I enjoy Western Classical music - I don't understand the nuances, but I like it anyway. But I'd never been to a live concert. My cousin V takes lessons in both Western Violin and Western Saxophone (not to mention Carnatic Violin) and is good at all of them. He wakes up at 5 30 am to practice music, and when at his house, it was a wonderful daily alarm for me - the strains of an instrument from downstairs. Err.. not that I woke up each time to those sounds - half the time it would play in my dreams :O
Anyway, V was a part of a concert, presented by his school along with a girls' school. It was in a church in the city. My uncle was out of town, and my aunt and I left Puttachi with S who had arrived just that day, and went to the concert.
The church is beautiful, old and big. Listening to classical music on an audio system is nice, but listening to it live, with the great acoustics that the size and structure of the church enabled - this was an experience to be savoured. I loved it. There was a choir, which rings in my mind to this day. And it reminded me of the dozens of choirs I have been a part of. I always enjoyed them - the preparation, the rehearsals, the way, with practice, all the voices slowly come together in harmony, and the final presentation, and everything in between - I was so insanely jealous of that group during the concert! I would so love to take part in any choir/orchestra/group music again!!
During the break, there were refreshments. We had eaten dinner before going, but we were already hungry, and so we accepted some refreshments - some juice/wine and some snacks. I took a plate, filled it with a little chips, and something that looked like Kurkure, and brought it for both my aunt and me to eat. The chips got over in a second while we chatted and ate, but the stick-like savouries remained, until both of us realized that we had unconsciously rejected it - we didn't like it.
After we got home, my aunt asked V - "What on earth WAS it?" He listened to the description and said, "Oh, Marmite." Apparently, people either love it or hate it, and he was in the former camp. "Thank heavens we don't have Marmite in India," I said, only to watch a programme on BBC the VERY next day, about how they were trying to introduce Marmite in India - marketing it as a health-food. They even added it to pulao, and people actually seemed to like it. Shudder. Is it here yet? Any idea, people? If not, remember, you heard about it from me first.
About the concert - it has whetted my appetite, and I would so love to listen to more live Western Classical concerts - like for example, at the, ahem.... Sydney Opera House and the Royal Albert Hall....? :)
Friday, March 11, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
E for English
It's interesting to watch Puttachi grappling with the strange language that English is. When she started school in June, she knew next to no English. Now, she can understand quite a bit, and can carry on decent communication with someone entirely in English. She speaks only in the simple present tense, and with terrible grammar, of course.
_____
I don't initiate conversations with her in English - it doesn't come naturally to me. But if she does, and she does it frequently, I encourage her, and join in her conversation. For her, English is something that is spoken in a school situation, so she says, "You are my ma'am, so let's speak in English now." If she suddenly gets stuck, doesn't find a word in English, she says, "Ok, now you are the Kannada ma'am, so I will tell only this in Kannada, then you become English ma'am again, then we will speak in English again."
________
A few days ago, we had a fun session - when I told her that one who runs is called a runner, one who speaks is called a speaker, and so on.
After that, she came up with hilarious things like - one with a tail is a tailor, one who comes late is later, one who docts is a doctor....I don't know how much of it she understood herself and how much of it she picked up from my reactions, but we had this wonderful half an hour laughing our guts out.
______________
She: Y for uniform.
Me: It is U for Uniform. U-Uniform!
She: No, it is Y for uniform. Y for yellow, Y for Yak, so Y for uniform.
Me: Hmph. Makes sense.
________
She: There are many mouses there.
Me: Mice, not mouse. Funny, isn't it? In English, for many mouse, you say mice, not mouses.
She: (Frowns) You all can say mice. I will say mouses. *Stalks off*
_________
Since she is so crazy about the alphabet, just to see how far she would participate, I introduced Word-building to her. I say a word, you say a word with the last letter of my word, and so on. She hasn't been taught to spell yet, but she latched on to the concept, and was enthusiastic.
She: Ok Amma, you start with A.
Me: A for Ant. What does it end with?
She: Ant... anttt... tt.. tt. T! T for Tall
Me: Good. What does it end with?
She: Tallll...lll. L!
Me: Correct. L for Late.
She: Amma, when I get L, I will say L for Lollipop.
Me: Sure. Now, what does Late end with?
She: Late.. ttt...ttt..... T!
Me: (She is actually playing syllable-building - she doesn't know how to spell, like I said.) Ok. T for?
She: T for Tree.
Me: So I have to think of a word with?
She: Treee... Tr... Trrrr....... Amma, I don't know. Tr? You can say Tractor.
Me: (How logical!) Actually ends with E, you see? Treeeeeee. E.
She: E for L
Me: What?
She: E for L, as in LMNOP. El, El. (She had once also said EL (L) for Elephant)
Me: Ah! But that's not a word!
She: Let's play some other game.
But she keeps coming back twice a day to want to play this game. I can see the future, once she starts to spell. Hours and hours and hours of word building....*shudder*
_____
I don't initiate conversations with her in English - it doesn't come naturally to me. But if she does, and she does it frequently, I encourage her, and join in her conversation. For her, English is something that is spoken in a school situation, so she says, "You are my ma'am, so let's speak in English now." If she suddenly gets stuck, doesn't find a word in English, she says, "Ok, now you are the Kannada ma'am, so I will tell only this in Kannada, then you become English ma'am again, then we will speak in English again."
________
A few days ago, we had a fun session - when I told her that one who runs is called a runner, one who speaks is called a speaker, and so on.
After that, she came up with hilarious things like - one with a tail is a tailor, one who comes late is later, one who docts is a doctor....I don't know how much of it she understood herself and how much of it she picked up from my reactions, but we had this wonderful half an hour laughing our guts out.
______________
She: Y for uniform.
Me: It is U for Uniform. U-Uniform!
She: No, it is Y for uniform. Y for yellow, Y for Yak, so Y for uniform.
Me: Hmph. Makes sense.
________
She: There are many mouses there.
Me: Mice, not mouse. Funny, isn't it? In English, for many mouse, you say mice, not mouses.
She: (Frowns) You all can say mice. I will say mouses. *Stalks off*
_________
Since she is so crazy about the alphabet, just to see how far she would participate, I introduced Word-building to her. I say a word, you say a word with the last letter of my word, and so on. She hasn't been taught to spell yet, but she latched on to the concept, and was enthusiastic.
She: Ok Amma, you start with A.
Me: A for Ant. What does it end with?
She: Ant... anttt... tt.. tt. T! T for Tall
Me: Good. What does it end with?
She: Tallll...lll. L!
Me: Correct. L for Late.
She: Amma, when I get L, I will say L for Lollipop.
Me: Sure. Now, what does Late end with?
She: Late.. ttt...ttt..... T!
Me: (She is actually playing syllable-building - she doesn't know how to spell, like I said.) Ok. T for?
She: T for Tree.
Me: So I have to think of a word with?
She: Treee... Tr... Trrrr....... Amma, I don't know. Tr? You can say Tractor.
Me: (How logical!) Actually ends with E, you see? Treeeeeee. E.
She: E for L
Me: What?
She: E for L, as in LMNOP. El, El. (She had once also said EL (L) for Elephant)
Me: Ah! But that's not a word!
She: Let's play some other game.
But she keeps coming back twice a day to want to play this game. I can see the future, once she starts to spell. Hours and hours and hours of word building....*shudder*
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Goodbye, Uncle Pai
The blogworld will overflow with reminisces, and goodbyes to Uncle Pai, who died yesterday - let me add my little drop.
Uncle Pai's Amar Chitra Katha and Tinkle were my growing-up buddies. If, today, I know more about Indian mythology and more folk tales than my peers, I have ACK to thank. For years, I waited excitedly for every new issue of Tinkle, and devoured it end to end. They were all my friends, and Uncle Pai was a special friend.
I once sent a story idea to Tinkle, and I received a handwritten rejection letter from Uncle Pai. On one side of a yellow postcard (anybody remembers those any more?) He wrote that they couldn't accept my story idea, but to try again. Just like a boatman would row, row, row, to get to the bank, try, try and try again to succeed, he said. I hope I have that postcard somewhere.
Thank you, Uncle Pai, for all that joy I had growing up. I owe much to you.
Uncle Pai's Amar Chitra Katha and Tinkle were my growing-up buddies. If, today, I know more about Indian mythology and more folk tales than my peers, I have ACK to thank. For years, I waited excitedly for every new issue of Tinkle, and devoured it end to end. They were all my friends, and Uncle Pai was a special friend.
I once sent a story idea to Tinkle, and I received a handwritten rejection letter from Uncle Pai. On one side of a yellow postcard (anybody remembers those any more?) He wrote that they couldn't accept my story idea, but to try again. Just like a boatman would row, row, row, to get to the bank, try, try and try again to succeed, he said. I hope I have that postcard somewhere.
Thank you, Uncle Pai, for all that joy I had growing up. I owe much to you.
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
Said Puttachi...
Me: (examining a couple of greys on my head.)
She: Amma, what is that?
Me: Grey hair.
She: Why do you have grey hair?
Me: (laughing) I'm growing old!
She: Oh. But you won't die right now, will you? Die after I become very big. Okay?
***
She: Amma,until when can I stay with you?
Me: What?
She: Until what age can I live with you and Papa?
Me: Stay as long as you want, Puttachi.
She: Can I stay until I am fourteen years old?
Me: I recommend you stay longer, mari.. :)
She: Okay I will live with you till I am fifteen years old. Then I will go to college and get married, and when I have a baby, I will call you up and tell you whether I have got twins or not.
She: Amma, what is that?
Me: Grey hair.
She: Why do you have grey hair?
Me: (laughing) I'm growing old!
She: Oh. But you won't die right now, will you? Die after I become very big. Okay?
***
She: Amma,until when can I stay with you?
Me: What?
She: Until what age can I live with you and Papa?
Me: Stay as long as you want, Puttachi.
She: Can I stay until I am fourteen years old?
Me: I recommend you stay longer, mari.. :)
She: Okay I will live with you till I am fifteen years old. Then I will go to college and get married, and when I have a baby, I will call you up and tell you whether I have got twins or not.
Monday, February 07, 2011
A wonderful breakfast
I've been meaning to blog about this for a while now. When in my aunt's house in England, we had cereals and fruits and nuts every morning. I enjoyed that breakfast. After S joined us, he was totally taken with the idea of such a healthy breakfast. When we got back, we discussed it, and decided to try out that breakfast for a couple of weeks.
We did try, and we're hooked. I cook oats in milk, and add chopped fresh fruits, nuts and dry fruits. I also add a fistful of ragi araluhittu/hurihittu (popped and powdered ragi.) For a bit of crunch, we add a little Kellogg's oatbites. It's working wonderfully for us in many ways, at many levels.
Every morning, at about 9 or 10, I had a tendency to feel terribly tired and drained out. It was worse when I ate bread and uppittu. (My mother and my grandmother also have the same problem, and we're still not clear why it happens). After we started this breakfast, it hasn't happened even once. I do feel hungry again at about 10 or 11 (but I feel hungry around that time even after an Indian breakfast), but I've never once felt drained out. Peevee, my sister, the nutrition expert, says that it is because of complex carbohydrates in the oats - it releases energy bit by bit.
Besides, the compulsory dose of fruits and fibre has done wonders for Puttachi's digestion. Initially, Puttachi wasn't very receptive to it, and I felt guilty about giving her something she probably didn't like. But one Saturday, when I set a plate of something else before her, she frowned and said, "Why haven't you made oats? I want oatmeal." "Don't fuss, eat whatever is on your plate," I said, but inwardly, I was doing somersaults! It's been eight months and she is also enjoying this breakfast as much as S and I do. As for me, who is so crazy about good food, I was quite sure I'd get bored with this after a while, but each morning, I approach my bowl with great enthusiasm, and that is saying a lot about it!
To an extent, this breakfast means lesser time and effort. But it does take time chopping fruits and breaking nuts down into small pieces for Puttachi, and cooking the oats just right so that it doesn't get gooey - it does have it's own effort. But the biggest plus is that I needn't wonder every night what to make for breakfast next morning.
But I make make Indian breakfast in the weekends - one, for my tastebuds, and two, because I don't want to forget how to make all that, and three, if I feel tired, I can very well chuck everything and take a break mid-morning.
If, for any reason, a hearty Indian breakfast is not working for you, I urge you to try this.
We did try, and we're hooked. I cook oats in milk, and add chopped fresh fruits, nuts and dry fruits. I also add a fistful of ragi araluhittu/hurihittu (popped and powdered ragi.) For a bit of crunch, we add a little Kellogg's oatbites. It's working wonderfully for us in many ways, at many levels.
Every morning, at about 9 or 10, I had a tendency to feel terribly tired and drained out. It was worse when I ate bread and uppittu. (My mother and my grandmother also have the same problem, and we're still not clear why it happens). After we started this breakfast, it hasn't happened even once. I do feel hungry again at about 10 or 11 (but I feel hungry around that time even after an Indian breakfast), but I've never once felt drained out. Peevee, my sister, the nutrition expert, says that it is because of complex carbohydrates in the oats - it releases energy bit by bit.
Besides, the compulsory dose of fruits and fibre has done wonders for Puttachi's digestion. Initially, Puttachi wasn't very receptive to it, and I felt guilty about giving her something she probably didn't like. But one Saturday, when I set a plate of something else before her, she frowned and said, "Why haven't you made oats? I want oatmeal." "Don't fuss, eat whatever is on your plate," I said, but inwardly, I was doing somersaults! It's been eight months and she is also enjoying this breakfast as much as S and I do. As for me, who is so crazy about good food, I was quite sure I'd get bored with this after a while, but each morning, I approach my bowl with great enthusiasm, and that is saying a lot about it!
To an extent, this breakfast means lesser time and effort. But it does take time chopping fruits and breaking nuts down into small pieces for Puttachi, and cooking the oats just right so that it doesn't get gooey - it does have it's own effort. But the biggest plus is that I needn't wonder every night what to make for breakfast next morning.
But I make make Indian breakfast in the weekends - one, for my tastebuds, and two, because I don't want to forget how to make all that, and three, if I feel tired, I can very well chuck everything and take a break mid-morning.
If, for any reason, a hearty Indian breakfast is not working for you, I urge you to try this.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
The waist-high interrogator
There is a new phase to Puttachi's questions, when I thought I'd seen the worst. Now, she wants to know everything about everything.
She wants to know the reason of my every action - and I mean every single tiny unconscious forgettable action. If I run my fingers through my hair, she wants to know why. If I pick a piece of lint off my sweater, she wants to know why. If I twist my lip, she wants to know why. If I blow air through my lips, she wants to know why. You'll think I'm exaggerating, but when I say every single action, I mean every single action. I've never in my life had to account for my actions - now I need to, constantly, for this waist-high interrogator.
A common line of questioning, as we are stepping out of the home: Amma, why did you say Tch? Why had you forgotten the key? Why hadn't you kept it ready? Didn't you know we were going to the park? Amma, why are you wearing socks with these sandals? Why do you want to protect your feet from sand and cold? Why do your feet crack in winter? Show me your cracks? Why don't you look after your feet better? Why don't you apply some cream? Why.....
Sometimes, when I'm brushing her teeth, I've to beg her - can you please stop talking for two seconds and spit out the paste? Please?
Another common line of interrogation:
Me: Hmmm.....hmmmm.. Dil tadap tadap ke kehraha hai aa bhi jaa.. hmm hmmm (Humming while doing something)
She: Amma, what is that song? What are you singing? Sing it loudly, properly? Don't say hmmm... sing it with words? Is this in Hindi? How did you learn it? Did you hear it when you were small? Did your mother teach you? Do we have this song at home? Will you play it for me?
So I dig out a Mukesh collection and play it for her.
She: Which CD is this? Mukesh? Who is Mukesh? Show me the photo on the CD cover? Is this Mukesh? Is he still alive? Why did he die? What is the name of this CD? Has he sung all the songs in this CD? Is this the song you were singing? Now you stop singing. If you sing, I can't hear the real song. You can sing it later. (Listens.) Amma, did you say Mukesh was a man? Then who is this girl singing? Lata Mang-kar? Then why did you say all the songs were sung by Mukesh? Why is Lata Mang-mang helping him sing? Why is this song in Hindi? What does this song mean? Why is he calling the girl to go to him? Are they friends?
I'm afraid to even say that this must be as bad as it gets.
She wants to know the reason of my every action - and I mean every single tiny unconscious forgettable action. If I run my fingers through my hair, she wants to know why. If I pick a piece of lint off my sweater, she wants to know why. If I twist my lip, she wants to know why. If I blow air through my lips, she wants to know why. You'll think I'm exaggerating, but when I say every single action, I mean every single action. I've never in my life had to account for my actions - now I need to, constantly, for this waist-high interrogator.
A common line of questioning, as we are stepping out of the home: Amma, why did you say Tch? Why had you forgotten the key? Why hadn't you kept it ready? Didn't you know we were going to the park? Amma, why are you wearing socks with these sandals? Why do you want to protect your feet from sand and cold? Why do your feet crack in winter? Show me your cracks? Why don't you look after your feet better? Why don't you apply some cream? Why.....
Sometimes, when I'm brushing her teeth, I've to beg her - can you please stop talking for two seconds and spit out the paste? Please?
Another common line of interrogation:
Me: Hmmm.....hmmmm.. Dil tadap tadap ke kehraha hai aa bhi jaa.. hmm hmmm (Humming while doing something)
She: Amma, what is that song? What are you singing? Sing it loudly, properly? Don't say hmmm... sing it with words? Is this in Hindi? How did you learn it? Did you hear it when you were small? Did your mother teach you? Do we have this song at home? Will you play it for me?
So I dig out a Mukesh collection and play it for her.
She: Which CD is this? Mukesh? Who is Mukesh? Show me the photo on the CD cover? Is this Mukesh? Is he still alive? Why did he die? What is the name of this CD? Has he sung all the songs in this CD? Is this the song you were singing? Now you stop singing. If you sing, I can't hear the real song. You can sing it later. (Listens.) Amma, did you say Mukesh was a man? Then who is this girl singing? Lata Mang-kar? Then why did you say all the songs were sung by Mukesh? Why is Lata Mang-mang helping him sing? Why is this song in Hindi? What does this song mean? Why is he calling the girl to go to him? Are they friends?
I'm afraid to even say that this must be as bad as it gets.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Some interesting books
A selection of books I've been reading...
"Caribbean" by James Michener - I've said it many times before, I'll say it again. Michener is a genius. And this book is another example. The amount of research that goes into each novel is mindboggling. And he writes about each subject with so much love and involvement, that he takes the reader with him. He creates very believable characters, and you get so embroiled in their lives that when the chapter gets over, you are upset, until you start the next chapter with completely different characters who are so fabulous that you forget the previous ones. But not quite. For their descendants make an appearance in successive chapters - changing, being involved in real history, and interacting with real historical characters, such that the lines between fact and fiction get blurred. At the end of each novel, he makes you love the place, the people, the culture, and you know the entire history of the place, and what makes it what it is.
"Raga'n Josh" by Sheila Dhar - This is a combination of two of her books - "Here's someone I'd like you to meet." and "The Cooking of music and other essays." Sheila Dhar was a Hindustani classical vocalist. She had the good fortune to know many of India's legendary musicians personally, and she is brimming with anecdotes about them. She also happened to have the gift of writing - and the result is this wonderful book. If you like music and writing, you've got to read this. Even if you are not much of a music enthusiast, the stories are such that it can be enjoyed by anybody. There are also some essays on music - and I've got to say this - I've never read a more elegant depiction of what music is, what raagas mean, what is special about classical music. Her writing is a work of art. Apart from all these are extremely interesting stories about life as the wife of a man who was in the Prime-minister's advisory committee. I came away from this book full of awe for Sheila Dhar. If she'd still been alive, I would've travelled the length of India to meet her.
"Good Night and God Bless" by Anita Nair - I happened to mention to a writer friend that Anita Nair is one person I can say this about - she has read me, but I haven't read her! (Refering to her being a judge in a competition where I won a prize) My friend, who is an admirer of Anita Nair, decided to set it right, and sent her copy of this book to me, from Mumbai, by courier.
I loved it. It is sharp, witty, and pithy. Her observations are remarkable. A book that can be a constant companion - you can pick it up anytime and start reading it from anywhere.
"Ladies Coupe" by Anita Nair - Of course, I had to follow it up with this book. It was great. So many women - such different stories, yet so similar. Somewhere in it was my own story, in a very strange way. And I'm certain every Indian woman will find something to take away from it. One phrase in it struck me and has kind of gripped me. "I was tired of living life from the sidelines." (paraphrasing). I am, too.
"In other rooms, other wonders" by Daniyal Mueenuddin - The same writer friend recommended this to me, and also sent me one of his stories from the New Yorker. I then read this book. Though set in Pakistan, the situations, social conditions, and mentality is very similar to that in India, and I enjoyed them. The best part of his writing is the economy of words. He says so much with so little, it is incredible.
"Nectar in a Sieve" by Kamala Markandaya - I picked this up because of many recommendations. Excuse me, how is it I'd never heard of the author or this book? She published this in 1954, when she was 30 (I groan, I blush and hide in a cave.) What a book! Usually stories about the everyday struggles of poor farming people depress me, and my general mood is not too conducive to reading this. But this one was worth it. It was sad, but it was also a story of eternal hope and the will to survive. And it is so beautifully told, that it took my breath away. She was a real pioneer, she was.
"A girl and a river" by Usha KR - Actually, this author was another of the judges in that competition, and I hadn't read her either. I'd met her at the award ceremony, though, and I remember writing about her - her quiet elegance blew me away. Anyway. The title of this book is deceptive - I had assumed it was one of those sad stories about someone's struggles, and like I said above, I wasn't too keen on reading it in one of my dark moods. But I picked it up on a whim - and wow - it is fabulous. The story itself, its pace, its minute detailing, the suspense, the characterization - are all brilliant. What made it special for me was that it was like one of my aunts or grandmother telling me a true story - it is set in a small village in Karnataka - and all the day to day details of their lives, the food, the customs - are all intimately familiar to me. That made it very real. Great language, very natural flow, likeable characters and a gripping storyline. I'm looking forward to reading more of her.
"Andamans Boy" by Zai Whitaker - A young adult book. And I am so annoyed to see that the book and its author are not more well-known. Stories like this are what makes my heart soar with pleasure. It is written with love, sensitivity, and loads of humour. Full of adventure, brimming with information - Zai takes us to a completely different world. I've always been lukewarm about the Andamans, but Zai Whitaker has single-handedly put it on my wishlist. A wonderful book for young people. And for old people.
"The Riddle of the Seventh Stone" by Monideepa Sahu - A very enjoyable children's book - an interesting story, unforgettable and likeable characters in a very familiar setting - the streets and bylanes of good old Bangalore, including Vidhana Soudha and Avenue Road. Very imaginative, laugh-out-loud funny at times. Another book that can make a great gift for a young person. [Since writing this, I've spoken to the author on the phone, and she is one of those people who have the ability to make you laugh both with the written word, and the spoken.]
Collected poems of Rabindranath Tagore - My father casually told me that sometimes it's good to read a book outside one's comfort zone. I liked the idea, and combed the book cupboard at my parents' place for something like that - I was actually looking for some very different non-fiction, but I chanced upon this big book that somebody gifted my sister, and I thought, why not. I don't usually read poetry, claiming that I'm too prosaic, so I thought I'd give it a try, and it was good that it was Tagore. It was in line with my latest passion for Indian writing. It took me a while to warm up, but warm up I did. Some poetry still didn't make much sense to me, but others did. And it was really food for the soul. Made me stop, think and sometimes shed a tear out of pure emotion. I never knew I could enjoy poetry. Now that opens up an entire new world, the door to which I'd conveniently closed!
"On Writing" by Stephen King - If you are a writer of any kind, at any level, you MUST read this book. Enough said.
"Eat Pray Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert - engaging, lively, chatty and outrageous. I love the way she describes food - it had me drooling. I'd like to watch the movie now.
I'm reading:
"Namma Maragalu" (Our trees) by H.R.Krishnamurthy - I am often ashamed at the lack of knowledge I have of trees around me. Except for the usual suspects - coconut, mango, tamarind, gulmohar, peepal, banyan, neem, eucalyptus, jackfruit and such, I can hardly recognize any. Every day we go to the park, Puttachi and me, and stroll under the beautiful trees - and I don't even know what kind most of them are. I seek to set it right with this book. I'm making good progress.
"A journey down Melody Lane" by Raju Bharatan - a history of Hindi film songs through the decades, and the unbelievable stories behind them - as seen first hand. Very interesting. The man is a walking-talking encyclopaedia of film music. If you are an old Hindi film music fan, I'm sure you'll enjoy this. But the author could do with some lessons in sentence construction. This is not an easy book to read.
"Caribbean" by James Michener - I've said it many times before, I'll say it again. Michener is a genius. And this book is another example. The amount of research that goes into each novel is mindboggling. And he writes about each subject with so much love and involvement, that he takes the reader with him. He creates very believable characters, and you get so embroiled in their lives that when the chapter gets over, you are upset, until you start the next chapter with completely different characters who are so fabulous that you forget the previous ones. But not quite. For their descendants make an appearance in successive chapters - changing, being involved in real history, and interacting with real historical characters, such that the lines between fact and fiction get blurred. At the end of each novel, he makes you love the place, the people, the culture, and you know the entire history of the place, and what makes it what it is.
"Raga'n Josh" by Sheila Dhar - This is a combination of two of her books - "Here's someone I'd like you to meet." and "The Cooking of music and other essays." Sheila Dhar was a Hindustani classical vocalist. She had the good fortune to know many of India's legendary musicians personally, and she is brimming with anecdotes about them. She also happened to have the gift of writing - and the result is this wonderful book. If you like music and writing, you've got to read this. Even if you are not much of a music enthusiast, the stories are such that it can be enjoyed by anybody. There are also some essays on music - and I've got to say this - I've never read a more elegant depiction of what music is, what raagas mean, what is special about classical music. Her writing is a work of art. Apart from all these are extremely interesting stories about life as the wife of a man who was in the Prime-minister's advisory committee. I came away from this book full of awe for Sheila Dhar. If she'd still been alive, I would've travelled the length of India to meet her.
"Good Night and God Bless" by Anita Nair - I happened to mention to a writer friend that Anita Nair is one person I can say this about - she has read me, but I haven't read her! (Refering to her being a judge in a competition where I won a prize) My friend, who is an admirer of Anita Nair, decided to set it right, and sent her copy of this book to me, from Mumbai, by courier.
I loved it. It is sharp, witty, and pithy. Her observations are remarkable. A book that can be a constant companion - you can pick it up anytime and start reading it from anywhere.
"Ladies Coupe" by Anita Nair - Of course, I had to follow it up with this book. It was great. So many women - such different stories, yet so similar. Somewhere in it was my own story, in a very strange way. And I'm certain every Indian woman will find something to take away from it. One phrase in it struck me and has kind of gripped me. "I was tired of living life from the sidelines." (paraphrasing). I am, too.
"In other rooms, other wonders" by Daniyal Mueenuddin - The same writer friend recommended this to me, and also sent me one of his stories from the New Yorker. I then read this book. Though set in Pakistan, the situations, social conditions, and mentality is very similar to that in India, and I enjoyed them. The best part of his writing is the economy of words. He says so much with so little, it is incredible.
"Nectar in a Sieve" by Kamala Markandaya - I picked this up because of many recommendations. Excuse me, how is it I'd never heard of the author or this book? She published this in 1954, when she was 30 (I groan, I blush and hide in a cave.) What a book! Usually stories about the everyday struggles of poor farming people depress me, and my general mood is not too conducive to reading this. But this one was worth it. It was sad, but it was also a story of eternal hope and the will to survive. And it is so beautifully told, that it took my breath away. She was a real pioneer, she was.
"A girl and a river" by Usha KR - Actually, this author was another of the judges in that competition, and I hadn't read her either. I'd met her at the award ceremony, though, and I remember writing about her - her quiet elegance blew me away. Anyway. The title of this book is deceptive - I had assumed it was one of those sad stories about someone's struggles, and like I said above, I wasn't too keen on reading it in one of my dark moods. But I picked it up on a whim - and wow - it is fabulous. The story itself, its pace, its minute detailing, the suspense, the characterization - are all brilliant. What made it special for me was that it was like one of my aunts or grandmother telling me a true story - it is set in a small village in Karnataka - and all the day to day details of their lives, the food, the customs - are all intimately familiar to me. That made it very real. Great language, very natural flow, likeable characters and a gripping storyline. I'm looking forward to reading more of her.
"Andamans Boy" by Zai Whitaker - A young adult book. And I am so annoyed to see that the book and its author are not more well-known. Stories like this are what makes my heart soar with pleasure. It is written with love, sensitivity, and loads of humour. Full of adventure, brimming with information - Zai takes us to a completely different world. I've always been lukewarm about the Andamans, but Zai Whitaker has single-handedly put it on my wishlist. A wonderful book for young people. And for old people.
"The Riddle of the Seventh Stone" by Monideepa Sahu - A very enjoyable children's book - an interesting story, unforgettable and likeable characters in a very familiar setting - the streets and bylanes of good old Bangalore, including Vidhana Soudha and Avenue Road. Very imaginative, laugh-out-loud funny at times. Another book that can make a great gift for a young person. [Since writing this, I've spoken to the author on the phone, and she is one of those people who have the ability to make you laugh both with the written word, and the spoken.]
Collected poems of Rabindranath Tagore - My father casually told me that sometimes it's good to read a book outside one's comfort zone. I liked the idea, and combed the book cupboard at my parents' place for something like that - I was actually looking for some very different non-fiction, but I chanced upon this big book that somebody gifted my sister, and I thought, why not. I don't usually read poetry, claiming that I'm too prosaic, so I thought I'd give it a try, and it was good that it was Tagore. It was in line with my latest passion for Indian writing. It took me a while to warm up, but warm up I did. Some poetry still didn't make much sense to me, but others did. And it was really food for the soul. Made me stop, think and sometimes shed a tear out of pure emotion. I never knew I could enjoy poetry. Now that opens up an entire new world, the door to which I'd conveniently closed!
"On Writing" by Stephen King - If you are a writer of any kind, at any level, you MUST read this book. Enough said.
"Eat Pray Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert - engaging, lively, chatty and outrageous. I love the way she describes food - it had me drooling. I'd like to watch the movie now.
I'm reading:
"Namma Maragalu" (Our trees) by H.R.Krishnamurthy - I am often ashamed at the lack of knowledge I have of trees around me. Except for the usual suspects - coconut, mango, tamarind, gulmohar, peepal, banyan, neem, eucalyptus, jackfruit and such, I can hardly recognize any. Every day we go to the park, Puttachi and me, and stroll under the beautiful trees - and I don't even know what kind most of them are. I seek to set it right with this book. I'm making good progress.
"A journey down Melody Lane" by Raju Bharatan - a history of Hindi film songs through the decades, and the unbelievable stories behind them - as seen first hand. Very interesting. The man is a walking-talking encyclopaedia of film music. If you are an old Hindi film music fan, I'm sure you'll enjoy this. But the author could do with some lessons in sentence construction. This is not an easy book to read.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
90
My grandfather turns 90 today. To commemorate it, we had a gathering of his friends and family in Mysore on Jan 1st (My grandmother's birthday - she turned 84.)
We also launched a website. It still needs work - but do have a look.
90 years. Or 84 for that matter - can you imagine the kind of changes that they've seen in the course of their lives?
Further reading.
We also launched a website. It still needs work - but do have a look.
90 years. Or 84 for that matter - can you imagine the kind of changes that they've seen in the course of their lives?
Further reading.
The other life
Being an avid reader is not such a good thing, as I've written before. I wrote that post more than four years ago, but things are still the same, more or less.
I went on a reading frenzy for a while (book reviews coming up) - it lasted three months or so - and I read as if there was no tomorrow.
Then, suddenly, I stopped reading. Not a conscious decision, though. For ten days or more, I didn't read anything. Well, that's not technically correct - I did read one book, but very little of it. And then I discovered a whole new me.
I crocheted part of a sweater for Puttachi. I worked on her costume for her school day. I finished five 500-piece jigsaw puzzles and realized how much I LOVE doing them. Puttachi and I got together and churned out loads of art and craft things - initially deriving inspiration from blogs, and later discovering our own store of ideas. I made delicious naan, perfected baking whole-wheat bread (with dollops of help from S), and tried a whole lot of new recipes. I started walking in the park every morning after dropping Puttachi to school. I called old friends and got back in touch with them. I took refreshing and restoring naps in the afternoon. I caught a movie or two on television - alone - and this is something totally unlike me (or so I thought.)
I lived in the present - I was totally there, in each moment. And that was a whole new sensation.
And I liked this part of me. This part of my life that lay dormant.
Is it really worth it, this passion for reading? The pleasure reading gives me is immeasurable. But all these things that also give me so much joy - and satisfaction - is it worth giving up all that?
And once again I make the resolution to strike that balance between reading and the other interests in my life.
P.S. This was written about a month ago. Now I'm back to my regular reading habits - though not with that much intensity - and I'm lovin' it.
I went on a reading frenzy for a while (book reviews coming up) - it lasted three months or so - and I read as if there was no tomorrow.
Then, suddenly, I stopped reading. Not a conscious decision, though. For ten days or more, I didn't read anything. Well, that's not technically correct - I did read one book, but very little of it. And then I discovered a whole new me.
I crocheted part of a sweater for Puttachi. I worked on her costume for her school day. I finished five 500-piece jigsaw puzzles and realized how much I LOVE doing them. Puttachi and I got together and churned out loads of art and craft things - initially deriving inspiration from blogs, and later discovering our own store of ideas. I made delicious naan, perfected baking whole-wheat bread (with dollops of help from S), and tried a whole lot of new recipes. I started walking in the park every morning after dropping Puttachi to school. I called old friends and got back in touch with them. I took refreshing and restoring naps in the afternoon. I caught a movie or two on television - alone - and this is something totally unlike me (or so I thought.)
I lived in the present - I was totally there, in each moment. And that was a whole new sensation.
And I liked this part of me. This part of my life that lay dormant.
Is it really worth it, this passion for reading? The pleasure reading gives me is immeasurable. But all these things that also give me so much joy - and satisfaction - is it worth giving up all that?
And once again I make the resolution to strike that balance between reading and the other interests in my life.
P.S. This was written about a month ago. Now I'm back to my regular reading habits - though not with that much intensity - and I'm lovin' it.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Hopefully the end of another silence
There's a reason for my blog silence. A while ago, I browsed through my blog archives. While some of my posts are quite a pleasure to read (Did I write that? Wow!), most of them make me cringe. If not the language, it's my ideas and opinions. They've changed. Or they've undergone a slight shift. At times, I don't recognize myself. Sometimes I sound all lofty and holier-than-thou, sometimes I sound absolutely stupid.
But I'm not beating myself too much over it. This blog has been around for nearly six years now, and I've moved from the silly twenties to (what I think is) the serene thirties. I've moved from being newly-married, to a mother of a three-year-old. I've moved from being in a job I hated, to being at peace with what I'm doing. I've changed in so many ways, and it is but natural that my blog reflects it.
Yet, that doesn't take away the cringing. And as a result, I'm hesitant to put up anything that'll make me blush in six years' time.
For me, writing this is like starting to blog all over again. I remember when I put up my first post - the first time I ever put up my words for any random person to read. It is kind of like baring yourself - putting yourself out there for the world to judge. How difficult it was back then - and how easy it became with each new post!
Perhaps as a result of all this, I found that when I forced myself to write something, I was judging my own words - and they came out stilted and flat. And that is so not what I wanted. I didn't want to write for the sake of keeping my blog alive. So I held off - but today I felt like writing this down, and so here I am.
But I'm not beating myself too much over it. This blog has been around for nearly six years now, and I've moved from the silly twenties to (what I think is) the serene thirties. I've moved from being newly-married, to a mother of a three-year-old. I've moved from being in a job I hated, to being at peace with what I'm doing. I've changed in so many ways, and it is but natural that my blog reflects it.
Yet, that doesn't take away the cringing. And as a result, I'm hesitant to put up anything that'll make me blush in six years' time.
For me, writing this is like starting to blog all over again. I remember when I put up my first post - the first time I ever put up my words for any random person to read. It is kind of like baring yourself - putting yourself out there for the world to judge. How difficult it was back then - and how easy it became with each new post!
Perhaps as a result of all this, I found that when I forced myself to write something, I was judging my own words - and they came out stilted and flat. And that is so not what I wanted. I didn't want to write for the sake of keeping my blog alive. So I held off - but today I felt like writing this down, and so here I am.
Monday, January 03, 2011
My story in an anthology
First time in a book! One of my stories is in an anthology, "Two is Company," to be released this Saturday. Invitation below.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Kids' Furniture
There's been a lot happening, and I have a dozen drafts sitting on my desktop, but I don't feel like posting anything on my blog - various reasons. Anyway.
We're looking for a table-chair for Puttachi, who is totally into colouring and drawing now. We looked at various showrooms in Bangalore - the usual furniture places, kiddie places like Childspace and Kids Kouch - but we haven't found anything suitable. The last option we have is getting it made to order, but before that, we want to see if there's anything suitable available in the market.
So if you know of any place that offers no-nonsense, no-frills, reasonably priced, sensible, sturdy and safe furniture for children, please let me know. You could also mail me, but if you write in the comments section, it might benefit others too. Thank you, omniscient reader!
Have a lovely time - and I guess I'll see you in the new year. Love and best wishes to you all!
We're looking for a table-chair for Puttachi, who is totally into colouring and drawing now. We looked at various showrooms in Bangalore - the usual furniture places, kiddie places like Childspace and Kids Kouch - but we haven't found anything suitable. The last option we have is getting it made to order, but before that, we want to see if there's anything suitable available in the market.
So if you know of any place that offers no-nonsense, no-frills, reasonably priced, sensible, sturdy and safe furniture for children, please let me know. You could also mail me, but if you write in the comments section, it might benefit others too. Thank you, omniscient reader!
Have a lovely time - and I guess I'll see you in the new year. Love and best wishes to you all!
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Online at Joyful!
My story is up on Joyful! -- If you scroll down, it is the second story on the page.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
The UK Files - Oxford
The day after S joined us, we woke up in the morning with no particular plan of action. My aunt suggested that if we liked, we could hop around to see Oxford. The decision made, we got ready in a trice, and S, Puttachi and I set out. My aunt dropped us at the railway station, and we took the train to Oxford.
Green fields, striking yellow rapeseed fields, pretty houses, untidy backyards of pretty houses, flowering trees, and haphazard allotments flew past the windows, and the Thames followed us a good part of the way. Oxfordshire is supposed to be one of the prettier parts of the country.
On the way:
S: My cousin P studies in Oxford.
Me: What? The one working in the US?
S: Not anymore. She studies here.
Me: Why didn't you tell me?
S: I told you!
Me: No, you didn't - do you have her number?
S: No.
Me: Do you remember her father's number?
S: No.
Then followed a series of phone calls and messages trying to get hold of P's number.
Meanwhile, we reached Oxford, got off the train and exited the station.
We were equipped with a printout of Oxford City centre, courtesy my aunt who thinks of everything :O, and we stepped onto the roads , in the mostly beautiful buildings of Oxford.
Puttachi looked up and down, and made a very worldy-wise observation in an ostentatiously patient grandma tone: "Ondondu ooru ondondu thara iratte." (loose translation: every city is different)
We saw Oxford Castle, first, and the very distinctive and unusual mound outside it. Oxford Castle has a very gory history, but we didn't have the time nor the inclination to go in.
We decided to walk down High Street and walk back up Broad Street. (Did I tell you that city names are boringly same everywhere? Every town has a High Street, a Broad Street, a Queen's street, and a Church Street. Highly unimaginative. Some towns like Oxford's redeem themselves with a Boar's street, but that's about it, and I won't be surprised at all if a dozen towns in England have streets with the same name!)
We reached the most recognizable building of Oxford - the Radcliffe camera. We went into All Souls College, that looks like a medieval castle, had a look inside. We walked down High Street, and confirmed that Oxford is indeed one big college. Everywhere is a college,and most of it familiar. Christ church, St Mary's, Exeter, Magdalene - and brought to mind the numerous authors and scientists who've been associated with this place. I later heard that Richard Dawkins lives here, and also found out that Lewis Carroll's Alice's setting was Oxford-inspired. Then of course, Potter fans know that the Great hall of Hogwarts was filmed at Christ Church College's dining hall....
We chanced upon the Oxford museum on Blue Boar Street and popped in to have a look. It was a good thing to do, since I hadn't done my mandatory reading up about the place before I came here. Apparently, Oxford has been a university town since the 11th century! The museum also talked of Oxford's eminent citizens through the ages. There were some museum exhibits, and some nuggets of history too - an interesting place.
About this time, we got hungry, asked and found out that most of the restaurants are on Broad Street. So we deviated slightly from our plan, went straight to Broad Street, and chose a restaurant to have a sandwich. On most of our travels after this, lunch consisted of a sandwich/soup/bread/dessert/coffee, and usually I chose a cold egg and cress sandwich - it was inexplicably comfortable on my palate and stomach.
By this time, we had gotten hold of S's uncle's number, who gave us his daughter's number - we tried calling, but couldn't connect. Later, he called up again to tell us that he'd given us a wrong number - finally we got through - but to her voicemail.
By this time, we'd reached Magdalen college, but it had started drizzling. And it was very cold indeed. We wrapped ourselves up well, draped a sheet over Puttachi's stroller. Taking advantage of a slight lull in the rain, thought of going to the Botanical Gardens - just so that Puttachi could run around - the poor thing had been strapped in her stroller all day long while her parents looked at buildings. But just at that moment, Puttachi fell asleep, and the drizzle started again, so back we went, up Broad Street.
The famous Bridge of Sighs, or the Hertford bridge had to be seen, of course, after which we just ambled around, checking out narrow little lanes that (nearly) opened out into classrooms.
By that time, we'd found out which college S' cousin went to, and decided to try our luck there. By the biggest of coincidences, just as S went in and was asking at the reception, she came down the stairs to see S standing there - she who hadn't the slightest idea that we were even in the country. She had to rush to a class in five minutes, and so that is exactly the amount of time we could spend with her. It was 4 pm by then, and we went back to the station to catch a train back home.
Oxford is lovely. I've got to visit Cambridge next time. (Next time! :D)
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The UK Files - The First Sight of London, and the Zoo
Years of reading about England and the English bequeathed, in my head, a kind of glow to London. The centre of a culture. A place that has to be visited. A place that I knew I'd definitely visit some day.
This isn't the first city to have attained that kind of halo in my books. Bombay was the first. You know how it is, all those movies, - I knew it would have to be visited. Again, the centre of one kind of culture. When I visited it, and even stayed there for 18 months, I felt like something that'd been pending was finally complete.
If I had lived in any place in Karnataka other than Bangalore, I'm pretty sure Bangalore would've been "that" place for me. New York, in fact, still stands that way. I've never been there, but I know I will. It's got to be visited. To complete an image. To give a body to all the ephemeral visions floating around in my head.
So. I was looking forward to visit London. Since I planned to see most of London after S joined us, we wanted to finish those things that S wouldn't be particularly interested in. And so, my aunt planned a visit to the London Zoo.
We drove to the nearest station and took the train to London. It was lovely, entering London. The roads, the streets, the buildings - the sight of Thames - the distant sights of London Eye, Christie's right by the tracks - and to crown it all, Waterloo station.
We got off and took the tube to Camden Town. We'd noted directions, and there was even a map to the zoo at the station, but for some reason, we took a wrong turn, and got lost. The road we took was what seemed to be a major punk destination - tattoo shops alternating with body-piercing shops. Girls in black with spiked hairstyles and heavy eye makeup sauntered past huge men with popeye arms and elaborate tattoos.
I've imagined London in a thousand ways. Narrow streets, imperial buildings, wet streets, the Thames, the parks, the banks - every which way except what I was seeing as my first sight of London. I couldn't stop giggling at the incongruousness of the whole thing.
We stopped at a shop to ask for directions, and a friendly tattooed man came right out and with generous servings of "Yes, Love," "Turn right, Love," directed us to the zoo. He also added a "Don't worry, love, you'll get there, just keep walking," and we understood his "don't worry" only after we started walking.
The road went right next to Regent's canal, under a bridge. It was dingy, gloomy and lonely. Walls climbed up on either side of us, with little niches in which small groups of men sat - doing what, no idea. I almost thought Oliver Twist or Fagin would pop out from the nearest corner. This was the kind of place in the movies that unpleasant things happened. I felt an urge to photograph all this, because I was sure I wouldn't believe myself if I thought about this place later. But I was afraid to even take out my camera!
But walk we did, my aunt, my 14-year old cousin, 3 year old daughter and me, and finally saw the green bridge the "Love" man had told us about. We climbed the steps near it, and lo, back in civilization - and the zoo was across the road. And man, was this the London of my mind!
The zoo is good. Lots of posters with information if you have the time to read. Saw many animals that I hadn't seen - the sea-creatures- anemones, jellyfish. And meerkats, especially, of which I've been a fan ever since Meerkat Manor.
The Gorillas were amazingly human, the way the male gorilla picked up a bottle of some kind of fruit juice and took a swig - I could've sworn it was a man in a costume.
The bugs section was good, probably Puttachi's favourite, coz she sat cross-legged outside the cricket enclosure and wouldn't leave. It was extremely cold (which explains the dearth of photographs - stiff fingers) and my aunt's fabulous sandwiches, and some hot chocolate from the coffee bar revived us a bit. The tropical section was excellent - probably my favourite part of the zoo. Saw a sloth (not) move - and the warmth helped Puttachi fall asleep in the stroller.
I saw much of London later, but this was fun! And now, I wish I'd risked taking those photographs!
This isn't the first city to have attained that kind of halo in my books. Bombay was the first. You know how it is, all those movies, - I knew it would have to be visited. Again, the centre of one kind of culture. When I visited it, and even stayed there for 18 months, I felt like something that'd been pending was finally complete.
If I had lived in any place in Karnataka other than Bangalore, I'm pretty sure Bangalore would've been "that" place for me. New York, in fact, still stands that way. I've never been there, but I know I will. It's got to be visited. To complete an image. To give a body to all the ephemeral visions floating around in my head.
So. I was looking forward to visit London. Since I planned to see most of London after S joined us, we wanted to finish those things that S wouldn't be particularly interested in. And so, my aunt planned a visit to the London Zoo.
We drove to the nearest station and took the train to London. It was lovely, entering London. The roads, the streets, the buildings - the sight of Thames - the distant sights of London Eye, Christie's right by the tracks - and to crown it all, Waterloo station.
We got off and took the tube to Camden Town. We'd noted directions, and there was even a map to the zoo at the station, but for some reason, we took a wrong turn, and got lost. The road we took was what seemed to be a major punk destination - tattoo shops alternating with body-piercing shops. Girls in black with spiked hairstyles and heavy eye makeup sauntered past huge men with popeye arms and elaborate tattoos.
I've imagined London in a thousand ways. Narrow streets, imperial buildings, wet streets, the Thames, the parks, the banks - every which way except what I was seeing as my first sight of London. I couldn't stop giggling at the incongruousness of the whole thing.
We stopped at a shop to ask for directions, and a friendly tattooed man came right out and with generous servings of "Yes, Love," "Turn right, Love," directed us to the zoo. He also added a "Don't worry, love, you'll get there, just keep walking," and we understood his "don't worry" only after we started walking.
The road went right next to Regent's canal, under a bridge. It was dingy, gloomy and lonely. Walls climbed up on either side of us, with little niches in which small groups of men sat - doing what, no idea. I almost thought Oliver Twist or Fagin would pop out from the nearest corner. This was the kind of place in the movies that unpleasant things happened. I felt an urge to photograph all this, because I was sure I wouldn't believe myself if I thought about this place later. But I was afraid to even take out my camera!
But walk we did, my aunt, my 14-year old cousin, 3 year old daughter and me, and finally saw the green bridge the "Love" man had told us about. We climbed the steps near it, and lo, back in civilization - and the zoo was across the road. And man, was this the London of my mind!
The zoo is good. Lots of posters with information if you have the time to read. Saw many animals that I hadn't seen - the sea-creatures- anemones, jellyfish. And meerkats, especially, of which I've been a fan ever since Meerkat Manor.
The Gorillas were amazingly human, the way the male gorilla picked up a bottle of some kind of fruit juice and took a swig - I could've sworn it was a man in a costume.
The bugs section was good, probably Puttachi's favourite, coz she sat cross-legged outside the cricket enclosure and wouldn't leave. It was extremely cold (which explains the dearth of photographs - stiff fingers) and my aunt's fabulous sandwiches, and some hot chocolate from the coffee bar revived us a bit. The tropical section was excellent - probably my favourite part of the zoo. Saw a sloth (not) move - and the warmth helped Puttachi fall asleep in the stroller.
I saw much of London later, but this was fun! And now, I wish I'd risked taking those photographs!
Sunday, November 07, 2010
The UK Files - Windsor
Another amiable spring day took us to Windsor. The castle stood fine and regal, but we'd already decided we didn't want to go in to see how the royals live.
We walked through the town and to the Long Walk. People were out in great numbers, and I did a fair amount of people watching. Families intent on having a good time. Couples walking hand in hand. People lolling upon the grass. Teenaged girls dressed like 25-year-olds. A couple sunning a baby so small that it seemed like she'd been born that morning.
The trees that line the entire length of the Walk are horse chestnuts - and when in full bloom, they apparently look white and beautiful.
But now they were just deciding to go green. They were lovely anyway.
We played frisbee on the lawns, and then walked quite a bit.
I would've liked to walk up to the Copper Horse on Snow Hill, right at the end of the path, but we didn't have the time for that. Some day....
We walked through the town and to the Long Walk. People were out in great numbers, and I did a fair amount of people watching. Families intent on having a good time. Couples walking hand in hand. People lolling upon the grass. Teenaged girls dressed like 25-year-olds. A couple sunning a baby so small that it seemed like she'd been born that morning.
The trees that line the entire length of the Walk are horse chestnuts - and when in full bloom, they apparently look white and beautiful.
But now they were just deciding to go green. They were lovely anyway.
We played frisbee on the lawns, and then walked quite a bit.
I would've liked to walk up to the Copper Horse on Snow Hill, right at the end of the path, but we didn't have the time for that. Some day....
Saturday, November 06, 2010
A realization, and a concern
Ever since Puttachi started school, she's been talking about one classmate, let's call her Kutti. I met her mother once, and she told me that Kutti also keeps talking about Puttachi. I gathered they were "best" friends, in whatever sense it is used for three-year-olds.
About three months ago, we met another classmate in the park that Puttachi frequents. Let's call her Kat. Something about meeting a friend outside school probably gives these children kicks, and after that, Kat entered many of Puttachi's conversations.
Last week, Puttachi's class saw a new girl - I'll call her Angel - and it turns out that Angel has moved to live very close to us, and has started coming to the park. Perhaps it is because they are older now, or perhaps this friendship is a kind of active one, but Puttachi and Angel have hit it off very well.
On Friday, Puttachi came home and told me:
Amma, Kutti is very troublesome.
Really? What does she do?
She doesn't do anything to me, but she troubles Kat and Angel a lot.
How?
When I say, "Kat is my friend, Angel is my friend" and hug them, Kutti pushes Kat and Angel, drags them away, makes them sit on other chairs, and then comes and sits next to me. If they try to come near me, Kutti pushes them away.
My heart went out to Kutti. I can see her now, the tiny little thing, her heart bursting with emotion. At the same time, I was extremely surprised. I don't think there is any one of us who's not been a part of this age-old situation at some point in our lives - but I had no idea this kind of possessiveness, jealousy even, would manifest itself in children of such a young age.
I said,
Puttachi, I think I know why Kutti does that.
Why?
Kutti and you are friends, right? You were friends right from the beginning.
Yes.
Do you still talk to her a lot, and sit next to her like you used to?
Not much, Amma. Kat and Angel sit next to me nowadays.
Kutti probably feels bad that you are not talking to her much. Perhaps she misses you.
Why?
Perhaps she likes you.
Oh.
Do you like her?
Yes Amma. Amma, I will talk to Kutti also. When I go to school next, I will hug Kutti also.
That's a wonderful idea, Puttachi.
***
We had a lovely 10th standard reunion last Saturday. After lunch, we decided to have ice cream at Corner House.
Puttachi overheard this, and was excited.
Amma, I want pink ice-cream.
Okay.
Amma, will there be pink ice-cream?
I don't know, let's go and see.
If there is pink ice-cream, I will feel happy and eat it up, but if there is no pink ice-cream, then I will see which ice-cream they have, and I will like it (ishTa maDkotini), and eat it up.
Should I rejoice that this child knows the secret of happiness? Or should I worry that she is going to become too accommodating and compliant?
About three months ago, we met another classmate in the park that Puttachi frequents. Let's call her Kat. Something about meeting a friend outside school probably gives these children kicks, and after that, Kat entered many of Puttachi's conversations.
Last week, Puttachi's class saw a new girl - I'll call her Angel - and it turns out that Angel has moved to live very close to us, and has started coming to the park. Perhaps it is because they are older now, or perhaps this friendship is a kind of active one, but Puttachi and Angel have hit it off very well.
On Friday, Puttachi came home and told me:
Amma, Kutti is very troublesome.
Really? What does she do?
She doesn't do anything to me, but she troubles Kat and Angel a lot.
How?
When I say, "Kat is my friend, Angel is my friend" and hug them, Kutti pushes Kat and Angel, drags them away, makes them sit on other chairs, and then comes and sits next to me. If they try to come near me, Kutti pushes them away.
My heart went out to Kutti. I can see her now, the tiny little thing, her heart bursting with emotion. At the same time, I was extremely surprised. I don't think there is any one of us who's not been a part of this age-old situation at some point in our lives - but I had no idea this kind of possessiveness, jealousy even, would manifest itself in children of such a young age.
I said,
Puttachi, I think I know why Kutti does that.
Why?
Kutti and you are friends, right? You were friends right from the beginning.
Yes.
Do you still talk to her a lot, and sit next to her like you used to?
Not much, Amma. Kat and Angel sit next to me nowadays.
Kutti probably feels bad that you are not talking to her much. Perhaps she misses you.
Why?
Perhaps she likes you.
Oh.
Do you like her?
Yes Amma. Amma, I will talk to Kutti also. When I go to school next, I will hug Kutti also.
That's a wonderful idea, Puttachi.
***
We had a lovely 10th standard reunion last Saturday. After lunch, we decided to have ice cream at Corner House.
Puttachi overheard this, and was excited.
Amma, I want pink ice-cream.
Okay.
Amma, will there be pink ice-cream?
I don't know, let's go and see.
If there is pink ice-cream, I will feel happy and eat it up, but if there is no pink ice-cream, then I will see which ice-cream they have, and I will like it (ishTa maDkotini), and eat it up.
Should I rejoice that this child knows the secret of happiness? Or should I worry that she is going to become too accommodating and compliant?
Thursday, October 28, 2010
The UK Files: Henley-on-Thames
The first couple of weeks in the UK were cold. We didn't go out much, except for a few drives, and some trips to the town, and Sainsbury's.
It was on April 8th, that I had my first taste of the English sun. We - my aunt, cousin, Puttachi and I - planned a trip to Henley-on-Thames, of course, after a lot of consultation of weather forecasts. True to the prediction, it was a lovely day. The sun was out, the sky was blue and cloudless, with aeroplane contrails streaking it white.
The riverside was magnificent. Bare trees were fuzzy, with a suggestion of the lovely green that would become obvious in the coming weeks. Weeping willows drooped gracefully. The river was blue, and the grass was green and inviting.
We walked on one bank of the river, and on the other bank stood pretty little cottages, with boat garages. Big boats sailing down the river were moored on the side of the bank on which we walked, and I peered shamelessly through the little windows, into the dim interiors, trying to imagine what it would be like - a life in a houseboat, sailing the length of the river.
We played football on the greens, that are such a luxury for us, and we had some really lovely, sparkling moments. It was still much too cold, and we shivered when the wind blew, but smiled when the sun did.
On the way back, we visited The Maharajah's Well at Stoke Row, and got back home.
There's something about rivers and its banks that appeal to me, and walking is one of my passions - so the combination is, well, deadly.
We had many more lovely times in England and Scotland, but this day will stand out as one of the most beautiful, brilliant days I've experienced.
It was on April 8th, that I had my first taste of the English sun. We - my aunt, cousin, Puttachi and I - planned a trip to Henley-on-Thames, of course, after a lot of consultation of weather forecasts. True to the prediction, it was a lovely day. The sun was out, the sky was blue and cloudless, with aeroplane contrails streaking it white.
The riverside was magnificent. Bare trees were fuzzy, with a suggestion of the lovely green that would become obvious in the coming weeks. Weeping willows drooped gracefully. The river was blue, and the grass was green and inviting.
We walked on one bank of the river, and on the other bank stood pretty little cottages, with boat garages. Big boats sailing down the river were moored on the side of the bank on which we walked, and I peered shamelessly through the little windows, into the dim interiors, trying to imagine what it would be like - a life in a houseboat, sailing the length of the river.
We played football on the greens, that are such a luxury for us, and we had some really lovely, sparkling moments. It was still much too cold, and we shivered when the wind blew, but smiled when the sun did.
On the way back, we visited The Maharajah's Well at Stoke Row, and got back home.
There's something about rivers and its banks that appeal to me, and walking is one of my passions - so the combination is, well, deadly.
We had many more lovely times in England and Scotland, but this day will stand out as one of the most beautiful, brilliant days I've experienced.
The UK Files: Walsall and Stratford-upon-Avon
My father's cousin N Kaka lives in Walsall with his family. He and his wife are a wonderful doctor couple, and they have three very nice, and I mean really very nice sons. The hospitality in their home is that excellent blend that makes you feel welcome and wanted, yet doesn't suffocate you with it. We visited them twice, once with my aunt and her family, and the second time, after S~ joined us, on our way to Scotland.
Music and conversation with a liberal dose of laughter and comfort - that is what I remember from both the visits, along with a hilarious encounter with the police. N Kaka shares both his name and some distinct personality traits with my father, and Puttachi, who dotes upon my father, took to N Kaka as if she'd known him all her life.
We visited Stratford-upon-Avon from there. It is a beautiful, but ordinary town, by English standards. The Avon river is lovely, and the town is all about Shakespeare. But of course.
My cousin V and I went into Shakespeare's house. It is like stepping into a book. The house has been furnished just like it was in Shakespeare's time, with some original furniture, and some replicas. A man dressed as Shakespeare's father talked to the visitors, giving us trivia and laughter. When we stood in the room in which Shakespeare was born, this man told us that people are very often overwhelmed there. Some weep, some hug, and many of them drop down on their knees and kiss the floor. Wow.
Another interesting thing in the house is a glass window where distinguished visitors have signed their names. There is a guide next to it, pointing to the interesting ones.
Excavations are happening at New Place, where Shakespeare lived later. They hope to find something nice - a lock of his hair or a handwritten manuscript.
A walk through the town, a small picnic on the banks of Avon, and we were ready to get back home.
Music and conversation with a liberal dose of laughter and comfort - that is what I remember from both the visits, along with a hilarious encounter with the police. N Kaka shares both his name and some distinct personality traits with my father, and Puttachi, who dotes upon my father, took to N Kaka as if she'd known him all her life.
We visited Stratford-upon-Avon from there. It is a beautiful, but ordinary town, by English standards. The Avon river is lovely, and the town is all about Shakespeare. But of course.
My cousin V and I went into Shakespeare's house. It is like stepping into a book. The house has been furnished just like it was in Shakespeare's time, with some original furniture, and some replicas. A man dressed as Shakespeare's father talked to the visitors, giving us trivia and laughter. When we stood in the room in which Shakespeare was born, this man told us that people are very often overwhelmed there. Some weep, some hug, and many of them drop down on their knees and kiss the floor. Wow.
Another interesting thing in the house is a glass window where distinguished visitors have signed their names. There is a guide next to it, pointing to the interesting ones.
Excavations are happening at New Place, where Shakespeare lived later. They hope to find something nice - a lock of his hair or a handwritten manuscript.
A walk through the town, a small picnic on the banks of Avon, and we were ready to get back home.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Imagination
I've heard lots about a child's power of imagination, but it is wonderful to witness it first hand in Puttachi. It amuses me. It turns me momentarily into a child myself as I suspend all reality, and journey with her and her fancy. It stuns me with its potential. It worries me that adulthood will suck it out of her.
I've learned that a child's imagination has just one characteristic - it has no limits. And I'm talking about any child - its just that I get to observe it closely with my child.
Puttachi is deeply into drawing and colouring. It borders on an obsession. I bought her colouring books, but she doesn't like them. She wants me to draw what she sees is in her head, so that she can colour it. The latest was a Rakshasa with a skin-sleeve on his arm which held his horned baby's waterbottle.
When she colours, nothing holds her back. She colours the sky green, the river yellow, and the tree black. I don't try to correct her. Besides, she also explains her choices to me. "Amma," she says. "Apples are red, yes, but this apple is blue, because it is a magic apple. Amma, I know that rivers are blue, but this river is yellow because a big box of turmeric fell into it."
Whenever she eats something crunchy, she tells me that the treat is singing a song.. "Do you know, Amma, that these groundnuts are singing "Wheels on the bus?""
or
"Amma, I can make this puffed rice sing any song. I bite on it and think of a song, and the puffed rice sings it with me. Do you know how? It looks into my mind, and learns it immediately."
Today she listened to the strains of a Shehnai and said, "Amma, this song is crying." Where does she get such ideas?
We'd been to somebody's house to see the Dasara Dolls, and there was one baby doll with two big parent dolls. When the hostess insisted that Puttachi could take the baby doll home, she went up to the parent dolls and told them, "Don't worry, don't be sad, I'll bring your baby up very well."
Personification is a strong passion in her. She sees two cushions leaning against each other and decides that they are friends and are hugging, or telling each other a secret. She sees me cutting a vegetable and sometimes nearly tears up, asking me if the carrot is getting hurt.
She never tires of stories and makes me narrate some all day long. Sometimes, she takes over the storyteller mantle, and if I take the trouble to concentrate, I encounter fanciful, highly imaginative stories that have no beginning, no end, but are connected with a fine thread that somehow makes sense. If I react suitably with a "a tailed ant who is a firefighter? well, I never!" she promptly says, "Oh it's just a story Amma, listen further."
Anyway, half the stories I tell her are products of my imagination, but they are all rooted in logic and sense. This weekend, I decided to try and tell her a story in her style. I freed my mind, abandoned all logic, and started. It was alright in the beginning, but soon, logic crept in. I desperately tried to drive it away, but it settled down and made itself nice and comfortable. I finished the story, neatly, all tied-up. Boring.
If I could store all her imagination in a pot and give it back to her if adulthood drains it out......
I've learned that a child's imagination has just one characteristic - it has no limits. And I'm talking about any child - its just that I get to observe it closely with my child.
Puttachi is deeply into drawing and colouring. It borders on an obsession. I bought her colouring books, but she doesn't like them. She wants me to draw what she sees is in her head, so that she can colour it. The latest was a Rakshasa with a skin-sleeve on his arm which held his horned baby's waterbottle.
When she colours, nothing holds her back. She colours the sky green, the river yellow, and the tree black. I don't try to correct her. Besides, she also explains her choices to me. "Amma," she says. "Apples are red, yes, but this apple is blue, because it is a magic apple. Amma, I know that rivers are blue, but this river is yellow because a big box of turmeric fell into it."
Whenever she eats something crunchy, she tells me that the treat is singing a song.. "Do you know, Amma, that these groundnuts are singing "Wheels on the bus?""
or
"Amma, I can make this puffed rice sing any song. I bite on it and think of a song, and the puffed rice sings it with me. Do you know how? It looks into my mind, and learns it immediately."
Today she listened to the strains of a Shehnai and said, "Amma, this song is crying." Where does she get such ideas?
We'd been to somebody's house to see the Dasara Dolls, and there was one baby doll with two big parent dolls. When the hostess insisted that Puttachi could take the baby doll home, she went up to the parent dolls and told them, "Don't worry, don't be sad, I'll bring your baby up very well."
Personification is a strong passion in her. She sees two cushions leaning against each other and decides that they are friends and are hugging, or telling each other a secret. She sees me cutting a vegetable and sometimes nearly tears up, asking me if the carrot is getting hurt.
She never tires of stories and makes me narrate some all day long. Sometimes, she takes over the storyteller mantle, and if I take the trouble to concentrate, I encounter fanciful, highly imaginative stories that have no beginning, no end, but are connected with a fine thread that somehow makes sense. If I react suitably with a "a tailed ant who is a firefighter? well, I never!" she promptly says, "Oh it's just a story Amma, listen further."
Anyway, half the stories I tell her are products of my imagination, but they are all rooted in logic and sense. This weekend, I decided to try and tell her a story in her style. I freed my mind, abandoned all logic, and started. It was alright in the beginning, but soon, logic crept in. I desperately tried to drive it away, but it settled down and made itself nice and comfortable. I finished the story, neatly, all tied-up. Boring.
If I could store all her imagination in a pot and give it back to her if adulthood drains it out......
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