In almost all communities, themes and characters in stories have been used as a way to instil some values and as a successful means of character-building in children. These stories are passed by the families down the generations or included in the books as part of their school syllabus. Some of them have actually become dated with changing times and merit a relook. We do have publications in the west of "politically correct" bed time stories and "politically correct" bible stories etc...Without going that far, I can think of a few stories which I have questioned during the process of growing up.
For example there is this story which all children in our family know. It is about this young girl living with her step mother and a wicked (surprise surprise!) step-sister. One day her stepmother turns her out of the house for some minor unwitting lapse and as she wends her way through the forest crying she meets an old woman who is stern but relents to let her spend the night in her hut. Everytime the old lady gives the young girl a choice of boarding preferences (ex: warm water or coldwater for bath? old dress or a new one for changing into? left over food or fresh food?) the girl, as she is accustomed to hardship, chooses the modest option. But she is actually rewarded with the best dress, expensive gifts, a festive meal and of course pleanty of warm water for a bath. When she returns home with all these, the step mother is pleased and the greedy step-sister decides to go to the old lady's house hoping to claim her share of goodies. She is given the same objective choices and ( in spite of the other sister leaking the paper)) ticks all the wrong answers and is sent home with a nice thrashing.
Moral of the story? Greed is punished while humility and modesty are always rewarded.
Needless to say, the modest one was the role model till one went to college. There one met "go-getters" and were told to "hitch your wagon to the star" and that is when one began to question if stories such as the above blunted the edge of ambition and let you be too complacent and satisfied with what you demand from the world. Vaish has a nice post on Casabianca where she raises some good questions too.

Other characters which seemed so worship-worthy on the screen or in books include the ever-sacrificing woman who would burn herself like a candle to give light to others; who would subject herself to exploitation just to save her family from trouble; who would allow herself to be held to ransom for the sake of her love without uttering a word to anyone,even while being aware of all her legal rights. Time was when such women seemed worthy of a shrine but now such behaviour makes no sense to me - it seems that they need a good psychiatrist as there must be something very wrong with such women (sado-masochistic tendencies). Laws are there to be enforced dammit - Keeping quiet when you are raped or abused is not endurance, it is abetting in a crime. What has education taught you?

And then there is the story of men like Jay gatsby where the woman he loves does not consider him good enough for her ( rich enough sometimes) and so he spends all his life proving to himself that he can make it too. Then she eventually returns, and the man , having waited all his life for this one moment, offers himself, all his fortune and his life at her feet (so she can kick him around). So why do we think he is so great for being so spineless? I just want to shake these men and scream: "look around man, it is not like the male female ratio is so poor that there is just this one woman for you! And if she was the last female on Earth you still deserve better!"
And what is worse, I despise these men when they take on the responsibility for some crime the selfish woman commits and actually end up in the Gaol or the gallows.
Seems like these kind of men are better off there!

I think the power of great advertising sometimes lies in its capacity to make you accept something that is so obviously against common sense.
Take this advertisement for Surf Excel which emphasizes over and over again:
"Daag achche hain" ( Stain is good).The whole story is so cute with the big brother ( well, a little bigger than the girl) shadow boxing with the dirty puddle to pacify his sister to whom he is the hero and the kids are so convincing that you are willing to forgive the sparkling white uniforms turning muddy.

It is a different story altogether if you would be willing to forgive the manufacturer if the detergent did not really remove all that stain.
Is there any recourse for the consumer to actually make the manufacturer's pay for false claims in their advertisement?
apparently yes!!
"An advertisement may scream and extol the virtues of a hair lotion or a beauty cream. When that very lotion fails to grow even a single strand of hair or the beauty cream does not impart even a trace of beauty to that not-so-good looking one, the shine in the advertisement disappears.
What does a buyer do then apart from crying aloud, 'This is unfair!'?
Rising to the occasion, the Monopolies and Restrictive Trade Practices Act and the more recent Consumer Protection Act incorporate provisions relating to unfair trade practices.
Quite often false representations are made, e.g. the goods (like beauty creams, hair tonics, hair dyes, etc.) are of a particular standard quality, quantity, grade or composition. Sometimes, tall claims are even made regarding the uses, benefits, approval, sponsorship or performance of such goods or services. If the goods supplied or the services rendered do not live up to the expectations created by the advertisements in the mind of the consumer, a complaint can be filed alleging that the seller or service provider has adopted an unfair trade practice.
The Consumer Disputes Redressal Agencies (Consumer Forums) can order the return to the complainant of the price or charge paid and the discontinuation of the unfair trade practice. They can also direct that corrective advertisements be issued to neutralize the effects of the misleading advertisement and their expenses to be borne by the person responsible for issuing the misleading advertisement."
Read on here

So it is possible to have other remedies than just the proverbial wringing your hands in despair. Does this also mean that the tall claims that people make in their advertisements about magical fairness creams and hair growth lotions and anti-ageing creams is actually true? Or is there a fine print disclaimer somewhere that actually protects them from being dragged to the consumer forum?
Anyone knows? anyone cares? Have advertisements themselves become oases of creativity betweeen mindless serials to be watched for their own sake rather than as means to promote a product that the linkage is actually forgotten or ignored?

Happening Bengalooru - want to know the details?
Why are Bengalooruris so proud of the place?
Its history, architectural highlights, culture, customs, people - what do Bangaloreans have to say about it all - the raves and rants and preens,views, news, comments and opinions.
come and check it all out here

You can find me in this corner and over here.

Have your say - we are listening.....Or come back and tell me here. :)

Have you heard about messages in a bottle travelling half way round the world and being traced back to the owner? I have always laughed when I hear such stories and say
"we cannot seem to get messages from one floor to another without them gettting lost and did you just say messages in a bottle?"
And yet I was the one who received this mail on saturday morning in my inbox with the title:
From a Stranger You Thought You'd Never Meet . . .
and the mail said:
Dear Usha,
On June 14, 2004, you recorded in your blog, "Today Julie Tisdale, a complete stranger , whom I shall never meet, came into my life for a few moments." You recounted an experience of finding a thank you note on page 39 of a used book called "Still Life with Woodpecker."

I am that Julie Tisdale, and I wrote the thank you note in February, 1988.Would you like to know how accurate you were in your deductions about who I was? What was the occasion? What were the references to Knots?

Last month I celebrated my 18th wedding anniversary with Mr. William E.Tisdale, Jr. You were correct that the thank you note was for a bridal shower gift. "Kar-Kar," as I affectionately call my friend Karen, along with another friend named Mary, gave me a little black and white five inch television. I still have that little TV and keep it at the office for late night projects.

Their card to me said, "Just because you have to work in the kitchen doesn't mean that you have to miss Knots." Yes, Knots Landing, my favorite TV show of all time. And yes, I am American.

What do I watch now, you mused? Medium, Lost, Cold Case, My Name is Earl,and Desperate Housewives.

Bill still does all the cooking for our family, along with the grocery shopping, yard work, and laundry. (Yes, I know I am a very lucky wife!)

Now please satisfy some of my curiosity. How did you come upon the book? Were you in the States or was the book in India? Do you work outside your home? How do you find the time to write such intriguing blog entries?

And I will tell you: yours is the first blog I have ever visited. Your style of writing is most captivating, and I was enthralled with your conjectures about me and the thank you note. It was truly a bright spot in my day.

Julie


The post I wrote in 2004 was triggered by a simple 3*4 thank you note that I found inside a second hand book I boght in Blossoms Bookstore!!

Today, more than ever before, relationships are falling apart because people do not make an effort to reach out to one another and ironically today, more than ever before, we have the tools to touch anyone, anywhere in the world. It is just a matter of making the effort.
Thank you Julie for taking the time and effort!

------------------------------------------------------
And this is the post I wrote on June14,2004:

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.

The other day someone raised an interesting question on what we think about houses which display the board "beware of Dogs" and houses with high walls and warnings for dogs. The general opinion was that such houses gave an impression of fierce privacy and a need to keep out people. They did not exude a sense of warmth or welcome. Apparently some people who do not even have a dog in the house just display the warning outside as a means to keep people away - well, I can actually sympathise with them after being assaulted by visits from innumerable sales people wanting to sell me things I do not want and service people offering to service equipment I do not own.

Being a dog lover myself, I had not thought about it this way at all. In fact every time I pass by a gate with the signboard, I always slow down and strain to take a look at the canine member of the house. Outside my own house I do not have a similar warning board for which I have been warned by many a courier delivery man, sundry vendors and repair people who are shocked by the sudden appearance of a canine and have gone near hysterical.Most dog lovers fail to see why guests to the house are terrified by something as harmless as their poor little canine baby. One person went to the extent of givng me a verbal legal notice because it was obligatory for people who keep animals to publicly notify the fact to the general public who may feel the need to open the gate to walk into the house. So you are damned either way. You don't display it and you are threatened with legal implications; you display it and you are accused of marking of your territory by proxy to keep out people.

A friend found a nice way to overcome the situation with a nice board with his pet's photo saying : "I belong to this family". Another nice board says " Watch out for pet." I liked the one which said "Beware of Dog, But don't trust the cat either!" But in a country where many people cannot read I think the best and acceptable sign is the one that has a photo of a dog and says nothing. Doesn't hurt the sentiments of the dog and informs humans adequately- everyone can form their own conclusions from the picture!



And with Saba,that apology for an animal who thinks he is a human with 4 legs,and who will wag his tail to any human who walks in, if i have to be truthful, I do not have much of a choice than have this sign:

"What is the sound of one hand clapping?" is one of the famous Zen Koans.These koans are like puzzles but they do not have defined answers but they are deep questions which act as triggers to the Zen disciple to ponder over life and come up with his own unique answers.
The sound of one hand clapping!
I have heard this sound in my heart beat when someone I care for deeply and love is hurting and all my efforts to reach out go unresponded.
I have heard it in the sigh of mothers whose children have "grown up" and left them to lead their own lives. I have seen it in their longing looks when they crave for just one more time for the child to call out for them and make them feel needed.
I have seen it in the silent tears of young widows whose future has been cruelly snatched in the dark hours of one cold night leaving them frozen in the memories of a hazy past.
I have also seen it in the serenity of the old man who used to walk with his wife until a month back but now alone; he keeps the same pace that it almost seems like he is walking in step with a wife who has just become invisible.
I guess the sound of one hand clapping is just the sound of rejection, separation,indifference or complete identification.

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The other day at a friend’s place , I met a group of people who were visiting Bangalore. They had returned from a day of sight seeing and the adults looked frustrated and irritated. The temple had shut by the time they reached it, food at the hotel they went to was not up to the mark and they were not able to take the safari in the national park. They said the whole day was a “waste”. Later I asked one of the children if they were disappointed at not being able to do the safari. I was surprised when they said that they did not mind it and they had a lot of fun.
It occurred to me then that the adults had been disappointed because the day did not go as they had “planned”. The children had no “plans” or “expectations” so they enjoyed their being together and the other animals they had seen at the park.
It seems to me that most of us go through life feeling disappointed, dejected and depressed because of our expectations. Every morning we start out with our mental image of what we want the day to be like and when reality falls short of our expectation we tend to brand the day on different scales from dull to disastrous.
While constantly complaining about our days, are we not missing out the many blessings in each day. Like Tagore says
“If you shed tears when you miss the sun, you also miss the stars.”
Is not life’s happiness nothing but a sum of simple pleasures – morning wind on the face, smell of earth when the first rain drops touch it, a bright sunny day after rains, colours and smells of spring, dogs furiously wagging their tails or cats rubbing against your skin like it is their right, smiles, mails and calls of loved ones, a surprise visitor, a “thank you” or an unexpected gift.
Are we too busy complaining that we are missing out on “living”? They say that a good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving. In our anxiety about the destination and logistics that we are missing out on enjoying the journey?

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One of my favorite scenes from movies is the tango scene from Scent of a woman. Apart from the tremendous presence and character that Al pacino brings to the scene , it is memorable for his words to the woman who hesitates to dance as she does not know tango.It is not like life, he says, "if you make a mistake you start from tango one".

Would nt it be nice if we all got one, just one option in our life time to go back and restart from a chosen moment in our past to "undo" and redo? But then, would we behave differently if we did not have the wisdom of hindsight? Would it be any fun at all if all the people in our lives did not exercise the same option at the same time? What fun would it be for me to go back and be twenty among today's twenty year olds?

In life there are no second chances. You have got to always get everything perfect the first time and every time and this is particularly true of relationships. Since no one is perfect, i suppose the best way one could achieve this is by starting afresh each day, not take people for granted and learn our lessons from each mistake. After all we may not be able to change the beginnings but surely we can control the way things can end?

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In the past 2 days, i met different people who helped me see the different dimensions of the issue of parenting.
I met this charming old lady of about 70 who lives all by herself in her village house in kerala. her only son and his family live in bangalore and she was here to visit them. It was so charming to see her walk in the traditional dress of kerlala women - a starched dhoti and a towel to cover her chest and she was absolutely unselfconscious while walking amid the high fashion circles in the yuppiedom of Bangalore - Brigade road and commercial street. . She never had formal education but five minutes after meeting her you are startled by her wisdom. I asked her why she lived alone in her village in stead of choosing to stay with her only son here. She said " That is my place. This is his. one can tie an areca nut in the edge of one's sari pallav, but when the seed has become a tree you would be a fool if you tried to tie it there." I was stunned.

Later in the day I met my friend who looked awfully sick. It turns out that she had high sugar and has been very ill. I asked her if stress was the reason and she told me," yes, this oldest son of mine gives me a lot of worries." Mind you the oldest is about 26 and it turns out that he is a careless spender and although very well paid in an IT company, he always ends up with credit card dues. And the poor mother obsesses about it and falls sick. The son doesnt listen to her counselling, nor does he seem to want to learn to balance his check book and poor mother worries herself to sickness in the bargain.

Now for this scene that i watch with a tug at my heart everyday. The security guard of our lay out has 4 children and the oldest girl Sita who is just aout 9 years is already playing mother to her youngest brother of 2 ably assisted by her sisters Savita and Kavita who are 6 and 5.

So it seems that parents living in modern society and belong to the economically higher strata seem to feel more protective toward their children than those from rural societies and economically weaker sections. Among all living species humans seem to enjoy the maximum period of infancy.Biologically, after puberty the human is physically capable of having a child of her/ his own but emotionally we try to keep them in an artificial incubator.This is what leads to a lot of conflict between adoloscents and the older generation. I dont advocate that parents should throw them out of the nest to go and fend for themselves when they are 18 but i do believe that parents have to learn to let go of their kids from the time they reach 16 years and then play the role of mentors guiding them rather than trying to live their lives by proxy.

Of the three models above, while i would like to restore the childhood back to sita , sarita and kavita at least for a few more years, I would not want to be so protective as to worry about my son's finances when he is 26. I would rather be like that regal old lady who knows how to nurture the areca tree and provide the right setting so the tree learns to fend for itself and then let go of it and go about her own little life without any complaints.

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Many times we retract what we have said before with the excuse: "sorry I was not thinking when I said that."
Which isn’t true because words do not happen without some thought (conscious or unconscious) preceding them. When we say "I was n't thinking" we probably mean, I was n't thinking again about how to present this thought in an acceptable way or /in a way that doesn't hurt the other person or /in a way that they can understand it the way I intended it.
Of course we are excluding the kinds of speech like the words that kids repeat merely for the sound of it without any thought in the background. We are talking about transactions between individuals who use language to convey thoughts and ideas and feelings and emotions.

So while some thought is essential for words, are words essential for the process of thinking? George Orwell's idea of Newspeak in his 1984 had its roots in the idea that "if something can't be said, then it can't be thought".Antoine Rivarol said: "Speech is external thought, and thought internal speech." This school of thinking called "linguistic determinism" claims that the language we use determines the way we think about the world. So do we actually think using words?

Would we be hampered from thinking about something if we did not have a word for it? I think not – Without words, we may not be able to talk about things but we would certainly be able to think about them - like that "stuff" we tasted at some place which looked "great" and tasted "yummilicious"? It is just "stuff" but we can still think about it - can't we? Like an infant smiling in his sleep seeing something that he still has no word for!
And then there is this whole thing about "abstract thinking" which starts with that dangerous line- " let us call it X" and then goes on to unravel the laws and mysteries of the universe.
Sometimes we think in images like in our dreams.Many scientists confess to have seen the results of their research – inventions and discoveries - as a wordless dream before they set about formally working on their work.

So what is the link between language and thinking? As Judy Dench playing Iris Murdoch says in the movie “IRIS”
“What are thoughts without them?” (‘Them’ being ‘words’)
(Yes indeed "What are thoughts without" words - Xs and Ys and XYs?
Does this mean my dog thinks in Xs and Ys? No wonder he has that depressed look on his face at times!!)

I do not like thinking in Xs, Ys and Zs. I love words. They help me think in a neat and organized way. I feel comfortable when I have nicely labelled something with a word and stored it in its place for revisiting when I want to. I feel safer when I know the word for everything around me and everything that goes on inside my head.
Thank god there is not a helluva lot going on there. Otherwise I may have to make peace with those Xs and Ys!

In his comment on my previous post Pankaz the Pinchas Hodi referred to la Marioneta and pointed out that Gabo (Gabriel Garcia Marquez) described it as Kitsch. La marioneta was a short piece of poetic prose which was originally attributed to Gabriel Garcia Marquez as a farewell letter to his friends after being diagnosed with lymphatic cancer. It was later uncovered to be the work of a Mexican ventriloquist named Johnny Welch. How Marquez came to be associated with this poem was a mystery and he is supposed to have said that he would never have written something as kitschy as La Marioneta. Most of us received it on the internet and I loved it and yes, shed a few tears too (the first tear and the second tear!)
For those who missed it then, here it is - a translated version of the original Spanish poem.

LA MARIONETA ( the Puppet)

"IF for a moment God would forget that I am a rag doll and give me a scrap of life, possibly I would not say everything that I think, but I would definitely think everything that I say.

I would value things not for how much they are worth but rather for what they mean.

I would sleep little, dream more. I know that for each minute that we close our eyes we lose sixty seconds of light.

I would walk when the others loiter; I would awaken when the others sleep.

I would listen when the others speak, and how I would enjoy a good chocolate ice cream.

If God would bestow on me a scrap of life, I would dress simply, I would throw myself flat under the sun, exposing not only my body but also my soul.

My God, if I had a heart, I would write my hatred on ice and wait for the sun to come out. With a dream of Van Gogh I would paint on the stars a poem by Benedetti, and a song by Serrat would be my serenade to the moon.

With my tears I would water the roses, to feel the pain of their thorns and the incarnated kiss of their petals...My God, if I only had a scrap of life...

I wouldn't let a single day go by without saying to people I love, that I love them.

I would convince each woman or man that they are my favourites and I would live in love with love.

I would prove to the men how mistaken they are in thinking that they no longer fall in love when they grow old--not knowing that they grow old when they stop falling in love. To a child I would give wings, but I would let him learn how to fly by himself. To the old I would teach that death comes not with old age but with forgetting. I have learned so much from you men....

I have learned that everybody wants to live at the top of the mountain without realizing that true happiness lies in the way we climb the slope.

I have learned that when a newborn first squeezes his father's finger in his tiny fist, he has caught him forever.

I have learned that a man only has the right to look down on another man when it is to help him to stand up. I have learned so many things from you, but in the end most of it will be no use because when they put me inside that suitcase, unfortunately I will be dying."

(Source:http://www.geocities.com/alindahaw_essay/essay_life_marioneta.html)

Kitsch is a beautiful word I heard first from a German friend who contemptuously dismissed popular American culture with that word. I did not know the meaning of the word at that time but did not know him well enough to ask.
Dictionaries would of course give us the following definition.
kitsch \KITCH\ noun
1 : something that appeals to popular or low brow taste and is often of poor quality
: a tacky or lowbrow quality or condition
Since we borrowed "kitsch" from German in the 1920s, it has been our word for things in the realm of popular culture that dangle, like car mirror dice, precariously close to tackiness.

Over the years the term kitsch has come to be used not only for things relating to fake art but anything that is designed to appeal to popular taste and hence comes prepackaged with an emotional response. Kitsch addresses your heart rather than the head and many times bypasses the head altogether. You can find ready instances of kitsch in our films and advertisements. In fact you can find it in anything that makes us go “awwwwwwww” or “oh,soooo sweet” or reach for that box of tissues while watching the Television. Thanks to the influence of popular American culture, we have store chains (hallmark and archies)and special days (we just had one last month – the red hearts’ day!) that symbolize and celebrate“kitsch.”

Milan Kundera has a whole chapter devoted to Kitsch in his “Unbearable Lightness of being”:
“The feeling induced by kitsch must be the kind the multitudes can share. Kitsch may not, therefore, depend on an unusual situation; it must derive from the basic images people have engraved in their memories :the ungrateful daughter,the neglected father, children running on the grass, the motherland betrayed, first love.”
“Kitsch causes two tears to flow in quick succession. The first tear says:How nice to see children running on the grass!
The second tear says: How nice to be moved, together with all mankindby children running on the grass!
it is the second that makes kitsch kitsch.”

Courtesy our visual media that thrives on kitsch, the current generations have problem distinguishing kitsch from real feelings. How else can you explain problems in agony aunt columns where young women report issues such as : “I know he loves me but he never shows it. He never buys me flowers or gifts except on my birthday and our anniversary. He expects me to know he cares for me and loves me.” And the wise woman replying “you should have a open discussion with him and tell him how this hurts you” blah…blah…blah…Thanks to the power of advertisements, people grow up mistaking these symbols or external manifestations for the real thing and absence of this causes a lot of heartbreak. I have actually known several relationships break purely because one person did not believe in kitschy display and the other did!

80% of what comes out of bollywood and hollywood makes money on Kitsch.Karan Johar for instance is the king of kitsch and people love his films and lap it up and yong people want to live and love like that. I guess Kitsch is here to stay and if one wants to go with the tide, it is better to embrace it gift wrapped with shiny gold paper and a pink satin ribbon along with a red rose!

Some of us friends were chatting and someone mentioned the film Parineeta. After the initial wows and ahs of approval about how beautiful Vidya looked and how lovely the songs were and the "charm" that invariably pervades stories from that milieu in that era, someone disapproved. She said she didn't like the way women like Lolita and Paro tolerated men treating them like doormats. She said all that doe eyed look and feminine wiles made her sick. According to her these women represented all that women "should not be".And it was a crime against women to romanticise such women.

While understanding her viewpoint, I could not help pointing out that the story belonged to an era when women were brought up to behave like that. There was nothing different about these heroines because all women behaved like that in that era and so the novelist could not be faulted for portraying his heroine so.Their strength lay in the patience with which they handled those spoilt brats parading as "men." And the social and legal system of the time was not very favourable to a single woman.

I find this tendency a little unfair - criticising historical and mythical characters by applying modern day standards to them - Sita's trail by fire or the treatment of ahalya or Nalayini. We debate the rights and wrongs of the way these women were treated and how patiently they endured these without protest and we blame them for the suppression of women down the ages. All this forgetting the social norms of the era they lived in. It is not always easy for suppressed individuals to rise up against society; even more difficult when they do not even see that they have been suppressed or denied some rights. Of course, ignorance has never stood up very well as an excuse, has it?

What I do agree with, however , is that it is pretty irrelevant to hold them up as role models for the woman of today in the name of "our cultural tradition" or "Bharathiya Nari"hood - romanticisation of Vrats where women starve for the life of their men or unequal male-female relationships where patient endurance of abuse is extolled as a virtue in a woman. Where women look so fragile and beautiful making women want to be like them and making men scream in sheer desperation "Why don't they make women like that anymore?"

Trying to superimpose the byproducts of one era on a totally different era in the name of tradition can only lead to confusion and rebellion. And every generation of youth face this but forget it when they become parents and do the same to their children. But Change happens and life goes on....

Every once in a way we have this conversation - me and my inner voice.
"Describe the woman you are " says the voice.
"Dark skin, black hair, medium height" I said one year
"You are describing your inheritence, not you" and it went away.
"Post graduate, banker and teacher" I started another year
"That's what you do for a living..." the voice trailed and vanished.
"Sensitive,shy and silly" I ventured last year.
"That is your face to the outside world. Who are you?" the irritated voice stomped away in a huff.
This morning it returned full of sarcasm - "Have you figured it out yet?"
"I am the voice of that unseen bird that touches your soul and flies away - a tune that stays in your memory and not a form that stays in your home. I do not want roots but wings so I am neither owned nor own. Like the Earth and Moon and Rain - I just want to be, not belong."
"Go and be that person for one day and then you can go behind the curtains of the dark skinned post graduate teacher. Happy Woman's Day!" said the voice hugging me in total joy!

Discover the woman you are and go and be that person today! Love yourself completely and without guilt and then you will see how much more you can love others.
Happy Women's day to all!

Imagine this: Whole of the Earth is about to be flooded (or as Douglas Adams envisaged the earth is about to be demolished to make way for the intergalactic highway!!) and the rescue spaceship has arrived to transport you to another planet. You are allowed to take just one of your possesions with you - What would you take? You are allowed to take one person along. Who would you choose?
Questions like this are so handy to liven up a party or a rainy afternoon. Some of the replies are revealing, some sentimental, and some plain funny as you can always laugh about a hypothetical situation.
In reality,the process of life itself is nothing but a series of choices and living out their results and there is nothing "hypothetical" about it. We make them every step of the way, all the way. Some are conscious choices and others reflexive rooted in social and biological conditioning.And sometimes we are so blinded by this conditioning that we do not even see the choices and we let our situation take control and just drift along and say "I did not have a choice". But the fact is that there is never a situation without a choice in this life. There may be two equally difficult choices (like the proverbial frying pan and the fire) but there is always a choice.

There are moments like the question I started with when you are faced with such a limited choice that it seems like no choice at all. Just imagine you are being offered the choice to jump on a spaceboat and escape to safety, to an alien place leaving everything that has defined your life so far and without the knowledge of what awaits you there. Can you choose one , just one thing or person to take along which would make you feel comfortable "out there"?

And yet in the course of our lives, we make choices of equal significance on which our very survival and the course of our life depends, without even knowing that they are "life defining".We have been sent here with a definite deadline ( pun unintended), the only certainty being "death." Yet we do not live with with the urgency that it demands not do we make our choices with the seriousness they deserve. Some of us come here,chill out,have a party and leave.We say " why take life so seriously? Enjoy while it lasts for in the long run we are all dead!". This is still a "choice" we have made. Others grope around undecided and leave. Yet others live out choices made for them by some one else.And then there are those few, who live every moment with the seriousness and significance it deserves. I do not know if consumption decides the difference between living and existing or consciousness but I believe there is no single "good" or "correct" way that someone else can dictate - It all finally boils down to one's own choice. And therein lies the whole value of life.

Abhilash has written a brilliant post on a related issue here.
Ram,as I write this I am smiling in anticipation of your reaction which is bound to raise related issues and a lively debate as you have always done in the past on questions relating to philosophy and politics.

Anyway coming back to the original question, my choice would be that I'd refuse to hop on to that boat. I have no desire to start my life anywhere else that this wonderful earth leaving behind everyone who form my "life" for me. I shall perish with everything that goes with this earth.

Bangaloreans have always been fond of eating out what with the place being the home of inexpensive restaurant chains like the Udupis and Kamats and of course MTR , which used to be a tourist attraction along with Lalbagh and the Bull temple. But for the young people in bangalore, the scene has changed rapidly in the past 10 years and a lot of places have sprung up serving continental and exotic cuisine - an offshoot of the IT boom and the fantastic salaries and increase in the population of Yuppie singles. So "exotic" is no longer Chinese as it was 10 years ago but Thai and Japanese and Meditteranean and Italian and Greek and Mexican and what have you.

The total experience of eating out starts with the description of the fare on the menu card. Apart from the wonderful names that you see like "devilled something" and "some delight" and "some surprise", almost half of the recipe finds its way there. There are ingredients with names like basil and oregano that sound so wonderful,and cooking methods employed like "basting" and "sauteed" and then the accompaniments with which it is served – enough to make you salivate right there.The expectation begins to build up from the time you read the description.The number and names of ingredients alleged to be part of the dish entice you into trying the dish out at least once , never mind the price tag. It is all about packaging the product.

When he was about eight or nine, my son developed a great passion for eating out. We usually went to the restaurants nearby and ate pretty much the same kind of dishes that I made at home and the qulaity was not really very different from my preparations. But still he loved the experience. It seemed that he loved being served by men in uniforms, ordering from a menu, and if they brought caramalised fennel and toothpicks with the bill, he declared that the hotel had class! I even used to joke that I could dress like waitress and give him a menu card and even give him a bill if that is what he wanted(and of course,the saunf and toothpick!)

Recently my aunt had forwarded a nice mail about the factors at play and the dynamics involved in the making of the menu cards of different genre of restaurants.
"'Menus are the Pavlov's bell of eating out. They are a literature of control. Menu language, with its hyphens, quotation marks, and random outbursts of foreign words, serves less to describe food than to manage your expectations. Take the description of my dish above: It promises the unconventional—crosnes!—while reassuring the unadventurous with familiar comforts—risotto, peas—then slaps a thin veneer of glamour on the enterprise with the pizazz of "black truffle vinaigrette." This menu
entry doesn't merely entice, it justifies the cost of dining out. "
While signing off the same my aunt had added:
"My today's evening menu is :
long grain rice seasoned with cumin seeds fried and boiled , tamarind sauce with special spices and lentil dumplings, pureed tomatoes with special spices made into a thin sauce garnished with cilantro.Potatoes braised with onions in a chilli base, tomatoes and onions in a yogurt surprise, fried round lentil drieds, grated carrots with lemon.!!”
My mouth started watering and I wondered where she had learnt these complicated culinary delights until it dawned on me that what she was referring to is a standard Sunday lunch menu in a Tamil household which would have been causally dismissed as jeera rice, sambar ,rasam ,potato curry, raitha and carrot salad.
After all it is all about making the ordinary sound unusual - the power of words in dressing up the mundane much like what presentation and garnishing does to the dish itself!

I think I'll print a menu card describing the daily menu in words aimed to make the taste buds go berserk. May be that will increase the appreciation for the food. Who knows they may even leave me a fat tip!

I heard a teacher comment with a lot of sadness that the problem with today’s youth is that there are no heroes to inspire them. She had asked the 15 year olds in her class to write on their hero and most could not get beyond Sachin, Aishwarya Rai and Sania Mirza and some even wrote that they did not believe in following anyone and felt that their individuality was more important than being inspired by any hero. She was a little concerned that we no longer seem to have people who could inspire the youth by the strength of their character and moral rectitude.

Decline of heroism? Don't our youth have enough heroes to show the way?
I was quite surprised to hear this because with the spread of democracy, access and opportunity have opened up for everyone and one would imagine there should be more heroes buzzing all over the place waiting to be worshipped and emulated. For instance, we no longer live in an age when the competition to a Prince- hero pays the price for being equally good by being disqualified from competitions on grounds of gaps in bio-data (Mandatory field: Biological fathers name) or by having a vital part of his body amputated!

Or this very wide open door of opportunity has perhaps resulted in a shortening of the tenure of herohood today. For example before someone creates a record, there is someone around the next corner ready to break it! The exclusivity enjoyed by the Arjunas and the Herculeses ensured longevity of their fame while today’s heroes’ share of the limelight gets reduced to a few days.Is that why herohood is no longer a sought after career – except when it comes with the huge benefits of the Shah Rukh Khan and Aishwarya Rai variety?

The problem is not that there are no heroes anymore - there is plenty of heroic work going on quietly even in remote corners making a lot of difference to a lot of people’s lives. The problem is that they do not get publicity and recognition that could make them popular enough to act as inspiration for anyone who happens to be in their neighbourhood. Unlike the western media, our newspapers and television channels prefer to use their space on celebrity heroes rather than showcasing these unsung heroes of kindness, sacrifice and leadership. Perhaps the value of their work stands enhanced because of its obscurity. It is the community at large and specially the youth that lose out by not having role models to inspire them.


Roy Williams has written an interesting piece on the value of heores to a society:

"The saying, "The sun never sets on the British Empire" was true as recently as 1937 when tiny England did, in fact, still have possessions in each of the world's 24 time zones. It's widely known that the British explored, conquered and ruled much of the world for a number of years, but what isn't as widely known is what made them believe they could do it.

For the first 1000 years after Christ, Greece and Rome were the only nations telling stories of heroes and champions. England was just a dreary little island of rejects, castoffs, barbarians and losers. So who inspired tiny, foggy England to rise up and take over the world? ......Hoping to instill in his countrymen a sense of pride, a simple Welsh monk named Geoffrey assembled a complete history of England that gave his people a grand and glorious pedigree. Published in 1136, Geoffrey's "History of the Kings of Britain," was a detailed, written account of the deeds of the English people for each of the 17 centuries prior to 689 AD... and not a single word of it was true. Yet in creating Merlyn, Guinevere, Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table from the fabric of imagination, Geoffrey of Monmouth convinced a sad little island of rejects, castoffs, barbarians and losers to see themselves as a just and magnificent nation.
And not long after they began to see themselves that way in their minds, they began seeing themselves that way in the mirror.
Most people assume that legends, myths and stories of heroes are simply the byproducts of great civilizations, but I'm convinced that they are the cause of them. Throughout history, the mightiest civilizations have been the ones with stories of heroes; larger-than-life role models that inspired ordinary citizens to rise up and do amazing things."

So it would seem that if there were no heroes, one would need to invent them. And in our case, we have so many of the "real" ones, all we need to do is to turn the limelight on them.

"Agelessbonding eliminates the possibilities of a Middle Age and its blues."
- blogger Krishna Bhatt left this comment on my previous post.
Precisely the reason why this blog was started; and also to have a channel of communication that transcends the barriers of physical world which limits your interactions to a small group of people in your family and neighbourhood. I could never have been exposed to reactions from people as diverse as those who leave a comment here and broaden my perspective - I might never have discussed some of the things I write about here in the real world with a 18 year old like Shashi and I wonder if he would have been as forthcoming with his comments. Funny I used the word "real world" for this world is about as real for me as anything that happens around me everyday. Vaish and I were meeting every weekend at the French classes but our friendship deepened to the level of peers only after we exchanged blog addresses and got a peek into our reactions to men and matters. And she tells me that I am more twenty plus than most twenty pluses she knows. Same with Anita. Visithra, the kolam expert who is already a good friend , agrees. Well,as Siddhu says I guess I stopped growing sometime in my 20s - don't know if that is good are bad but as long as I am comfortable with it, it should not matter, right? and believe me, I am.Mohan and Samanth, who are Siddhu's friends are as much my equals now. It feels great when Mohan says that he feels the same way as me about the need for space.
As Mark twain observed: Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.. Another blogger friend Ravi agrees completely.Dubukku Renga, do you still want to call me "akka"? Beware, when you are 40, I might call you "anna", relatively speaking...and Mukundan, can we get rid of that "Madam"?
Middle age and old age are not for me, I intend to die young at 80!Or as Rashmi said,
"18 till I die". ( actually I'd rather be 29!).

P.S. Apparently this is my 300th post. A big thank you to those who take the trouble to read me and even bother to leave their reactions,which is what keeps this blog going. Thank you all!

Many months back I wrote a post on the legendary "poochandi" who is a character very familiar to kids in Tamilnadu.This terrible "P" word is the ultimate in threat to scare unruly little deviants into unquestioning obedience. You could say that for Tamil kids POO.CH.CHAN.DEE ,( uttered slowly and deliberately in a vicious undertone) is the equivalent of Gabbar Singh of Sholay. Remember?"Pachas Pachas Kos Door Gaon Me Jab Koi Bachcha Rota Hai To Maa Kehati Hai, So Ja Bete; Varna Gabbar Aa jayega."
Exactly what Tamil ammas said to their unruly kids with a remarkable rate of success. And it was not when the child opened his mouth to cry but when he refused to hit the bed or finish up his food or whatever. Poochandi never failed to deliver the goods - 100% rate of success.
Needless to say that generations of children in Tamil households have heard of him but he has never been seen! More the pity,for such a powerful charcter at least deserves the dignity of a scary face to go with his reputation!! But of course, it was left to one's own imagination and you could have your personalised poochandi depending on what you thought was scary enough.
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!
And imagine my delight when. thanks to Mathangi, I discovered my own Poochandi's image. It even has my name !!




Help yourself to your own personalised poochandi here

Thanks Mathangi for letting me confront my personal poochandi. It is a childhood dream come true....

Ms. Vyjayanthi Raman, a graduate in sociology runs a shelter for poor children – actually it is the home for these 20 children and is appropriately called “OUR HOME”. The shelter runs from a rented premises from which they have been asked to move out. Now they are looking for an alternate space and need about 25 lakhs.

Check out asha’s post on a day she spent with them at the circus and for some photographs of these beautiful children.

Small contributions from individuals will also go a long way to make up the sum. The contributions are eligible for Income Tax benefits.

You are welcome to visit the home , interact with the children and talk to Ms.Vyjayanthi .

Contacts for information:
Mrs. Vyjayanthi Raman
Res: 26630413
Mobile: 93413-14173
Mail: vyjayanthiraman@hotmail.com

You can make your contributions payable to "Helpline charitable trust" and Mail it to
Ms. Vyjayanthi Raman at:
"Our home"
708, 16th A main
38th Cross
Jayanagar,
4th T Block,
Bangalore - 560041

Or directly make a transfer to their ICICI Bank account 005301040477.
The trust can accept money from abroad if the person sending has an Indian passport. They can transfer money from any bank to ICICI a/c no 005301040477 Bangalore.

Along with this, they need to scan their passport [page with nationality] and send by email to vyjayanthiraman@hotmail.com. The money will be credited when she sends this copy to the bank.

Or you may contact Asha Mokashi


Please feel free to contact me for any further details. I will obtain them and forward them to you.

(Those of you who received a mail from me on this please do not be cross - I won't do it again!! I Promise!!!)

The details:

HELPLINE CHARITABLE TRUST (HCT)
PROJECT : SHELTER FOR 20 UNDER PREVILAGED CHILDREN

HCT was established in 1999, as a registered trust as per the prevailing laws in India.The trustees are Vyjayanthi Raman, V Krishnan Dr Srinath. Vyjayanthi Raman, is a graduate in sociology, was active in the government remand home & was a member of Karnataka Council for Women & Child Welfare. V Krishnan is a Chartered Accountant. Dr Srinath is a pediatrician. Apart from the trustees. Dr Saraswati, a gynecologist & Varadrajan a senior citizen are very active participants in the day-to-day activities of the trust.

Prime objective of the trust is to empower the impoverished children through education & vocational training.
HCT provides, shelter, food, medical care, education & a decent living ambience to the children to become responsible citizens with strong moral values.

• HCT admits both male & female children from the age of 3. There are currently 20 children.
• 3 destitute ladies, who are also in need, are responsible for day-to-day tasks.
• The children are sent to school & given additional coaching whenever needed.
• Senior citizens are encouraged to come & spend time with the children so as to give a family touch to their lives.
• A number of young volunteers from companies like Infosys, Oracle, Wipro take serious interest in the well-being & education of the children.
• Medical:Children are fully immunized. They are sent for check ups at regular intervals.
• Religion: Children from all faiths are freely admitted without any discrimination what so ever

Current requirement:
The activities of the trust since inception in 1999, is being carried out from leased premises. And now the landlord has asked them to shift and it is difficult to find an alternate premises on rental. As a long term solution, in the interest of the children, buying out a small but adequately sized shelter is the answer.
The trustees have identified a property not far from the present location, wherein the total cost comes to Rs 40 lacs, (see following slides for map & cost structure)
The trust presently has Rs 15 lacs which can be spared for this purpose,leaving a gap of Rs 25 lacs, which needs to be bridged

In the context of non availability of institutional funding & limited ability of the Trust, following options appear viable.
1. Direct grant to the trust by individuals/other trusts/companies or other organizations.
2. Buying of the property by another trust/organization/individual & letting the premises on long lease , say 25 years
3. Offering guarantee for the loan to any other organization, for loan to the Trust. Trust has the ability to repay @Rs 15000 per month (which is the rent, it is paying currently)

Other solutions are also welcome
• The trust has exemption under Income Tax act & contributions to the trust are eligible for deduction under section 80G, of Income Tax act.
• We interact closely with the Child Welfare Committee of the Govt of Karnataka and their inputs are taken with regard to maintenance of records etc
• The accounts of the trust are audited on a monthly basis by an independent professional firm.
• Regular updates are sent to the key donors & on request to anyone.
• Donors are encouraged to visit the premises & get a first hand feel of the activities and to interact with the children.

A film that you must watch , in the cinema. It has a story that is so relevant, a cast that is full of charm, energy and talent, a screen play that is perfect and Music that is so...so A.R. Rahman!
It is fun, true,and in the end leaves you feeling thatyou can make a difference and you must. Every now and then in the history of a nation, there come moments where a generation has a choice between the line of least resistance and leaving ones footprints in history. NOW is probably one such time. A Mahatma is not born every few years to lead you through the right path. We were lucky to have had one in recent history. And we could make ourselves worthy of preserving the freedom won with the blood of so many like Azad and Bhagat Singh and Bismil, Ashfaqullah Khan and so many other unknown shaheeds because of whom we are able to live and breathe the air of freedom today.
"Ae mere watan ke logo-n
zara aankh mein bhar lo paani
jo shaheed huay hain oonki
zara yaad karo qurbani ... "
Let us not make our cries of Vande Mataram for "One day mataram" (as T.N.Seshan said once). let us make it a cry for everyday and be proud of this country and more importantly make it worthy of pride.
Let us fight injustice and corruption fearlessly when and where we find them. Let us stand up for our rights. let us not be enslaved by our own systems. Let us act worthy of our freedom.
These were my thoughts and feelings after the flim.
It is clearly a "message" movie and the messages are not subtle either, they are pretty loud and clear. But hey, when a movie is made this well, who's complaining?
For a brilliant, professional review of the film ,go to my favorite film critic Baradwaj's blog @
http://brangan.easyjournal.com/entry.aspx?eid=2823614

In the Bhakthi litereature in India God is worshipped in many forms. The relationship is not always the standard one of reverence that a creation owes its creator but it has taken many forms like those between alter-egos like Nara and narayana, partners or lovers as in the case of Mira or Andal, friend, advisor, parent apart from the ultimate, the supreme, the final destination and salvation. But the most fascinating of all these relationships is the one where the bhaktha becomes the mother and treats God as a child. There are many beautiful songs in all our languages expressing adoration for Krishna, the baby. Some of my favorites are the well-known "thaye yashoda', "enna thavam seidanai","krishna nee begane baro", "chinnan chiru kiliye" and "Bhavayami Gopala Balam". They are beautiful not only for the description of the miracles performed by baby krishna's but for the basic emotion underlying the theme of the song.
In such a relationship, there is no request for any favours, not even the one which simply asks to become one with Him. There is no anguished cry about the sufferings in the material world. There is nothing to seek not even protection, shelter, refuge. There is only the simple love of the mother, in total adoration of the child and wonder at every little step it takes. An intense desire to satisfy its every need, to protect it and care for it.
This total effacement of the self and total devotion ,a complete need to give without expecting anything in return - Perhaps this is what makes these kind of songs stand out supreme among the Bhakthi songs. And perhaps this is one kind of Bhakthi that all mammals are capable of and can easily relate to.
Just listen to M.S.Subbalakshmi give voice to Annamacharya melting with maternal feeling (Just as Yasoda must have) watching little Krishna take his first steps:

Bhavayami Gopala Balam ... Mana Sevitham ,
Tat padam chintayeyam sada
kati ghatitha mekhala , khachita mani ghantika
Patala ninadena vibharaja manam
kutilapada ghatitha samakula chintitenam
chatula natanam samujala vilasam
niratakarakalita navaneetham
bramhadi ,suranikara bhavana shopitapadam
thiruvenkatachala sthitam anupamam harim
paramapurusham gopala balam

Anyone who has seen a child take his first unsteady steps can relate to the feelings and imagine what a delightful sight it must have been to watch the bejewelled Baby krishna walk unsteadily toward mama Yashoda with the butter in his hand spilling all the way!!
I can see why the whole of cosmos stopped to watch this sight!

Spaces are very important.

Spaces - their quietness, their whiteness, the freedom they give you to be what you are.

Spaces that let feel your breath and hear your heart beat.

Spaces when all the confusion of life and relationships smoothes out into neat understanding and acceptance. Making sense of it all, like the pauses in a sentence.

Spaces,comfortable and beautiful in their emptiness blending all the cacophony and all the varying shades into a quiet harmony.

Spaces where you meet yourself in an honest encounter and become who you are.

Spaces,short spans of time and moments for eternity.

Spaces, empty and serene - so destressing and so full of meaning.

Spaces without which you could lose yourself in the stampede and suffocation.

Spaes, that are "the breath of art" and of all life.

When we were in Mauritus, Valerie took us to her house.Her mom had this funny habit of adding extra bits of information in every sentence. For example when someone asked her how many children she had she would say :"I have 6 children. Didier, who is not here but lives in paris; Valerie, who is your friend and looks like you; Felicite who teaches at the school..." and so on...She was of french origin. So when I asked how long her family had lived in Mauritius, she said "About 100 years ago, a nun who got accidentally pregnant was sent away to this island. And that nun was my grandmother." Very entertaining but her responses always sounded like a paraphrase of her lifestory. She was that kind of a person too, very open, very warm and very frank. You felt that you had known her for a long time after just one meeting.

I suppose we reveal or betray more about ourselves through these extra bits of information that sneak into our conversations as an aside. It is like we keep them in reserve to be inserted at the appropriate moment - in order to make the right impression or as a cue for the conversation to develop in the direction we would like it to go. "The other day I told this to Mr.Shetty during our round of Golf- we are both members of the same club, you know." Very clever! In the right circles, this would have scored many many points.( I did that cleverly at the beginning of this post too...in case you hadn't noticed!!)

In many cases these also spring out of our insecurities,like this rich relative of ours who , whenever she had splurged on something obscenely expensive would always tell us how it was on offer at a discount which she could not let pass. As if she owed the universe an explanation for her expenses. Well actually, it was more to soften the shock that such enormous expense would have on us, the poorer relatives whose monthly income was equivalent of her one day expenses at times.

And then there is my elderly neighbour who told me this morning : "I got up around 5 for urination and that is when I noticed that the power was not there." I am not sure that the reason why he got up added much to the value of the coversation to me. But I guess he felt relieved(!!) after giving me the information!!

Three months ago, my maid disapperared for 3 days without notice. When she returned she was in bad shape , tired and miserable and in a state of shock. Sitting through her incoherent rants I got the gist of what had happened. Her husband had left her a few years ago for another woman leaving her to take care of a 15 year old son and a 12 year old daughter. She had to resort to housework and selling flowers despite coming from a family that was not too badly off. They hoped that the man would come to his senses one day and return but things got worse. They discovered that he was planning to sell off the land he owned and the son went to confront him as it was ancestral property and he felt he had a right to it too! The quarrel got nasty and the son drank poison in a fit of temper thinking that would shock his father into coming to senses. He was rushed to the hospital and his mother sent for. So she had rushed ina hurry and stayed with him in the hospital, running around, staying awake and crying hysterically for a foolish son and a callous husband. At least the son was saved and sent home with an intestine whose lining was completely corroded by the poison - a 18 year old!!
I gave her breakfast, murmured sympathetic words, gave her some cash and sent her home to rest.Life returned to "normal" the next day. Normal as is poverty, suffering and struggle - at least everyone was alive and no one was drinking poison.
Last week again she disappeared and I attributed it to Pongal or one of her pilgrimages to the hundred deities she believes in. She returned yesterday in the same state of shock, tired and worn out.
What now?
She spent the past 5 days in the hospital this time taking care of her husband , who had consumed poison, as the "other" woman had runaway with all the money he had!!
I asked her where was the need to take care of the man who had treated her and her children so badly.
Her response?
"If I ignore him and my responsibility, what is the difference between me and him amma. I won't be very upset if he had died but I didnt want to renege on my responsibility and set a bad example to my children. They have a bad father but let them see some goodness at least from their mother and learn what good life is."
!!!
She did not expect him to come back home but she was happy that she had done what she had to.
WOW! I had to admire this woman!!!
Is this what people mean when they talk about the greatness of Bhartiya Naari hood and how it has been at the foundation of Indian culture? I am not willing to get into the rights and wrongs of her approach or passive acceptance of abuse and its perpetuation.
To me her action makes sense completely as a human being and I think she acted with a lot of dignity.

When Vaish wrote about the things she'd miss about Bangalore in her post before leaving for the United States, I wondered what I'd miss about Bangalore if I were in her place and came up with this list:

The way the vegetable vendor or the greens (Soppu) seller who comes to the doorstep effortlessly calls me "akka" (sister).(Never mind he cheats me on the weight.)

The affection with which the old lady who sells flowers outside the temple gives me 6 inches of strung flowers free for my hair when I buy flowers for the deity.(This after complaining how expensive flowers have become and how she hardly makes any profit)

The anxiety with which a fellow driver on the street draws your attention with frantic honking to tell you your dupatta is caught in the door or one of the doors is not shut properly.

And then the way people listen carefully to you when you ask for directions, ask you to fill in the missing details and then tell you "sariyagi gothilla. sorry."

The way they would admit "gothilla" ( i don't know ) with humility rather than misguide you on anything.

The smell of avrekaalu and sampige flowers.

And of course i'd miss a part of my soul which I'd have left behind in this city if I'd ever have to leave it.

I always end up with tears in my eyes listening to O.S.Arun’s rendition of Subrahmanya Bharathi's “Chiinan chiru kiliye” especially when he struggles after “un kannil neer vazhindaal”, repeats the line as if unable to even bear the thought of his little one having tears in her eyes and then adds “ en nenjil udiram sottudadi” (if I see tears in your eyes, blood starts dripping from my heart). I know parents, especially fathers, share a special relationship with their daughters. But I have not had the privilege of knowing my father very closely having been born into a family where bringing up daughters was limited to ensuring they were fed and clothed properly and married off at the first opportunity. And I could not know it as a parent too as I do not have a daughter myself.
My own generation of parents take their job more seriously and handle the emotional requirements of their kids more sensitively – ok, at least we are trying. And as I look around I see the younger couples taking it even more seriously , especially the young fathers. I can well imagine most of them shedding tears of blood if their daughters were to shed so much as a tear drop.
Is the father- daughter relationship so intense because they know that they have limited time to pamper them? It must be pretty tough to love someone so wholly knowing that you would have to move to the background sooner or later. Of course it is the same with any child, boy or girl, but somehow it seems that the severing of the chord is more final in our Indian system where the girl becomes a guest in her own parents' house after her marriage. And hence perhaps the urgency to pamper the girl completely as long as she remains one’s daughter alone and not playing so many other roles?
Well, I can only speculate as I would never know. But looking at my pretty little neice getting her way with her father using her adorable wily ways I can say this much. The way huge tears stream forth from those big baby eyes at a minute's notice at the slightest pretext to get what she wants, her father could easily die of haemorrhage soon , if he was to have blood shed in his heart every time she has tears in her eyes!! The tears would flow profusely, as if an invisible dam burst forth and stop instantly the minute the demand is met and there would be stars in the eyes and no trace of the tears!!!But I can tell you it is the most heart breaking sight to see a little girl cry, even though you know it is a class act.

*********************************************

On a related note I am reminded a beautiful song written by Vairamuthu.
The girl is adopted ,the parents love her more than life but she is a turbulent and troubled child.
Movie: kannathil Muthamittal

oru dheyivam thandha poovae, kaNNil thedal yeNNa thaayae
vazhvu thodangum idam needanae, vaanam mudiyumidam needanae
kaatrai poala nee vandhayae, swasamaga nee nindrayae
maarbil oorum uyirae.

yenadhu sondham nee, yenadhu pagaiyum nee
kadhal malarum nee karuvil muLLum nee
cheLLa mazhaiyum nee, chiNNa idiyum nee
pirandha udalum nee, piriyum uyirum nee
maranam eenra jananamm nee.

yenadhu selvam nee, yenadhu varumai nee
izhaiththa kavidhai nee, Ezhuththu pizhaiyum nee
iraval veLicham nee, iravin kaNNir nee
yenadhu vaanam nee, izhandha siragum nee
naan thooki vaLLartha thuyaram nee


Both versions of the song - sung by Jayachandran and Chinmayi - are hauntingly melodious. And you can feel the intensity of the emotion and the sensitivity surrounding the relationship between the parents and a troubled child.
What can describe it more than the expression "iravin Kanneer nee" ( you are the tears shed in the night)? Tears shed in the privacy of the night because they cannot be shared with anyone else or hoped to be understood - but borne of so much pain that they must be shed and suffered silently, all alone known only to the darkness of the night.

Just finished reading “Two lives” by Vikram Seth. As with all books that deal with that pain filled period in recent history – the Nazi regime and the holocaust- it has taken me two days to pull myself together and talk. No,the book is not all about the holocaust – well of course, with all the press publicity, even those who haven’t read it know what the book is about. It is part memoir and part biography dealing with the lives of Seth’s grand uncle Shanthi and his wife Henny, a German Jew who escaped to England but whose sister and mother died in Auschwitz and Theriesenstadt .

Writing a biography limits a writer from using all the skills in a writer's repertoire but Seth emplys his skills in this book in piecing together the biographic material in an interesting and gripping fashion, except for the last part when it gets a bit tiresome. But that cannot be helped as he has to report that phase truly for us to know the man about whom he writes. Considering that he has had to recreate his aunt’s side of the story entirely from her correspondence with her circle of friends who remained in Post war Germany, there could have been many tedious repetitions and chaotic movements forward and backward. But Seth is a master story teller and the story unfolds without rough rides or tangles. It is almost like the story was waiting to be written – otherwise how can you account for his aunt keeping carbon copies of her letters to her friends during this entire period?

The book is about two people most unlikely to be united in a relationship. An Indian student whose fate took him at the age of 17 to Berlin to study dentistry and a German Jew who was apprehensive of him and told her mom not to take him in as a boarder - "Nimm den Schwarzen nicht [(Don't take the black man].' But as Fate would have it, he would be her companion for the rest of her life. Theirs was a not a “passionate romance but it was a deep and abiding concern.” A man who lost his right hand while serving in the medical corps in the war but with sheer persistence built up a successful dental practice. And a woman who had lost all her relations during the war. “Both Shanthi and Henny were in the broader sense exiled; each found in their fellow exile a home.” “Beset by life, isolated in the world, in each other they found a strong and sheltering harbour”. And in the rest of the book, Seth masterfully unfolds how they lived out their “fractured lives” for five decades together in absolute compatibility in spite of all the differences and inner scars. There is no need for a relationship to be perfect for people to be happy. “What is perfect? In a world with so much suffering, isolation and indifference it is a cause for gratitude if something is sufficiently good.”

Occasionally Seth treats us to his prose like this when he reflects on the historical facts or throws in an extra perspective on the course of events. Otherwise he stays in the background as the invisible third braid letting the events speak for themselves. Particularly poignant is his narration of what Henny’s sister Lola would have been through at the Auschwitz on the day of being gassed. He just states the information derived from sources recorded elsewhere by survivors without excessively dramatising any of it but the final effect of it all leaves you speechless and with tremendous pain at the extent of “man’s inhumanity to man”. Reading them in the history of the period touches you lesser than when you read about the actual details of the incidents happening to ordinary people.The horror gets multiplied manifold. But you also see how shared suffering unites people and brings out the best in human nature in the way some of the non Jewish friends try to help Henny’s sister during the Nazi reign of terror ; in the way Shanthi and Henny send gifts of food and other basic clothing items to their German friends suffering from complete scarcity of these in post- war Germany, even though they themselves were not very wealthy and things were rationed in England too. Perhaps it is all this goodness and kindness of the ordinary people that has kept the world going in spite of the many tragedies perpetrated by politicians and militia. Every person who has lived through these periods in history deserves to be looked upon as a hero, their ordinary lives as an epic saga.

Being a memoir, it allows one a glimpse of Seth's real personality - his attachment to his family, the values he looks up to in people etc. Particularly touching is the moment when he talks about his anger against anything German, including the language, after his research into the details of the holocaust. You feel closer to the author after the book.

“Two Lives” is not one of those books that comes to an end at the last page. It stays with you for a while as a feeling and leaves you with a lot of thoughts that need pondering. Two days after closing the book, his last few words are still ringing in my ears:
“..in the context of an evil century past and a still more dangerous one to come. May we not be as foolish as we are almost bound to be. If we cannot eschew hatred, at least we can eschew group hatred. May we see that we could have been born as each other. May we, in short, believe in human logic and perhaps, in due course, in love.”

He stood near the bed and took the frail hand in his. She opened her eyes and on seeing him there was a glimmer of light in those dull eyes and her lips lengthened into a smile. She asked him to sit by her side and gently pressed his fingers while asking him if he was happy in the new job.

Dear old Nani, always concerned about the happiness of others. His eyes brimmed with tears as he told her not to exert herself. The nurse came in to check the IV fluid.
He sank into a chair near the bed and his thoughts went back to the times when Nani was young and strong.
Nani who was his refuge whenever his parents punished him for his childhood pranks.
Nani who would kiss his bruises and make the pain go away.
Nani who told him stories from mythology.
Nani who undertook a severe fast when he was admitted to the hospital with a severe viral attack.
Nani who would save up on her pension to buy him books for his birthday.
Nani who wrote to him every week when he was in the hostel and homesick.
Nani who only knew how to give and to love and to help.

He heard footsteps and looked up. It was his uncle and aunt who held a cup of coffee for him.
“It costs us about 10,000 every month, the two nurses and the medications,” the uncle said..
This sounded bizarre to him. “It is your mother,dammit.” he wanted to scream.
His wife went one step further and said how she could not go to stay with her daughter as she was saddled with Nani.

He wanted to take them out so Nani would be spared of hearing these but it was too late. He could see the tears in her eyes. She had heard it all. She knew she was only a burden for them. But what could she do?
He wished he could take her to his house and take care of her as she had done to him in his childhood. But he worked 2000 km away and Nani could not be transported. He knew she had a very little of life left in her. He only wished people would be patient and be kind to her in her last days.
“It won’t be for long”, he told his mami.
“Even Dr Sharma said the same thing 6 months ago.” There was frustration in mami’s voice. And he hoped for a word of reproach from his uncle but there was only a passive nod in agreement..

He wondered if there was anything sacred for human beings anymore in this age of materialism. Even relationships are valued only as long as they are convenient and useful? In his profession he had seen poor mothers beg him to save the life of their children. He had been taught that if he could prolong the life of a person by a day it was still worth all the effort needed. But here he was not able to sit and take this anymore.

He told them to leave the room to allow her to rest. He sat next to her on the bed and stroked her hands and her cheeks and wiped her tears. He kissed her on the forehead and whispered into her ears, “I love you Nanima. You were the best part of my life.” She asked him to bend and kissed his forehead and feebly whispered ,”And you are of mine beta. I am proud of you.”
Tears streamed down his cheeks as he sat holding her hand and stroking her head as she fell asleep.

Then Dr. Amit Kumar got up, opened his emergency kit, found what he needed and added it in the IV fluid. He touched her feet and told her “Nanima, I wish I could kiss you and make the pain go away but this is all I can do to ease your pain.”
He came out and quickly took leave of his uncle and aunt, went down and sat sobbing in his car.

He knew they would call for him soon.

There is a beautiful poem from the sangam period in Tamil literature ( about 1 to 3rd century a.d) translated by A.K Ramanujam which goes like this:

"What she said:
dont they really have
in the land where he has gone
such things
as house sparrows

dense feathered, the colour of fading lilies,
pecking at grain drying on yards
playing with the scatter of the fine dust
of the street's manure
and living with their nestlings
in the angles of the penthouse

and miserable evenings,
and loneliness?"

The image is of a young girl perhaps in her late teens whose husband has left for distant shores to earn wealth looking at the house sparrows symbolising home and togetherness and yearning for companionship. "miserable evenings - and loneliness?"
Why is loneliness most miserable in the evenings?

Solitude is peacefulness.It is a means of enjoying the quiet and whatever it brings -it is satisfying and rejuvenating as you can even draw sustenance from it. It replenishes you after having devoted so much of energy for looking after the needs of others. Now is the time to set aside the cooking, cleaning etc and put one's feet up with a nice book, or whatever other hobby.
But as the afternoon grows into evening, and you watch school children bursting out like butterfiles from the giant yellow cocoons, and a little later adults returning from work - dragging their weary feet but smiling at the thought or sight of home.Birds suddenly become active in their hitherto lazy perches on trees, quickly take in one last breastful of air, flap their wings as a warm up and then they rise together like school children aroused by a whistle and quickly hop into empty slots on their flight patterns for their journey home;Cows and sheep cast a final glance about for any crisp grass for a quick evening snack and then amble back home with a contented look. Even the Sun is ready to go home.
It is then that the solitude grows heavier into one of loneliness. Evening is a time when you want the house to be filled again with family members and friends - doors are left open so people may walk in,kitchen warms up with the heat of fire and the smell of fresh food. A time for incessant chatter about the happenings of the day, laughter and play, happy meals together.It is the time that fills one's heart with gratitude for yet another day of joy and togetherness, sharing and caring.

Loneliness is a cruel thing to endure in the evening of the day; and also in the evening of one's life.

"In the dream where you show up to school naked, why do you never go swimming?"
That is the question on my blogger profile. I think it requires a special kind of brain to think up these questions. From where do they get these? My three best guesses are:1. from some drunken teenage party game 2. from a questionnaire at a psychiatrist's clinic or 3. from some translation software ( which usually gives you completely grammatical but totally meaningless equivalent for what you fed in).
Now for the answer I had a choice between fact number 1 that I would not have a swim suit and fact no.2 that I do not know how to swim. While I was seriously considering these choices, the minor detail that I would have shown up to school naked completely escaped me.Yes, NAKED!
Apparently it is very common for people to have dreams in which they find themselves naked. A doctor friend explained that this kind of a dream signified one’s fear of being exposed and that it is a reflection of one’s vulnerability or shamefulness. Well, if any of you have actually had such a dream (not of your favourite actress or model showing up naked and I am told that is "perfectly normal" for males between 13 -100 ) but you yourself show up naked, you know the reason now. You have some “ia”, “ism” or “yxis”.
Whatever this fear is, I not only do not have it but I do not even have the fear of having it because I cannot remember most of my dreams and I never remember to have noticed any details of anyone's attire in the dreams.
I think things happen with great clarity only in the dream sequences in films. Real life dreams are less colourful and more suggestive like photo negatives. Of course I do know some people who describe dreams to the last detail including the accessories and the brand of perfume used. I have a vague suspicion that these people just have a vivid imagination that fills up the details after they wake up.
Or I must be suffering from some kind of a dream blindness for I can never see faces or forms but just a vague impression of some incident occuring and I get a sense of the characters in the scene from the general drift of things.People flit in and out in cloudy caspery forms - wrong combination of people from all generations appear at all the wrong places with no sense of history or geography. It all sounds like the first day rehearsal for your college play where the script gets written after you start the rehearsal. With so much happening, the last thing I can be expected to notice is the colour coordination and the accessories of their costumes or even if they are wearing anything.Is this common or am I the exception? Do people really see dreams in great detail in technicolour complete with sound effects?
Anyways,next time any of you plan to show up in my dreams just walk in as you are as it would be a great shame to have all your finery wasted. However well dressed you are, my dreams are going to convert you into an image of the kind of bad light photographs that I take. So you can save all that trouble for those special people who can see all the details. As for my dreams dress code:strictly casual!

5 a.m on a november morning in Bangalore.
Breathtaking beauty of a black sky heightened by a crisp slice of moon and a few stray sleepy stars. Stillness of a morning still early for birds broken only by a distant bell. Winds,virgin untouched by the smells and sounds of the day carrying just a trace of their flirtations with the flower buds.Cold winds,not biting but playful, indulgent and gentle.Anger and betrayal,pride and arrogance and all the meanness of the world faraway and locked inside closed doors,buried under blankets.
You,cane chair on the balcony, hot tea.Peace.Heaven.
(For everything else there is mastercard!!)

I have always thought it was a major exaggeration when people said or wrote that they felt the ground under their feet shift leaving them stunned and shocked.
What could possibly happen to a person to create such an extreme reaction that you lose touch with your bearings and question the firmness on the earth you are standing on?
What could shake the foundations of your existence, and make you think that your whole perception of yourself so far is a lie and you are just an alien?
Happened to me when someone asked me if I was a kannadiga or an "outsider"in Bangalore. The categorisation seemed very clear. It did not matter that I had lived in this city for 26 years, considered it my home,spoke kannada better than some for whom it was the mother tongue and above all, loved the city. I own property and I have voting rights here. And yet,to be called an outsider in your home?! Now, that hurt, very very deeply. I did not know where I belonged anymore.
I completely understood what some of my friends who practice Islam had told me all along. How it felt to be treated like an outsider in your own home. Now I completely understand the alienation that the African Americans feel in the U.S.A. I can see why the suburbs of Paris are burning. This is where the seeds are sown.
What qualifies one to be an insider in any place?
When I salute the national flag or sing the national anthem or cheer the men in blue or say "vande mataram' from the pit of my stomach, and own an Indian passport, I feel that I belong here and that this IS my HOME - every inch of its territory. I refuse to be categorised as anything other than "Indian" despite the languages I know , where I live or what religion I practice. Bangalore, Mumbai or Kashmir is as much my home as anyone who has lived there for 500 years. My constitution guarantees me that and I refuse to let anyone take that away from me.
Next time someone asks me if I am an "outsider" I shall not dignify that with a reply or a reaction.
Vande Mataram!

________________________________________________
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

Rabindranath Tagore.

58 years...and yet we are far from there!!!Miles to go to be free gurudev!

Is there anything called near faith?
Can you call it faith ( or belief or trust ) when it is a cocktail of belief and doubt in whatever proportions they are mixed? Even when a whole glass of faith is spiked with a hint of disbelief?
Faith has to be complete, absolute, total. There are no degrees or levels to faith - anything less than 100 percent is not faith at all.Come to think of it it is the same with all qualities that make a human being perfect - like sincerity, honesty, simplicity- it is hundred percent or none at all!
We often hear people claim to have lost faith in people, humanity, the system . probe further and they will tell you that they always had doubts . When you never had Faith how can you claim to have lost it? this is the trouble with us today, that we try things half heartedly and give up too easily and then blame the system. Contrast this with what true faith can do to you.My friend had put in her heart and soul into a project and getting the contract would have meant a lot to change her life as she had a lot of family responsibilities, an ailing mother, sisters in college a house loan to be paid off. On the day of the final bid she said that she knew god would show her the way and when she came back we heard that the contract had gone to a competitior who had used his contacts .I asked her if she still thought that God had shown her the way. She said "sure.He did not want me to have it. But i am sure He has other plans for me!!!!"
That is Faith!
Faith is the absolute trust that the little girl has when she gets on a bicycle for the first time and does not look back knowing that her father won't let go until he is sure she can manage the distance on her own. Faith is the absolute trust in laws of universe that makes us sleep peacefully after sunset knowing that the Sun will rise again in the east the next day. Faith is believing with all your heart, in what your senses say cannot be, in what you sometimes cannot even hear or see or touch. Faith is that spring under your feet that makes you leap for the star.

These are people you don’t know and god, you seriously hope that you will never have to know them. But these people affect you in ways that you wish you could catch them by the scruff of their neck and bang their foreheads against the nearest wall. (No, I just don't mean those scum who would stoop to levels worse than worms by bombing market squares, buses and trains and hope for martyrhood. No, those are fiends in human form they are not "people")

The people who top my hit (hate) list are :

-ones who pee on the roadside (in particular people who park their vehicles and do this, as if this is exactly why they came out driving. Guys, don’t you have a bathroom in your house or do you prefer to keep it as a show piece?)

-ones walking on footpaths with children letting the child walk on the side of vehicular traffic. (That is your OWN child isn’t it? Or did you just kidnap it and the ransom was refused?)

-ones who throw stones at street dogs without any provocation.

-Ones spitting on the roads, from buses and from autos. ( These I want to tie them to a pole in a public place and have everyone spit on them!)

-Qualis drivers using their horns more than their brakes and their brains. (These are already paying for their collective sins by having to drive on Bangalore roads many times every day. And yet they accumulate more bad Carma – I have no words for them!)

The list continues but these are the top 5.

You watch her lying in bed,face still beautiful at 73, the body shrunk to a skeleton after a thyroidectomy. She is in a lot of pain in spite of the hourly painkillers and you can see her rubbing her hip and legs but she does not whine about it. She has never complained in life - she has always demanded things from life and got them exactly the way she ordered. She is not about to make her exit leaving the memory of a shrivelled, suffering person. She is determined to face it by herself and if possible go with a smile. But Fate likes to humble you and force you to accede defeat. The pain becomes so intolerable that she finally says "can you give me something to end it all? I cannot bear to die so many times every second."
You love her but you can do nothing to take away the pain or share in it. All you can do is watch helplessly and cry. It seems right to accede to her request and help her go quickly. You know it in your heart and your mind.
It is against the law - that draconian system which makes laws to determine how people should die when it is conveniently silent about how people should live. There is no law punishing sons and daughters who fail to feed their parents or care for them but there is a law punishing those who help them ease their pain when all else has failed and purely motivated by love.You turn to religion for solace and guidance. It says it is her Karma and she has to go "through" it in order not to carry it over to another birth. Someone else says that it amounts to murder and warns of the sins of "brahmahathi".
So you wait and pray -pray for her to go, not to live, for there is no dignity in her life anymore. There is no law against wishing for someone's death. And finally when it comes it is all a relief and you have no tears left anymore and there is no loss to mourn.