Category: Uncategorized

At The Helm!


I was very proud when I got my driving license at the ripe age of eighteen.  I was proud because I got it through the right channels, with a proper test and not by bribing (Like most of my friends did!). Dad’s red Maruti van was my first car (though I learnt on an ambassador car!)  Delhi had beautiful roads and the traffic in those days was disciplined so I had a good time driving for myself and was ready to take anyone out!
Being a girl had its advantages too. I remember I once jumped a red light and the traffic cop caught me. I put on a sad face and spun some story and he let me off without punching my license! Soon after my cousin brother was caught doing the same thing but he had a big punch on the card! How triumphant I had felt that day.
Much later when I got married and we scraped and saved and bought a car, we used to love to go on road trips sharing the driving (I was normally given the nice roads to drive on!). The concept of keeping a driver had never entered our mind. But life changes and the Husband got a great posting with a car and a driver as a perk and we soon came to accept this as a part of our life. (Though I continued to have my own car and we went on road trips without the driver!)
Our first driver – Reddy was very aristocratic- he never got out to open doors for us or gave a smile. He always had a pained expression of putting up with us! He was much richer than us. He owned two houses; we didn’t even have one, neither could we dream of owning one with our bank balance! Soon he left us and after a few forgettable apprentices Srinivasan came into our lives…
He was perfect. Always a smile, a good morning or evening, always ready to open the doors. Never allowed me to get out on a traffic filled road till he got out and opened the door. The seat belt always on; every free time was spent polishing the car; the children were looked after so well that I never worried if he was around. I was spoiled rotten for four years. I loved being driven by him everywhere.
We were transferred to Mumbai- the great city of dreams, only to have each and every dream of mine being shattered! The whole house searching was a terrible nightmare (I could write a whole book on that!) The maid situation was even worse but that’s another tale!
Jay Kumar was the hero who entered our lives. He always “Bhabi this and Bhabi that” to me! Getting used to that from “Madam” was a little difficult but it was OK (anyway there was a lot of adjustments going on). He was a typical immigrant from Bihar;  thin as a beanpole; wore tight jeans; ate gutkha; and put his own Hindi song cassettes (The hubby never liked that!). He wasn’t too bad, only thing was that Srinivasan had spoilt all of us! He drove erratically (Bombay style); he told me all the gossip of Bipasha Basu (She lived in the same apartment as ours) and John Abraham, which I was never interested in anyway. He ultimately drove all of us mad and we decided to change him.
 We had a series of drivers after that – in fact one was just like Srinivasan (in looks that is!) dark and rotund- that’s where all the comparison ended- where was the politeness? Where was the trust? Where was the care??????  He was dirty had all kinds of skin disease and all the time sleeping!  We had three more after this all of them would take some advance and disappear! After the third time this happened we decided not to keep any and thus started a whole series of driving experiences for me. I learnt how to navigate the Mumbai roads (Cursing most of the time!) two years passed by in no time at all and it was time to shift to a new house (Shifting houses is another story!)
The new house was nicely placed with a good, large parking space (Parking spaces are also another story!) Living on the eighteenth floor was heaven. But a driver was required and we got a nice one too almost perfect- almost Srinivasan! But he was star struck and a TV personality who stayed in the same apartment stole him away (I never watched any of his shows after that!) We got the last of our drivers in Mumbai (almost ten in a span of three years- some record!)
Vijay was a typically Marathi driver- thin and small; full of his own importance; well behaved (Not the door opening kinds but beggars cannot be choosers!); helpful (would carry bags if they were heavy). He drove like the Mumbaites – inch his way through at red lights; overtake anyone and everyone; curse the auto-rickshaw drivers; bribe the policemen (with our money!)And stole petrol for his mobike! So he was sacked just before we left the city (he went and complained to the police about this!)
Those three years of excruciating experience has given way to some calm and peace on this front. We now have two wonderful wheel controllers! Who are not only well behaved but are happy with whatever they are doing and never ask for advances!
They are almost like Srinivasan! Only they are neither portly nor dark and they do not share their joys and sorrows. Without an international driving license I am at their mercy……

Girl with the Green Eyes


The small black kitten was purring in happiness on the lap of the young girl. Its eyes were screwed tightly with pleasure. Hearing the thud of my heavy footsteps it opened its eyes to look at me enquiringly. The bright green eyes opened suddenly and in my imagination it was a witch’s cat! I continued on my quest to lose the excess baggage that I had put on in the last year! The sea was thunderous and even with the music in my ears I could still hear the angry but beautiful waves crashing against the concrete piles on the shore.
I reached my target distance and turned back the same way that I had come and paused at the “kitten place” The kitten was nowhere around but the young girl (around thirteen or fourteen maybe) was setting up a corn stall. She was wearing a long frock over a pair of jeans. Her head was covered with a hijab as is normal in this part of the world. Her head was bowed in concentration… setting up the pile of coals to smoulder over which she would roast the corn and offer it to the passerby. Her cart was a rough wooden one – a flat piece of wood balanced on a few rocks. On one side was the pile of corns and the other side held the smouldering coals which she was fanning vigorously. She saw I was looking curiously at her and thinking maybe I was a prospective customer she looked up and I was floored! The beauty of the startling green eyes almost made me stumble- they were clear and bright and what was strange was she had dark skin- normally one does not associate green eyes with dark skin!
Egypt, like India has a mixture of races and you see all kind of colour combinations here and all kinds of features. But there are too many races- you have a mixture of Greek, European, Arabic and African features but normally the colours remain true- that is a fair person may have different coloured eyes and hair and a dark person has the black or brown eyes and hair but this girl was startling. I wish I could have taken a picture and put it up (remember the National Geographic cover of an Afghan girl?) but I didn’t know whether she or her guardian would object so I went on mulling over the strange combination of features and colours.
The next day again she was there. She gave me half a smile of recognition. The smell of roasting corn wafted by and almost tempted me to stop and pick one up from her. What stopped me was the fact that here they do not add salt and lime like they do in India (and of course the calories!) After this I saw her regularly and smiled at her. She was always kneeling down on the rough concrete tending to her cart quietly. I never saw an adult near her or any friends who came to meet her. Her customers were few as they were more sophisticated gleaming stainless steel carts offering more hygienic corns around and naturally people flocked there! In fact I thought I would give her a pound just like that or pretend to buy a corn and then throw it away later on but I never did!
I used to go on this same track for a walk about six months ago and it used to be pristine – the path was always swept clean, there were no vendors allowed here and only people who loved to walk or to exercise could be seen trundling to and fro. But now the path looked like Juhu or Chowpatty in Mumbai. It was filled with people specially couples who hid behind rocks. The vendors were scattered here and there, shouting and advertising there fares. The path was littered with coke cans and chips packets with only a harassed janitor trying to collect the trash as fast as he could! The tea vendors washing the cups from broken plastic buckets and throwing the water on the path (You were lucky if one such throw did not hit you!)
Fortunately the sea here was too rough to swim otherwise it would be filled with families who put up two chairs and an umbrella wherever they felt like and made it their private place! The Corniche extends for about thirty two kilometers – why take away a mile of this beautiful stretch to indulge in commercial activities? I wonder where those young people are who had vowed that they would keep Egypt clean after the revolution (remember they painted the sidewalks and the wall so it would look beautiful)
Coming back to my girl with the green eyes I wondered how much she made each day to make it worth her while to spend hours on this path waiting for a few pounds. Does she go to school? (It is holidays for all the schools now) Is she trying to make pocket money? Giving up her friends and play time. Or is she just trying to survive? Or what…?  Is this what freedom is all about to be able to earn at the cost of childhood? Freedom should be a beautiful and peaceful feeling – maybe this young girl could be used as an icon of freedom- her beauty and serenity is captivating to say the least. I just wish I dared to speak to her and lead her away from what she thinks is right (I am not sure about that) to bring her to what I think is right (But I am not free you see!)

The clock struck one and the mouse ran down…


            The water lay in a stagnant pool on the rough stairway. It was eerily silent except for the faraway noise of a drill being worked. When I looked down the stairwell I felt giddy but irritation and anger made me totter down on my formal heels. I stomped down muttering profanities to myself and at the feminine voice over the telephone who had informed me that the lift would not work for another one hour and I had a meeting to attend in exactly ten minutes!

The day had begun normally – a busy early morning and a lazy late morning heading towards a sleepy afternoon. I had just fallen deep into my nap when the in-house phone woke me up.  A cultured English- speaking feminine voice informed me that the lift would not be working for an hour. I looked at the clock and saw it was two thirty. Even after giving allowance for delays I decided that it should be working by four thirty at the latest when Mickey would be back from school and I would have to leave for my meeting at five fifteen. So I very politely thanked the voice for informing me (although my beautiful sleep was gone now!) and went back to laze on the bed appreciating the beauty of the blue Mediterranean.
Post tea it was a disaster! The daughter phoned to say she would be late as she was editing a project! She was (I believe strongly) supposed to tell the driver to come and pick me up and later bring her back home but she thought I was supposed to do so and hence no message was sent to him! Meanwhile I was ready, dot at five o’clock and gave my usual call to the driver to bring the car up.
“But Madam”, he exclaimed “I am still at school, waiting for Mickey!”
I asked him to wait – called up the volatile teenager and asked for an explanation. Much good it did though! I was stuck! So there I was- back to calling up the driver and wheedling with him to come and pick me up in ten minutes. He very gallantly promised to do so and can you believe it he was here in ten minutes. So what was the problem you may ask? 
I was ready with my purse (I checked to see whether the door keys, money and cell were there and the file with all the relevant papers were there too) I smartly pulled the door close behind me and went up a few steps to access the lift. I saw no lights on the two lifts and I hurried to the service lift which was equally dead! My brain did an about turn I rushed back into the house and called up the reception demanding an explanation- after two false conversations (One said that he would be sending someone in ten minutes! How he would send is a mystery I have yet to solve! The second said the plumber would soon be coming, again why I would need a plumber when I needed to go down unless he would help me shin down a drain pipe is a dark puzzle) Ultimately the feminine voice who believes that she knows English well came on line…
“Madam, I cannot send the plumber now as the lift is not working. “she said soothingly,”I will do so after an hour when the lift has started working.”
It is an understatement to say that I spluttered, I was boiling with rage and only my very good manners stopped me from yelling down the phone. It was five twenty by now. I very quietly reminded her that she had said the lift would be working by three thirty and it was now five thirty. I needed to attend an important meeting.
“Madam”, she continued, “Why don’t you walk down the stairs?”
“Do you realize that I live on the twenty first floor”, I replied with dangerous calm
“Yes I do” was the rejoinder
I burst out then and banged the phone down for good measure and started down the stairs…
It was already five thirty. I phoned to inform the secretary that I would be late. She herself was stuck in a traffic jam … (The whole world was jammed!)
I started on my expedition…  as I went down I kept looking at the numbers on the floor (all in Arabic, I thanked God I had learnt them) and went on and on. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…… and so on My anger fueled me and I kept on I reached seven and after that it was worse the steps were very rough , the walls were damp ; after the fifteenth floor I had started holding the railings for support so my hand s were filthy black (as bad as my mood!)  
Then I lost track of time and space; I tried an exit door just to see that it was welded shut- I panicked!  On the next floor I found a door open and I went on to it to find it was under construction, there was a lone guard there but he was offering his evening prayers so I came out and back and down the stairs. The floor numbers had disappeared only the sign “emergency exit” was there. I was worried- what if I never came out, would I have to climb back up? What if I died of suffocation or claustrophobia or whatever? 
At last I pushed open a door to enter the marbled precinct of the first floor lift area and met my lift man who murmured an apology. I did not have the energy to even glare at him; I continued stomping off towards the car and sat down thankfully and cleaned my grimy hands as well as I could. I did not miss the meeting as an unprecedented number of people had been delayed for a various number of reasons. (As if all our stars had got together and schemed to make us late!)
That evening as I nursed my bruised ego ( strangely  my legs were not paining) and related all this to my unsympathetic spouse, I realized that this has happened with me once in all the high rise apartments I have stayed in. First time I lived on the eighteenth floor I had to walk down because Mickey was a little girl and she would be scared to come up or wait down when the lift was not working, the next time was only a month back when we were on the tenth floor and I had again to go down (the tenth floor wasn’t too bad) and now I have conquered the Everest by going down twenty one floors!
But as I write all this down my old muscles are protesting…

Silent Contentment


 While going through my blog spots it suddenly hit me that I am becoming too didactic…..  You know sort of preaching about good and bad, right and wrong and left and right et al and that’s too bad! (There I go again!)……
Today I went through a bout of misery both mental and physical and when I was able to ride the crest of this wave of desolation successfully I went out on the windy balcony and meditated on the busy traffic on the road by the sea. Have you ever tried it? It’s really very soothing to a battle-fatigued mind. There was a lot of noise too – hum of the traffic, ambulance sirens, horns blowing and the general sound of living but it was kind of like soft music and I basked in the warm sun with the cold wind whipping my hair around my face.
The sea was breathtakingly beautiful and as the clouds chased each other across the sky it changed its colours as fast as a chameleon and this washed away the anxiety of a tightly stressed mind and I felt cleansed. Even above the din of human existence I could hear the roar of the sea and as usual it took me for a personal ride and I was there poised as a ballerina is before her flight- on my toes! Would I be able to take off? Would I be able to shake off the dew drops on my wings to soar into the unknown? I am being selfish today to talk so in riddles! But I do hope these are riddles which all of us face and each one of us has one unique answer to them  and thus in the long run I am helping you to come to grips with reality by asking my personal questions which could be your personal questions! (Is it getting worse?)… These questions speak of discontentment.
The sudden shriek of a child cut across all my musings. I looked down at the source of the sound and saw a little boy wanting to be picked up by his mother.  She looked tired, she was obviously poor as she was trying to sell tissues at the traffic crossing and this little one was taxing her to pick him up. The traffic started moving and she backed off up on the foot path dragging the wailing child with her. She plopped down on the hard stone and from within the folds of her voluminous gown, produced a biscuit packet and thrust it at the child who took it and threw it at the traffic going past! He wanted love but was offered sustenance and being a child had the honesty to throw what he didn’t want. How many of us have the guts to throw away material gain in face of demanding for something as inane as love! His mother realised this and hugged him to her bosom and he was silent…. The silence spoke of contentment.

I smiled to myself at this picture and looked up at the blinding sun and a cloud covered it – to allow me to open my blind eyes…  sweeping my eyes at the vast panorama of small cameos that were being played a little way down my viewing stand, I felt the noise of life encompassing me all round. One friend who had recently visited me had commented that she wouldn’t like to stay in this quiet area as she needed to know that people were around her when she went out and if the sound got too much she could close the windows and be all alone! Is that what was biting me today? There was a lot of clamour but it seemed as if it was far away as if I was floating in space and looking down at earth…  This solitariness spoke of imprisonment.
The mad man who always ran to open the door of the car when I went out in the hope of a few pounds was rushing here and there doing the same thing for other people- helping the drivers to park their car in the narrow road opening doors for the passengers and taking the small tips with a smile and a “thank you”. Idly watching him I wondered what had driven him mad (If he was actually mad!) was it poverty? Was it love? Or was it his DNA? Whatever it was he was existing and that is what life is all about! (Again being didactic!) … This madness spoke of freedom.
Today as I sign off I crave for a silence of contentment and the madness of freedom. I am for a change, bereft of any words of advice, for today I need a light to show my path….

Lost and found…..


Rows upon rows of aisles! Very few people around but the anxious eyes sought every row and column looking for a tall thin man and his short little wife.  They would stand out as they are Indians but not a sign of them!  Desperate eyes pushing the filled trolley hoping against hope to find them soon. Two phone calls for moral support to hubby dear only to get calm logical advice which actually does not help in the face of panic! People had started looking curiously to see this lady going round in circles. “Calm down! Where would they have gone, not too far away”, said the ever practical mind but the panic stricken heart gave all sorts of arguments to nullify them.  After paying at the counter (still looking everywhere for a glimpse!)  The lady walked out and saw them waiting outside! Oh the relief!  As the tension ebbed out she could hardly stand on her feet but then life was on an even keel and the day went forward……
How the tables have turned! One day I was a little girl and they would be feeling the same thing that I felt that day!  Some decades ago they would have gone through the gamut of emotions which I went through that day! It’s good to have them around to show them that they have been successful in bringing up a responsible human being, to show them that they have been able to lead someone onto the right path.  Middle age is a strange platform, on one hand you are still leading a generation toward the right path and on the other you are helping another generation to kick the stones on their path and to smooth the kinks on the path of both the generation!
Someone said that love always goes downwards but I would beg to differ; I believe love is like the rays of the sun. It goes in all direction and is all encompassing. Giving light and heat and breathing life into the gloomiest of environments.  A great sage had said that you can reach ultimate happiness only when you leave behind all the attachments of the world. When you successfully cut the threads of “Maya” can you reach heaven said the ascetics of yore. Is happiness sitting in a temperature controlled environment and contemplating the beauty of nature (or heaven)? Does happiness exist without any problems, sadness or pain? Is happiness a state of mind where there is nothingness?  If it is then I think I will commit a few sins so that I do not go to heaven! I can come back, be reborn so that I can experience the rainbow palette of emotions, go through pain so that I appreciate pleasure. I do not want to be so good that I am bored with goodness.
What I want to ask is if I have reached the end of the road what do I do? The pleasure of having a goal is the journey towards it, not the destination! As a traveller I have picked up nuggets on my path of life sometimes they have been smooth and cool and sometimes they have been hot and sharp but the pleasure of knowing them and feeling them have been equally satisfying! When I look back there have been forks on the roads and a tinge of regret for “the road not taken” but definitely unhappiness has never shrouded me due to decisions. Every mistake I have made in life has taught me a lesson and I would not have it otherwise. 
I have met many people who get pleasure in pointing out that had you done that you would have been on a different plane (Mostly on a plane where a supposedly successful person is!) Yes possibly but would it have made me happy is the question. Happiness is an overrated emotion and I do know that there can be no pleasure if there is no pain and there can be no beauty if there is no ugliness. If you think happiness is equal to pleasure, beauty and goodness then I really think you should rethink your philosophy and do a little soul searching so that it’s not too late to achieve what you set out to! After all to itch also give relief, happiness and pleasure.  

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!