given to us by our parents and teachers that makes us squirm even about small deviations like this and we are unable to “Chill” when these happen.
I wonder what we have missed passing on to the younger generation that they can hit people sleeping on the footpath while driving under the influence of alcohol and still plead “not guilty” based on some loophole in the law.
You may say I am talking extremes here, but you get my drift I am sure…
I explained that I had just removed the belt when I had got out to ask for directions before turning and the fine still stood at 300! Very gently but firmly and with a smile as a bonus, I was told that there was no getting away without a fine for entering a one way street even if it was to meet the policemen! And very politely and helpfully they gave me the directions for my way back with the receipt for the fine collected.
So I paid but felt very ashamed and angry. They were not rude and the amount was not huge but it hurt – it hurt to be considered an offender, to be punished with a fine! A youngster told me that he and his friends routinely pay fines for jumping red lights and driving on one way streets and that it was no big deal! “Happens all the time!” I was told.
I don’t know what it was about the values that were given to us by our parents and teachers that makes us squirm even about small deviations like this and we are unable to “Chill” when these happen.
I wonder what we have missed passing on to the younger generation that they can hit people sleeping on the footpath while driving under the influence of alcohol and still plead “not guilty” based on some loophole in the law.
You may say I am talking extremes here, but you get my drift I am sure…
