She is my best friend and my confidante.
She is my partner in crime.
She and I have shared everything.
She and I have burnt gallons of midnight oil - chatting into the night.
She and I have driven people crazy with our giggling.
She and I can carry out entire conversations without speaking a word.
She is bright, witty, cheerful, and very sweet.
She is the one I miss the most, during this time when the Little One has arrived... coz..
She is far far away doing her MS in Stanford University.
She is my little sis P.
And..... At Long Last...She has started a blog!
Go read, but puh-leezzz do come back!
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
The making of a foodie
I am a person who thinks that food is one of the best things in life. Of course, you already know that. But just this morning, I got wondering about what makes a foodie, well, a foodie.
In my case, it involved having a mother who is not only a great cook, but also the kind who is not afraid to experiment. While growing up, we were never bombarded with the same dishes time and again. She always thought of a way to make food different and interesting. She never stuck to the rules of "Ok, this vegetable can traditionally be made into two types of dishes, so I will make one of those". She is the kind who improvises, who mixes and matches, and out of experience and an innate instinct, is able to turn out a dish probably never made before, but delicious all the same. So naturally, I always had something exciting to look forward to at mealtimes.
It also involved having a father who is not fussy, doesn't demand that such and such an item just has to be present in each meal, and who is never averse to mom's experimenting. He in fact, made the right appreciative gestures during meals and my mom was accordingly encouraged. Besides, being brought up in the north, he was accustomed to North Indian dishes, and my mom learnt them all very quickly after marriage, and so North Indian cuisine was a regular part of our food, along with the usual South Indian. Also, my parents' short stint in Germany probably got them started on continental food too - and after that there was no stopping them.
But of course, in spite of two food-oriented parents (politely expressed?), it isn't necessary that the children turn out to be foodies. My little sis P, for example, though she enjoys her food, is not much of a foodie. Not like me, who dreams of food all the time, and wakes up in the middle of the night craving some obscure dish.
One more thing. My advice to all you single people out there. When choosing your partner, do go in for someone with similar food tastes (if you care enough about food, that is!) I have seen some ill-matched couples, one of them itching to try out exotic cuisine, the other sticking religiously to Anna-Saaru. It is quite a painful sight.
I am very fortunate in that S is as good a foodie as I am, perhaps a level or two higher. Now my aim is to make sure that the Little One is appropriately introduced to the joys of fine dining. I know, I know, long time to go, but what's wrong in planning?
So are you a foodie, and what do you think made you one?
In my case, it involved having a mother who is not only a great cook, but also the kind who is not afraid to experiment. While growing up, we were never bombarded with the same dishes time and again. She always thought of a way to make food different and interesting. She never stuck to the rules of "Ok, this vegetable can traditionally be made into two types of dishes, so I will make one of those". She is the kind who improvises, who mixes and matches, and out of experience and an innate instinct, is able to turn out a dish probably never made before, but delicious all the same. So naturally, I always had something exciting to look forward to at mealtimes.
It also involved having a father who is not fussy, doesn't demand that such and such an item just has to be present in each meal, and who is never averse to mom's experimenting. He in fact, made the right appreciative gestures during meals and my mom was accordingly encouraged. Besides, being brought up in the north, he was accustomed to North Indian dishes, and my mom learnt them all very quickly after marriage, and so North Indian cuisine was a regular part of our food, along with the usual South Indian. Also, my parents' short stint in Germany probably got them started on continental food too - and after that there was no stopping them.
But of course, in spite of two food-oriented parents (politely expressed?), it isn't necessary that the children turn out to be foodies. My little sis P, for example, though she enjoys her food, is not much of a foodie. Not like me, who dreams of food all the time, and wakes up in the middle of the night craving some obscure dish.
One more thing. My advice to all you single people out there. When choosing your partner, do go in for someone with similar food tastes (if you care enough about food, that is!) I have seen some ill-matched couples, one of them itching to try out exotic cuisine, the other sticking religiously to Anna-Saaru. It is quite a painful sight.
I am very fortunate in that S is as good a foodie as I am, perhaps a level or two higher. Now my aim is to make sure that the Little One is appropriately introduced to the joys of fine dining. I know, I know, long time to go, but what's wrong in planning?
So are you a foodie, and what do you think made you one?
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Fleeting moments
The Little One is a month old today. She has finally stopped looking like an alien, and only occasionally looks like a baby chimp.
Just a month and there has been so much change in her. She was such a non-responsive little being in the first week, who just lay in one place, stared off into space, and cried and slept. She has now become an active, alert child, who holds and follows your gaze, follows the movement of objects, responds with gurgles and smiles, and on the other hand, cries with a vengeance. Her strong little legs kick non-stop, and I have often bore the brunt of the fury of her tiny fists. She goes still when her name is called, and recognizes me when I hold her.
Even as I exult in her every milestone, I watch with awe, the passing of the innocence and helplessness that preceded it. I now know what people mean when they say, "Enjoy your baby, she will grow up very quickly". How true that is.
All I can do is try and capture little moments of her life now before she grows up. It is quite easy, actually. I can capture it all on camera - movement, voice, everything.
But there are some things that can never be captured. The warmth of her cheek as it rests on my arm. The feel of her little fist around my finger. The soft, yet firm push of her feet against my tummy. The nuzzle of her soft mop of hair against my neck.
And the smell. The fresh, adorable, baby smell. The smell that compels you to pick her up and cuddle her.
All there is to do is enjoy every moment with her and live it completely!
Just a month and there has been so much change in her. She was such a non-responsive little being in the first week, who just lay in one place, stared off into space, and cried and slept. She has now become an active, alert child, who holds and follows your gaze, follows the movement of objects, responds with gurgles and smiles, and on the other hand, cries with a vengeance. Her strong little legs kick non-stop, and I have often bore the brunt of the fury of her tiny fists. She goes still when her name is called, and recognizes me when I hold her.
Even as I exult in her every milestone, I watch with awe, the passing of the innocence and helplessness that preceded it. I now know what people mean when they say, "Enjoy your baby, she will grow up very quickly". How true that is.
All I can do is try and capture little moments of her life now before she grows up. It is quite easy, actually. I can capture it all on camera - movement, voice, everything.
But there are some things that can never be captured. The warmth of her cheek as it rests on my arm. The feel of her little fist around my finger. The soft, yet firm push of her feet against my tummy. The nuzzle of her soft mop of hair against my neck.
And the smell. The fresh, adorable, baby smell. The smell that compels you to pick her up and cuddle her.
All there is to do is enjoy every moment with her and live it completely!
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Snippets
.... from the last four weeks
* All those of you who had visions of my baby bawling while I sat blogging away, do not fret. Nothing comes between baby and me - blogging gets squeezed in anyhow. Time online is difficult - not impossible.
* 4 weeks ago, I desperately needed a copy of "Babies for Dummies". Now, it feels like I can write the book myself (At least the Chapter "The First Month"!) Phew! Gives "Learning on the Job" a whole new meaning. My fears that I wouldn't know what to do with the baby were totally unfounded.
* What I have learned in the last 4 weeks:
1) Sleeping anywhere and anytime. Haven't tried sleeping while standing - yet.
2) Ambidexterity.
3) Having a bath within 5 minutes
4) Timing toilet breaks not according to "nature's call", but according to the baby's call.
5) Meals are no longer eaten, just gobbled up.
6) Earlier, you would have needed an off key wedding music band next to my ear to wake me up. Now, a tiny whimper from the baby is enough to wake me up. Well, usually. Last night, the baby was bawling and my mom had to shake me awake. (I was tired, give me a break!)
7) After carrying her around, I have discovered muscles in my arms that I never knew existed. I have also realized that as she grows bigger, I will discover newer muscles.
* At all times, I hear sounds which I am sure is that of the baby crying. So I come running to the room from wherever I am - to see the baby sleeping peacefully. Hallucinations. That's what it is.
About baby -
* She has had three nail cutting sessions in 25 days.
* As for her hair, she had a huge unruly mop of hair when she was born - now, it has grown even longer, and some strands reach her shoulder. Some strands get into her eyes, and some get into her ear, and I suspect, tickle her. It runs in the family - my mom tells me I needed a haircut at three weeks. She really needs a haircut too. But I keep feeling that a haircut will take away her new-ness, if you know what I mean.
* The Electronic Tamboori still works. If I sing a soft lullaby in accompaniment with it, it works faster. But there are some times when nothing works. The little one just lies there and stares at me, while I doze off myself, the lullaby still on my lips. Then I awake with a start - to find her looking at me with those big black eyes, with a question mark on her face.
* Babies should be born with some inbuilt rules. If I spend half an hour trying to get her to sleep, she has to sleep at least for half an hour for my effort to be worth it. Sigh!
* What I did the other day - Ran to the crying baby, saying, "Oh-ho, the little one is wet, here comes Shruthi Akka to change her nappy!..... Err... Emm...... I mean, here comes Amma to change her nappy!" It will be my good fortune if she doesn't call me Shruthi Akka when she grows up. Very very difficult to digest the fact that I am some one's Amma.
* Hazards of Motherhood:
Listening to unwanted advice - Everyone on earth wants to advise you. Advice flows uninterrupted. It gets highly irritating at times. All I do is keep an open mind and take every bit of advice, inspect it, and then discard it, or keep it aside for further research. Meanwhile, how do I react to the advice-giver? Give a polite smile, and nod-nod. They are happy, I am happy.
Watching your baby get man-handled - I don't care if you have mothered ten children, I don't care if you have years of experience with children, and I don't care if "nothing will happen", but I cannot bear to sit and watch you handle my child roughly. I am thinking of sticking a "Fragile - Handle With Care" sticker on her tummy. Sometimes I almost think that the tradition of nearly quarantining mother and child for the first three months, does make some sense. At least the child will be away from prying hands.
I know what you are thinking - She has a lot to learn. I know too. :)
There, I hear her whimper. Her face will now pucker up and become red - and her face will start crying before a voice emanates to match the face. (She already knows the laws of physics - Light travels faster than sound).
Ta-da until next time!
* All those of you who had visions of my baby bawling while I sat blogging away, do not fret. Nothing comes between baby and me - blogging gets squeezed in anyhow. Time online is difficult - not impossible.
* 4 weeks ago, I desperately needed a copy of "Babies for Dummies". Now, it feels like I can write the book myself (At least the Chapter "The First Month"!) Phew! Gives "Learning on the Job" a whole new meaning. My fears that I wouldn't know what to do with the baby were totally unfounded.
* What I have learned in the last 4 weeks:
1) Sleeping anywhere and anytime. Haven't tried sleeping while standing - yet.
2) Ambidexterity.
3) Having a bath within 5 minutes
4) Timing toilet breaks not according to "nature's call", but according to the baby's call.
5) Meals are no longer eaten, just gobbled up.
6) Earlier, you would have needed an off key wedding music band next to my ear to wake me up. Now, a tiny whimper from the baby is enough to wake me up. Well, usually. Last night, the baby was bawling and my mom had to shake me awake. (I was tired, give me a break!)
7) After carrying her around, I have discovered muscles in my arms that I never knew existed. I have also realized that as she grows bigger, I will discover newer muscles.
* At all times, I hear sounds which I am sure is that of the baby crying. So I come running to the room from wherever I am - to see the baby sleeping peacefully. Hallucinations. That's what it is.
About baby -
* She has had three nail cutting sessions in 25 days.
* As for her hair, she had a huge unruly mop of hair when she was born - now, it has grown even longer, and some strands reach her shoulder. Some strands get into her eyes, and some get into her ear, and I suspect, tickle her. It runs in the family - my mom tells me I needed a haircut at three weeks. She really needs a haircut too. But I keep feeling that a haircut will take away her new-ness, if you know what I mean.
* The Electronic Tamboori still works. If I sing a soft lullaby in accompaniment with it, it works faster. But there are some times when nothing works. The little one just lies there and stares at me, while I doze off myself, the lullaby still on my lips. Then I awake with a start - to find her looking at me with those big black eyes, with a question mark on her face.
* Babies should be born with some inbuilt rules. If I spend half an hour trying to get her to sleep, she has to sleep at least for half an hour for my effort to be worth it. Sigh!
* What I did the other day - Ran to the crying baby, saying, "Oh-ho, the little one is wet, here comes Shruthi Akka to change her nappy!..... Err... Emm...... I mean, here comes Amma to change her nappy!" It will be my good fortune if she doesn't call me Shruthi Akka when she grows up. Very very difficult to digest the fact that I am some one's Amma.
* Hazards of Motherhood:
Listening to unwanted advice - Everyone on earth wants to advise you. Advice flows uninterrupted. It gets highly irritating at times. All I do is keep an open mind and take every bit of advice, inspect it, and then discard it, or keep it aside for further research. Meanwhile, how do I react to the advice-giver? Give a polite smile, and nod-nod. They are happy, I am happy.
Watching your baby get man-handled - I don't care if you have mothered ten children, I don't care if you have years of experience with children, and I don't care if "nothing will happen", but I cannot bear to sit and watch you handle my child roughly. I am thinking of sticking a "Fragile - Handle With Care" sticker on her tummy. Sometimes I almost think that the tradition of nearly quarantining mother and child for the first three months, does make some sense. At least the child will be away from prying hands.
I know what you are thinking - She has a lot to learn. I know too. :)
There, I hear her whimper. Her face will now pucker up and become red - and her face will start crying before a voice emanates to match the face. (She already knows the laws of physics - Light travels faster than sound).
Ta-da until next time!
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
The Sound of Music
The little one is a darling. So far, she has been very cooperative - crying only when she is hungry, wet, uncomfortable, or when she is too sleepy and can't get herself to calm down enough to go to sleep.
Quietening her down is very simple in the first two cases. The third can be difficult, but once you nail what is bothering her, it is ok. The fourth case can be very tricky. Initially I tried singing lullabies to her. But singing a lullaby at a volume a couple of decibels higher than her crying volume is not very easy. I end up sounding like a hard rock lead singer. And it has no effect on her at all.
Now we have a solution. Discovered accidentally, as such brilliant solutions always are. Whenever she cries, and I ensure that she is not hungry or wet or uncomfortable, all we do is switch on the Electronic Tamboori (Tanpura).
The soothing drone of that blessed machine almost acts like a tranquilizer gun. The little one's cries stop as if a sound system has been abruptly turned off. Her big black eyes open wide and focus on some obscure point in space. Her flailing arms and legs stop in mid air. Slowly, very slowly, her arms and legs come down to ground level. Her tiny fingers unclench slowly, and she intertwines her fingers and places her hands elegantly on her chest. Her nostrils flare ever so slightly. Her eyebrows arch just that little bit. A miniscule frown appears on her forehead. Her mouth forms this cute little "O" and her upper lip juts out. She relaxes completely and just seems to listen indefinitely.
She just stays like that until a valid crying reason comes up, or until she falls asleep.
I just hope this fascination for that sound is not just a passing fad and I fervently hope that this solution does not stop working.
Besides, I like to think that this is an indication that she is a musical baby! Hurrah!
Yes, I know that in no way is an Electronic Tamboori comparable to the sound of a real well-tuned Tamboori. We have not one, but two "real" Tambooris too. But we don't have anybody who will drop everything and sit and play the Tamboori endlessly for the benefit of her little royal highness. So the Electronic Tamboori it is.
Quietening her down is very simple in the first two cases. The third can be difficult, but once you nail what is bothering her, it is ok. The fourth case can be very tricky. Initially I tried singing lullabies to her. But singing a lullaby at a volume a couple of decibels higher than her crying volume is not very easy. I end up sounding like a hard rock lead singer. And it has no effect on her at all.
Now we have a solution. Discovered accidentally, as such brilliant solutions always are. Whenever she cries, and I ensure that she is not hungry or wet or uncomfortable, all we do is switch on the Electronic Tamboori (Tanpura).
The soothing drone of that blessed machine almost acts like a tranquilizer gun. The little one's cries stop as if a sound system has been abruptly turned off. Her big black eyes open wide and focus on some obscure point in space. Her flailing arms and legs stop in mid air. Slowly, very slowly, her arms and legs come down to ground level. Her tiny fingers unclench slowly, and she intertwines her fingers and places her hands elegantly on her chest. Her nostrils flare ever so slightly. Her eyebrows arch just that little bit. A miniscule frown appears on her forehead. Her mouth forms this cute little "O" and her upper lip juts out. She relaxes completely and just seems to listen indefinitely.
She just stays like that until a valid crying reason comes up, or until she falls asleep.
I just hope this fascination for that sound is not just a passing fad and I fervently hope that this solution does not stop working.
Besides, I like to think that this is an indication that she is a musical baby! Hurrah!
Yes, I know that in no way is an Electronic Tamboori comparable to the sound of a real well-tuned Tamboori. We have not one, but two "real" Tambooris too. But we don't have anybody who will drop everything and sit and play the Tamboori endlessly for the benefit of her little royal highness. So the Electronic Tamboori it is.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Do your bit, please!
June 5th is World Environment Day. Please wake up, look around you, see how friendly (or unfriendly) you are to the environment, and please do your bit to protect the environment. Every tiny effort counts.
This year's main topic of discussion is Global Warming - "Melting Ice, a Hot Topic?"
I wish I had more time to write in detail, but I don't, so I will leave you with a couple of interesting links. [Not connected to Global Warming]
An inspiring story -
And the world asks this town, how can we do it too?
Find out your ecological footprint [Link courtesy Sangsta]
This year's main topic of discussion is Global Warming - "Melting Ice, a Hot Topic?"
I wish I had more time to write in detail, but I don't, so I will leave you with a couple of interesting links. [Not connected to Global Warming]
An inspiring story -
A small town in Devon has become the first place in Europe to turn its back on plastic shopping bags. But how did it do it? Rebecca Hosking, the local activist who galvanised traders and shoppers, explains.
And the world asks this town, how can we do it too?
Find out your ecological footprint [Link courtesy Sangsta]
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
The first few hours
Nine months of waiting and all I could think of then was the moment when I would hear the child's cry. So, as is natural, everybody wants to hear how I felt when I finally heard the baby's cry for the first time, how I felt when I first held her in my arms.
I wish I could give you flowery details like how I burst into tears when I heard her cry, and how all kinds of philosophical thoughts were evoked in my mind when I held her in my arms - but unfortunately, nothing that dramatic happened. It was all quite ordinary, almost non-interesting, even frighteningly boring. Sigh!
Anyway, what did I feel like when I heard the baby's cry? The first feeling was that of surprise - is that it? Is the baby already out? The second feeling was that of relief - Yes, the ordeal is over.
After that, I almost dozed off. It was a kind of floating state - probably the high of suddenly feeling no pain after all that intense pain. It was like I was hallucinating everything - everything was unreal.
I could just hear the baby crying in the background, and even this I heard with a kind of dispassionate detachment. S, who was with me throughout, left my side for the first time in hours and went to check on the baby. He came back smiling and glowing and kept saying, "Relax, its over, everything is fine". In spite of all this, I felt no dramatic realization that the baby is finally here. In spite of nine months of wondering if the baby is a boy or a girl, it never occurred to me for an entire five minutes to ask and find out the sex of the baby. The doc didn't tell me coz she said (later) that she wanted S to tell me. S didn't tell me coz he wanted me to ask him first. Finally realization dawned upon me, and when S came back to me after watching the baby being washed, I asked him, Is it a boy or a girl? A girl, he said, grinning... its a girl.
Now I didn't have any particular preferences, but S had a leaning towards a daughter. As for me, each time I peeked into the baby clothes section in the shops and saw all those lovely frocks with ribbons and lace and flowers, I felt, "It would be nice if I had a girl" - Shallow, I know... but well, that's me :)
But I had a very strong feeling that it would be a boy, for no reason at all, and I had adjusted to the thought that it would be a boy. So I had a lot of readjustment to do. (In fact, the next day when the paediatrician came to check on me, I was telling her, "Yeah he slept well, yeah he had his bowel movements"..... she almost asked me, "Do you know you had a daughter?" :)
Now back to when baby was born. I was tremendously surprised to hear that it is a girl. And insanely thrilled. Finally, the baby was wrapped up and brought to me, still lying there. I just had the little pink thing in my arms for a couple of minutes - not really in my arms, but by my side - it was cradled by an unknown hand. I could just see a pink puckered-up face before it was whisked away, and given to my mom and aunt who were waiting outside. After a bit, I also went back to my room to my baby.
I was thrilled with the baby, I carried her for a while... but no way could I associate her with the tumbling, kicking being that was inside me for all those months. I felt no profound feelings or anything of that sort. It is not that I didn't have any feelings at all. The love and fascination was overwhelming, but it was still very unreal and hazy. Though a hundred people told me, "You need rest, go to sleep", I got no sleep for the rest of the night. Over-exhaustion and over-excitement does that to me - and this was a combination of both!
It was only after about 36 hours, after I had finally managed to catch about 4-5 hours of sleep, did I finally sense an emotional attachment to her... and then started all the emotions.... "Oh my god, she is mine!" "Ohmigosh, she is an actual tiny human being!" "Good heavens, she is perfect!" "Oh man the responsibility of this tiny person is upon us!".....
S and I can't seem to get enough of her.
Thanks to everybody for all the wishes!
I wish I could give you flowery details like how I burst into tears when I heard her cry, and how all kinds of philosophical thoughts were evoked in my mind when I held her in my arms - but unfortunately, nothing that dramatic happened. It was all quite ordinary, almost non-interesting, even frighteningly boring. Sigh!
Anyway, what did I feel like when I heard the baby's cry? The first feeling was that of surprise - is that it? Is the baby already out? The second feeling was that of relief - Yes, the ordeal is over.
After that, I almost dozed off. It was a kind of floating state - probably the high of suddenly feeling no pain after all that intense pain. It was like I was hallucinating everything - everything was unreal.
I could just hear the baby crying in the background, and even this I heard with a kind of dispassionate detachment. S, who was with me throughout, left my side for the first time in hours and went to check on the baby. He came back smiling and glowing and kept saying, "Relax, its over, everything is fine". In spite of all this, I felt no dramatic realization that the baby is finally here. In spite of nine months of wondering if the baby is a boy or a girl, it never occurred to me for an entire five minutes to ask and find out the sex of the baby. The doc didn't tell me coz she said (later) that she wanted S to tell me. S didn't tell me coz he wanted me to ask him first. Finally realization dawned upon me, and when S came back to me after watching the baby being washed, I asked him, Is it a boy or a girl? A girl, he said, grinning... its a girl.
Now I didn't have any particular preferences, but S had a leaning towards a daughter. As for me, each time I peeked into the baby clothes section in the shops and saw all those lovely frocks with ribbons and lace and flowers, I felt, "It would be nice if I had a girl" - Shallow, I know... but well, that's me :)
But I had a very strong feeling that it would be a boy, for no reason at all, and I had adjusted to the thought that it would be a boy. So I had a lot of readjustment to do. (In fact, the next day when the paediatrician came to check on me, I was telling her, "Yeah he slept well, yeah he had his bowel movements"..... she almost asked me, "Do you know you had a daughter?" :)
Now back to when baby was born. I was tremendously surprised to hear that it is a girl. And insanely thrilled. Finally, the baby was wrapped up and brought to me, still lying there. I just had the little pink thing in my arms for a couple of minutes - not really in my arms, but by my side - it was cradled by an unknown hand. I could just see a pink puckered-up face before it was whisked away, and given to my mom and aunt who were waiting outside. After a bit, I also went back to my room to my baby.
I was thrilled with the baby, I carried her for a while... but no way could I associate her with the tumbling, kicking being that was inside me for all those months. I felt no profound feelings or anything of that sort. It is not that I didn't have any feelings at all. The love and fascination was overwhelming, but it was still very unreal and hazy. Though a hundred people told me, "You need rest, go to sleep", I got no sleep for the rest of the night. Over-exhaustion and over-excitement does that to me - and this was a combination of both!
It was only after about 36 hours, after I had finally managed to catch about 4-5 hours of sleep, did I finally sense an emotional attachment to her... and then started all the emotions.... "Oh my god, she is mine!" "Ohmigosh, she is an actual tiny human being!" "Good heavens, she is perfect!" "Oh man the responsibility of this tiny person is upon us!".....
S and I can't seem to get enough of her.
Thanks to everybody for all the wishes!
Saturday, May 26, 2007
It's a girl!
And so... in the wee hours of May 23rd, right on the day she was expected, our little 3-kg delight stepped out into the world!
Even as I am going through a rollercoaster ride, experiencing the thrills and travails of motherhood, I couldn't resist dropping by and telling you the news myself.
Now if you will excuse me, I will go and catch up on some sleep.... (grabbing the opportunity while my lovely little girl is sleeping).... I will be back again as soon as possible, with more stories.
Ta!
Even as I am going through a rollercoaster ride, experiencing the thrills and travails of motherhood, I couldn't resist dropping by and telling you the news myself.
Now if you will excuse me, I will go and catch up on some sleep.... (grabbing the opportunity while my lovely little girl is sleeping).... I will be back again as soon as possible, with more stories.
Ta!
Monday, May 14, 2007
The state of Indian Badminton
A couple of weeks ago, I heard from Nikhil Kanetkar, the Badminton player, who is a friend of mine, as I have told you elsewhere. He talked about not being allowed to participate in International Tournaments by the Badminton Association of India (BAI). When I pressed for details, he sent me some mails, and links explaining what is happening. Here are excerpts from a news item.
Read the whole story here.
Here are also excerpts of a mail that Nikhil Kanetkar wrote to Rajyavardhan Rathore (the Olympic medalwinning shooter)
You can feel the pain and the frustration in this mail.
We ask what ails Indian sports - here you have one example of what ails it.
Politics, mismanagement, pure idiocy. Players like Nikhil, who are ranked in the top 50 in the world, pay out of their own pockets to participate in International Tournaments. I have no words.
I am itching to compare the Indian badminton scene and the Indian cricket scene - but I don't want to get my blood pressure up. I am sure you can connect the dots yourself.
What do you think?
What caused the heartburn was BAI’s directive in March that the Indian team should attend a two-month camp at Hyderabad instead of two Super Series events in Singapore and Indonesia. The Super Series, which consists of a circuit of elite tournaments open only to a draw of 32 players, is what every player aspires for. Even the All England has been made into a Super Series event. The big attractions of the Super Series are its prize money and ranking points. .......
........
Several players — primarily Chetan Anand (World No 30), Anup Sridhar (No 34), Saina Nehwal (No 22), Trupti Murgunde (No 50) and the doubles teams of Sanave Thomas/ Rupesh Kumar (No 36) and Jwala Gutta/ Shruti Kurien (No 25) — were affected because their rankings will slide down and this would make it difficult to qualify for other Super Series events. This, after a long hard slog last year to gain enough points to remain in contention. Besides, this is an Olympic qualification year, and it is critical to gain as many ranking points as possible. Missing two Super Series events will help other contenders gain rankings ahead of the Indians, who might have to go back to the grind of trying to qualify. Gopi(Pullela Gopichand) has countered protests by stating that there are enough tournaments left in the year to help players regain their rankings. But what he has tactfully left unsaid is that, when the players’ rankings drop 20 places or so, they will needlessly have to play the torturous qualifying rounds. Only four slots are available for 64 players, and a player will have to win four matches in a single day to qualify for the main draw.
The other decision which has hurt players is BAI’s insistence that only those who attend the national camp will be allowed to play the international circuit. This means that players not selected to the national camp cannot play international tournaments even if they are eligible and willing to foot the bill. Nikhil Kanetkar (World No 48), for instance, has been doing the international circuit at his own expense over the last three years. Kanetkar has been spending around Rs 6 lakh a year funding his international campaigns. The BAI decree means that he cannot play on the circuit despite being among the top 50 players in the world!
Read the whole story here.
Here are also excerpts of a mail that Nikhil Kanetkar wrote to Rajyavardhan Rathore (the Olympic medalwinning shooter)
Last year when Gopi became national coach I was not included in the list of 32 players for camp.He called me and said that the reason was because I am 27 years of age and they are planning for 2010 Commonwealth Games.I said nothing but told him that I have nothing against his plans but that I should not be stopped if I want to play on my own expense.He assured me that would not happen.Just to let you know the entries for international tournaments have to go through BAI.
I travelled all over the world using my own money and from 163 in May 2006 I came upto 41 in April 2007 in the world rankings.I had no support from BAI but I never complained.Even for Athens in 2004 I qualified on my own with my own money.I was not sent anywhere even though I was the highest ranked Indian the world rankings during that period.
Now coming back to the point last year Chetan Anand,Jwala Gutta and Shruti Kurien(my wife) were selected for the camp but they did not attend and were travelling on their own expense and now Chetan is ranked 30 in the World and Jwala-Shruti are ranked 23 in the world.
Now from April 21st 2007 for two months they have a camp for the forthcoming Sudirman Cup which is in June.Also right now in the 1st and 2nd week of may are two Super Series tournaments in Indonesia and Sigapore where top 32 players are invited.The above mentioned 3 players along with a few others wanted to play in these SUper Series tournaments as non participation will lower their rankings upto 20 places each and being the Olympic qualification year you know very well how strong the competition level is in any sport.Going down 20 places means everyone goes back to square one and has to play in the qualifying rounds.The BAI refused to send any entries for the tournaments citing reason that they are not fit and they should attend camp.The players did not attend camp as their entries for the two tournaments were not sent.
Now I was not involved with this as I was sidelined anyway and was travelling on my own expense.But when I sent my entries for 3 tournaments which are also during this month I was refused reasons being given that if I am allowed to go others will opt out of camp and go on their own.So no one in India is allowed to play till June end which is disastrous as maybe now no Indian might qualify for the Olmpics when few players would have easily qualified.
The BAI officials say things like what is the use of playing Olympics or what is the use of just being ranked in top 40 in the World.How can they say that?In that case apart from you and some shooters no one should be sent for the Olympics.Qualifying for the Olympics is a dream for so many.It was for me too and I reached the last 16 stage in my event in Athens.
We have 8 Indians in the top 50 in Badminton in different events and they have done it on their own not due to BAI programmes.
We are not fighting for being in the Indian team.They can select who they want.All we want is to have the freedom to train and play as we want that to at our own expense.We are not even asking for government funds.Badminton is an individual sport and it is the fundamental right for any top ranked player to have the freedom to play for our country.
You can feel the pain and the frustration in this mail.
We ask what ails Indian sports - here you have one example of what ails it.
Politics, mismanagement, pure idiocy. Players like Nikhil, who are ranked in the top 50 in the world, pay out of their own pockets to participate in International Tournaments. I have no words.
I am itching to compare the Indian badminton scene and the Indian cricket scene - but I don't want to get my blood pressure up. I am sure you can connect the dots yourself.
What do you think?
Monday, May 07, 2007
Drizzle
I know, I know... I haven't posted in a long time.... and I don't see much posting in the horizon either! I am extremely preoccupied with pressing matters (sounds very important without sounding like a lie). Posting will be light for quite a while, maybe even non-existent for some time.
Thanks for your concern, yes, everything is absolutely fine... I will be back in (blogging) action in no time at all.
Meanwhile, if you have time to kill, you can check out the categories I created about a month ago - I organized all my posts within these categories - it is on the sidebar.
I have been reading your blogs, but haven't been able to comment. I have been slow in responding to comments on this blog too. I will make an attempt to remedy that, but again, no guarantee. :(
Very soon, I'll be back - and how!
Thanks for your concern, yes, everything is absolutely fine... I will be back in (blogging) action in no time at all.
Meanwhile, if you have time to kill, you can check out the categories I created about a month ago - I organized all my posts within these categories - it is on the sidebar.
I have been reading your blogs, but haven't been able to comment. I have been slow in responding to comments on this blog too. I will make an attempt to remedy that, but again, no guarantee. :(
Very soon, I'll be back - and how!
Thursday, April 26, 2007
The family next door
A house is under construction in the site next door. One of the construction workers has doubled up as a watchman and lives in a little brick shed outside the house, with his family - his wife Selvi, a son, and a daughter Khushboo. Their life, values, attitudes, stories, can fill a whole book. I'll just tell you enough to fill up this post.
Selvi's brother was going wayward (read going after girls), and so they got Selvi's 15-year old daughter Khushboo married to him, so that he will be "in control". But has marriage ever cured a roving eye? Khushboo's husband left her and disappeared in a few days, and they received news that he is living with another woman. So Selvi brought Khushboo to live with them.
Now, about Selvi and her husband the watchman. The watchman doubts and suspects her every move. Selvi has 50 beautiful sarees but she keeps it all locked up, and doesn't wear any, coz if she does, her watchman looks at her with suspicion. "For whom are you dressing up?" So she goes around in tattered, faded sarees. If the watchman has to go out on some work, and if some new workers are expected to come to the construction site for work, he is hesitant to leave his wife to deal with them. Suspicion again. And yes, this same watchman had once upon a time, left Selvi and gone away to live with another woman, and Selvi went and beat up the other woman and brought her husband back. So he could do it, but his wife shouldn't. Oh no, she is a woman!
Another strange attitude of this watchman's - the family has an acquaintance who lives a little distance away. To reach their house, one has to pass through a particularly isolated area. If somebody has to go to the acquaintance's house for some reason, the watchman sends his teenaged daughter to run the errand, and not his forty-year old wife. His explanation is that he fears for his wife's safety. Logically, his teenaged daughter is more susceptible to rape than his wife. [There is no logic in a subject like rape, but one should be forgiven for this assumption.]
So ultimately, he sends his daughter into the lion's den, but not his wife. And this, when he has an excessive blind love for his daughter. Besides, if he really feared for anybody's safety, he should be the one running that errand. But no, he sits on a stone and surveys the world at leisure while the womenfolk do the work. So ultimately, what does it mean? It is not anybody's safety that he fears for, it is just his wife's "purity".
Ok. One fine day, Khushboo's husband came back. No questions asked about the woman he was living with, and why he came back, no explanations given, Khushboo coolly takes him back, and he also starts living here with them. Khushboo starts talk of moving into a different house with him and starting a family once this house is completed. When asked if she is not afraid that her husband might leave her again, she says, "No, the house we are planning to live in is close to his aunt's house. He is scared of his aunt, so he won't try any tricks". Meaning that she is sure that he will not redeem himself, but will stick to the line only out of fear for his aunt. What if he burdens her with children and takes off? She hasn't thought about it. And now that her husband is back, is he treating her well? He beat her up a week ago because she asked him about an account of how he spends his money. "You are a woman, know your place". And what was Selvi's mother doing when her daughter was being beaten up? She could have ticked off Khushboo's husband, after all, he is Selvi's own brother. "But a husband beats his wife sometimes, you know - it is their personal matter, why should I intrude?"
Now, consider Khushboo's strange attitude. Now that her husband is back, she takes sides with him, womaniser and wife-beater that he is, against her own mother. Food is not scarce in their home, but when they make or buy something special, Khushboo sets aside a little for her husband, not for her mother. She makes sure that her husband eats well and goes to bed with a full tummy. But she doesn't bother to check if her mother has eaten, after working all day at the site. The husband, who left her for another woman. The mother, who took her in when she was in trouble and looked after her with the love that is natural for a mother towards her daughter.
Not only that. Khushboo accuses her mother for not giving her enough gold and gifts and dresses. She says that her mother doesn't care about her, as she hasn't given her husband any new clothes. So to avoid these accusations, Selvi digs into her savings and buys them gifts and clothes.
And all such behaviour is not questioned at all. It is taken for granted, as natural.
It is us, the onlookers, who get hoarse throats trying to tell these people to open their eyes to what is happening. They look at us with an indulgent expression. "I'm sure you mean well, but I don't think you understand". If we threaten to tell the police if the husbands indulge in wife-beating again, they don't take it seriously.
And yes, despite all these problems and complications, on any given peaceful day, you can see the whole family sitting together, talking, laughing and eating, apparently without a care in the world.
I just don't understand.
Selvi's brother was going wayward (read going after girls), and so they got Selvi's 15-year old daughter Khushboo married to him, so that he will be "in control". But has marriage ever cured a roving eye? Khushboo's husband left her and disappeared in a few days, and they received news that he is living with another woman. So Selvi brought Khushboo to live with them.
Now, about Selvi and her husband the watchman. The watchman doubts and suspects her every move. Selvi has 50 beautiful sarees but she keeps it all locked up, and doesn't wear any, coz if she does, her watchman looks at her with suspicion. "For whom are you dressing up?" So she goes around in tattered, faded sarees. If the watchman has to go out on some work, and if some new workers are expected to come to the construction site for work, he is hesitant to leave his wife to deal with them. Suspicion again. And yes, this same watchman had once upon a time, left Selvi and gone away to live with another woman, and Selvi went and beat up the other woman and brought her husband back. So he could do it, but his wife shouldn't. Oh no, she is a woman!
Another strange attitude of this watchman's - the family has an acquaintance who lives a little distance away. To reach their house, one has to pass through a particularly isolated area. If somebody has to go to the acquaintance's house for some reason, the watchman sends his teenaged daughter to run the errand, and not his forty-year old wife. His explanation is that he fears for his wife's safety. Logically, his teenaged daughter is more susceptible to rape than his wife. [There is no logic in a subject like rape, but one should be forgiven for this assumption.]
So ultimately, he sends his daughter into the lion's den, but not his wife. And this, when he has an excessive blind love for his daughter. Besides, if he really feared for anybody's safety, he should be the one running that errand. But no, he sits on a stone and surveys the world at leisure while the womenfolk do the work. So ultimately, what does it mean? It is not anybody's safety that he fears for, it is just his wife's "purity".
Ok. One fine day, Khushboo's husband came back. No questions asked about the woman he was living with, and why he came back, no explanations given, Khushboo coolly takes him back, and he also starts living here with them. Khushboo starts talk of moving into a different house with him and starting a family once this house is completed. When asked if she is not afraid that her husband might leave her again, she says, "No, the house we are planning to live in is close to his aunt's house. He is scared of his aunt, so he won't try any tricks". Meaning that she is sure that he will not redeem himself, but will stick to the line only out of fear for his aunt. What if he burdens her with children and takes off? She hasn't thought about it. And now that her husband is back, is he treating her well? He beat her up a week ago because she asked him about an account of how he spends his money. "You are a woman, know your place". And what was Selvi's mother doing when her daughter was being beaten up? She could have ticked off Khushboo's husband, after all, he is Selvi's own brother. "But a husband beats his wife sometimes, you know - it is their personal matter, why should I intrude?"
Now, consider Khushboo's strange attitude. Now that her husband is back, she takes sides with him, womaniser and wife-beater that he is, against her own mother. Food is not scarce in their home, but when they make or buy something special, Khushboo sets aside a little for her husband, not for her mother. She makes sure that her husband eats well and goes to bed with a full tummy. But she doesn't bother to check if her mother has eaten, after working all day at the site. The husband, who left her for another woman. The mother, who took her in when she was in trouble and looked after her with the love that is natural for a mother towards her daughter.
Not only that. Khushboo accuses her mother for not giving her enough gold and gifts and dresses. She says that her mother doesn't care about her, as she hasn't given her husband any new clothes. So to avoid these accusations, Selvi digs into her savings and buys them gifts and clothes.
And all such behaviour is not questioned at all. It is taken for granted, as natural.
It is us, the onlookers, who get hoarse throats trying to tell these people to open their eyes to what is happening. They look at us with an indulgent expression. "I'm sure you mean well, but I don't think you understand". If we threaten to tell the police if the husbands indulge in wife-beating again, they don't take it seriously.
And yes, despite all these problems and complications, on any given peaceful day, you can see the whole family sitting together, talking, laughing and eating, apparently without a care in the world.
I just don't understand.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Earth Day - How do we spread awareness about the environment?
The good people at Pooh's Den are celebrating Earth Day (which is on April 22nd) with a competition. They ask a question -
...and ask you to blog your views.
I believe that the solution, in principle, is very simple - awareness should be given to the individual when s/he is a child.
India is facing quite a few problems due to lack of awareness in people. But broadly I would classify it thus:
1) People pollute the environment without a second thought. They do not even know what they are doing.
2) Absolutely no sense in people about conservation. Energy conservation, water conservation, conservation of the environment, or conservation of resources like paper, etc. is unheard of. People just do not care. "Have, will use" is the attitude.
Most of the people I know who are aware of environmental issues tell me that awareness and knowledge about these issues have been inculcated in then in childhood, either taught at school, or instilled in them by their parents.
A child's mind is highly malleable. The right things fed to him at the right time will make all the difference. Besides, a child understands things innately. He might not appreciate the enormity of the situation, nor grasp the urgency, but when things are explained to him, he will understand. And he will even act on it.
Last Deepavali, I read a statement in the newspapers by one of the top filmstars of the Kannada industry. When asked how he celebrates Deepavali, he said something to the effect of, "As kids, we would burst crackers. But our son told us that he was taught in school about the harmful effects of bursting crackers on the environment. He has decided not to burst crackers. So we have stopped now". I felt that this speaks volumes about what effect such education has on a child, and what effect a child can have on his parents.
But how do we achieve this?
1) Make environment education compulsory in schools. But please please make it interesting. No boring lectures on conservation. Short, interesting points, with examples should suffice. Movies, preferably, and documentaries for children should be used - they should give the child a jolt - but not enough to disturb the child.
2) Have different programmes for the Urban Child and the Rural Child.
Education for the Urban Child should stress upon the conservation of resources - energy, water, and paper, for instance, for these children have these in abundance, and would tend to overuse it.
Education for the poor Urban Child should deal more with hygiene, pollution control and such issues.
Education for the Rural child should dwell upon issues concerning rural problems [haven't really thought much on these lines. Maybe you can give me suggestions].
If we start such a programme today, we will hopefully have a set of aware citizens in the next generation. Of course, the children we teach will immediately start sharing their knowledge with their parents, and as long as the parents are not obstinate or bull-headed, they will understand.
Problems:
1) We already have a dearth of educated and committed teachers. Who will teach such an important subject with interest?
2) The urban poor, for example, have enough worries on their head to bother with the big picture. Will it really work with them?
I can think of some more problems, but hello, I am writing about solutions - so I will stop.
With all its problems and drawbacks, educating the child is the solution that I think will begin to solve the problems we face.
As for laws and legislations - slap staggering fines on offenders. But once again, the problem is - who will enforce these laws effectively?
I leave it open for discussion.
“What do you think needs to be done to get Indians more aware of their environment and how do we go about protecting it? What in your opinion will be the ideal law to get things moving in the right direction?”
...and ask you to blog your views.
I believe that the solution, in principle, is very simple - awareness should be given to the individual when s/he is a child.
India is facing quite a few problems due to lack of awareness in people. But broadly I would classify it thus:
1) People pollute the environment without a second thought. They do not even know what they are doing.
2) Absolutely no sense in people about conservation. Energy conservation, water conservation, conservation of the environment, or conservation of resources like paper, etc. is unheard of. People just do not care. "Have, will use" is the attitude.
Most of the people I know who are aware of environmental issues tell me that awareness and knowledge about these issues have been inculcated in then in childhood, either taught at school, or instilled in them by their parents.
A child's mind is highly malleable. The right things fed to him at the right time will make all the difference. Besides, a child understands things innately. He might not appreciate the enormity of the situation, nor grasp the urgency, but when things are explained to him, he will understand. And he will even act on it.
Last Deepavali, I read a statement in the newspapers by one of the top filmstars of the Kannada industry. When asked how he celebrates Deepavali, he said something to the effect of, "As kids, we would burst crackers. But our son told us that he was taught in school about the harmful effects of bursting crackers on the environment. He has decided not to burst crackers. So we have stopped now". I felt that this speaks volumes about what effect such education has on a child, and what effect a child can have on his parents.
But how do we achieve this?
1) Make environment education compulsory in schools. But please please make it interesting. No boring lectures on conservation. Short, interesting points, with examples should suffice. Movies, preferably, and documentaries for children should be used - they should give the child a jolt - but not enough to disturb the child.
2) Have different programmes for the Urban Child and the Rural Child.
Education for the Urban Child should stress upon the conservation of resources - energy, water, and paper, for instance, for these children have these in abundance, and would tend to overuse it.
Education for the poor Urban Child should deal more with hygiene, pollution control and such issues.
Education for the Rural child should dwell upon issues concerning rural problems [haven't really thought much on these lines. Maybe you can give me suggestions].
If we start such a programme today, we will hopefully have a set of aware citizens in the next generation. Of course, the children we teach will immediately start sharing their knowledge with their parents, and as long as the parents are not obstinate or bull-headed, they will understand.
Problems:
1) We already have a dearth of educated and committed teachers. Who will teach such an important subject with interest?
2) The urban poor, for example, have enough worries on their head to bother with the big picture. Will it really work with them?
I can think of some more problems, but hello, I am writing about solutions - so I will stop.
With all its problems and drawbacks, educating the child is the solution that I think will begin to solve the problems we face.
As for laws and legislations - slap staggering fines on offenders. But once again, the problem is - who will enforce these laws effectively?
I leave it open for discussion.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Have some more!
Warning: A rambling foodie post. Don't read it on an empty stomach and then sue me! :)
A lot of people mentioned "force-feeding" in the comments on my previous post. This is carried out very frequently in the name of "Upachaara". Upachaara in Kannada, means hospitable treatment. Probable equivalent is "Mehmaan ki Khaatirdaari". Making sure that the guest is comfortable and eats his fill and makes himself at home without any "Sankocha" (Hesitation arising from shyness).
[Since there are no English equivalents for Upachaara, Sankocha, etc., I will use these words in the rest of this post.]
The mark of a good host has traditionally been how nice he is to the guests - in other words, how well he does Upachaara. And what is the highlight of this Upachaara? Force-feeding.
I am sure that you have all been subject to this force-feeding at some point or the other. Some people do have a lot of Sankocha, and it is for these people that Upachaara might be necessary.
But nowadays I have seen that hardly anybody is really shy when invited to dinner. People eat their fill, and comfortably. [Or am I speaking for myself?]. I, for one, do not need any kind of Upachaara. If they have asked me to dinner, they had better have enough food for me - for I will eat as much as I want to. And conversely, if I am playing host, I assume that my guests are eating enough. Sometimes this can backfire. My guests might have a lot of Sankocha, and I end up saying, "Will you have another Chapati? No? Ok!" And then the guest might think, "Oh no, what a bad host, she has no idea how to do Upachaara!", and he goes home hungry.
So, my rule of thumb is, if a person does Upachaara, then he needs Upachaara.
I am sure you all have horror stories of being force-fed until you were ready to puke. My first such experience was at a classmate's house, where he had invited us for a birthday lunch. The food was delicious, but there were so many courses that I lost count. And it was the worst kind of situation - where all the food was not placed on the table, but was brought out course after course. So I ended up eating 8 puris with chhole, three large helpings of pulao with raita, and two large helpings of curd-rice, in addition to the side-dishes and papads and sweets and curries. And no, I did not ask for so much food, I was force-fed it. Rather, the food was heaped on my plate when I was not looking, and I just had to finish it, as we are taught not to waste food. After I staggered away from the dining table and went to the living room, they brought out huge containers of thick, sweet delicious vermicelli payasa. I nearly fainted. I ate the payasa over two hours.
I learnt my lesson. When invited to lunch, I shamelessly ask the host, please tell me what you have made, and whether there is dessert, so that I can plan my meal. Doesn't work in formal settings, but in such cases I eat very little of everything, and keep my plate closely guarded so that nobody heaps unwanted food on my unsuspecting plate.
Ok, why did I start talking about Upachaara here? The same Upachaara which I dread when I go to people's houses, comes as such a lovely surprise in restaurants. Seriously, have you heard of a waiter doing Upachaara?
My friend M and her husband B were in India last month. S and I went out for dinner with them and their four-month old baby. They wished to eat some good South Indian food - and they zeroed in on North-karnataka cuisine. The Kamat restaurants in Bangalore dish up some really good cuisine of this kind, and so we went to Kamat Minerva at Minerva Circle.
The restaurant is named "Upachaar"(yes!), and we went to the North-Karnataka section, where the specialty is the "Jolada Rotti" meal [Rotis made of Jowar].
The waiters were very attentive, they went out of their way to make it comfortable for us, and they laid out a separate chair for the baby's car seat. Ok so far so good, all restaurants do this.
Then they served us these delicious, light, soft, Jolada rottis on a banana leaf, with some really yummy side-dishes. They kept watch over our leaves, and came right up with hot rottis just as we put the last bite of the previous rotti into our mouths. They were right there, unobtrusive, but ever watchful. I lost count of the number of rottis I ate. I ate and ate, and ate. When my friend M felt that she had enough, she refused the next rotti the waiter offered. He stood there in horror. "Madam, how can you say no? You get ordinary food everywhere. This kind of food is special - you have to come all the way here if you want to eat this food. Take one more, do take one more". "How can I say no if you put it that way", asked M, and ate another. I took the hint and went on eating.
Finally I realized that I just had to stop, and told the waiter so. He tried to persuade me, but I was firm. He disappeared and came back with hot steaming rice. "No! NO rice please" I said. He stood by me with a pained expression. "Our drumstick sambar is very popular, very famous. You just have to taste it. You cannot leave without tasting it, Madam! Just a little, you won't regret it, madam!"
I relented. True to his word, he served a little rice, and before I could protest, he drained a whole spoonful of hot, fragrant ghee on the rice, and then served the drumstick sambar. I have to give it to him, it was indeed from another world. I wished I could eat more, and I would have, given that the waiter was standing by me with a pleased and expectant expression, rice piled high on his serving spoon, but I just had to say no. I wouldn't have been able to stand up, had I eaten any more.
Funny. The same Upachaara that would have been frustrating and exasperating in a domestic setting was such a welcome change in a restaurant. A very homely and comfy feeling. The restaurant hardly has much to lose by that Upachaara - but look what it gained. Publicity! :)
[Btw, Upachaara is not equal to force-feeding. Force-feeding is one of the major aspects of Upachaara, that's all]
A lot of people mentioned "force-feeding" in the comments on my previous post. This is carried out very frequently in the name of "Upachaara". Upachaara in Kannada, means hospitable treatment. Probable equivalent is "Mehmaan ki Khaatirdaari". Making sure that the guest is comfortable and eats his fill and makes himself at home without any "Sankocha" (Hesitation arising from shyness).
[Since there are no English equivalents for Upachaara, Sankocha, etc., I will use these words in the rest of this post.]
The mark of a good host has traditionally been how nice he is to the guests - in other words, how well he does Upachaara. And what is the highlight of this Upachaara? Force-feeding.
I am sure that you have all been subject to this force-feeding at some point or the other. Some people do have a lot of Sankocha, and it is for these people that Upachaara might be necessary.
But nowadays I have seen that hardly anybody is really shy when invited to dinner. People eat their fill, and comfortably. [Or am I speaking for myself?]. I, for one, do not need any kind of Upachaara. If they have asked me to dinner, they had better have enough food for me - for I will eat as much as I want to. And conversely, if I am playing host, I assume that my guests are eating enough. Sometimes this can backfire. My guests might have a lot of Sankocha, and I end up saying, "Will you have another Chapati? No? Ok!" And then the guest might think, "Oh no, what a bad host, she has no idea how to do Upachaara!", and he goes home hungry.
So, my rule of thumb is, if a person does Upachaara, then he needs Upachaara.
I am sure you all have horror stories of being force-fed until you were ready to puke. My first such experience was at a classmate's house, where he had invited us for a birthday lunch. The food was delicious, but there were so many courses that I lost count. And it was the worst kind of situation - where all the food was not placed on the table, but was brought out course after course. So I ended up eating 8 puris with chhole, three large helpings of pulao with raita, and two large helpings of curd-rice, in addition to the side-dishes and papads and sweets and curries. And no, I did not ask for so much food, I was force-fed it. Rather, the food was heaped on my plate when I was not looking, and I just had to finish it, as we are taught not to waste food. After I staggered away from the dining table and went to the living room, they brought out huge containers of thick, sweet delicious vermicelli payasa. I nearly fainted. I ate the payasa over two hours.
I learnt my lesson. When invited to lunch, I shamelessly ask the host, please tell me what you have made, and whether there is dessert, so that I can plan my meal. Doesn't work in formal settings, but in such cases I eat very little of everything, and keep my plate closely guarded so that nobody heaps unwanted food on my unsuspecting plate.
Ok, why did I start talking about Upachaara here? The same Upachaara which I dread when I go to people's houses, comes as such a lovely surprise in restaurants. Seriously, have you heard of a waiter doing Upachaara?
My friend M and her husband B were in India last month. S and I went out for dinner with them and their four-month old baby. They wished to eat some good South Indian food - and they zeroed in on North-karnataka cuisine. The Kamat restaurants in Bangalore dish up some really good cuisine of this kind, and so we went to Kamat Minerva at Minerva Circle.
The restaurant is named "Upachaar"(yes!), and we went to the North-Karnataka section, where the specialty is the "Jolada Rotti" meal [Rotis made of Jowar].
The waiters were very attentive, they went out of their way to make it comfortable for us, and they laid out a separate chair for the baby's car seat. Ok so far so good, all restaurants do this.
Then they served us these delicious, light, soft, Jolada rottis on a banana leaf, with some really yummy side-dishes. They kept watch over our leaves, and came right up with hot rottis just as we put the last bite of the previous rotti into our mouths. They were right there, unobtrusive, but ever watchful. I lost count of the number of rottis I ate. I ate and ate, and ate. When my friend M felt that she had enough, she refused the next rotti the waiter offered. He stood there in horror. "Madam, how can you say no? You get ordinary food everywhere. This kind of food is special - you have to come all the way here if you want to eat this food. Take one more, do take one more". "How can I say no if you put it that way", asked M, and ate another. I took the hint and went on eating.
Finally I realized that I just had to stop, and told the waiter so. He tried to persuade me, but I was firm. He disappeared and came back with hot steaming rice. "No! NO rice please" I said. He stood by me with a pained expression. "Our drumstick sambar is very popular, very famous. You just have to taste it. You cannot leave without tasting it, Madam! Just a little, you won't regret it, madam!"
I relented. True to his word, he served a little rice, and before I could protest, he drained a whole spoonful of hot, fragrant ghee on the rice, and then served the drumstick sambar. I have to give it to him, it was indeed from another world. I wished I could eat more, and I would have, given that the waiter was standing by me with a pleased and expectant expression, rice piled high on his serving spoon, but I just had to say no. I wouldn't have been able to stand up, had I eaten any more.
Funny. The same Upachaara that would have been frustrating and exasperating in a domestic setting was such a welcome change in a restaurant. A very homely and comfy feeling. The restaurant hardly has much to lose by that Upachaara - but look what it gained. Publicity! :)
[Btw, Upachaara is not equal to force-feeding. Force-feeding is one of the major aspects of Upachaara, that's all]
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Please come home sometime.
No, I am not inviting you to my home (not yet). I am just talking about this very common utterance of formality that I hear everywhere. very common, but utterly devoid of feeling. And the one who is being invited, says, "Oh yes, yes, sure!" - and this is said totally blankly too. So why say it?
I am sure you know what I am talking about. Two people meet, and before bidding one another goodbye, each of them invites the other to their home. And with a lot of head-nodding and "Of course"s, they go their own ways. And the very existence of the other person, let alone his home, is forgotten in the next two minutes.
I don't really know, but I guess this has always been a common form of politeness and a gesture of friendliness and hospitality to invite someone home. In the days of yore, it probably held some meaning too. With small towns and cities, with approachable homes, and with a lot of time on hand and with loads of respect for personal relationships, this would have been a sincere invitation, and it would have been taken seriously too.
But now, honestly, I think it has lost all meaning. I have seen people inviting each other, and each one doesn't have an idea of where the other's house is, still they say, "Oh yes, yes, we will surely drop by some day". Both of them know that the "some day" will never come. Then why, why still stick to this silly phrase? Let's move on!
I am not saying that all such invitations are devoid of meaning. Oh, many certainly mean it sincerely. But think about it - the other day, i was out with a friend, and we happened to run into my friend's in-laws' former neighbour's daughter-in-law. They talked a while, and during "goodbye" time, this girl turns to me and says, "Please come home sometime". All I could do was gape. For heavens' sake, why would I be interested in going to the home of my friend's in-laws' former neighbour's daughter-in-law, with whom I have nothing in common? And why would she be interested in inviting me? So why the silly formality? And yes, you guessed right, she didn't tell me where her house was. And as it turns out, my friend doesn't know either.
I usually answer this invitation with a "Ha ha". It might be rude, but it is the truth.
Before you think I am an anti-social element, let me tell you that I am a firm believer of good socialization in this mad era, with my definition of socialization being that we meet up and spend quality time with friends, relatives, and develop contact with new acquaintances with common interests. But I wouldn't issue empty invitations to all and sundry, and I take with a pinch of salt most of such empty invitations that come my way.
So please let us find some other more appropriate goodbye phrase!
While I am at this, there is another aspect to this "Come home" business.
This one purely concerns sincere(or that's what I think) invitations. I understand that you would like someone to visit you, but please do understand that person's limitations! He might genuinely not be able to accept your invitation for lunch/dinner because of a number of problems. He might be much too busy with other stuff (he has a life of his own, too, you know), or he might have a problem with commuting so far, or he might have some other personal problem which he cannot tell you about. It could be anything. So please don't harrass him. And please don't think that he is alive on this earth just to have a meal at your place.
And worse are you who expects a person visiting the city on a vacation to make it a point to visit your place. The poor lady has managed a short vacation, and has come down to visit her family, and you extend an invitation to have a meal at your house. If she could, believe me, she would. If she has to skip visiting your house, it is because either you are not in her first circle (face it), or else, the time is much too short for her too spend time with everybody. If you really love her as much as you claim to, then you can very well go and visit her for a short while where she is staying, so that she can spend more of the scarce and precious time at home and less commuting on the wretched roads in the obnoxious traffic to come to have a meal at your place. And if she had said she would come, but then she couldn't, then give her the benefit of doubt - and please do not complain to the whole world for the next one year that she did not visit your place when she was in the city.
And if the said visiting person is an elderly person, who finds it difficult to travel from one place to another in the heat in the crowded roads of the city, then the thought of insisting on him having a meal at your house should not even cross your mind. If you want to pay your respects to him, you can't do better by going to where he is staying and spending a couple of hours with him. So there.
Ahh. I have it all off my chest. That feels good. Thank you, Blog.
I am sure you know what I am talking about. Two people meet, and before bidding one another goodbye, each of them invites the other to their home. And with a lot of head-nodding and "Of course"s, they go their own ways. And the very existence of the other person, let alone his home, is forgotten in the next two minutes.
I don't really know, but I guess this has always been a common form of politeness and a gesture of friendliness and hospitality to invite someone home. In the days of yore, it probably held some meaning too. With small towns and cities, with approachable homes, and with a lot of time on hand and with loads of respect for personal relationships, this would have been a sincere invitation, and it would have been taken seriously too.
But now, honestly, I think it has lost all meaning. I have seen people inviting each other, and each one doesn't have an idea of where the other's house is, still they say, "Oh yes, yes, we will surely drop by some day". Both of them know that the "some day" will never come. Then why, why still stick to this silly phrase? Let's move on!
I am not saying that all such invitations are devoid of meaning. Oh, many certainly mean it sincerely. But think about it - the other day, i was out with a friend, and we happened to run into my friend's in-laws' former neighbour's daughter-in-law. They talked a while, and during "goodbye" time, this girl turns to me and says, "Please come home sometime". All I could do was gape. For heavens' sake, why would I be interested in going to the home of my friend's in-laws' former neighbour's daughter-in-law, with whom I have nothing in common? And why would she be interested in inviting me? So why the silly formality? And yes, you guessed right, she didn't tell me where her house was. And as it turns out, my friend doesn't know either.
I usually answer this invitation with a "Ha ha". It might be rude, but it is the truth.
Before you think I am an anti-social element, let me tell you that I am a firm believer of good socialization in this mad era, with my definition of socialization being that we meet up and spend quality time with friends, relatives, and develop contact with new acquaintances with common interests. But I wouldn't issue empty invitations to all and sundry, and I take with a pinch of salt most of such empty invitations that come my way.
So please let us find some other more appropriate goodbye phrase!
While I am at this, there is another aspect to this "Come home" business.
This one purely concerns sincere(or that's what I think) invitations. I understand that you would like someone to visit you, but please do understand that person's limitations! He might genuinely not be able to accept your invitation for lunch/dinner because of a number of problems. He might be much too busy with other stuff (he has a life of his own, too, you know), or he might have a problem with commuting so far, or he might have some other personal problem which he cannot tell you about. It could be anything. So please don't harrass him. And please don't think that he is alive on this earth just to have a meal at your place.
And worse are you who expects a person visiting the city on a vacation to make it a point to visit your place. The poor lady has managed a short vacation, and has come down to visit her family, and you extend an invitation to have a meal at your house. If she could, believe me, she would. If she has to skip visiting your house, it is because either you are not in her first circle (face it), or else, the time is much too short for her too spend time with everybody. If you really love her as much as you claim to, then you can very well go and visit her for a short while where she is staying, so that she can spend more of the scarce and precious time at home and less commuting on the wretched roads in the obnoxious traffic to come to have a meal at your place. And if she had said she would come, but then she couldn't, then give her the benefit of doubt - and please do not complain to the whole world for the next one year that she did not visit your place when she was in the city.
And if the said visiting person is an elderly person, who finds it difficult to travel from one place to another in the heat in the crowded roads of the city, then the thought of insisting on him having a meal at your house should not even cross your mind. If you want to pay your respects to him, you can't do better by going to where he is staying and spending a couple of hours with him. So there.
Ahh. I have it all off my chest. That feels good. Thank you, Blog.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
What is your comfort food?
My comfort food is Saaru-Anna. Saaru is a kind of Rasam, but it is thicker - it has dal(pulses). Where Rasam is best drunk, Saaru is best mixed with rice (and.. err.. ghee) and eaten. But yes, Saaru can be drunk too, when you allow the thick dal part to settle down, and you carefully ladle out the watery part into a cup - best had hot.
There are varieties of Saaru too, with less dal, with only tomatoes, with only pepper, etc., but my favourite is the standard version - the one with dal and tomatoes, and a garnishing of asafoetida and mustard in ghee. And of course, topped with coriander and curry leaves.
Give it to me with soft, steaming hot rice (Anna), and sigh.. life is good.
But. But, when asked to name my favourite dishes, Saaru-Anna hardly ever figures in the list. But if I go for a week without eating Saaru, I start craving for it - and I feel like I have had a good meal only when I eat a plate full of hot Saaru-Anna.
Saaru-Anna was what I would request for while visiting relatives from the hostel, and my mom always made Saaru-Anna for the first meal when I came back home for the holidays. If I am recovering from an illness and don't feel like eating anything, it is usually only Saaru-Anna that is palatable.
I am a foodie, as I have said a number of times on this blog, and I love to taste new dishes. I enjoy the gastronomical delights of the place I am visiting, when I go on vacations or holidays. But when I come back, it is only Saaru-Anna that soothes my taste-buds (and also mind, body and soul).
I don't even need to eat this everyday - I can go for days on end without it. But when I do finally get to eat it, I feel at home. Its like that old pair of pyjamas - that gives you peace of mind.
I see this Saaru-Anna phenomenon all around me. My entire family, friends, most people I know who are accustomed to Kannadiga cuisine behave just like I do when it comes to Saaru-Anna.
So what is your comfort food? [Please mention the kind of cuisine you are originally accustomed to, along with your reply. Just a personal survey. Thanks :)]
There are varieties of Saaru too, with less dal, with only tomatoes, with only pepper, etc., but my favourite is the standard version - the one with dal and tomatoes, and a garnishing of asafoetida and mustard in ghee. And of course, topped with coriander and curry leaves.
Give it to me with soft, steaming hot rice (Anna), and sigh.. life is good.
But. But, when asked to name my favourite dishes, Saaru-Anna hardly ever figures in the list. But if I go for a week without eating Saaru, I start craving for it - and I feel like I have had a good meal only when I eat a plate full of hot Saaru-Anna.
Saaru-Anna was what I would request for while visiting relatives from the hostel, and my mom always made Saaru-Anna for the first meal when I came back home for the holidays. If I am recovering from an illness and don't feel like eating anything, it is usually only Saaru-Anna that is palatable.
I am a foodie, as I have said a number of times on this blog, and I love to taste new dishes. I enjoy the gastronomical delights of the place I am visiting, when I go on vacations or holidays. But when I come back, it is only Saaru-Anna that soothes my taste-buds (and also mind, body and soul).
I don't even need to eat this everyday - I can go for days on end without it. But when I do finally get to eat it, I feel at home. Its like that old pair of pyjamas - that gives you peace of mind.
I see this Saaru-Anna phenomenon all around me. My entire family, friends, most people I know who are accustomed to Kannadiga cuisine behave just like I do when it comes to Saaru-Anna.
So what is your comfort food? [Please mention the kind of cuisine you are originally accustomed to, along with your reply. Just a personal survey. Thanks :)]
Friday, March 30, 2007
Bangles for Sachin.
Cricket fans in Patna are angry with the Indian Cricket Team because of their exit from the world cup. So what do they do?
Take a poster of Sachin's, blacken it a bit, hold it up for the benefit of the photographer, and hold bangles to the poster.
[Picture here, scroll down a bit]
There are two things extremely offensive about this.
1) Offering bangles to a loser is an age-old Indian gesture of insult. Which is an abominable thing. It means that the loser is "no better than a woman". It is a terribly demeaning statement.
2) The fans who are offering bangles to the Sachin poster, are women. Yes. Not men. Women themselves, who are demeaning themselves by this act. Do they even realize what it means? Do they understand that they are putting themselves down? If they do know the significance of this gesture, do they really have that low an opinion of themselves as women?
[Anil and Emma on the same issue. Though they had already written about it, I felt I just had to write about it too.]
Take a poster of Sachin's, blacken it a bit, hold it up for the benefit of the photographer, and hold bangles to the poster.
[Picture here, scroll down a bit]
There are two things extremely offensive about this.
1) Offering bangles to a loser is an age-old Indian gesture of insult. Which is an abominable thing. It means that the loser is "no better than a woman". It is a terribly demeaning statement.
2) The fans who are offering bangles to the Sachin poster, are women. Yes. Not men. Women themselves, who are demeaning themselves by this act. Do they even realize what it means? Do they understand that they are putting themselves down? If they do know the significance of this gesture, do they really have that low an opinion of themselves as women?
[Anil and Emma on the same issue. Though they had already written about it, I felt I just had to write about it too.]
Thursday, March 29, 2007
I am Jaguar Paw and this is my forest.
Very occasionally, I get bitten by a bug that makes me want to do something quite unlike me. Recently, it was the urge to watch a movie in a theatre. "Some movie, any movie", I whined.
The next question was, "Which movie?" S said that he heard that "300" was good, and so I looked up the reviews, and went back to him, saying, "I read that it is too violent, let's go to a lighter movie".
"Ok, your choice", he said.
I searched high and low and found that "Little Miss Sunshine" and "The Pursuit of Happyness" sounded good - and I zeroed in on Little Miss Sunshine.
S very kindly acquiesced, and we landed at PVR cinemas. But I was in for a little surprise. The show that I thought started at 7 40 was indeed there, but it was the Gold class show - with tickets costing Rs.450. Now, even when I am in the crazy mode, some sense does prevail. Paying Rs.150 for the usual ticket itself pains me - but 450? Nothing doing! S was open to the idea, but I just walked off. So what do we do now? In PVR with nothing to do?
None of the other movies seemed interesting, and those that were interesting were sold out.
Then S's eyes caught sight of Apocalypto.
"I've heard it's good", he said.
I hadn't even heard of the movie. "Fine", I said, "If you think so", and we bought the tickets.
We were already ten minutes late, and we rushed to the hall.
As we entered, S whispered, "Its about Mayans."
"Wow", I thought.
As we settled into our seats, he said, "It's directed by Mel Gibson. It could be, err.. a little gory".
"How gory can it be?" I thought, already transfixed by the sight of the larger-than-life images of the people of an ancient Mayan tribe on the screen, with emerald green forests in the background.
The conversation was in some alien language, but there were subtitles, of course. It just needed five minutes to get me totally immersed in the movie. Those characters, with their dress, make up, their language, the picturisation, the sound - it was very good.
As the movie progressed, everything seemed hunky-dory - the seemingly idyllic life of a village in the jungle - but then there was a sense of foreboding. Both in the characters in the screen, and in me.
And then it began.
Carnage. Bloodshed.
I promptly shut my eyes. But I couldn't shut the screams out.
S watched for a couple of minutes, and then he looked at me. "We can always walk out, you know, if you cannot stand it. I don't mind at all", he said.
"I'm fine with staying and watching the movie", I said. I was already too engrossed in the movie, violence and all. "But let me know when I can open my eyes", I clarified.
So that is how the rest of the movie went. The slightest hint of blood and gore and I would avert my eyes. S would watch it and then after the scene finished, he would tell me, "You can watch now".
So I actually spent half of the movie examining my fingernails, admiring the pattern on my handbag, or looking at S and observing his reactions to the movie. Not a wince, not a shudder from him, but an imperceptible stiffening as the screams and noise increased. Then he would visibly relax and say, "You can watch now". And I would watch. And I loved what I watched.
It is a very well-made movie. It must have needed a lot of effort to make. The dress, makeup, the entire movie being in the Mayan language, the forests, the cultures, even the ghastly customs - made for gripping viewing.
Oh, what is the movie about, do you ask? It is about this guy Jaguar Paw, who is captured along with his tribespeople, to serve as human sacrifice to appease the Mayan Gods, and about how he escapes.
The Title of this post? One of the oft-repeated dialogues, which I loved - "I am Jaguar Paw, son of Flint Sky. My Father hunted this forest before me. My name is Jaguar Paw. I am a hunter. This is my forest. And my sons will hunt it with their sons after I am gone. "
If you can stomach loads of blood and gore, then do watch the movie.
As for me, my "I-want-to-watch-a-movie" sickness seems to have been cured once and for all.
The next question was, "Which movie?" S said that he heard that "300" was good, and so I looked up the reviews, and went back to him, saying, "I read that it is too violent, let's go to a lighter movie".
"Ok, your choice", he said.
I searched high and low and found that "Little Miss Sunshine" and "The Pursuit of Happyness" sounded good - and I zeroed in on Little Miss Sunshine.
S very kindly acquiesced, and we landed at PVR cinemas. But I was in for a little surprise. The show that I thought started at 7 40 was indeed there, but it was the Gold class show - with tickets costing Rs.450. Now, even when I am in the crazy mode, some sense does prevail. Paying Rs.150 for the usual ticket itself pains me - but 450? Nothing doing! S was open to the idea, but I just walked off. So what do we do now? In PVR with nothing to do?
None of the other movies seemed interesting, and those that were interesting were sold out.
Then S's eyes caught sight of Apocalypto.
"I've heard it's good", he said.
I hadn't even heard of the movie. "Fine", I said, "If you think so", and we bought the tickets.
We were already ten minutes late, and we rushed to the hall.
As we entered, S whispered, "Its about Mayans."
"Wow", I thought.
As we settled into our seats, he said, "It's directed by Mel Gibson. It could be, err.. a little gory".
"How gory can it be?" I thought, already transfixed by the sight of the larger-than-life images of the people of an ancient Mayan tribe on the screen, with emerald green forests in the background.
The conversation was in some alien language, but there were subtitles, of course. It just needed five minutes to get me totally immersed in the movie. Those characters, with their dress, make up, their language, the picturisation, the sound - it was very good.
As the movie progressed, everything seemed hunky-dory - the seemingly idyllic life of a village in the jungle - but then there was a sense of foreboding. Both in the characters in the screen, and in me.
And then it began.
Carnage. Bloodshed.
I promptly shut my eyes. But I couldn't shut the screams out.
S watched for a couple of minutes, and then he looked at me. "We can always walk out, you know, if you cannot stand it. I don't mind at all", he said.
"I'm fine with staying and watching the movie", I said. I was already too engrossed in the movie, violence and all. "But let me know when I can open my eyes", I clarified.
So that is how the rest of the movie went. The slightest hint of blood and gore and I would avert my eyes. S would watch it and then after the scene finished, he would tell me, "You can watch now".
So I actually spent half of the movie examining my fingernails, admiring the pattern on my handbag, or looking at S and observing his reactions to the movie. Not a wince, not a shudder from him, but an imperceptible stiffening as the screams and noise increased. Then he would visibly relax and say, "You can watch now". And I would watch. And I loved what I watched.
It is a very well-made movie. It must have needed a lot of effort to make. The dress, makeup, the entire movie being in the Mayan language, the forests, the cultures, even the ghastly customs - made for gripping viewing.
Oh, what is the movie about, do you ask? It is about this guy Jaguar Paw, who is captured along with his tribespeople, to serve as human sacrifice to appease the Mayan Gods, and about how he escapes.
The Title of this post? One of the oft-repeated dialogues, which I loved - "I am Jaguar Paw, son of Flint Sky. My Father hunted this forest before me. My name is Jaguar Paw. I am a hunter. This is my forest. And my sons will hunt it with their sons after I am gone. "
If you can stomach loads of blood and gore, then do watch the movie.
As for me, my "I-want-to-watch-a-movie" sickness seems to have been cured once and for all.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Low investment, high returns
A bitterly cold December morning in Darjeeling. My alarm rang at 3 30 am. I unwillingly dragged myself out from under the thick quilt, and woke up my friends, who were equally reluctant to get out into the biting cold. We cursed and fretted, got up and washed in the freezing water and stepped out into the darkness, tumbled into a jeep and set out to catch the world-famous sunrise at Tiger Hill. We dozed in the jeep, shivering under layers of clothes, and I kept muttering, why exactly am I sitting here, freezing in this jeep when I could be curled up under the warm quilt at the hotel? No answer.
But a couple of hours later, I had just finished witnessing one of the most magical sights of my life. The sunrise at Tiger Hill. I had seen the enchanting Kanchenjunga in the first rays of the sun, and even now, eight years later, I count it as one of the best experiences of my life.
All I had to do was withstand some cold and give up three hours of sleep, and I had got myself an experience that I will always cherish.
So simple.
I cannot count the number of times I have cribbed at being woken up at 5 am on a Sunday to go for a walk at Lalbagh. But each of those walks remain in my memory as some of the best days of my childhood.
I remember how much I cried about being waken up by my parents at 2 am in the night to watch my first complete lunar eclipse, and my first comet. But I'll never forget either experience, ever.
I would get so irritated with my father for waking me up at dawn when we were on vacation - couldn't he see that I was sleepy? But he would say, "You can sleep any time, you might not get another chance to visit this beautiful place and see the view at this hour ever again".
How I hated being woken up by my mother at 4 am in the morning at Mysore, just to make me listen to the terrifying roar of the lions in the zoo, 5-6 km away. But how I cherish that memory now - knowing that I'll probably never hear anything like that ever again.
It is not just about losing sleep. Some of the best places I have been, have been travelled to in rickety little village buses. Or been travelled to for long hours in hot, dusty trains, with upset stomachs. Or in hot old shaky taxis, thirsty and hungry. But though I do remember that there was some discomfort, I don't remember how much or how it felt. All I remember is what I saw and enjoyed.
Life holds a lot of treasures - how much of it you will find depends on how much hardship you are ready to face.
Little discomforts, which will be forgotten in no time - in exchange for memories of a lifetime. What a small price to pay!
But a couple of hours later, I had just finished witnessing one of the most magical sights of my life. The sunrise at Tiger Hill. I had seen the enchanting Kanchenjunga in the first rays of the sun, and even now, eight years later, I count it as one of the best experiences of my life.
All I had to do was withstand some cold and give up three hours of sleep, and I had got myself an experience that I will always cherish.
So simple.
I cannot count the number of times I have cribbed at being woken up at 5 am on a Sunday to go for a walk at Lalbagh. But each of those walks remain in my memory as some of the best days of my childhood.
I remember how much I cried about being waken up by my parents at 2 am in the night to watch my first complete lunar eclipse, and my first comet. But I'll never forget either experience, ever.
I would get so irritated with my father for waking me up at dawn when we were on vacation - couldn't he see that I was sleepy? But he would say, "You can sleep any time, you might not get another chance to visit this beautiful place and see the view at this hour ever again".
How I hated being woken up by my mother at 4 am in the morning at Mysore, just to make me listen to the terrifying roar of the lions in the zoo, 5-6 km away. But how I cherish that memory now - knowing that I'll probably never hear anything like that ever again.
It is not just about losing sleep. Some of the best places I have been, have been travelled to in rickety little village buses. Or been travelled to for long hours in hot, dusty trains, with upset stomachs. Or in hot old shaky taxis, thirsty and hungry. But though I do remember that there was some discomfort, I don't remember how much or how it felt. All I remember is what I saw and enjoyed.
Life holds a lot of treasures - how much of it you will find depends on how much hardship you are ready to face.
Little discomforts, which will be forgotten in no time - in exchange for memories of a lifetime. What a small price to pay!
Friday, March 16, 2007
Redemption
Many decades ago, in a small village in Karnataka, there was a boy, the son of the Shanbhog (Village accountant). A very bright and intelligent fellow, he always topped his class at school. When he finished middle school, his father decided to send him to the nearest big town, Davangere, for high school, since there was no high school in the village. The boy stayed at a hostel and attended the high school at Davangere.
Gradually, the boy fell into bad company at the hostel, and started smoking, gambling, and bunking classes. Before he knew it, the exams were upon him and he failed in a couple of subjects. He returned to his village for the holidays, and it took all his persuasive skills and promises to let his father send him back to school. His previous excellent reputation at school might have played a part too, and anyway, his father sent him back to school with a warning.
The boy went back to school, determined to avoid all the boys he hung out with the previous term, but as time went by, he was drawn to them again, and he was back to his bad habits. This time, when the exams loomed large, the boy got scared, and unable to face his parents, he packed a small bag and ran away. To cut a long and painful story short, the police found the runaway boy after two weeks in a distant town, and sent him back home to the village. His homecoming was joyously celebrated, but the matter of sending him back to school was dropped. The boy also had no guts to speak about it, so he resigned himself to a life of a Shanbhog.
Shortly, the Shanbhog's friend came visiting, and was quite pained to see a boy he considered brilliant, taken out of school. He talked to the Shanbhog, and told him that he would take the boy to chitradurga, where he lived, and the boy could stay at his house and study at the high school in Chitradurga. The Shanbhog was difficult to persuade, but he relented at the end, on the condition that the money for all the fees and other expenses of the boy should go directly from the Shanbhog's hands to the friend's, and the boy should at no time be allowed to have even a paisa on his person. This was agreed to, and the friend took the boy away with him to his house, and made arrangements for him to stay in a room in their outhouse, where other boys like him were staying and studying at the local high school.
The arrangement was fine, the boy ate breakfast and dinner at the friend's house, and attended school, but for lunch, the boy was in a dilemma. Being of a shy disposition, he couldn't bring himself to come back home during lunch break and go up to the main house to ask the lady of the house for lunch. The lady, perhaps, assumed that the boy, being the son of a Shanbhog, would definitely have money with him, and would be eating his lunch somewhere outside. Too embarrassed to explain this situation to either his father or the father's friend, the boy went through many months without lunch.
Soon, a couple of boys at school - brothers - befriended this boy, and their friendship grew. The brothers naturally noticed that their new friend did not eat lunch at all, and instead, filled his stomach with water from the tap. They went home and told their mother about this. Their mother felt sorry for the boy, and told her sons to bring him home with them for lunch henceforth.
The next day, the brothers told the boy about their mother's invitation, but the boy was too shy to accompany them to their house. He refused to go. So the brothers went back home for lunch without the boy. Their mother was furious. "Why didn't you bring your friend with you? What kind of boys are you? How can you think of eating when your friend is sitting there, hungry? This is because you don't know what hunger is. You won't get any lunch today. Hereafter, if you want lunch, you should bring your friend with you". The brothers went back, hungry and crestfallen, and told the boy what they had had to undergo because of him.
The boy couldn't believe his ears. Was this lady for real?
The next day, he had no choice but to accompany the brothers to their home for lunch. Their mother welcomed him with affection, and he became a regular at their house. Soon, he virtually started living in their house, and he was always treated by the family as another son of the house. [Even now, seventy odd years later, the boy considers the lady as his second mother, and remembers her fondly.]
I don't think I need to add that the boy now applied himself to his work diligently, and when he passed the tenth standard board exams, he was just among a handful of boys in the entire district to pass with a first class.
The boy, in case you haven't already guessed, is my grandfather.
This is the gist of one of my favourite episodes in my grandfather (Prof J.R.Lakshmana Rao)'s memoirs, "Nenapina Alegalu" - Waves of Memories.
I like this story for a number of reasons.
1) That such a confused(?) young boy turned out into a fine, well-respected Chemistry professor, chief-editor of the University's Kannada-English dictionary, authored about 25 science books, many of which won him Sahitya Akademi Awards among various other awards, was awarded a National Award for Science Writing, etc. -- This story shows that no child is incorrigible. Belief in a child, guidance in the right path, and love can make any child bloom.
2) Can such people have really walked the earth?
A man, who, out of his confidence in a friend's son's abilities, offers to take up the entire responsibility of his studies, in spite of the boy's notoriety as the "boy who had run away from home".
A lady with so much love that she could make her own sons go hungry for a boy she hadn't even met - And later, treats him no different from her own sons.
It is beyond comprehension. And it never fails to touch my heart.
Gradually, the boy fell into bad company at the hostel, and started smoking, gambling, and bunking classes. Before he knew it, the exams were upon him and he failed in a couple of subjects. He returned to his village for the holidays, and it took all his persuasive skills and promises to let his father send him back to school. His previous excellent reputation at school might have played a part too, and anyway, his father sent him back to school with a warning.
The boy went back to school, determined to avoid all the boys he hung out with the previous term, but as time went by, he was drawn to them again, and he was back to his bad habits. This time, when the exams loomed large, the boy got scared, and unable to face his parents, he packed a small bag and ran away. To cut a long and painful story short, the police found the runaway boy after two weeks in a distant town, and sent him back home to the village. His homecoming was joyously celebrated, but the matter of sending him back to school was dropped. The boy also had no guts to speak about it, so he resigned himself to a life of a Shanbhog.
Shortly, the Shanbhog's friend came visiting, and was quite pained to see a boy he considered brilliant, taken out of school. He talked to the Shanbhog, and told him that he would take the boy to chitradurga, where he lived, and the boy could stay at his house and study at the high school in Chitradurga. The Shanbhog was difficult to persuade, but he relented at the end, on the condition that the money for all the fees and other expenses of the boy should go directly from the Shanbhog's hands to the friend's, and the boy should at no time be allowed to have even a paisa on his person. This was agreed to, and the friend took the boy away with him to his house, and made arrangements for him to stay in a room in their outhouse, where other boys like him were staying and studying at the local high school.
The arrangement was fine, the boy ate breakfast and dinner at the friend's house, and attended school, but for lunch, the boy was in a dilemma. Being of a shy disposition, he couldn't bring himself to come back home during lunch break and go up to the main house to ask the lady of the house for lunch. The lady, perhaps, assumed that the boy, being the son of a Shanbhog, would definitely have money with him, and would be eating his lunch somewhere outside. Too embarrassed to explain this situation to either his father or the father's friend, the boy went through many months without lunch.
Soon, a couple of boys at school - brothers - befriended this boy, and their friendship grew. The brothers naturally noticed that their new friend did not eat lunch at all, and instead, filled his stomach with water from the tap. They went home and told their mother about this. Their mother felt sorry for the boy, and told her sons to bring him home with them for lunch henceforth.
The next day, the brothers told the boy about their mother's invitation, but the boy was too shy to accompany them to their house. He refused to go. So the brothers went back home for lunch without the boy. Their mother was furious. "Why didn't you bring your friend with you? What kind of boys are you? How can you think of eating when your friend is sitting there, hungry? This is because you don't know what hunger is. You won't get any lunch today. Hereafter, if you want lunch, you should bring your friend with you". The brothers went back, hungry and crestfallen, and told the boy what they had had to undergo because of him.
The boy couldn't believe his ears. Was this lady for real?
The next day, he had no choice but to accompany the brothers to their home for lunch. Their mother welcomed him with affection, and he became a regular at their house. Soon, he virtually started living in their house, and he was always treated by the family as another son of the house. [Even now, seventy odd years later, the boy considers the lady as his second mother, and remembers her fondly.]
I don't think I need to add that the boy now applied himself to his work diligently, and when he passed the tenth standard board exams, he was just among a handful of boys in the entire district to pass with a first class.
The boy, in case you haven't already guessed, is my grandfather.
This is the gist of one of my favourite episodes in my grandfather (Prof J.R.Lakshmana Rao)'s memoirs, "Nenapina Alegalu" - Waves of Memories.
I like this story for a number of reasons.
1) That such a confused(?) young boy turned out into a fine, well-respected Chemistry professor, chief-editor of the University's Kannada-English dictionary, authored about 25 science books, many of which won him Sahitya Akademi Awards among various other awards, was awarded a National Award for Science Writing, etc. -- This story shows that no child is incorrigible. Belief in a child, guidance in the right path, and love can make any child bloom.
2) Can such people have really walked the earth?
A man, who, out of his confidence in a friend's son's abilities, offers to take up the entire responsibility of his studies, in spite of the boy's notoriety as the "boy who had run away from home".
A lady with so much love that she could make her own sons go hungry for a boy she hadn't even met - And later, treats him no different from her own sons.
It is beyond comprehension. And it never fails to touch my heart.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Blank Noise Project - Action Heroes
Blank Noise Project is back with the blogathon - and this year, we are asked to share stories of how we, as victims of street harrassment, fought back and became Action Heroes.
Now, I haven't done anything remotely heroic, which would warrant a story, but they ask -
This statement was what pushed me into writing this - I might not be an Action Hero, but I haven't always been passive either.
I had written last year about my first experience at being eve-teased.
After this incident, I did ignore verbal harrassment for a long time. But many times, more in recent years when my confidence has grown, I respond with what I think is a withering look. I don't know if it cows them down or not... but I feel that I have fought back in my own little way.
But those eve-teasers who brush against me in crowded streets? I always answer with a jab of my elbow, or I lash out at them - it is an instinct. Else, if the street is not too crowded and if the guy in question has not got lost in the crowd, I even turn around and shout "Heeeeeyyyy!" People turn around, and look at him and he slinks away. I have no idea about eve-teaser mentality, but I like to think that he was embarrassed and will think twice before indulging in eve-teasing again. Wishful thinking? Maybe, but I hope not.
I haven't needed to use public transport on a regular basis, but on those occasions that I have travelled in buses, and have observed a man with a propensity to stand or sit too close, I used my elbows to jab hard at him, or I have pressed down my foot very hard on his feet (this has been good fun - I can direct all my anger at his foot - but I don't wear heels, a pity)... or I have looked him in the eye and said sarcastically, "Yenu, jaaga saalada?" (What's the matter, don't have enough space?"). It works. They always move away. And sometimes, if a particularly garrulous lady is around and has viewed the entire episode, she does her bit by proclaiming loudly, "These men - they see a young girl and all they want to do is paw her"... and more in that vein. That is very satisfying indeed. It catches the attention of the whole bus, and its great to see the discomfort of the perpetrator.
I feel that any little act of fighting back or a defensive attitude, makes me feel that I have got the better of the eve-teaser. And that's what matters. The confidence to walk on the streets with my head held high.
Now, I haven't done anything remotely heroic, which would warrant a story, but they ask -
Being a 'HERO' is relative . We are interested in knowing how you challenged yourself or didn't feel victimised?
This statement was what pushed me into writing this - I might not be an Action Hero, but I haven't always been passive either.
I had written last year about my first experience at being eve-teased.
Many many years ago. A hot summer's day. First day of the academic year. I was walking back from school with a new friend. We reached an intersection, and she and I had to go different ways.
"Bye! It was good to meet you!" I called out to her.
There were a group of guys in a car parked close to us.
"Bye to her... now meet ussssss", they called out, with wolf-whistles.
I was being eve-teased. For the first time in my life. I was horrified, and nearly struck dumb. But I desperately wanted to impress my new friend.
"Mind your own business, Mister, or I will tell the police", I hollered, in true Bollywood style.
"Oye!" said one, and opened one door of the car.
That was it. All my bravado vanished and I ran home as fast as my skinny ten-year-old legs could carry me. I reached home and half-proud, half-scared, poured it all out to my mother. She listened, eyes widening.
"Where was that car parked?"
"In front of the bar!", said I, nonchalantly.
"Shruthi! Those guys could have been drunk! They could have done anything! Do not, I repeat, DO NOT answer back to them! Just ignore them!"
After this incident, I did ignore verbal harrassment for a long time. But many times, more in recent years when my confidence has grown, I respond with what I think is a withering look. I don't know if it cows them down or not... but I feel that I have fought back in my own little way.
But those eve-teasers who brush against me in crowded streets? I always answer with a jab of my elbow, or I lash out at them - it is an instinct. Else, if the street is not too crowded and if the guy in question has not got lost in the crowd, I even turn around and shout "Heeeeeyyyy!" People turn around, and look at him and he slinks away. I have no idea about eve-teaser mentality, but I like to think that he was embarrassed and will think twice before indulging in eve-teasing again. Wishful thinking? Maybe, but I hope not.
I haven't needed to use public transport on a regular basis, but on those occasions that I have travelled in buses, and have observed a man with a propensity to stand or sit too close, I used my elbows to jab hard at him, or I have pressed down my foot very hard on his feet (this has been good fun - I can direct all my anger at his foot - but I don't wear heels, a pity)... or I have looked him in the eye and said sarcastically, "Yenu, jaaga saalada?" (What's the matter, don't have enough space?"). It works. They always move away. And sometimes, if a particularly garrulous lady is around and has viewed the entire episode, she does her bit by proclaiming loudly, "These men - they see a young girl and all they want to do is paw her"... and more in that vein. That is very satisfying indeed. It catches the attention of the whole bus, and its great to see the discomfort of the perpetrator.
I feel that any little act of fighting back or a defensive attitude, makes me feel that I have got the better of the eve-teaser. And that's what matters. The confidence to walk on the streets with my head held high.
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