Author: binny22

An active blogger, a debutant Novelist , a passionate poet who loves to travel is what could sum me up. I love the internet and all that is connected to computers. I love to explore new areas of knowledge though I may not accept every piece of information.

A Teacher -“Be an opener of doors for such as come after thee.”


Though not yet promoted to the status of a face book addict, I do open my account quite a few times during the day to catch up with my friends and former students. Normally I sweep my eyes over all the  statuses that are put up ! I remember in the beginning I used to be a little shocked that all of them put their emotions on exhibit but now I have got used to it. In fact I have realised that I am in touch with many more people because of this. It’s a good psychological medicine especially for people like me who are away from home and extended family. It’s good to see someone bother when you are down and there are umpteen people to cheer you up!
Yesterday while randomly doing my accounts, my g talk pinged and one of my erstwhile TTs (Now no longer a teenager!) asked me to urgently check the video that he had posted on my wall (Face book wall that is!). I of course never take anything seriously but anyway went to check it out….. It was a short video on a teacher teaching English….. I really didn’t know whether to laugh or cry and then my mind elected to go into the doldrums! I had a long conversation with this young person where I had to dodge the home truths that he flung at me! He accused me of “leading a high flying life” while the country had this standard of teaching! Where was my sense of responsibility? Where was my conscience? Where was the passion that I had? And innumerable questions and here I was not able to parry even one of them effectively!
I know that there are pages written about the noble profession of being a teacher and the responsibility and respect that it carries. Having been a teacher for a short part of my life I do know it’s extremely satisfying and it gives back a lot (in the intangible sense) more than what you give it. When I decided to give it up formally it was more due to the fact that there is a lot of politics (I hate it!) involved in this industry rather than teaching! Having shifted from  the smaller city of Hyderabad to Mumbai I realised that education in the big metropolis was more about business and less about the  teaching- learning process and thus to avoid the frustration and also due to the fact that I was not keeping too well and other family reasons I gave it up. (Escaping from my responsibilities!)
When I see my students on face book now, it’s very gratifying. Most of them are successful young adults and it adds to the feel-good factor that maybe I was responsible for five percent of their success (again maybe many will dispute this figure!) But this video really jolted me awake! I am of course aware that teaching is one of the most poorly paid professions all over the world and thus only people who are desperate for a job opt for this, especially in our country ( I am speaking of school teachers) This particular field does not attract the best candidates neither in quality nor in dedication. At the end of the day you want to be able to provide for your family! Even in big cities most teachers are bored housewives who find this a way to build up their social lives and have some pocket money besides! You will also find that the majority of school teachers are females and the small percentage of men that are there is because they could not find a better profession.
The video that I saw was pathetic! I wonder how the young lady must be feeling now when she sees herself making gaffe after gaffe in the whole film- I feel sorry for her and for the little ones that she is teaching. It’s not her fault, it’s ours! We are a democratic country yet we turn a blind eye to the procedure of recruiting teachers. I know that many people get a teachers certificate from fraudulent universities by paying a large amount of money. They have never been trained neither have they studied the subjects that they ultimately teach- as is proved by the video! The contrast in the quality of education is really really wretched! We have on one hand the IITs and the AIIMS and the IIMs all providing the best possible education and on the other hand this particular cameo of a teaching disaster!
India is a great country not because it’s successful but because it’s successful in spite of all the handicaps that beset it and teachers in the primary level are the leading reasons for this handicap! 
 I do not know the intention of the person who took the video and put it up but I do know that most people watch it to have a good laugh (this adds to the number of hits that the video gets!) but I think it’s a wakeup call for our educators to have a small revolution and weed out the corruption that besets this wonderful professions.
How, is the question? At the beginning by removing the red tapism that has wrapped and mummified this calling, then by giving it a competitive salary, then by giving it the respect that it deserves so that the best are attracted towards it. I am sure if the wise men and women put their heads together something would come out of it. India is developing very fast we have innumerable international schools springing up around the country to provide quality education. Clean air-conditioned environments and the state of art library and classrooms only serve to accentuate the cruel difference in the status between the rich and the poor!
I do not want to debate whether this should be happening or not. All parents want their children to have the best possible education they can afford and it would be hypocritical to ask them not do so and give the extra money to the government so that it can improve the quality of education! The government can if it wants to (The Kendriya Vidyalayas are a great example of this) really set up standards but……..
I know I will (Like I was yesterday) be asked what I am doing about it. As yet nothing other than wallow in guilt for a period of time and then who knows I might be able to prod this lethargic brain to do something worthwhile!
The big sounding words like social responsibilities. Community service, knowledge enhancement are used by all NGOs but what actually is being done is a matter of conjecture!
Words have been powerful weapons of a revolution through the annals of history will this pitiful offering change the mind of one reader to do something? Will it make me do something? Will it make the….. Do something?
DO is the magic word here!

Perfectly Gift Wrapped

The red gauzy, netted cloth was carefully cut out from a bundle. A layer of soft white cotton was placed on it; patted with loving care into just the kind of thickness and shape; a row of spice bottles filled with different kind of coloured sparkles was brought out on its stand and one by one, first the pink then the green and then silver was sprinkled with a careful hand over the cotton bed; the little musical box was placed with infinite care on it; the gauzy cloth was gathered from all sides and pleated into a lovely little bundle and then it was tied with a silver ribbon- again carefully and with infinite patience. By now my patience was running thin! It was still not over….. A small box filled with pearls was brought out and the pearls were fixed with glue on to the gauzy frill which had earlier been trimmed to resemble open petals. The finished product was a work of art! I nodded my head with appreciation put the little gift in its carry bag and walked out of the shop.
By the time you finish reading the paragraph above you must be as impatient as I had been but the finished object was worth the wait. It is so lovely to receive a gift wrapped with such care and patience. True, many of us do not appreciate this and are intent on opening the gift to find what treasures await us. I mean, when you think of all the loving care that has gone into preparing this offering I think it does deserve a second maybe a third look before you should venture to open this up! 
The history of gift wrapping is a fascinating subject and you can get it on the internet so I will not hold forth on it! Of course the whole exercise may not be approved of by the environmentalists as a lot of non recyclable things are used (Thermocol balls, plastic beads, etc). Today of course the virtual world allows us to send gifts very prettily but it’s like eating a cake in the virtual world! 
Well, I love wrapping presents as I feel the intrinsic value of the gift is enhanced when it is presented in the right way. Like food, if presented with the right garnish tastes better then when it is dumped on the plate! Humans are so visually dependent that it is necessary that something looks good before we think of approaching it. Many a times this trait has been used to trick us- Snow white was tricked into eating the poisoned apple as it looked so delicious; Hansel and Gretel were captured by the witch with her gaily decorated gingerbread house… 
Getting back to gift wrapping – Like I said earlier I was a little impatient with the whole process as it took more time to wrap the gift then to choose it! But the finished product was so delightful that I had a mood swing and I actually understood the dictum “whatever is worth doing is worth doing well”! There were arguments about the fact that this dictum was not written for gift wrapping! After all what is the worth of the gift wrapping? It would be torn and thrown in the dustbin soon enough! Did this warrant such elaborate action or love and devotion? Well what about the lovely cakes that are iced and decorated (I take about an hour to decorate a cake!) only to be demolished in seconds! What about the lovely printed tissues that we use and throw without a thought? What about the flowers in a vase- which are ultimately thrown anyway? The question is what is the right time duration for a creation to exist that it can be called worth it? The beautiful butterfly has species which have a life span of a few days, so should we say it’s not worth it?
Time has always been relative, for us a day in our life is twenty four hours, maybe the day in an ant’s is about 0 .1 hrs but it is happy it has lived life to the fullest! When you think of it, every work of art- it could be a painting, a sculptor, or a simple piece of tapestry- has no physical value in the sense we do not use them in our daily lives to provide us with the basic necessities! But aren’t they valuable? I think I can safely say that beauty has its own worth and is so invaluable that is its worth cannot be weighed in terms of gold! “A thing of beauty is a joy forever “said Keats and even if the beauty does not exist in the physical sense its memories like Wordsworth’s daffodils give us pleasure eternally!
I do not want to sound pompous, but this is so true with life, we are in such a hurry to reach our goal that we fail to admire the little things that actually enhance the whole process. We are so busy being competitive and fulfilling duties that the small pleasures of life pass us by like the trees by the railway track.
Today just take time off to “stand and stare” and give your best to all the trivial things that give you pleasure!

Balloons, Cakes, Candles and Tabula Rasa

Here I am closer to my maker by a year and I feel like celebrating! The clear blue sky stared back at me as if to say “Hey you little one out there, someone felt happy when you were born” and I feel good (So childish- but birthdays always bring back the child in you). For me birthdays have always been my new year- time to start afresh, time to make resolutions (to be broken later of course!) and time to introspect. Normally when everyone is home the mornings are busy – with cards, cake cutting and gift unwrapping. But this time there is just me and my TT (Terrible Teenager/ Typical teenager) so I am having a lazy birthday and have lots of time to introspect!
There are three very important things in life- they are your Birthdays, Hope and Erasers. All of them allow you to start afresh! They actually let you turn a blind eye towards all the mistakes and errors you have committed and turn over a new leaf and start writing with a newly sharpened pencil. The first page of the New Year is always so clean and bright with the dark pencil etching your hopes and desires clearly. It is like your maths note book at the beginning of the school year, so clean at the beginning (I remember doing the sums on a rough piece of paper and then deigning to write on the new note book!) by the middle of the year its pages are curling, the brown paper cover patched up with cellophane tape and the pages themselves a nice light muddy colour (With all the erasing that have been done!)
The wind is blowing very hard today; sweeping away the cobwebs that have inhabited my mind for a long time. I feel clean and raring to go (where to go is another question!) for the last couple of years I had lost the ability to be within myself but like finding a lost key I have somehow retrieved this ability and it fills me with delight; it’s kind of like being reborn or starting anew or like opening a new door….. 
This time when my newbie adult left me to go back to her college and life I felt down in the dumps thinking that my TT will also soon leave me and I will be all alone. For once in my life I felt old (That’s my age- normally my mind is stuck at the age of twenty-two!) I have of course heard about the empty nest syndrome and the various side effects that it has, over the years. But like the young woman that I am!  I have never paid any attention to it. (You never think of unpleasant things happening to you until it strikes you or a loved one). I still have a few years to go before my nest is empty. When the kids were babies I always planned on things that I would do when they grow up- going on a walking trip to Europe was one major dream, learning to fly was another and write a book and so many other things. Don’t know if any of my pipe dreams will ever come true but today I feel anything is possible! 
As a child I use to look forward to birthdays- to open all the gaily coloured birthday gifts! What was inside was not important- the number, surprise and the beauty of the cover were!); as a selective teenager it was to look forward to the treats one got and the special gifts (Normally the demanded ones!); as a young adult the gifts were still important but the focus was on how well the party you gave turned out! But now the wishes alone feel good – just to be remembered is a feel good factor and nothing else matters….
Face book has of course given a whole new dimension to celebrating! When you are far away from your friends and family it lets you feel their presence and contributes to the feel good factor! So today when I am almost all alone (Except my TT) I feel as if there are balloons on the chandelier, the  candle filled cake is waiting to be cut and all my virtual gifts scattered all over the table and the most important thing is that I have plenty of good wishes to keep me company. 
I remember the days of making cards and sending them to friends – those days were good but the present day idea of sending e-cards is also good (It is more Eco friendly!) One might argue that you can cherish the cards over the years and e- cards do lapse after a month, but then… When nothing is permanent in life, why kill the poor trees to pander to your memories? 

The wind is cold and blowing hard- all my little cells are tingling and being reborn and I look forward to a fresh chapter where I can leave my creative/ non creative impressions. The sea is my favourite colour today – turquoise and splashed with green! It is a little rough today just the way I like it…….

Q.E.D. "Freedom = Discontentment?”

ecosocialismcanada.blogspot.com

The world is in turmoil, every direction you turn to, there are people fighting for the elusive thing called “Freedom”! People want political freedom; they want intellectual freedom; desire for social freedom and yearn for freedom of speech! There is of course the longing for freedom from corruption, freedom from poverty, freedom to traverse our own chosen path….. 
This sylph like figure- a little out of focus- , dressed in white (for all good is supposed to be white!) stands beckoning at the end of the dark tunnel. It is bright and golden and the energy emanating from it is blinding but filled with vigour. As I reach out my hand, it stretched out its extremities yet I am not able to touch it. Why? 
  
Am I a true lover of freedom? Do I want to be free? I love the force that binds me to my parents, to my husband, to my children and my friends.  I love the power that makes me feel hungry and I am able to indulge in gourmet delights. I love the mirror which controls my emotions. I love the shackles that chain me to my daily routine so that I have the freedom to write this blog! So where is this freedom that the whole world is fighting for?
The wind is blowing in from the sea. The small crippled figure is slouching on the wheel chair hoping someone will give him a pound so that he can have some hot tea. He is religiously at this position, I see him every day that I go for a walk. Who brings him there? Who takes care of him? He is dirty; his clothes have not been washed for a month at least, is he always there? What are the thoughts that pass through his dumb mind (He is actually dumb) Does he want to be free from the chain of disability? (Otherwise- abled! Such a euphemism!) I go by, give him two pounds against my better judgment and feel a little better. I am such a hypocrite! I think I can buy peace for two pounds! I can’t! I think about it; feel about it and curse my fetters, unable to do anything to alleviate the Man’s pain.  It’s not actually that I can’t do anything it’s just that I am fettered by my mind to even want to do anything!
Most of us are like me, we see suffering, we suffer for a moment and then other important events take over and are pasted over this, effectively erasing the small discomfort. How simple and effective! Buddha gave up his royal life to meditate on this – about life being a continuous struggle against suffering – he is believed to have attained Nirvana, is that complete freedom? Did he really win over suffering? Did he solve his problem by running away from his responsibilities?  I am not sure, are you?
Freedom is like desire. The more you fulfill it the more you want. The more you want the more discontent you become! Have you seen the contentment on a farmers face at the end of a tiring day? Whether he is just too tired to be discontent is another matter! Have you seen the contentment on a woman’s face after she has just given birth? Whether it is the thought that the pain is over that gives her peace is another matter! Have you seen the discontentment on a tycoons face? He has most probably lost out on acquiring yet another company!
 
When you are under the poverty line you desire to have three square meals a day. When you manage that, you need a good house then clothing and the list goes on increasing, for its endless! You can never fulfill all your desires; it is against the law of nature! 
The spoilt rich are never content, for they have “freedom”. They with the power of money have the freedom to do what they want; then why are they not happy? Do I say Q.E.D. “freedom = discontentment?”  If I do say so, the whole world will jump at me! For which foolish person will want to fight for discontentment!  
 
But has anyone ever tried to analyze that most freedom movements have been started by the youth?  (Except maybe the Indian freedom movement). Is it because they have a life time ahead of them and they do not want to lead it fettered? Or is it because the old have “been there-done that” and have lost the enchantment for this beauty? 
I am still wallowing in the throes of confusion that mists this terribly beautiful non-matter. I would love to have some erudite, eloquent and non euphemistic entity clarify my doubts and qualms on this subject.

The Sixth Sense

The moon was shining with all its glory. Its light slithered and filtered through the leaves of the big mango trees in the backyard. The whole scene was painted in monochrome -silver and blue. The little girl, her eyes as wide as saucers looked out of the grilled window and appreciated in a childlike way at the beauty before her. This was the first time she was sleeping away from her parents, in a room she shared with her sister. She was wide awake; her sister was sound asleep; she was thirsty; should she wake up and walk to the dining room by herself to pour herself a glass of water or holler for her mother to get it? She decided to get up, as she was wide awake anyway. Having quenched her thirst she padded up to the window barely reaching the sill. The cemented courtyard edged with beds of lovely yellow flowers (Only now they looked all silver) was beautiful and she could hear the rustle of the birds in the mango trees and the hoot of the owl before it flew off to catch a mouse and other nocturnal sounds went on being recorded in her tiny consciousness.
As if by an unseen force her eyes moved towards the abandoned rooms at the back of the courtyard and she saw a silhouette of an aged couple- the woman still erect but the man bent double over a walking stick. They started moving slowly towards the end where the mango trees were. She wasn’t afraid only very interested in what they would do! They strolled around slowly and disappeared after they reached the trees.
This is my first conscious memory of interacting with spirits, for they were that. After a week or so of watching them I asked my mother about them. She asked the maid and we found out that the parents of the owner of the house had died in the house some years ago and they were described as I had described them!
Over the next decade or so we shifted to many new houses and in many of them I have either seen or felt the presence of spirits. I have fortunately never been scared of them for they have been content ghosts. I have no direct proof of their existence so I have never discussed about them other than as a good way to spend a night when the electric supply has gone off! But I am sure they exist! As sure as I know that ice will melt if kept in the sun.
Most of them have passed me by or ignored me as they move in their own dimension. But some of them have been sad and discontented like many of us are. Once I remember a small child ghost who would love to scribble on my notes when I was in the twelfth standard and how frustrated I was (Just imagine writing your homework all over again!) it was a small child because all the Á’s were inverted and so were the ’D’s! As if the child had a learning disability! There were no children in the house at that time only I with my parents. The house was a cute cottage large and rambly with coconut trees outside and built at the foot of a small mountain.
For a long time after this I lost touch with my friends! Life was busy and though I continued moving to many different places I stopped feeling their presence. I believed that my sixth sense had died with my becoming an adult. Secretly I missed it but never spoke of it (No one believed me anyway!)
The drive was beautiful – the black tarred roads snaking through the lovely post monsoon green landscape- but we were hungry. The little Udipi restaurant in the middle of nowhere was so attractive that we took a u-turn to get some yummy snacks.  After a full stomach we decided to stretch our legs and wandered towards the river where a half constructed hotel lay in ruins. The sun was on the verge of setting; the river looked inviting and peaceful; it was silent but  we continued to move forward, suddenly there was a cacophony of caws accompanied with the fluttering of wings – I looked up at the tall Banyan trees and saw hundreds of crows trying to sit on one branch sidling away at…. then I felt them! I clutched at the child with me and shouted to the others; to come back from entering the abandoned building; the urgency in my voice made them turn back but they were puzzled. The sunlight was mild now but they fell on a wall on which thousands of snails were climbing up – the sight was the strangest and I knew we were not with my pleasant friends! These were there, hungrily looking at one of us to climb the banister less stairway. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry- my sixth sense was back!
I had developed another dimension to my sense before this happened. I always felt the presence of any relative who was on his death bed – they would say bye to me before going off to their ethereal plane- As this has happened five times with me I don’t think I could have imagined it so many times. I have told Junu about this at least twice before we have received the news of their death!
The old dilapidated building in Alexandria looked sadly up at me as I peered down my balcony into the hole in its roof. The sun was shining and it was cold and I saw this black mist swirling up and around this house and moved out of my line of vision. The children make fun of me as I wave at this presence whenever we pass the house but it is there and it is good, maybe a little apprehensive that the house may be demolished but happy nevertheless.
I was all alone. The house is huge and lovely with French windows lining one face of the apartment followed by the long balcony. There is plenty of sunlight streaming into the house. I was having a bath when I felt someone peeping through the window, we live on the tenth floor and there is nothing to stand on outside the window. I brushed aside my uneasiness and went on with the day. The maid had bunked that day so I was busy setting the house to rights. I took a small rest with a cup of tea and I saw someone in the balcony I rushed towards it and found it empty! I was in the kitchen cutting vegetables when someone peeped into the kitchen window (This is not outside the building it is to a corridor in the house!) I joked about this to Junu saying that I had been hallucinating! We avoided telling this to Mickey as she would be scared. A couple of day later Mickey told us of a similar experience. Then it was repeated with Junu who had been sitting up late one night. I have felt it twice more by now both times during the day. But it is good; I feel no sense of fear with it around!
I do not know how to explain this phenomena but I am convinced that there is another dimension to existence and there is some intangible force which is around us at all times. Like our ‘real’ world there is good and evil and maybe it’s a step towards the eighth dimension that I had read of somewhere!

Valley of Dead to the City of Living

The warmth of the sun was a welcome change from the chilly winds. Armed with dark glasses and no warm clothing we started on a guided tour of Luxor early in the morning. We were staying in the city of the living (that’s what Luxor is also known as!) and we were traveling to the valley of the dead! Having already seen the light and sound show the night before I had a general idea of the Egyptian mythology; my head was filled with all the Ramses’ (they were real pharaohs, by the way). The stories of Osiris, Isis and Seth were all trundling along in my mind along with the wheels of the mini-van we were traveling in.
 I always used to wonder as a child about a spot where there is rain on one side and it’s dry on the other and sometimes used to run in the rain hoping to find the spot, but never did! As we moved towards the Valley of the dead we were actually moving from the green banks of the Nile towards the rocky and sandy mountains and within seconds we were in the desert! It was awesome! It’s like life and death were existing side by side. The tarred black roads were actually a dividing line between these two phases.
When we alighted at the Valley of the Kings the heat was balmy, there was a gentle breeze blowing and the weather was pleasant. It was around 7.30 in the morning so the sun was not yet burning. The landscape was bleak – sand and rocks everywhere and towering mountains in the background. It was a long walk to visit the tombs. On the way we were assailed by the sellers of scarves and artifacts, being Indian and used to such things it was easy for us to circumvent all business proposals with a simple “la…a” (that’s Egyptian for NO!)
The tombs were gorgeous! Just imagine more than 3000 years ago these people made these tombs, coloured them and decorated them with precious metals and stones without the aid of any modern machinery! It’s sad that what remains is only a faded Xerox copy of the original. We visited only three tombs and it was tiring, going deep into the mountains on steep stairways and slopes. I being me, let my imagination run riot and felt sorry for all the workers who would be doing that at least twenty times a day for the tombs to be ready! 
We then moved on to valley of the queens. Unlike the valley of kings which was exclusively for the king, the valley of the queen also housed any child she had and who died young. The stories that were written in hieroglyphics on the wall of all the tombs were similar though interesting. The last thing we visited in the desert was the temple of Hatsheput a unique temple indeed, her history is story by itself!(maybe I will bore you with that soon!)

The trip back to the city of living was like the dead being dragged back to life! We were dead tired! So the Luxor temple did not get the enthusiasm it deserved simply because of the heat and the fact that too much of history had been crammed down our throats! But it was beautiful nevertheless and at least I appreciated the many legends and facts that are interwoven into the existence of this temple. The huge towering columns, the rows of sphinx that welcome you into the temple and the most fascinating thing- the temple has five signatures on it – the ancient Egyptians who built it, the Coptic Christians who came at the fall of the Egyptian civilizations, the Nubian invaders, the Greeks who came with Alexander and built the temple of Aphrodite at the entrance and the Romans who have built many pillars in the main courtyard !
The ancient Egyptians like Hindus believed in afterlife. They believed that the life we call real is actually a stopgap before moving into the real eternal life where there is no death or sorrow only happiness. The reason why there was so much preparation for afterlife; the reason why pyramids were built; the reason why the tombs were filled with every evincible comfort that a man needs!
Hindus have always believed that the life we lead now is “Maya “or illusion and the interesting fact is the water is called “Maya “in Arabic – both water and illusion are fluid and deceptive and can take any form the mind desires it to.
So the valley of dead was built in stone for permanency while the city of living was built with mud bricks for temporary shelter!

Earrings and Imperfections!


I was switching channels ( a very rare event by the way, I normally do not watch TV)- The thin anorexic girl sashayed down the ramp with some itsy- bitsy  pieces of cloth placed in strategic positions. Not that it would have mattered if they had been missing! I mean (even though I am not a man nor have I got the other “tendencies”) how can you get turned on by a skeleton? I got stuck here not because of the wonderful haute couture but because this “beautiful waif” was pierced all over her body! She had a ring in her belly button; her nose and ears were of course pierced; she had one on her cheek bone and one on her tongue! She made it a point to stick it out to the camera and I felt so gooey after that you just can’t even imagine.
I got my ears pierced after a lot of cajoling when I was about ten and then it turned septic because I insisted on going swimming and of course the hole closed and no one bothered me about it for a long time. When I was sixteen, an aunt insisted and she took me to a jeweller and got it done! But the hole’s fate was identical and I think everyone sort of gave up! But when I turned eighteen I wanted to wear a pair of earrings so got it done by the “gun” method and this is still alive and kicking! Though for y ears I could not indulge myself with the fancy artificial earrings as the great big ears would turn septic! I did not want to go through the torture of the process all over again so I was stuck with a pair of gold earrings (Guaranteed not to turn the hole septic!) In short- my brief foray into the feminine world was in a state of limbo.
When I got married I was given numerous gold earrings as gifts. For one whole year I played “being bride”! I changed them and my bangles to match the sari I wore (Believe me almost for one whole year I used to dutifully wear a sari whenever we went out and that was everyday!) It was too good to last; the first offspring made her appearance and I forgot about dressing up. Life was all about how to feed, clean and put the little one to sleep! In fact sometimes I would forget the earrings all together!  Once I had to attend a wedding, I took out my heavy jewellery set with an equally heavy pair of earrings; they wouldn’t go into the hole! I did all sort of acrobatics to get them in, it did go in but my ears were sore for at least ten days! I decided then I would wear a smell ear top always as the process of going through the torture would be too much!
The fashion of making multiple holes in the ear had begun when I was in college but I had never dared to indulge in it. I admired other people but I never ventured into this supposedly uncharted territory! (I used to wonder how and why people go for such things- I use the word “people” because the men had also started …….) The history of piercing a hole in the ear is fascinating! Most ancient civilizations had this ritual. But the one I believe in is – There were a lot of human sacrifice in the ancient times. For this sacrifice they needed a perfect species, so beautiful maidens were put up on the sacrificial alter and hacked with the ceremonial sword. One of the clever parents (most probably the mother) decided if they were to make a hole in the ear of the child he or she would not be perfect anymore and thus would be bypassed for sacrifice. Then slowly after this they must have discovered that they could decorate this and lo and behold the first earrings were born!
The ear piercing holocaust continued to encompass my life for the next ten years. The first born had to go through it (she had inherited my genes so had to go through the cycle!) She also had to get it re-pierced at least twice.  The second born had hers pierced when she was four months old; my south Indian friends advised me that when the child is so young her ears are soft so the pain is minimal and her resistance level is so high that nothing would happen to it. So there I went the jeweller shop and went through the whole process. (Thankfully my sister was there to hold the baby!) Alas! We discovered my very dominant septic gene was present here too! And there again the unfortunate cycle of piercing- septic- healing- and back to piercing! The days I have spent with the two heads smothered in my lap while I clean up the area with dettol, put Neosporin ointment on the offending place and still keep the thin gold wire in with the hope that the hole would stay put cannot be chronicled!
Like one of my elderly friends had advised me, bad things cannot go on forever, take heart! This period in life is over. Both the young ladies have decently pierced ears and are enjoying being girls; wearing different earrings and changing them too (Though the terrible teenager still needs my help!). There were short bursts in my life when I was a little free from child rearing when I would go into what I call my feminine phase, I would buy a lot of earrings; match them with the dress I would wear; religiously remove them before I went to bed (the scare of a oozing hole was still there!).
Now that I am at home most of the time I forget to slip them on and only wear them when I go out. Thankfully these days the earrings have very thin needles so they go in without a fuss but I still can’t wear my wedding ones.
The one positive thing in all these tribulations is – Most women of my age have ear holes which have become too big as they have been ill-treating these signs of imperfections and some of them have even had to stitch them up! But mine are still very small and I think I can avoid that surgery till I die!

The Smoldering Coward!


I had to write this because I was needled to the point of no return! I was tagged as a coward because I refused to dare to go where the “Brave” had treaded!
If knowing that I would die if I were to jump off a cliff and so not jump and be labelled as a coward then be it- “I am a coward” If knowing that I would burn my fingers if I put them into a fire and not do so and be named a coward then I am one definitely! If learning from my past mistakes or from the mistakes of the others makes me known as living in the past then be it.
Once, long time ago, someone had angrily told me that the only thing that I have done right in my life is to have listened to my elders! My hurt and anger for that statement has dissipated with time. The spark of rage which ignited me to write this has also died down though  it is still smouldering!
I need to explain my views- One that, if it is change we are seeking, then there are better ways of change – not from the frying pan into the fire type of change! If you are caught between the devil and the deep sea which side would you choose? I would opt for the sea because there is a chance that you might come out of it but the devil never pardons his dues. It is the brave who dare to explore uncharted territories but it is fools who walk with their eyes blindfolded!
Was Einstein a brave man? Or was Amundsen a brave man? Or was Socrates a brave man? Three different men, three different fields and three different ideas of bravery! According to me they were brave not because they were successful (Socrates was killed!) but because they had the courage to move in their uncharted territory without hurting anyone. Their work; their lives; their ideas live on as an example of what bravery is about. Amundsen was a brave man but would he have gone to the South Pole without his warm clothes or sled or the dogs? If he had then he would have been a fool!
Dreamers of Utopia are like Keats- create a lovely work of art but other than a few minutes of pleasure it does nothing- it doesn’t even make you think! It is true that if we did not dream then nothing would change and that would be the biggest tragedy possible. If an architect just dreamt and not build his dream would he be respected would he get his next assignment? 
I am no philosopher nor am I great scientist nor am I ever going to do anything which will change the face of the world. I am an ordinary human being who lives from day to day, who dreams of her own Utopia without involving others, who empathises with the people of Japan as they reel under multiple problems, who believes that being cautious is a way not to get hurt, (there are people who believe that only the brave get hurt!)
What I do believe, is that in this world, where there are millions who do not get enough to eat, who are these dreamers to take away that one meal from them? Who are they to take away the freedom of thousands of young girls from being able to walk on the road alone? Who are they to take away the livelihood of at least ten thousand people? They would be justified if this was a temporary phase- but do they know how long it would take for their dreams to be fulfilled (if ever!)? What right do they have to trample on a million dreams to make their own selfish dream come true?
Freedom brings a lot of responsibilities- I think we realise this when we leave college and start working! I believe that romance is not about negating reality it’s about finding positivity in the ordinary. I believe that bravery is opening doors not closing them behind your back! I believe that cowardice is refusing to face the truth! I believe….. Too many to list here…..
This is my view, you are welcome to yours but do not call me names is what I request.

The Wise never advise


Why does it take age to make us wise? Is it wisdom that makes us stop giving advice? Is it just the fact that we are too cautious to take the right step? Well I had the privilege to be invited to a talk by three young people who were proud of their achievements. I went with an open mind to receive wisdom. 
I still haven’t crossed the barricade of using 7 percent of my brain! But these days because I have the time and inclination I have decided to enrich my mind (Though being stubborn it’s a Herculean task!) through various ways and means. I read the newspaper, watch news on the TV, surf the net and debate with anyone who has the time to spare! I am after all unemployed (my resume now reads a tolerable housewife, termagant wife, nagging mother…….)
There I was in a darkened auditorium listening to the ideas of these youngsters. There were wonderful things they had done; they had made a difference to the world; they shared their dreams with the audience. Dreams of a wonderful political system sans the corruption and bureaucracy and the red tapism that comes with it; dreams where everyone was honest and safe; dreams where all were equal leading to a classless society; where life was one big party! (Their words)
Did you notice that I put an exclamation mark at the end of the last paragraph? Let me clarify it was not put there to express my disbelief. It was put there to show solidarity. How you may ask? Well I was young once, I too had had these dreams, but age and experience took them away ruthlessly. I remember my betters advising me about certain aspects of life and me mutely listening to them yet never accepting the facts. Like someone said advice is for free- the wise never give them and the fools never take them! So why give advice?
I was swallowed up in the darkness. Yet for a moment in time I was back in my University auditorium getting up to enter the limelight to argue and discourse on this Utopian picture being built up. I had unconsciously risen and then sanity took over and I slowly sat down to clap for the speaker. I had never felt so impatient in my life; I felt claustrophobic and rose to leave the place as silently as I had come. I felt old and tired- there was this beautiful picture painted with hesitant words which I know and most of us who are prosaic know is only a fantasy on one hand and on the other hand I saw a rudderless Ship drifting on the vast ocean of reality! 
There are too many adjectives to describe my feelings at that time but what they need is not adjectives, they need guidance, love and practical inputs. Who will give that to them? Junu says it is easy to give armchair advice and how do I know what they are doing is not right? 
Well I am trying to be wise, so have not proffered any advice but what I know is that painting a picture is much easier than constructing one. As I analyze myself I realize that I am finding what the wrongs are and not trying to highlight what are the rights in the ideas. But I beg to remind all that one small screw not tightened can lead to the collapse of the building and there is no scope for mistakes in real life. 
It is absolutely necessary to encourage a child when he has made mistakes for he needs it to build his confidence; it is equally necessary to be brutally honest with a young adult’s tentative foray into an uncharted territory for this is serious and real!
What right do I have to crush someone’s dreams? Should I not let them make and learn from their own mistakes? Unfortunately I am a mother and this makes me feel for them; I am like the blind seer who sees yet cannot explain how; I hope for once that I am wrong and they are right!

Chat Hieroglyphics

“<3, Rofl, xD, Lol, :P” the list is endless! But these symbols of chat culture are like an epidemic, it has even infected me! Normally my g Talk window is always open (though I keep my status as “busy”). This is primarily so that my first born can ping and see if any of us are online when she is free and if we are, we talk. As the family rebel is always online she talks with her sister most of the time but sometimes I do get to talk and this is where the fun comes in. The budding adult thinks she knows everything – she decides who is speaking (as we both use my id) by the way we type our response. Unfortunately for her I have been infected by the chat hieroglyphics and have started using this very frequently and when I type in “LOL” or “rofl” she thinks it’s her siblings and she yells at her for fooling her! What fun I do have in such circumstances, in fact I am almost rolling on the floor laughing at this!

When the SMS culture first began I was the last one in the family to start using it! This was mainly because I was too lazy to tap thrice to get the alphabets right! It is very frustrating to want to type “cannot” and end up writing “bammot”!

The girls started growing up and they each got their own cell phones and became really good at this vague art of sms-ing but I continued to avoid using it! Then I decided enough was enough and bought myself a touch phone with a QWERTY letter pad with a stylus et-al! This was one of the first touch phones in the market and thus not as sensitive as the ones nowadays, so there I was again trying to turn the phone horizontal to get the QWERTY pad out and the stylus all ready to type and more often than not it would refuse to behave, like an unruly adolescent and I was stuck with tap tapping thrice to get my message sent!

I still have this phone though the other family members have upgraded themselves to technologically better ones and thus my messaging is still at the pre-primary level!

My lovable teen loves to sms. When she is getting bored at school or if she is alone at home I get a lot of hearts and kisses through these symbols plus long rambling messages just for the heck of it. I normally respond only when there is some kind of question- with a yes or no or go ahead or a wow depending on what is expected. But as you would notice, mine are one word smses, sometimes I have sent a “?” instead of a “why”! Most of the time I do not respond as I believe it does not require an answer and why waste good money when it’s not needed? The hubby is also kind of addicted to it and I treat him in a very similar manner.

I have thus been voted as the coldest and the most unresponsive creature on this side of the world! In fact all of them discuss both in front and behind my back about how I respond to their various messages and of course ROFL

Here I would like to clarify that I love to type on g talk as I have the computer keypad in front of me and I know which key is where! Of course having been infected by the short form virus I have started using them here (hence the confusion of my elder one). But I am still a novice at creating the various smileys’ using the different characters. I still do not understand why they are called smiley when they are sometimes sad! Oh I forgot they are now known as emoticons!

Maybe it’s time to get myself a new phone with a physical QWERTY keypad so that I can send long useless notes to all of them. Maybe I will send copies to them so that they realize that I am not wanting in my sms savviness! Maybe I will scour the net for the latest short forms in messaging and forget all my grammatically correct English. Maybe it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie……