I’ve been traveling extensively since I was a kid. When we were small we rarely spent a weekend at home. Weekends were synonymous with travel. We hit the road every weekend and I went to school on Mondays with a note to explain missed weekend homework. Karnataka has something called Dussehra holidays that comes as a welcome break during October. Dussera hols lasted ten days and we traveled a little further like Darjeeling or Jaipur or Kashmir. Summer break usually meant a holiday in Kerala or abroad. My Dad’s love for driving has seen us driving through pitch dark jungles roads, getting a puncture in deserted places and getting stranded on a mountain with a ruptured fuel pipe. But he was an experienced driver and had a remedy for every eventuality.
Nowadays when I read about highway accidents I wonder how my Dad managed to drive almost on every road in South India without a scratch. Road trips always remind me of long distance (LD) lorry drivers. And this post is about these people, who have actually carved out a kind of Highway Code that ensures that accidents are rare. Accidents do happen but a lot of people don’t know that if you follow the highway code you can ensure a safe journey, unless someone deliberately rams into you.
The highway code is simple. Overtake when the LD lorry driver tells you to and more or less follow his instructions that he will give you through hand signals. This means if you are trying to over take a slow moving LD lorry, you make your presence felt by appearing in his rear view mirror and honking. If the road ahead is clear he will tell you to overtake with a wave of his hand. If not he will tell you to wait by holding up his hand. This basic procedure can keep you safe on the road. Whenever he over took a lorry, dad would give a ‘thank you’ with a short blast of the horn. I would watch keenly to see the driver acknowledging it with a nod and just as quickly returning his attention to the road. Small courtesies, but these matter a lot on the highway. On our travels we have met only friendly LD lorry drivers and most of them will tell you that it is newcomers to the highways who cause accidents. Long distance lorry drivers have carved a discipline on the road over years of lonely long distance driving.
Once we were climbing down a mountain and mist swirled up making visibility almost zero. A lorry driver going downhill spotted us and told us to drive close behind. We climbed down the steep mountain without a scratch. Making friends and talking to people helps. And when these drivers see a gentleman talking to them with respect they will go all out to help. Sometimes I think the highway code is nothing but a gentleman’s code. And only true gentlemen recognize that.
Of course there are some precautions to be taken on the highway. Like when you see our good ‘ol reliable and trustworthy KSRTC or a BMTC, you should get down from the vehicle and run like mad and not stop till you have reached a hill or a high place. Come back later with a tow away truck to take the wreckage of your car to the nearest garage. It will be neatly pulverized into a more manageable size with a little bow on top to show there are no hard feelings. Their reliability and trustworthiness in hitting you even if you were parked a mile away from the road is legendary.
If the highway was used only by the LD guys, or if everyone driving on the highway used the Highway Code, we would have safer highways.
Friday, November 04, 2011
Monday, August 01, 2011
The new lower class
I got out of Bangalore airport with my American colleague and looked for the taxi driver who normally picked up my colleague. He was smiling and waving and pretty soon we were on our way to the city. I had decided to share my colleagues cab this time as it was hired for a whole days run, my facilities staff had informed me. That would save us some serious monies in cab bills. On the way he chatted with my colleague and my colleague asked him questions about his family and other general stuff like the weather. The two had known each other for two years since my American colleague started his quarterly trips to India.
It felt good to see the bond between the American and this smiling man from India’s vast lower class. The driver spoke in broken English but managed to make himself understood. He had been talking English for some time now and was fairly good at it.
My colleague told me of the drivers sister’s wedding and how he had contributed to it by buying the wedding saree and some jewelry. It had helped the family a lot and they had become family friends.
We drove into the Oberoi and I watched as the driver quickly retrieved the bags and deposited it with the bell boy. Shaking my colleague’s hands and bidding him good night and promising him to pick him up in the morning, the driver came back to the car. He got in looked around and asked me tersely where I wanted to be dropped. The sudden change in tone of this amiable man was startling. He drove out quietly when I gave him my address. I asked him a few questions about the road near my house that was under repair. I wanted to avoid it. First he refused to answer and then when I repeated the question snapped that it was still under repair. I asked him to bypass the road and gave him directions to the bypass. He replied rudely that if he was going to deviate then it would cost me more. By this time I had had enough and snapped that if he charged me more than whole days hire rate then he can find himself another company to work for.
He fell silent. A few yards away from my house he stopped the car and asked me to get out. I refused and told him to drop me to the gate. He drove to the gate a couple of hundred yards from where we had stopped grumbling under his breath.
I got out and he opened the boot sullenly. I removed my bag and thanked him. He replied by banging the cover of the hood with a thud and getting into the car without looking back.
As he drove away I couldn’t help marveling at his change in behavior because I was Indian. And it is not only me but a whole lot of my colleagues who report the same behavior by cab drivers and another people associated with the hospitality industry. Let us just say that we Indians are second class citizens in a certain sector of the economy now :)
It felt good to see the bond between the American and this smiling man from India’s vast lower class. The driver spoke in broken English but managed to make himself understood. He had been talking English for some time now and was fairly good at it.
My colleague told me of the drivers sister’s wedding and how he had contributed to it by buying the wedding saree and some jewelry. It had helped the family a lot and they had become family friends.
We drove into the Oberoi and I watched as the driver quickly retrieved the bags and deposited it with the bell boy. Shaking my colleague’s hands and bidding him good night and promising him to pick him up in the morning, the driver came back to the car. He got in looked around and asked me tersely where I wanted to be dropped. The sudden change in tone of this amiable man was startling. He drove out quietly when I gave him my address. I asked him a few questions about the road near my house that was under repair. I wanted to avoid it. First he refused to answer and then when I repeated the question snapped that it was still under repair. I asked him to bypass the road and gave him directions to the bypass. He replied rudely that if he was going to deviate then it would cost me more. By this time I had had enough and snapped that if he charged me more than whole days hire rate then he can find himself another company to work for.
He fell silent. A few yards away from my house he stopped the car and asked me to get out. I refused and told him to drop me to the gate. He drove to the gate a couple of hundred yards from where we had stopped grumbling under his breath.
I got out and he opened the boot sullenly. I removed my bag and thanked him. He replied by banging the cover of the hood with a thud and getting into the car without looking back.
As he drove away I couldn’t help marveling at his change in behavior because I was Indian. And it is not only me but a whole lot of my colleagues who report the same behavior by cab drivers and another people associated with the hospitality industry. Let us just say that we Indians are second class citizens in a certain sector of the economy now :)
Thursday, May 05, 2011
Dummies guide to social acceptability
I have often been told by “some” mallu guys from Kerala that non mallu girls shy away from them. In fact it is so bad that even NRK girls don’t want anything to do with them unless forced to marry one by their parents. After studying the phenomenon for some time, I can give a few tips that might make “some” of you mallu studs from Kerala, a little more acceptable to the gals…even if it is only in friendship. Of course the majority of you can ignore the post. This post is for a select crowd only. You can see them hanging out at Brigade Road on weekends, talking loudly and discussing the ladies assets as they pass by.
1. When you leave the borders of Kerala, remember you are no more in Kerala. You are entering an alien land, where people live and interact very differently from what you are used to. Look around you and take at look at the way guys your age behave. You could learn a lot.
2. When you see a girl on the road or in the mall, she is here for shopping for necessary stuff. This is not a secret code that she is easy and available. She is dead serious about shopping.
3. When you see ladies going for early morning or late evening walks, they are obeying their doctor orders to walk their way to good health, or generally because they are conscious about the need to maintain a good fitness regimen for the sake of their health. They are not wanton women looking for an affair with young men by walking in front of their homes. Roads in the rest of India go past people’s homes, so it is natural that they have to walk past your building.
4. Hanging out at Brigade Road is cool. Remember the rest of the young crowd also think the same. That includes girls. These girls are not hanging out because they want attention from guys. It is a ritual in other parts of India for girls to go shopping with friends.
5. When a girl at work comes and says “Hi” she is being courteous. Just as she is courteous to the hundreds of guys at the office. She is not to my knowledge saying “I am interested in you.”
6. When a girl adds you to her email forward list it means she wants to share some nice forwards with you. This is not a secret code that says. “I am in love with you and these forwards are my love missiles towards you.” Take a look at the people the email is forwarded to and you will realize that you are one among the many recipients. If you are in BCC, it means she values the privacy of the recipients. It does not mean you are the only recipient.
7. When you see a girl, remember that she is visible to other guys too. So she may be a little surprised that you consider sighting her as an automatic claim to her person. So please don’t be miffed if she doesn’t understand that you can lay claim to her.
8. Married ladies and middle aged ladies are not pining for your attention when they go shopping alone. They prefer to shop alone or with friends because their husbands are not interested in shopping.
9. Girls will generally refuse your expression of interest because they have something called “rights”. A right can be described as the freedom under the law to say “no” to random guys who think they are the best thing to happen to her.
10. Friendship between guys and gals exist. Just look around.
11. Groups of guys and gals in the office going for lunch, movie etc is due to a phenomenon called “friendship”. It is an extension of college life they left behind. They do not end up in each other’s apartments in orgies. They lead boring lives. Please do not look at them and giggle and poke each other or expect the girls to come out with you too.
12. Stalking a girl will not make her fall in love with you. She will go to the police or HR. It is a perfectly normal thing to do and she is by no means being disrespectful of you or challenging your manhood.
13. Don’t get upset by the girl’s total lack of interest in guys. It is normal. They are happy being just girls till the right guy comes along. Till then they will be engrossed in chatting, shopping, movies, hanging-out together etc. This is normal and you don’t need to intervene to put some romance in their life.
14. A girl will meet and find a guy she likes eventually, or she will get married to a guy her parents chose. It may seem unbelievable but it is the truth. So chill and get a life. Your intervention is not necessary.
15. If you talk loudly people will look at you. It is natural for people to think there is something wrong when someone shouts. It does not mean they are looking at you in admiration due to your ability to produce high decibels of sounds. God promise!
16. A girl dresses up in certain ways because it is her style statement. A style statement is an extension of her personality. It has nothing to do with guys. It may seem unbelievable, but it is the truth. And no, she is not a lesbian because she is not interested in guys she is not interested in.
17. It is perfectly natural for a girl to sit next to you in the bus. She considers you just another passenger. It is definitely not a cue that she wants to be groped.
18. It is also perfectly normal for girls to be seen in the company of guys who are not their boyfriends. It does not mean the girls will go out with you too. These are friends out for a meal together in a city where there is nothing else to do. They will go their separate ways after the movie, meal, game of cards etc.
19. When a girl says “no”. She actually means it.
20. If you can look at a girl like a friend who is of the opposite gender who will never be romantically interested in you, you will be respected and befriended.
1. When you leave the borders of Kerala, remember you are no more in Kerala. You are entering an alien land, where people live and interact very differently from what you are used to. Look around you and take at look at the way guys your age behave. You could learn a lot.
2. When you see a girl on the road or in the mall, she is here for shopping for necessary stuff. This is not a secret code that she is easy and available. She is dead serious about shopping.
3. When you see ladies going for early morning or late evening walks, they are obeying their doctor orders to walk their way to good health, or generally because they are conscious about the need to maintain a good fitness regimen for the sake of their health. They are not wanton women looking for an affair with young men by walking in front of their homes. Roads in the rest of India go past people’s homes, so it is natural that they have to walk past your building.
4. Hanging out at Brigade Road is cool. Remember the rest of the young crowd also think the same. That includes girls. These girls are not hanging out because they want attention from guys. It is a ritual in other parts of India for girls to go shopping with friends.
5. When a girl at work comes and says “Hi” she is being courteous. Just as she is courteous to the hundreds of guys at the office. She is not to my knowledge saying “I am interested in you.”
6. When a girl adds you to her email forward list it means she wants to share some nice forwards with you. This is not a secret code that says. “I am in love with you and these forwards are my love missiles towards you.” Take a look at the people the email is forwarded to and you will realize that you are one among the many recipients. If you are in BCC, it means she values the privacy of the recipients. It does not mean you are the only recipient.
7. When you see a girl, remember that she is visible to other guys too. So she may be a little surprised that you consider sighting her as an automatic claim to her person. So please don’t be miffed if she doesn’t understand that you can lay claim to her.
8. Married ladies and middle aged ladies are not pining for your attention when they go shopping alone. They prefer to shop alone or with friends because their husbands are not interested in shopping.
9. Girls will generally refuse your expression of interest because they have something called “rights”. A right can be described as the freedom under the law to say “no” to random guys who think they are the best thing to happen to her.
10. Friendship between guys and gals exist. Just look around.
11. Groups of guys and gals in the office going for lunch, movie etc is due to a phenomenon called “friendship”. It is an extension of college life they left behind. They do not end up in each other’s apartments in orgies. They lead boring lives. Please do not look at them and giggle and poke each other or expect the girls to come out with you too.
12. Stalking a girl will not make her fall in love with you. She will go to the police or HR. It is a perfectly normal thing to do and she is by no means being disrespectful of you or challenging your manhood.
13. Don’t get upset by the girl’s total lack of interest in guys. It is normal. They are happy being just girls till the right guy comes along. Till then they will be engrossed in chatting, shopping, movies, hanging-out together etc. This is normal and you don’t need to intervene to put some romance in their life.
14. A girl will meet and find a guy she likes eventually, or she will get married to a guy her parents chose. It may seem unbelievable but it is the truth. So chill and get a life. Your intervention is not necessary.
15. If you talk loudly people will look at you. It is natural for people to think there is something wrong when someone shouts. It does not mean they are looking at you in admiration due to your ability to produce high decibels of sounds. God promise!
16. A girl dresses up in certain ways because it is her style statement. A style statement is an extension of her personality. It has nothing to do with guys. It may seem unbelievable, but it is the truth. And no, she is not a lesbian because she is not interested in guys she is not interested in.
17. It is perfectly natural for a girl to sit next to you in the bus. She considers you just another passenger. It is definitely not a cue that she wants to be groped.
18. It is also perfectly normal for girls to be seen in the company of guys who are not their boyfriends. It does not mean the girls will go out with you too. These are friends out for a meal together in a city where there is nothing else to do. They will go their separate ways after the movie, meal, game of cards etc.
19. When a girl says “no”. She actually means it.
20. If you can look at a girl like a friend who is of the opposite gender who will never be romantically interested in you, you will be respected and befriended.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Forced parenthoods
I was sitting on the stone bench outside the church. The church was overflowing due to the Holy Week service. Kids were playing around while the teens gossiped and young parents ran behind their tots. It was a jovial atmosphere notwithstanding the Stations of the Cross going on inside the church.
An elderly lady from Kerala was walking around and rocking a baby who looked a month or so old. Time and again she would peep into the church as though looking for someone. When the baby got restless, she went inside and came out with a young girl. The young girl went into a car and fed the baby and gave it back to the lady who I presume was her mother or mother-in-law. The baby got restless again. The lady peeped into the church apologetically, her face pleading with the girl inside. The girl walked outside in some annoyance and grabbed the baby and went to the car to feed the baby again. I heard the lady telling her to feed the baby well. In five minutes the young girl was out of the car again and after handing over the baby to the lady in disgust, she walked back to church to join her husband. The baby, mercifully fell asleep. I felt bad for the lady who seemed to be the only person who cared for the baby.
Somewhere in the middle of the service, a young girl in jeans and her young hubby walked into the church. Another Malayalee couple. It was obvious she was new to Bangalore. They stood outside the jam-packed church and looked uncomfortable. The reason was obvious. The baby who looked about six months old was getting restless and wanted to be walked around. The poor girl walked for some time and came back and the baby started crying the moment she stopped walking. The young father took the baby from the mom and walked around for some time. The baby watched the people with fascination. But he started crying the moment the poor father stopped walking and took shelter under a tree. After some time the annoyed couple left the church.
I see these sights every Sunday in church. Somehow the new set of parents these days don’t seem to ready to be parents or seem to be forced into parenthood. And it is not just these couples. My colleagues from other states too narrate similar tales... of young couples with babies who are neglected because the parents were forced into parenthood by their parents. One such child, the niece of my North Indian colleague has stopped talking due to sustained neglect by parents. The parents do not beat the child or verbally abuse her. They just don’t care about her.
All these incidents have a culprit and it is the grandparents. The people who start hinting from day one to full scale nagging from day two of the marriage of their offspring. People change, but the changes in our society in the past 15 years have made the change faster for most of us young people, though our parents still lag behind in the 70’s. And this disconnect is making life really difficult for the most vulnerable section of our society…the kids.
Child neglect is increasing and will keep increasing say all my married colleagues and they don’t blame the young parents. As a young mom in my office told us at lunch, “I told my parents that I will have kids if they look after the kid. They agreed and moved to Bangalore. They will go back to Andhra when he is in high school.”
Now that’s what I call a sensible lady. Wish every young couple who are nagged by parents to have kids do the same. I am sure it will work wonders for them.
An elderly lady from Kerala was walking around and rocking a baby who looked a month or so old. Time and again she would peep into the church as though looking for someone. When the baby got restless, she went inside and came out with a young girl. The young girl went into a car and fed the baby and gave it back to the lady who I presume was her mother or mother-in-law. The baby got restless again. The lady peeped into the church apologetically, her face pleading with the girl inside. The girl walked outside in some annoyance and grabbed the baby and went to the car to feed the baby again. I heard the lady telling her to feed the baby well. In five minutes the young girl was out of the car again and after handing over the baby to the lady in disgust, she walked back to church to join her husband. The baby, mercifully fell asleep. I felt bad for the lady who seemed to be the only person who cared for the baby.
Somewhere in the middle of the service, a young girl in jeans and her young hubby walked into the church. Another Malayalee couple. It was obvious she was new to Bangalore. They stood outside the jam-packed church and looked uncomfortable. The reason was obvious. The baby who looked about six months old was getting restless and wanted to be walked around. The poor girl walked for some time and came back and the baby started crying the moment she stopped walking. The young father took the baby from the mom and walked around for some time. The baby watched the people with fascination. But he started crying the moment the poor father stopped walking and took shelter under a tree. After some time the annoyed couple left the church.
I see these sights every Sunday in church. Somehow the new set of parents these days don’t seem to ready to be parents or seem to be forced into parenthood. And it is not just these couples. My colleagues from other states too narrate similar tales... of young couples with babies who are neglected because the parents were forced into parenthood by their parents. One such child, the niece of my North Indian colleague has stopped talking due to sustained neglect by parents. The parents do not beat the child or verbally abuse her. They just don’t care about her.
All these incidents have a culprit and it is the grandparents. The people who start hinting from day one to full scale nagging from day two of the marriage of their offspring. People change, but the changes in our society in the past 15 years have made the change faster for most of us young people, though our parents still lag behind in the 70’s. And this disconnect is making life really difficult for the most vulnerable section of our society…the kids.
Child neglect is increasing and will keep increasing say all my married colleagues and they don’t blame the young parents. As a young mom in my office told us at lunch, “I told my parents that I will have kids if they look after the kid. They agreed and moved to Bangalore. They will go back to Andhra when he is in high school.”
Now that’s what I call a sensible lady. Wish every young couple who are nagged by parents to have kids do the same. I am sure it will work wonders for them.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Suppression and Expression
An aunt from our family friends circle is a journalist. She contributes to international magazines. She writes mostly about social issues in India.
Recently we were all recipients of a mail from her with a link to her blog. She requested the recipients of the mail to take a look at her blog. I opened the mail rather late and saw that she had very few hits and no comments. She sent the mail out again. But the post was not getting the attention she was seeking.
She was surprised. Her article in magazines always led to comments and discussions. Finally this Sunday I went over to her blog and was surprised to read some very tepid post on violence on women. I called her and told her that she had got blogs all wrong. She had married reporting with a narrative style and made a hash of the topic in the process. It was also obvious she and chosen the topic because she thought it would arouse interest. Her thinking was very journalistic with an eye on webhits.
Now this aunt has not been to my blog, but I do send out my posts from this blog to a group of people in my family and friends circle who prefer it by mail. And this aunt is one of the recipients. She was encouraged by the discussions and comments in the mail thread to take to blogging.
Aunt called me for some tips and tricks and I told her that unlike her articles in magazines, her blog was a medium to express her personal views on matters where she hold strong views. Tips and tricks would not help her. She was clearly looking for a medium for ego massage.
She didn’t say anything about my advice. She clearly didn’t like someone with no experience or legacy in the professional writing field advising her. Her ‘made-up’ posts continued with no responses. Finally she admitted that blogging was way too difficult for someone like her who was used to mere reporting. She had no concept of a personal view after so many years in the field.
Journalists like her are not comfortable with the new popular mediums like blogs, twitter etc. And they cannot understand how ordinary people can write on topics without formal training and evoke interest, create an interactive readership than reading people like her. She has no appreciation of popular views and is used to manipulate popular views. After a few more tries she gave up blogging.
I am not saying that journalists cannot blog. There are many who are really good bloggers. And these are people who understand the distinction between paid writing and sincere expression.
This whole episode reminds me of a once popular television (whose reputation lies in the ditch today) and her rising alarm over ordinary junta beginning to express their views on everything (including her spotless reputation) which made her go on a rampage in her insecurity to portray bloggers as some kind of underground movement that might be a threat to the society. Sadly for her, the very audience she tried to instigate turned the tables on her making her look like a fool.
While celebrity bloggers have a default readership, ordinary bloggers like us have begun to perhaps crack the hard shell of apathy that grips our nation. Having a medium to express ones views is like an outlet for people who were simmering without a voice for so long.
The new IT Act will however take care of that too by coming down hard on bloggers because we cannot be bought like the media. And that is the day I will quit blogging.
Recently we were all recipients of a mail from her with a link to her blog. She requested the recipients of the mail to take a look at her blog. I opened the mail rather late and saw that she had very few hits and no comments. She sent the mail out again. But the post was not getting the attention she was seeking.
She was surprised. Her article in magazines always led to comments and discussions. Finally this Sunday I went over to her blog and was surprised to read some very tepid post on violence on women. I called her and told her that she had got blogs all wrong. She had married reporting with a narrative style and made a hash of the topic in the process. It was also obvious she and chosen the topic because she thought it would arouse interest. Her thinking was very journalistic with an eye on webhits.
Now this aunt has not been to my blog, but I do send out my posts from this blog to a group of people in my family and friends circle who prefer it by mail. And this aunt is one of the recipients. She was encouraged by the discussions and comments in the mail thread to take to blogging.
Aunt called me for some tips and tricks and I told her that unlike her articles in magazines, her blog was a medium to express her personal views on matters where she hold strong views. Tips and tricks would not help her. She was clearly looking for a medium for ego massage.
She didn’t say anything about my advice. She clearly didn’t like someone with no experience or legacy in the professional writing field advising her. Her ‘made-up’ posts continued with no responses. Finally she admitted that blogging was way too difficult for someone like her who was used to mere reporting. She had no concept of a personal view after so many years in the field.
Journalists like her are not comfortable with the new popular mediums like blogs, twitter etc. And they cannot understand how ordinary people can write on topics without formal training and evoke interest, create an interactive readership than reading people like her. She has no appreciation of popular views and is used to manipulate popular views. After a few more tries she gave up blogging.
I am not saying that journalists cannot blog. There are many who are really good bloggers. And these are people who understand the distinction between paid writing and sincere expression.
This whole episode reminds me of a once popular television (whose reputation lies in the ditch today) and her rising alarm over ordinary junta beginning to express their views on everything (including her spotless reputation) which made her go on a rampage in her insecurity to portray bloggers as some kind of underground movement that might be a threat to the society. Sadly for her, the very audience she tried to instigate turned the tables on her making her look like a fool.
While celebrity bloggers have a default readership, ordinary bloggers like us have begun to perhaps crack the hard shell of apathy that grips our nation. Having a medium to express ones views is like an outlet for people who were simmering without a voice for so long.
The new IT Act will however take care of that too by coming down hard on bloggers because we cannot be bought like the media. And that is the day I will quit blogging.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Gender imbalance of a different kind
I watched a program on Asianet recently. The subject was very interesting and I wanted to see what the modern Malayalee thought of the same. The subject in question was that women felt unsafe in buses in Kerala.
The panel consisted of a few educated, articulate young ladies one of whom was a very well spoken actress. On the opposite side were not people who held a contrary view, but men, mostly middle aged (and a few young guys too) who I observed were present only to oppose the view. Instead of this show being a discussion that concerns the entire society, it turned out to be a man vs women kind of a fight with the men opposing the view only for the sake of opposing. They had no concrete facts to support their argument and instead tried to dismiss the whole issue by trivializing it. It was almost as if, they opposed the ladies having a view point and more importantly a platform for airing it.
Not a single man sitting in the chairs behind the panel of men spoke up for their sisters, mothers, daughter, wives etc.
The debate started with the women articulating very eloquently and with a lot of clarity the experiences they had in Kerala buses. But if you think the men let them have their say, think again. The men merely shouted down the women, wouldn’t let them talk and when they expressed their opinion, it was so stupid that you wondered if they knew anything about the subject let alone any other subject worth discussing.
Then I remembered my posts on Kerala here and at other places like DOC where people landed up to defend anything written about Kerala that they did not like. They had no clue to what we were talking about but considered it their right to shout down anyone who says anything they do not endorse. It was almost as if they were afraid and angered by people having a voice.
What was surprising about this show was that there wasn’t a single man in the audience or panel who talked with some understanding of the subject or who knew how to participate or behave in a debate. Most of the men were only interested in opposing anything the women had to say and if possible making noises so that the ladies did not get to speak.
The moderator of the program can easily put Arnab Goswami to shame. Just when a lady was making a point in a clear and concise manner he would interrupt or pose another question to the men. Then the whole program would descend into pandemonium. It was the most frustrating thing to watch.
After a time I stopped watching because I just could not believe that grown up men could behave like this. One man went on to say that Kerala is the safest place in India for women. Another said that Kerala men were very decent and the fact that he wasn’t keeping his daughter as his wife was proof that he was a decent guy (believe it or not).
Then they went on to allege that women enjoyed the attention of men and that they invited it either by showing interest or by dressing provocatively. The discussion was not worth airing on a channel like Asianet. Even illiterate people from Bihar and UP know how to behave themselves better than the men from the 100% literate state that appeared in this debate!
What struck me most about this program was that the ladies participants in the program were way ahead of the men in etiquette, decorum, articulation abilities and knowledge. They took part in the discussion with dignity, stating their experiences in a matter of fact manner while the men just misbehaved as they had no point to counter the ladies and most importantly did not want the ladies to have a say.
And that is when it struck me that this was a very good spectacle of what women in Kerala go through, not only in buses but in life in general. The debate was an eye opener to the kind of people the ladies have to put up with daily.
All I got to say in conclusion is that the Kerala society seems skewed. On one hand we have the women, who are educated, progressive and intelligent, on the other hand they are dominated by men who are completely opposite to them in every aspect. A very sad situation indeed! No wonder the state is leading in divorces. How can women in such a society find partners who are their equals in every aspect!
The panel consisted of a few educated, articulate young ladies one of whom was a very well spoken actress. On the opposite side were not people who held a contrary view, but men, mostly middle aged (and a few young guys too) who I observed were present only to oppose the view. Instead of this show being a discussion that concerns the entire society, it turned out to be a man vs women kind of a fight with the men opposing the view only for the sake of opposing. They had no concrete facts to support their argument and instead tried to dismiss the whole issue by trivializing it. It was almost as if, they opposed the ladies having a view point and more importantly a platform for airing it.
Not a single man sitting in the chairs behind the panel of men spoke up for their sisters, mothers, daughter, wives etc.
The debate started with the women articulating very eloquently and with a lot of clarity the experiences they had in Kerala buses. But if you think the men let them have their say, think again. The men merely shouted down the women, wouldn’t let them talk and when they expressed their opinion, it was so stupid that you wondered if they knew anything about the subject let alone any other subject worth discussing.
Then I remembered my posts on Kerala here and at other places like DOC where people landed up to defend anything written about Kerala that they did not like. They had no clue to what we were talking about but considered it their right to shout down anyone who says anything they do not endorse. It was almost as if they were afraid and angered by people having a voice.
What was surprising about this show was that there wasn’t a single man in the audience or panel who talked with some understanding of the subject or who knew how to participate or behave in a debate. Most of the men were only interested in opposing anything the women had to say and if possible making noises so that the ladies did not get to speak.
The moderator of the program can easily put Arnab Goswami to shame. Just when a lady was making a point in a clear and concise manner he would interrupt or pose another question to the men. Then the whole program would descend into pandemonium. It was the most frustrating thing to watch.
After a time I stopped watching because I just could not believe that grown up men could behave like this. One man went on to say that Kerala is the safest place in India for women. Another said that Kerala men were very decent and the fact that he wasn’t keeping his daughter as his wife was proof that he was a decent guy (believe it or not).
Then they went on to allege that women enjoyed the attention of men and that they invited it either by showing interest or by dressing provocatively. The discussion was not worth airing on a channel like Asianet. Even illiterate people from Bihar and UP know how to behave themselves better than the men from the 100% literate state that appeared in this debate!
What struck me most about this program was that the ladies participants in the program were way ahead of the men in etiquette, decorum, articulation abilities and knowledge. They took part in the discussion with dignity, stating their experiences in a matter of fact manner while the men just misbehaved as they had no point to counter the ladies and most importantly did not want the ladies to have a say.
And that is when it struck me that this was a very good spectacle of what women in Kerala go through, not only in buses but in life in general. The debate was an eye opener to the kind of people the ladies have to put up with daily.
All I got to say in conclusion is that the Kerala society seems skewed. On one hand we have the women, who are educated, progressive and intelligent, on the other hand they are dominated by men who are completely opposite to them in every aspect. A very sad situation indeed! No wonder the state is leading in divorces. How can women in such a society find partners who are their equals in every aspect!
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
A slice of life
I like Art movies. I like art movies for its deliciously stark portrayal of real life. It’s a relief from commercial cinema that has no resemblance to real life. I find Art movies refreshing. The more stark the reality the better. It is like a purge, a purge from the one sided vista, commercial cinema brainwashes you with, whether it is patriotism, family relations, poverty, love, and relationships… anything and everything and the way it is shown.
For people like us, who live in concrete cages, Art movies are like a bite of real life.
While growing upon a steady diet of Malayalam and Hindi movies thanks to my Dads collection, I learnt to look at life through pink tinted glasses. Elders were nice. Poor people were humble, grateful and loyal to their benefactors. Boyfriends sang songs to their girlfriends and girlfriends pledge eternal troth to their boyfriends. Husbands were pillars of the family and mothers, the foundation. And lot of other blah blah.
Then came Art cinema, the next item in my Dad’s menu and I saw my first “Ankur” like swallowing a bitter pill. A very bitter pill. I didn’t like it and wanted some nice mushy movie. But Ankur fascinated me. It raised a lot of questions that my folks had to answer red faced, perhaps cursing themselves under their breath for opening a can of worms.
That movie also taught my mom to get over the reticence of her upbringing and face her metro kid and tell her what adultery was all about. What landlords of yore were and the social system that existed in villages and between upper castes and lower castes, the rich and the poor.
Reality is a bitter pill to swallow and but it makes you feel so much better after that. I mean it felt good to see people with shades of grey unlike the black and white portrayal in commercial cinema. For very love story there existed ten of betrayal, for every good husband there were ten bad ones and for every chaste woman there existed many who were not. It explained a lot of things that puzzled me from real life.
Today I relish Art movies. They are like a sneak peek into the real India. A break from the untiringly nice Moms, as portrayed by commercial cinema to the woman who has needs and a personality and frailties of her own as shown by art cinema. I would say that Art cinema has its fingers on the pulse of change that is taking place in a transitional society like ours. And keeping us in touch with it.
What we need is more Art cinema. I think the public is ripe for it.
And with this I complete 300 posts at My Think Pad . Thank you for your support and interest :)
For people like us, who live in concrete cages, Art movies are like a bite of real life.
While growing upon a steady diet of Malayalam and Hindi movies thanks to my Dads collection, I learnt to look at life through pink tinted glasses. Elders were nice. Poor people were humble, grateful and loyal to their benefactors. Boyfriends sang songs to their girlfriends and girlfriends pledge eternal troth to their boyfriends. Husbands were pillars of the family and mothers, the foundation. And lot of other blah blah.
Then came Art cinema, the next item in my Dad’s menu and I saw my first “Ankur” like swallowing a bitter pill. A very bitter pill. I didn’t like it and wanted some nice mushy movie. But Ankur fascinated me. It raised a lot of questions that my folks had to answer red faced, perhaps cursing themselves under their breath for opening a can of worms.That movie also taught my mom to get over the reticence of her upbringing and face her metro kid and tell her what adultery was all about. What landlords of yore were and the social system that existed in villages and between upper castes and lower castes, the rich and the poor.
Reality is a bitter pill to swallow and but it makes you feel so much better after that. I mean it felt good to see people with shades of grey unlike the black and white portrayal in commercial cinema. For very love story there existed ten of betrayal, for every good husband there were ten bad ones and for every chaste woman there existed many who were not. It explained a lot of things that puzzled me from real life.
Today I relish Art movies. They are like a sneak peek into the real India. A break from the untiringly nice Moms, as portrayed by commercial cinema to the woman who has needs and a personality and frailties of her own as shown by art cinema. I would say that Art cinema has its fingers on the pulse of change that is taking place in a transitional society like ours. And keeping us in touch with it.
What we need is more Art cinema. I think the public is ripe for it.
And with this I complete 300 posts at My Think Pad . Thank you for your support and interest :)
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Speak up and we will label you a slut
I have an aunt in Kerala. She fights for women's rights, encourages women who keep quiet against abusive men whether verbal or physical to get legal help and helps them stand up for their right to a dignified life. She is a much hated woman who is accused of breaking up families ( made a lady who was beaten to pulp and eyeball pushed out, several compound fractures, to divorce her husband and more such cases), influencing women to fight with husbands (helped several ladies take a firm stand on their salary packets that husbands snatched and drank) and several other “unsocial behavior” that according to the some men were “socially disruptive” activities.
When all else failed to stop her, the most powerful weapon in the men's armory came out. And what is that you may wonder. And that is …calling her a “physically frustrated woman”. This is pretty common in Kerala. If a woman even raises her hand to stop a man from beating her or defends herself in anyway and a man cannot do anything about it, then the ultimate weapon i.e. sexual innuendos are used against her to control her and make her act in a manner that is acceptable to men.
My aunt has had more than her share. Her husband, a highly supportive man is called “henpecked” which is the weapon of choice against men who do not “control” their wives and treat their wives as equals. Control here means, a man who ensures the woman toes the line drawn by him even if it violates all her rights and civil liberties. Which is why you will rarely see a Malayalee woman stand up for herself. There will be no one to support you and people in turn will blame you for bringing trouble on yourself by raising your voice against your husband/father/any other male etc. And if a woman does fight for her right, the men and to an extent some women too will go after her like a pack of hounds, calling her sexually frustrated and if she is unmarried advice her parents to get her married, which is a snide remark rather than an advice.
When I started blogging, I was amused to see that the very guys who went ROFL when I wrote something funny about Kerala at Poomanam changed colors at this blog when I wrote about social issues in Kerala. Most of the things I wrote were first hand experiences of colleagues and relations. And since they were so close to the truth and the truth themselves, there were a number of comments telling me to delete the blog because “it is a lie”. When that failed “the ultimate weapon” came out and that was to call me physically (read “sexually) frustrated and other references that I cannot mention here due to their vulgarity. The reason was obvious. I didn’t shut up and pull down the post when I was told to. And you do not do that unless you want to hear some “nice” words as they term it. Interestingly some of these comments were from guys who had blogs where they wrote about women’s issues and stood up for their rights etc. And more interesting, some of these anon commenters signed in with their blogger ID and left an appreciative comments! Appearances have to be kept up and images secured too, after all :p
Now I notice the same in Twitter too. You will typically see one guy abusing a woman and gleeful and empathic replies of approval and virtual high fives being exchanged by a number of similar people. Some of the words used are disgusting, but the reasons are obvious. Some poor unfortunate girl somewhere stood up for herself and is now being given the “treatment” she deserves.
I tweeted my opinion about one such abusive tweet recently and suddenly my inbox was full of mails from friends in blogosphere and otherwise, pointing me to people calling me “physically frustrated” without using my name. Things haven't changed much I see. Whether it is a blog or Twitter or any other media people do not tolerate what they do not like and get agitated over their lack of control and get abusive to deal with their own impotency. And what is amusing is that these very same people will tweet every story on women or children being abused with sympathetic murmurs or women fighting for their rights with high fives to carefully craft an image and gain more followers. It is really scary when you think about it.
It is a cut and paste world today and creating an image is not very difficult. I know people who lift music links from my blog to appear knowledgeable plus discussions about that particular piece in comment boxes and pass them off as theirs in tweets. Oh yes, all this happens and more here. Sab dhandha hai bhai :))
If online writing has taught me one thing, it is that you cannot carry on a charade or a facade here for too long. And I am heartened to see so many pseudos being kicked out of the closet by the very word they punch on their keyboards.
When all else failed to stop her, the most powerful weapon in the men's armory came out. And what is that you may wonder. And that is …calling her a “physically frustrated woman”. This is pretty common in Kerala. If a woman even raises her hand to stop a man from beating her or defends herself in anyway and a man cannot do anything about it, then the ultimate weapon i.e. sexual innuendos are used against her to control her and make her act in a manner that is acceptable to men.
My aunt has had more than her share. Her husband, a highly supportive man is called “henpecked” which is the weapon of choice against men who do not “control” their wives and treat their wives as equals. Control here means, a man who ensures the woman toes the line drawn by him even if it violates all her rights and civil liberties. Which is why you will rarely see a Malayalee woman stand up for herself. There will be no one to support you and people in turn will blame you for bringing trouble on yourself by raising your voice against your husband/father/any other male etc. And if a woman does fight for her right, the men and to an extent some women too will go after her like a pack of hounds, calling her sexually frustrated and if she is unmarried advice her parents to get her married, which is a snide remark rather than an advice.
When I started blogging, I was amused to see that the very guys who went ROFL when I wrote something funny about Kerala at Poomanam changed colors at this blog when I wrote about social issues in Kerala. Most of the things I wrote were first hand experiences of colleagues and relations. And since they were so close to the truth and the truth themselves, there were a number of comments telling me to delete the blog because “it is a lie”. When that failed “the ultimate weapon” came out and that was to call me physically (read “sexually) frustrated and other references that I cannot mention here due to their vulgarity. The reason was obvious. I didn’t shut up and pull down the post when I was told to. And you do not do that unless you want to hear some “nice” words as they term it. Interestingly some of these comments were from guys who had blogs where they wrote about women’s issues and stood up for their rights etc. And more interesting, some of these anon commenters signed in with their blogger ID and left an appreciative comments! Appearances have to be kept up and images secured too, after all :p
Now I notice the same in Twitter too. You will typically see one guy abusing a woman and gleeful and empathic replies of approval and virtual high fives being exchanged by a number of similar people. Some of the words used are disgusting, but the reasons are obvious. Some poor unfortunate girl somewhere stood up for herself and is now being given the “treatment” she deserves.
I tweeted my opinion about one such abusive tweet recently and suddenly my inbox was full of mails from friends in blogosphere and otherwise, pointing me to people calling me “physically frustrated” without using my name. Things haven't changed much I see. Whether it is a blog or Twitter or any other media people do not tolerate what they do not like and get agitated over their lack of control and get abusive to deal with their own impotency. And what is amusing is that these very same people will tweet every story on women or children being abused with sympathetic murmurs or women fighting for their rights with high fives to carefully craft an image and gain more followers. It is really scary when you think about it.
It is a cut and paste world today and creating an image is not very difficult. I know people who lift music links from my blog to appear knowledgeable plus discussions about that particular piece in comment boxes and pass them off as theirs in tweets. Oh yes, all this happens and more here. Sab dhandha hai bhai :))
If online writing has taught me one thing, it is that you cannot carry on a charade or a facade here for too long. And I am heartened to see so many pseudos being kicked out of the closet by the very word they punch on their keyboards.
Sunday, September 05, 2010
Love in the times of prejudice
They walked in hand in hand, and looked around in wonderment. The opulence of the mall seemed to overwhelm them. They looked like kids from the lower middle class. Their clothes tailored and out of place. They clung together, a little intimidated by the mall. They were in their teens I could make out. They walked in hand in hand. Their trust and reliance in each other was heartwarming. This was no ordinary romance. They looked so comfortable in the silence that enveloped them as they gazed around.
I fiddled with my coffee. I was waiting for the office gang to land up for a birthday treat. My eyes wandered to the couple. They were going around the mall, looking with awe at the shops, displays, colors and general branding merriment. Their eyes enthralled by the atmosphere, soaking in the sights.
Just as I was taking the last sip of my coffee, I saw them walking out. They had an air of people who had a wonderful day at the circus or zoo. They walked out hand in hand. People looked at them curiously. I was lost in the warmth of the moment to notice... that they were both guys.
Love has no borders or colors. It just takes two people to love. Whatever their gender.
I fiddled with my coffee. I was waiting for the office gang to land up for a birthday treat. My eyes wandered to the couple. They were going around the mall, looking with awe at the shops, displays, colors and general branding merriment. Their eyes enthralled by the atmosphere, soaking in the sights.
Just as I was taking the last sip of my coffee, I saw them walking out. They had an air of people who had a wonderful day at the circus or zoo. They walked out hand in hand. People looked at them curiously. I was lost in the warmth of the moment to notice... that they were both guys.
Love has no borders or colors. It just takes two people to love. Whatever their gender.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Ritu
I watched the Malayalam movie “Ritu” at a friend’s home last week. The movie is ostensibly a new genre of Malayalam movie. What I saw left me disappointed and annoyed. Disappointed, because the story is a contemporary retelling of an old tale i.e. the Malayalee returning to the homeland to start a business venture etc. Annoyed, because the story is written by someone who has no knowledge of the subject in the modern/IT context and panders to the misconceptions that people in Kerala have (specially the older generation) about IT professionals and their lifestyle in Bangalore. The story is written to touch the raw areas and sweet spots of its audience. Nothing sells like misconception that people hold dear because it gives them a sense of security of knowledge.
If this is the new cinema of Kerala then I am deeply disturbed. The movie doesn’t understand its characters or even tries to understand. It is written on wrong surmises and hearsay. The story is so clichéd that one wonders if it is written by a person who has never stepped outside Kerala or ever met an IT professional. Most of the understanding of the young people working in IT companies are derived from reading blogs and the movie has lots of bloopers, like Sunny ( a Kerala Malayalee as opposed to an NRK) who keeps saying “I hate these bloody mallus!” for no apparent reason. It seems to be like a trendy slang the scriptwriter latched onto for the hip effect.
Another blooper is Sharath’s colleague who discovers that Sunny is selling sensitive information by breaking the news to Sharath with this line “That Sunny is gay!!!”
Derogatory usage of the word “mallu’ is restricted to people who have had bad experiences with Kerala Malayalees and to a large extent by NRK's (Malayalee born and brought up outside Kerala to parents who hail from Kerala). The reasons for this will be explained in another blog post. Let me talk about the movie here.
The story is very similar to Varavelpu, where Sharath the protagonist, returns to Kerala after a stint in the US (apparently forced by brother in law) to start a project in Kerala. He is banking on the support of his old friends, Varsha and Sunny. The three were thick friends before Sharath left for the US.
Soon Sharath finds out that his friends have changed. Varsha keeps getting calls from guys in Bangalore and Sunny even hints at a promiscuous life she got into in Bangalore. At times you get the feeling that the movie is slyly trying to portray Bangalore as the Sin City of India. The connection is cleverly pushed, as Bangalore is the IT capital with most IT professionals working here. A naïve viewer would think that all that a girl needs to get laid is go to Bangalore, which is peopled by strapping young male IT professionals who speak only English and party all the time and live a very happening life. And what’s more they keep calling Varsha throughout the day telling her they “miss her”. Err… boys in the fast lanes missing their one night stands? Something doesn’t add up here.
Varsha's dialogues are restricted to "I want to go to Bangalore!" which she says over and over again to convey that she is addicted to Bangalore and its 'charms'. And parties as suggested in the movie happen only on Page Three of Bangalore Times where potbellied Uncles and Aunties and rich kids smile at cameras and pose like they are having a good time.
Guy friends who watched the movie with us were laughing at the portrayal of Bangalore and wondered if the filmmakers knew that the standard Bangalore social life constituted of going to the nearest booze shop every weekend to pick up booze to drink with friends and roomies ( all male) in two bedroom apartment shared by four guys.
The movie progresses with more clichés, like the successful lady entrepreneur who has reached the pinnacle of success not through hard work but by refusing to have kids to concentrate on her career. Or Varsha cleaning up her act by discarding western clothes and wearing salwars and pottu like a "good girl".
I won’t spoil the movie for you, but if it is trying to reiterate misconceptions and preying on people, especially parents fears, then it has done a good job. In the long run, movies like these only makes life difficult for Malayalees working in the IT industry with frantic parents and taunting relations having the justification to diss Bangalore as a trap waiting to swallow their unsuspecting young IT professionals.
If this is the new cinema of Kerala then I am deeply disturbed. The movie doesn’t understand its characters or even tries to understand. It is written on wrong surmises and hearsay. The story is so clichéd that one wonders if it is written by a person who has never stepped outside Kerala or ever met an IT professional. Most of the understanding of the young people working in IT companies are derived from reading blogs and the movie has lots of bloopers, like Sunny ( a Kerala Malayalee as opposed to an NRK) who keeps saying “I hate these bloody mallus!” for no apparent reason. It seems to be like a trendy slang the scriptwriter latched onto for the hip effect.
Another blooper is Sharath’s colleague who discovers that Sunny is selling sensitive information by breaking the news to Sharath with this line “That Sunny is gay!!!”
Derogatory usage of the word “mallu’ is restricted to people who have had bad experiences with Kerala Malayalees and to a large extent by NRK's (Malayalee born and brought up outside Kerala to parents who hail from Kerala). The reasons for this will be explained in another blog post. Let me talk about the movie here.
The story is very similar to Varavelpu, where Sharath the protagonist, returns to Kerala after a stint in the US (apparently forced by brother in law) to start a project in Kerala. He is banking on the support of his old friends, Varsha and Sunny. The three were thick friends before Sharath left for the US.
Soon Sharath finds out that his friends have changed. Varsha keeps getting calls from guys in Bangalore and Sunny even hints at a promiscuous life she got into in Bangalore. At times you get the feeling that the movie is slyly trying to portray Bangalore as the Sin City of India. The connection is cleverly pushed, as Bangalore is the IT capital with most IT professionals working here. A naïve viewer would think that all that a girl needs to get laid is go to Bangalore, which is peopled by strapping young male IT professionals who speak only English and party all the time and live a very happening life. And what’s more they keep calling Varsha throughout the day telling her they “miss her”. Err… boys in the fast lanes missing their one night stands? Something doesn’t add up here.
Varsha's dialogues are restricted to "I want to go to Bangalore!" which she says over and over again to convey that she is addicted to Bangalore and its 'charms'. And parties as suggested in the movie happen only on Page Three of Bangalore Times where potbellied Uncles and Aunties and rich kids smile at cameras and pose like they are having a good time.
Guy friends who watched the movie with us were laughing at the portrayal of Bangalore and wondered if the filmmakers knew that the standard Bangalore social life constituted of going to the nearest booze shop every weekend to pick up booze to drink with friends and roomies ( all male) in two bedroom apartment shared by four guys.
The movie progresses with more clichés, like the successful lady entrepreneur who has reached the pinnacle of success not through hard work but by refusing to have kids to concentrate on her career. Or Varsha cleaning up her act by discarding western clothes and wearing salwars and pottu like a "good girl".
I won’t spoil the movie for you, but if it is trying to reiterate misconceptions and preying on people, especially parents fears, then it has done a good job. In the long run, movies like these only makes life difficult for Malayalees working in the IT industry with frantic parents and taunting relations having the justification to diss Bangalore as a trap waiting to swallow their unsuspecting young IT professionals.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monsoon memories...
My paternal grandparents’ house was made entirely of wood. It still is. Only the four walls of the home are made of brick, unlike the imposing structure I call my maternal grandparents home. The house is very old, built by my great grandfather, who was into the wood business too. He was a pioneer of sorts, who knew that wood would be worth its weight in gold, in a few years to come. People laughed at him when he started a small wood shop as a side business. They laughed louder when he loaded the wood into Lorries and sent them off to far off markets. They stopped laughing when he leased his own fleet of Lorries that took wood from Kerala to Chennai and from there on to, buyers distributed it around the country. Perhaps they went out of the country too. I am not sure.
The results of his travels were the impeccable house he built, from prime wood he kept for himself and a fully wooden cow shed complete with a wooden loft to keep hay! Every stair in the house is made of wood. Stair landings are made of wood and even the floor at most places are made of wood. The wood is old and cured now, cured by time and people. It has mellowed like fine wine and gives out an aroma that I can only describe as “home”. For some strange reason, the humid and wet weather of the place has had no effect on the wood.
The rooms in this house are cavernous and one can hear ones echoes at times. Space, I guess was not a constraint in the old days.
This post is not about wood, but the wood takes on significance in my life as I spent all my holidays in my wooden paternal grandfather’s home.
Every stair landing in this house has a small cupboard and after we were born, coir mats were laid, so that we did not slip on the shiny wood. Every landing has a window, and I spent considerable time in these spaces, reading, sleeping, watching the rain or just staring out. I felt very secure here for some strange reason.
The stair landing gave me hours of contended time just sitting and watching the dense forest, rubber plantations and from some windows glimpses of rice fields nestled in valleys in between imposing mountains. The terrace of the house was useless as nothing could be seen from here. Only canopies of coconut and mountains. The terrace bustles with activity and clinks of glasses in the evening after the rosary and I did not feel afraid to go and look at the pitch darkness around the house. At other times I avoided the place like the plague.
Sitting at the landing looking at the rain, is and will be my most persistent and pleasant childhood memory. The water pours from the awning and the whole landscape took on silvery hues. I watched the sand around the house taking the ritualistic beating during monsoons and felt the tremor of the thunder claps making the house shiver like a scared child. The rain fell in cascades, as in this part of Kerala the rains are not like I have seen anywhere.
The wooden floors were immaculately kept and sitting on the bare floor and reading and falling asleep was routine. For some reason the wood bonded me to the house like brick and cement can never. I still don’t feel the bond with my home in Bangalore, like the bond that I have with that house in Kerala. The house seems to be a living breathing entity. Every nook and cranny is home and unlike tiled floors, you can sit anywhere.
The house has an attic. This is a wonderland that I finished exploring only recently. A section of the attic is above the outer kitchen where wood is still used. I suspect this is to smoke several stuff kept on top over the grill like floor. We never ventured there as we were told that we would fall into the boiling cauldrons below. Besides the floor here was frail with wooden rods laid at a certain distance to from each other to allow the smoke to filter through. Next to this section is the place where bunches of ethaka (banana) hang to ripen. This is the very ethnic Kerala variety and not the type you get in market. Tasteless and bulky. Exhortation to eat the bananas fell on deaf ears and my grandparents’ watched in despair when they were loaded into the jeep to market. There is only one way I eat them till today, and that is steamed.
During the rains the attic was an enchanting place. Many of the tiles of the roof were made of glass to let light through. It felt good to see the rain drops splattering on the tile, leaving me dry. In the mornings, the slanting rays of sunlight fell into the attic amidst swirls of smoke from the wood kitchen. It was a magical sight. One day I plan to take a professional photographer and make him record my living memories.
Sitting in the attic, with the rain hitting the tiles above and reading or just lying on the wooden floor watching the sky through the glass tiles is an experience I cannot describe.
When monsoon begins, the days turn dark and sunlight is a distant memory. But there is nothing gloomy about this darkness. The cozy wood ensconcing the house ensured that my memories of monsoons past were magical in my paternal grandparent’s house.
The results of his travels were the impeccable house he built, from prime wood he kept for himself and a fully wooden cow shed complete with a wooden loft to keep hay! Every stair in the house is made of wood. Stair landings are made of wood and even the floor at most places are made of wood. The wood is old and cured now, cured by time and people. It has mellowed like fine wine and gives out an aroma that I can only describe as “home”. For some strange reason, the humid and wet weather of the place has had no effect on the wood.
The rooms in this house are cavernous and one can hear ones echoes at times. Space, I guess was not a constraint in the old days.
This post is not about wood, but the wood takes on significance in my life as I spent all my holidays in my wooden paternal grandfather’s home.
Every stair landing in this house has a small cupboard and after we were born, coir mats were laid, so that we did not slip on the shiny wood. Every landing has a window, and I spent considerable time in these spaces, reading, sleeping, watching the rain or just staring out. I felt very secure here for some strange reason.
The stair landing gave me hours of contended time just sitting and watching the dense forest, rubber plantations and from some windows glimpses of rice fields nestled in valleys in between imposing mountains. The terrace of the house was useless as nothing could be seen from here. Only canopies of coconut and mountains. The terrace bustles with activity and clinks of glasses in the evening after the rosary and I did not feel afraid to go and look at the pitch darkness around the house. At other times I avoided the place like the plague.
Sitting at the landing looking at the rain, is and will be my most persistent and pleasant childhood memory. The water pours from the awning and the whole landscape took on silvery hues. I watched the sand around the house taking the ritualistic beating during monsoons and felt the tremor of the thunder claps making the house shiver like a scared child. The rain fell in cascades, as in this part of Kerala the rains are not like I have seen anywhere.
The wooden floors were immaculately kept and sitting on the bare floor and reading and falling asleep was routine. For some reason the wood bonded me to the house like brick and cement can never. I still don’t feel the bond with my home in Bangalore, like the bond that I have with that house in Kerala. The house seems to be a living breathing entity. Every nook and cranny is home and unlike tiled floors, you can sit anywhere.
The house has an attic. This is a wonderland that I finished exploring only recently. A section of the attic is above the outer kitchen where wood is still used. I suspect this is to smoke several stuff kept on top over the grill like floor. We never ventured there as we were told that we would fall into the boiling cauldrons below. Besides the floor here was frail with wooden rods laid at a certain distance to from each other to allow the smoke to filter through. Next to this section is the place where bunches of ethaka (banana) hang to ripen. This is the very ethnic Kerala variety and not the type you get in market. Tasteless and bulky. Exhortation to eat the bananas fell on deaf ears and my grandparents’ watched in despair when they were loaded into the jeep to market. There is only one way I eat them till today, and that is steamed.
During the rains the attic was an enchanting place. Many of the tiles of the roof were made of glass to let light through. It felt good to see the rain drops splattering on the tile, leaving me dry. In the mornings, the slanting rays of sunlight fell into the attic amidst swirls of smoke from the wood kitchen. It was a magical sight. One day I plan to take a professional photographer and make him record my living memories.
Sitting in the attic, with the rain hitting the tiles above and reading or just lying on the wooden floor watching the sky through the glass tiles is an experience I cannot describe.
When monsoon begins, the days turn dark and sunlight is a distant memory. But there is nothing gloomy about this darkness. The cozy wood ensconcing the house ensured that my memories of monsoons past were magical in my paternal grandparent’s house.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Educating the educators
Corporal punishment is in the news again. We are a country that needs laws to curb grown up men and women from hitting kids. In fact we need laws to ensure we behave like a civil society. But let us not go there for now. Right now, I want to talk about teachers hitting kids.
I remember as a kid waiting at the Cubbon Park to get on a peculiar type of carousel. There was a family already on the carousel and they ensured that when a child got off they would put another from their family onto the carousel. I waited patiently for the nice Uncle to give me a chance and then from somewhere, my Dad walked up stopped the carousel and told the head of the family manning the carousel to give me a seat. The man realized that he was monopolizing the play equipment and obliged. This more or less sums up us Indians. Here was a 8 year old kid waiting patiently for her turn play on the carousel but this man was not man enough to ensure that the kid also got a chance.
If you remember your childhood, you will remember that the only adults who ever cared for you were your parents, family members and family friends. You could never hope to be treated kindly by even parents of kids who did not know you. We are a selfish society.
And our teachers are not any different. Teaching is a vocation, but in a country like ours it becomes another job, another meal ticket. Therefore expecting our teachers to be nice to kids that are not their own is asking a bit too much.
I studied in a school where teachers were nurtured. Yes, you heard it right. Teachers were nurtured to be teachers. The others were let go. The nuns who run this school, created such an environment, that only genuine aspirant dared apply for a job in the school. The school still continues the tradition. Please don’t misunderstand me here. Teachers are not intimidated here. But guided. And most were willing to change their mindset and become teachers’ a.k.a imparters of education and not mere roll callers and home work and class work checkers.
My niece recently passed out of the same institution. She was doing poorly since 8th std due to tensions in the home between her parents. The teachers zeroed into the root cause of the decline in marks and rectified the same. After failing in 8 subjects from 8th std, she recently passed with a first class in ICSE without repeating a year.
What I am trying to say is that, teachers, like students need to be taught that a B.Ed is not enough qualification enough to be a teacher. A sympathetic attitude towards students and a genuine desire in their welfare and above all a genuine desire to impart learning is paramount. And it starts with the school management.
If a teacher is caught hitting a child, punishing him/her or removing him from the job will in no way deter future kid beaters. What will deter them however is the practice of evaluating teachers not only in teaching, but a whole lot of other parameters that would indicate if a person is suitable to continue in the post.
Thanks to Blogbharati for linking this post.
I remember as a kid waiting at the Cubbon Park to get on a peculiar type of carousel. There was a family already on the carousel and they ensured that when a child got off they would put another from their family onto the carousel. I waited patiently for the nice Uncle to give me a chance and then from somewhere, my Dad walked up stopped the carousel and told the head of the family manning the carousel to give me a seat. The man realized that he was monopolizing the play equipment and obliged. This more or less sums up us Indians. Here was a 8 year old kid waiting patiently for her turn play on the carousel but this man was not man enough to ensure that the kid also got a chance.
If you remember your childhood, you will remember that the only adults who ever cared for you were your parents, family members and family friends. You could never hope to be treated kindly by even parents of kids who did not know you. We are a selfish society.
And our teachers are not any different. Teaching is a vocation, but in a country like ours it becomes another job, another meal ticket. Therefore expecting our teachers to be nice to kids that are not their own is asking a bit too much.
I studied in a school where teachers were nurtured. Yes, you heard it right. Teachers were nurtured to be teachers. The others were let go. The nuns who run this school, created such an environment, that only genuine aspirant dared apply for a job in the school. The school still continues the tradition. Please don’t misunderstand me here. Teachers are not intimidated here. But guided. And most were willing to change their mindset and become teachers’ a.k.a imparters of education and not mere roll callers and home work and class work checkers.
My niece recently passed out of the same institution. She was doing poorly since 8th std due to tensions in the home between her parents. The teachers zeroed into the root cause of the decline in marks and rectified the same. After failing in 8 subjects from 8th std, she recently passed with a first class in ICSE without repeating a year.
What I am trying to say is that, teachers, like students need to be taught that a B.Ed is not enough qualification enough to be a teacher. A sympathetic attitude towards students and a genuine desire in their welfare and above all a genuine desire to impart learning is paramount. And it starts with the school management.
If a teacher is caught hitting a child, punishing him/her or removing him from the job will in no way deter future kid beaters. What will deter them however is the practice of evaluating teachers not only in teaching, but a whole lot of other parameters that would indicate if a person is suitable to continue in the post.
Thanks to Blogbharati for linking this post.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Stepping down and stepping up!
Shashi Tharoor returned to Trivandrum, last week to a rousing welcome. People cutting across party lines were there to greet him. If he were to resign from the Congress today, and contest as an independent, then the capital city may be lost forever to both the UDF and LDF.
Shashi Tharoor maybe the answer to Kerala’s professional politicians and their tight grip on the state. He has the potential in terms of popularity to lead Kerala out of the peat bog, to unfetter its feet and lead the people from indifference to participation.
He has the potential as he has the people’s backing. The apathy that the people felt at the choices before them seem to vanish when it comes to Tharoor. There is definitely a resurgence of hope in the embittered populace after Tharoor entered politics. Which might explain the bitter attacks on him for anything and everything.
Now if only Tharoor realizes his potential and seizes the moment, he can make history. He is the man who can turn the tide for Keralites.
If however he is risk averse, then he can do a lot as a sitting MP too.
Kerala voters seem to say, “If you have the inclination, you have our vote, all of it.” (Sorry HMT for lifting your tagline).
Shashi Tharoor maybe the answer to Kerala’s professional politicians and their tight grip on the state. He has the potential in terms of popularity to lead Kerala out of the peat bog, to unfetter its feet and lead the people from indifference to participation.
He has the potential as he has the people’s backing. The apathy that the people felt at the choices before them seem to vanish when it comes to Tharoor. There is definitely a resurgence of hope in the embittered populace after Tharoor entered politics. Which might explain the bitter attacks on him for anything and everything.
Now if only Tharoor realizes his potential and seizes the moment, he can make history. He is the man who can turn the tide for Keralites.
If however he is risk averse, then he can do a lot as a sitting MP too.
Kerala voters seem to say, “If you have the inclination, you have our vote, all of it.” (Sorry HMT for lifting your tagline).
Sunday, March 14, 2010
The invisible gifts in our lives...
The car was traveling fast through the familiar country side. As soon as we left Kottayam, it felt like we had entered the home stretch. Familiar buildings, trees and fields flashed by like wave upon wave of soothing familiar-ness. I knew I was enjoying the scenery due to the air conditioning in the car. It wouldn’t be so comfortable outside.
We took a bypass and were on a narrow road. I used to come this way as a kid very often. My favorite grand aunt lived here. She was called Ellaimma (because she was junior to other aunts), the youngest sister of my grandfather.
I remember walking up the pathway to her house every holidays and watching her standing at the door with a delighted expression as she saw us coming. Her white mundu and chatta would be stained with turmeric and chili powder stains. Then she would bend down and ask.
Idhaara? Enne ariyamo? (Who is this? Do you recognize me?)
And I said the most famous lines ever uttered in my family’s history.
Idhu Kadanad Kochuthressia alle? (Aren’t you Kochuthressia from Kadanad?)
I was six years old and created history with that remark. As a kid who grew up in Bangalore I wasn’t too familiar with our family protocol and unwittingly called my grand aunt by her name. She was called Kadanad Kochuthressia to distinguish her from the other Kochuthressia's in my large extended family. But my bloopers were always received with much laughter. We are family with a good sense of humor.
Then I would wait impatiently for her to change and emerge in spotless white mundu and chatta with the elegant hand embroidered shawl over her shoulders pinned down with an exotic brooch. There is a tradition in my part of Kerala. Relations drop in when there are more hands needed in a house and stay till they are needed.
I asked the driver to stop the car. My mom looked at me and said that there was no one in my grand aunts house now. It would be no use going there. I told her that I would be back quickly and got out of the car. From the main road I took the tiny road dug out from laterite and reached the main gate. The once elegant home was now in ruins. Antique contractors had ripped the hand crafted woodwork, doors and a whole lot of other ornate stuff from this ancient house. Ellaimma's children had sold the house after her death and settled in Bangalore where they worked.
I walked in through the open rusted gates and memories washed over me. Memories of going to the parambu to pick up betel nut that had fallen from the tree and running to Ellaimma, excitement written on my face. Ellaimma loved chewing betel nut. She rewarded me with some black coffee sweetened with jaggery, a favorite of mine. I wasn’t allowed to drink coffee or tea. It was a secret between us.
Every year the cycle repeated itself. Ellaimma our favorite aunt, kept an eye on us as we ran all over the huge parambu and rubber estates and the mountains that flanked the house. Her energy was boundless and she loved trailing behind us outdoors. In the evening, she bathed us and got us ready for rosary. Rosary was said sitting on her lap in the verandah looking at the thousands of fireflies that adorned the pitch black tapestry of night. If it wasn’t for the fireflies, her soothing droning would have put me to sleep.
One day we got the news that Ellaimma was dying. She had mouth cancer. We were in Kerala within hours of receiving the news. When I saw her, she looked anything but the Ellaimma I loved so much. Cancer had eaten half her face away. She had only half a face and pain killers ensured that she never knew that her grandniece had come to visit her. I was devastated.
Years later in a science class I learned with tearing eyes that betel nut chewing causes Mouth Cancer. That day my parents had a hard time convincing me that it was not me who killed Ellaimma.
Today, the cancer eaten face is forgotten. But Ellaimma is etched in my memory forever. Her kind face, twinkling eyes, ready laughter, fantastic sense of humor and an enormous amount of affection for children.
I walked back to the gate and towards the car, after staring at the house for a long time. I hoped the new owners would take good care of the place.
As we drove away, I silently thanked God for the gift of people like Ellaimma in my life.
We took a bypass and were on a narrow road. I used to come this way as a kid very often. My favorite grand aunt lived here. She was called Ellaimma (because she was junior to other aunts), the youngest sister of my grandfather.
I remember walking up the pathway to her house every holidays and watching her standing at the door with a delighted expression as she saw us coming. Her white mundu and chatta would be stained with turmeric and chili powder stains. Then she would bend down and ask.
Idhaara? Enne ariyamo? (Who is this? Do you recognize me?)
And I said the most famous lines ever uttered in my family’s history.
Idhu Kadanad Kochuthressia alle? (Aren’t you Kochuthressia from Kadanad?)
I was six years old and created history with that remark. As a kid who grew up in Bangalore I wasn’t too familiar with our family protocol and unwittingly called my grand aunt by her name. She was called Kadanad Kochuthressia to distinguish her from the other Kochuthressia's in my large extended family. But my bloopers were always received with much laughter. We are family with a good sense of humor.
Then I would wait impatiently for her to change and emerge in spotless white mundu and chatta with the elegant hand embroidered shawl over her shoulders pinned down with an exotic brooch. There is a tradition in my part of Kerala. Relations drop in when there are more hands needed in a house and stay till they are needed.
I asked the driver to stop the car. My mom looked at me and said that there was no one in my grand aunts house now. It would be no use going there. I told her that I would be back quickly and got out of the car. From the main road I took the tiny road dug out from laterite and reached the main gate. The once elegant home was now in ruins. Antique contractors had ripped the hand crafted woodwork, doors and a whole lot of other ornate stuff from this ancient house. Ellaimma's children had sold the house after her death and settled in Bangalore where they worked.
I walked in through the open rusted gates and memories washed over me. Memories of going to the parambu to pick up betel nut that had fallen from the tree and running to Ellaimma, excitement written on my face. Ellaimma loved chewing betel nut. She rewarded me with some black coffee sweetened with jaggery, a favorite of mine. I wasn’t allowed to drink coffee or tea. It was a secret between us.
Every year the cycle repeated itself. Ellaimma our favorite aunt, kept an eye on us as we ran all over the huge parambu and rubber estates and the mountains that flanked the house. Her energy was boundless and she loved trailing behind us outdoors. In the evening, she bathed us and got us ready for rosary. Rosary was said sitting on her lap in the verandah looking at the thousands of fireflies that adorned the pitch black tapestry of night. If it wasn’t for the fireflies, her soothing droning would have put me to sleep.
One day we got the news that Ellaimma was dying. She had mouth cancer. We were in Kerala within hours of receiving the news. When I saw her, she looked anything but the Ellaimma I loved so much. Cancer had eaten half her face away. She had only half a face and pain killers ensured that she never knew that her grandniece had come to visit her. I was devastated.
Years later in a science class I learned with tearing eyes that betel nut chewing causes Mouth Cancer. That day my parents had a hard time convincing me that it was not me who killed Ellaimma.
Today, the cancer eaten face is forgotten. But Ellaimma is etched in my memory forever. Her kind face, twinkling eyes, ready laughter, fantastic sense of humor and an enormous amount of affection for children.
I walked back to the gate and towards the car, after staring at the house for a long time. I hoped the new owners would take good care of the place.
As we drove away, I silently thanked God for the gift of people like Ellaimma in my life.
Saturday, March 06, 2010
The vacuum within
The Swami Nithyananda scandal has ripped the society apart. On one side we have people who say that he has every right to sleep with women and on the other side there are people who say that having taken the vow of brahmacharyam or celibacy and exhorting his followers to do the same, he should not have cheated on their faith and belief in him.
I am not here to defend him or run him down. But I feel that religion has become big business now and mega bucks are for the taking if you know a few prayers; posses’ good oratory skills and tones of hypocrisy and know how to harvest people’s insecurities and weaknesses. Reminds me of catechism classes where we were told that God listens to us if we pray to him and if he doesn’t, then He thinks that is best for us. Absolutely no scope for further argument here. :p
Whichever the religion the “holy man” professes , what the people are forgetting is that holy men of yore were people who were acknowledged for their piety and saintliness after a long life led by practicing what they preached. Today those very men have become role models for crooks and con men out to make the mega bucks available for the taking. Whatever the garb, all have their private agendas. Some want to increase followers, some to increase their coffers.
With so many scandals coming to forth involving Swamiji’s and Godmen, one would think that people will think twice before they trust anyone. But the sad truth is, most people would rather listen and be led than think for themselves. This is a weakness that seems to grip our nation. We have this inherent need to pay obeisance to someone and be led like a herd. I do not know why we have this vacuum within us that makes us easy targets for people more than willing to offer us that feeling of being in control of “our” lives.
I am not here to defend him or run him down. But I feel that religion has become big business now and mega bucks are for the taking if you know a few prayers; posses’ good oratory skills and tones of hypocrisy and know how to harvest people’s insecurities and weaknesses. Reminds me of catechism classes where we were told that God listens to us if we pray to him and if he doesn’t, then He thinks that is best for us. Absolutely no scope for further argument here. :p
Whichever the religion the “holy man” professes , what the people are forgetting is that holy men of yore were people who were acknowledged for their piety and saintliness after a long life led by practicing what they preached. Today those very men have become role models for crooks and con men out to make the mega bucks available for the taking. Whatever the garb, all have their private agendas. Some want to increase followers, some to increase their coffers.
With so many scandals coming to forth involving Swamiji’s and Godmen, one would think that people will think twice before they trust anyone. But the sad truth is, most people would rather listen and be led than think for themselves. This is a weakness that seems to grip our nation. We have this inherent need to pay obeisance to someone and be led like a herd. I do not know why we have this vacuum within us that makes us easy targets for people more than willing to offer us that feeling of being in control of “our” lives.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Making it big while staying small
If there were an award for a city that has remained static, despite the massive changes it has undergone, in terms of demography, industry and social culture, then the award should go to Bangalore. The last two decades has bought sweeping changes to Bangalore. IT has become an important part of the landscape both economic and social. Thousands of people have settled here, displacing the older population by 7 to 1. Yet the city has held firm. Not a single new road has been created. Nor a single gully carved out of its stubborn landscape, all thanks to a recalcitrant administration, that seem to have gone berserk collecting the windfall on the city.
Yesterday I witnessed a funny sight. An Innova carrying lots of expats was waiting by the side on Commercial Street. A traffic inspector came and started shouting abuses, typical Bangalore cop style at the driver. He was loud and rude and unnecessarily harsh. From behind the Innova, out popped a plump lady and pointed to the cop and shouted “Hey! We are waiting for someone. We are not blocking traffic.”
The cop shamelessly shouted back “Shut up you hag. Shut your bloody mouth”. If you think the lady was intimidated, she was not. She stood her ground and suddenly the cop realized that it was he who was losing face. He grumbled and asked the driver not to linger too long. What bought about the change in the cop, was the people staring at him in disgust and disbelief. Two decades ago, he would have got away with it. Bangalore can truly call itself a cosmopolitan city now.
However I noticed that Commercial Street has not grown an inch. It handles the increased number in shoppers by just slowing down. Everything is slow here. I waited for 45 minutes to swipe my card at the Levi’s showroom as the machine was busy due to the peak shopping time. Next time I take cash. Walking about the street, we noticed that all of us were totally exhausted. After three hours of browsing and shopping, we decided to call it a day. There was a time we could hang around this place the whole day. Now it is next to impossible.
As a last port of call, we decided to go to KFC. Wrong choice. The crowd of hungry shoppers was immense and we got to the counter after 30 minutes of leg aching, shin shaking minutes. I was so tired that I don’t even remember eating my Zinger. Got into the car, and thanked my lucky stars that I bought along the driver. Slept all the way home, hauled my carcass out of the car and crashed out to get up only today.
Now I don’t know whether to be happy or sad at the situation. The overcrowding of Bangalore, has strangely bought a semblance of dignity to this city, which was in the grip of parochial maniacs for a long time, who looked at you with contempt and told you at every instance that you were drinking “their” water, living on “their” land and so should shut up and or speak only in the native tongue.
Yesterday I witnessed a funny sight. An Innova carrying lots of expats was waiting by the side on Commercial Street. A traffic inspector came and started shouting abuses, typical Bangalore cop style at the driver. He was loud and rude and unnecessarily harsh. From behind the Innova, out popped a plump lady and pointed to the cop and shouted “Hey! We are waiting for someone. We are not blocking traffic.”
The cop shamelessly shouted back “Shut up you hag. Shut your bloody mouth”. If you think the lady was intimidated, she was not. She stood her ground and suddenly the cop realized that it was he who was losing face. He grumbled and asked the driver not to linger too long. What bought about the change in the cop, was the people staring at him in disgust and disbelief. Two decades ago, he would have got away with it. Bangalore can truly call itself a cosmopolitan city now.
However I noticed that Commercial Street has not grown an inch. It handles the increased number in shoppers by just slowing down. Everything is slow here. I waited for 45 minutes to swipe my card at the Levi’s showroom as the machine was busy due to the peak shopping time. Next time I take cash. Walking about the street, we noticed that all of us were totally exhausted. After three hours of browsing and shopping, we decided to call it a day. There was a time we could hang around this place the whole day. Now it is next to impossible.
As a last port of call, we decided to go to KFC. Wrong choice. The crowd of hungry shoppers was immense and we got to the counter after 30 minutes of leg aching, shin shaking minutes. I was so tired that I don’t even remember eating my Zinger. Got into the car, and thanked my lucky stars that I bought along the driver. Slept all the way home, hauled my carcass out of the car and crashed out to get up only today.
Now I don’t know whether to be happy or sad at the situation. The overcrowding of Bangalore, has strangely bought a semblance of dignity to this city, which was in the grip of parochial maniacs for a long time, who looked at you with contempt and told you at every instance that you were drinking “their” water, living on “their” land and so should shut up and or speak only in the native tongue.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
The futileness of hypocrisy
While we condemn the attack on Indians and lately on a Gurudwara in Australia, aren’t we conveniently forgetting that attacks on Churches, Mosques and Temples are routine in our country with hundreds of people dying over these buildings every year?
We protest over Indian students being attacked, while we conveniently forget that Graham Staines and his two sons were burnt alive in our country and thousands of people lose their lives every year in communal and caste clashes.
We condemn racist taunts conveniently forgetting that we attack pubs and beat up women and harass young couples who dare to walk together in broad daylight and impose silly restriction on people due to our inherent intolerant nature!
What a bunch of hypocrites we are!!
We are the most intolerant people in the world, yet we shamelessly raise our voice when an Indian abroad is treated the same way that we treat our fellow countrymen and women everyday!
It is time to introspect and look at ourselves long and hard before we point fingers at others. It is time we set our own house in order before we ask others to clean up their act. Then and only then will we be taken seriously.
We have to remember that we live in an ever shrinking world, where everyone knows what is happening in everyone’s backyard. So let us not call the kettle black and think we can get away with the moral posturing!
We protest over Indian students being attacked, while we conveniently forget that Graham Staines and his two sons were burnt alive in our country and thousands of people lose their lives every year in communal and caste clashes.
We condemn racist taunts conveniently forgetting that we attack pubs and beat up women and harass young couples who dare to walk together in broad daylight and impose silly restriction on people due to our inherent intolerant nature!
What a bunch of hypocrites we are!!
We are the most intolerant people in the world, yet we shamelessly raise our voice when an Indian abroad is treated the same way that we treat our fellow countrymen and women everyday!
It is time to introspect and look at ourselves long and hard before we point fingers at others. It is time we set our own house in order before we ask others to clean up their act. Then and only then will we be taken seriously.
We have to remember that we live in an ever shrinking world, where everyone knows what is happening in everyone’s backyard. So let us not call the kettle black and think we can get away with the moral posturing!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
The last post....for this year and New Year Wishes!
From a seedy cyber cafe in Goa (lappie left at home) here's wishing the readers of My Think Pad, warm wishes for a Happy New Year!!
Thank you for dropping by to read my rather judgmental, generalized and highly opinionated posts, and being patient and counting to ten before posting your comments. Thanks for dropping by even if I haven't posted for weeks. The visitor count to this blog never ebbs even in dry spells. Thank you so much for that. I cannot tell you how good it feels to be remembered...feels like friends keeping an eye on me and that makes me feel all warm inside. And now...I thank Almighty God, my parents....okay that is taking it too far :p
Here's wishing that the hippie sitting next to me takes a New Year resolution to take a bath. Phew! And that the Hippie next to him stops scratching his crotch ( note to self- disinfect hands after this post) and that the old British couple sitting together in one cubicle, sending New Year wishes do not mind my awwwww and that the stupid guy who runs this shady joint stops peeping into my mail box brrr.
Kidding folks...here is what I actually wish for you this New Year... (author of this unconventional message is unknown) :)
My New Year's Wishes for you
May you get a clean bill of health from your dentist, your cardiologist, your gastro-enterologist, your urologist, your proctologist, your podiatrist, your psychiatrist, your plumber and the I.R.S.
May your hair, your teeth, your face-lift, your abs and your stocks not fall; and may your blood pressure, your triglycerides, your cholesterol, your white blood count and your mortgage interest not rise.
May New Year's Eve find you seated around the table, together with your beloved family and cherished friends. May you find the food better, the environment quieter, the cost much cheaper, and the pleasure much more fulfilling than anything else you might ordinarily do that night.
May what you see in the mirror delight you, and what others see in you delight them. May someone love you enough to forgive your faults, be blind to your blemishes, and tell the world about your virtues.
May the telemarketers wait to make their sales calls until you finish dinner, may the commercials on TV not be louder than the program you have been watching, and may your check book and your budget balance - and include generous amounts for charity.
May you remember to say "I love you" at least once a day to your spouse, your child, your parent, your siblings; but not to your secretary, your nurse, your masseuse, your hairdresser or your tennis instructor.
And may we live in a world at peace and with the awareness of God's love in every sunset, every flower's unfolding petals, every baby's smile, every lover's kiss, and every wonderful, astonishing, miraculous beat of our heart.
Thank you for dropping by to read my rather judgmental, generalized and highly opinionated posts, and being patient and counting to ten before posting your comments. Thanks for dropping by even if I haven't posted for weeks. The visitor count to this blog never ebbs even in dry spells. Thank you so much for that. I cannot tell you how good it feels to be remembered...feels like friends keeping an eye on me and that makes me feel all warm inside. And now...I thank Almighty God, my parents....okay that is taking it too far :p
Here's wishing that the hippie sitting next to me takes a New Year resolution to take a bath. Phew! And that the Hippie next to him stops scratching his crotch ( note to self- disinfect hands after this post) and that the old British couple sitting together in one cubicle, sending New Year wishes do not mind my awwwww and that the stupid guy who runs this shady joint stops peeping into my mail box brrr.
Kidding folks...here is what I actually wish for you this New Year... (author of this unconventional message is unknown) :)
My New Year's Wishes for you
May you get a clean bill of health from your dentist, your cardiologist, your gastro-enterologist, your urologist, your proctologist, your podiatrist, your psychiatrist, your plumber and the I.R.S.
May your hair, your teeth, your face-lift, your abs and your stocks not fall; and may your blood pressure, your triglycerides, your cholesterol, your white blood count and your mortgage interest not rise.
May New Year's Eve find you seated around the table, together with your beloved family and cherished friends. May you find the food better, the environment quieter, the cost much cheaper, and the pleasure much more fulfilling than anything else you might ordinarily do that night.
May what you see in the mirror delight you, and what others see in you delight them. May someone love you enough to forgive your faults, be blind to your blemishes, and tell the world about your virtues.
May the telemarketers wait to make their sales calls until you finish dinner, may the commercials on TV not be louder than the program you have been watching, and may your check book and your budget balance - and include generous amounts for charity.
May you remember to say "I love you" at least once a day to your spouse, your child, your parent, your siblings; but not to your secretary, your nurse, your masseuse, your hairdresser or your tennis instructor.
And may we live in a world at peace and with the awareness of God's love in every sunset, every flower's unfolding petals, every baby's smile, every lover's kiss, and every wonderful, astonishing, miraculous beat of our heart.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Epiphany
I attended a wedding today in Kottayam. It was a wedding in the church of some vague Christian denomination. The wedding service was sweet and simple, but people like us were seen bolting for the door in panic when the sermon began. The preacher petrified everyone to their seats with his blazing sermon about God and his wrath. Apparently, if we do not repent and read the Bible and call His name every few second, serious repercussions would fall on us. He made God out to be a monster; a deadly creature stalking you evilly, ready to smite you if you were not shivering in your pants at the thought of His wrath and praying continuously.
I wanted to throw my shoes at him. I am so fed up of people like him and the chain mails I get with the picture of Our Lady/Jesus, asking me to forward it to 15 people or die like the Brazil presidents wife, or be maimed like the American Senator’s daughter, or lose my eyesight like the Inca lady in South America, who had probably not heard about a computer, let alone chain mails.
Try as I might, I can never understand these people and their message. What are they trying to say? Every time you hear them it is the same message.
Jesus is the Lord
You are a sinner
You will die
And that will be a big loss to you, let me remind you!
If you want to be saved (Of what? You will die anyway) then say the Lords name!
What about the teachings of Christ, buddy? About love and compassion, especially to sinners. Of being kind to the prodigal son and treating women of bad repute like Mary Magdalene with respect and dignity. And most importantly of not pointing fingers unless you have not sinned yourself! I feel sad for Christ and Christianity, that these self appointed spokespersons of Christ are doing so much damage to His legacy with their own interpretations of the Bible, convoluted, narrow minded thinking and private agendas.
When the service was over, I realized for the first time, that there was so much dignity, piety and humility in a Catholic Mass. A reality check, that was long overdue! But I am glad it happened.
Happy New Year dear friends!
I wanted to throw my shoes at him. I am so fed up of people like him and the chain mails I get with the picture of Our Lady/Jesus, asking me to forward it to 15 people or die like the Brazil presidents wife, or be maimed like the American Senator’s daughter, or lose my eyesight like the Inca lady in South America, who had probably not heard about a computer, let alone chain mails.
Try as I might, I can never understand these people and their message. What are they trying to say? Every time you hear them it is the same message.
Jesus is the Lord
You are a sinner
You will die
And that will be a big loss to you, let me remind you!
If you want to be saved (Of what? You will die anyway) then say the Lords name!
What about the teachings of Christ, buddy? About love and compassion, especially to sinners. Of being kind to the prodigal son and treating women of bad repute like Mary Magdalene with respect and dignity. And most importantly of not pointing fingers unless you have not sinned yourself! I feel sad for Christ and Christianity, that these self appointed spokespersons of Christ are doing so much damage to His legacy with their own interpretations of the Bible, convoluted, narrow minded thinking and private agendas.
When the service was over, I realized for the first time, that there was so much dignity, piety and humility in a Catholic Mass. A reality check, that was long overdue! But I am glad it happened.
Happy New Year dear friends!
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Ungoogle
I was searching for a pals Flickr account having conveniently forgotten to bookmark it when she gave it to me over gchat. Faced with the prospect of quiz questions on the same by her in exactly one hour when she logs in from the US, I tried to search for her album using her name in the Flickr search tool.
The result was interesting. (see text in the red 'rectangle')
Face it Yahoo, you can never do a Google.
p.s. Friends account was not on Flickr. So I got some tarty comments about having no time to go through her neighbors puppies mundan ceremony. Apparently he had a skin problem and had to be shaved.
Friend is right! I am a bad bad girl who does not deserve a pal like her! *sniff*
The result was interesting. (see text in the red 'rectangle')
Face it Yahoo, you can never do a Google.
p.s. Friends account was not on Flickr. So I got some tarty comments about having no time to go through her neighbors puppies mundan ceremony. Apparently he had a skin problem and had to be shaved.
Friend is right! I am a bad bad girl who does not deserve a pal like her! *sniff*
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