But the math paper did!

The last few days have been days of results in our country.
ICSE and CBSE results are out. Local state boards are declaring the results.
Schools , coaching classes and parents are in three modes: gloating over the toppers, thanking the stars for those who cleared and not too bothered about the middle lot.

As a parent I was also on tenter hooks since morning. Not because the results were due in sometime, but because I knew my boy was tensed.
He had spent the good part of the year participating in activities in college and spent the last month or so preparing for the exams.
I knew he found math tough , dillydallied to the end and finally took it head on.
He was worried he would have to repeat his paper.
I was worried it would mean so much extra work for something he didn't enjoy.

He is interning at a start-up and enjoying his job. His skills in computing and social media landed him the internship. He does a lot of math on his job. That doesn't scare him. But the math paper did!

He is a musician by heart. He plays the drums,the piano and the guitar. He composes tunes and gets the beat of any song. The math of the rythm doesn't scare him. But the math paper did!

He took me on a drive on the scooter last weekend and explained  how if you passed  one green signal and maintained your speed you could pass through all the green signals on that road. The math of the signals doesnt scare him. But the math paper did!

When the results were out, he burst into tears. Those were tears of joy of having cleared the math paper. They were also tears of relief that told him he needn't look at those dreaded books again.

As a parent and an educator I know the math paper has not enriched my son's life as the numerous events he attended during his grade 12. He learnt so much more there even as he was criticised by all for whiling away his time. He made new friends,negotiated relationships , took up challenges, participated in competitions ,spent time in team building activities.My boy, I was sure wouldn't be stopped by a math paper. But somewhere he wasn't sure of that. The math paper scared him!

Even as my boy and his friends party to celebrate their success in this examination, they know they are in for a few more years of such torture. But they will have gotten older and stronger and more resilient to tackle it by then and will do so without breaking down.

Bottoms up !

“One cannot think well, love well, and sleep well, if one has not dined well.”
― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own
Woolf has very aptly condensed the importance of food in this one sentence. Nothing in life happens the right way if food is neglected. Food has a very omnipotent role to play in our lives. And it is, at the same time, very omnipresent in the language we speak.
Language is being constantly modified and beautified by food. Food garnishes the language that one uses with so much love and spice that one can only crave for more.
Food nourishes our thoughts. While worries go down better with soup, too many cooks can spoil the broth. Though we thought about of everything from soup to nuts, we never realised that we had our fingers in too many pies. Did we chew off more than we could eat? We treaded on eggshells during the project so that we would not have egg on our faces at the end of it. We wanted to keep our cake and have it too.
Food nourishes the heart too.  So while your loved one can be as sweet as honey, your home can be as warm as toast even on a rainy day. The ambience may just make you go nutty as a fruit cake or simply spend the rest of the day as couch potatoes! Either way you would not cry over spilt milk.
Food nourishes the body. That of course is its main job. And language embellishes this role too. So you have a taste for the fine arts while the icing on the cake is the award you got for your passion in music .And oh yes, in your salad days you stewed upon quite a few things though finally you did learn which side of the bread is buttered. And on your way you have also figured out that one man’s meat is another poison while time and again you may have jumped from the fire into the frying pan while trying to save your bacon.

So while you sink your teeth into this, let’s acknowledge that variety is the spice of life. Every endeavour will have its teething troubles, at times may make you feel as if it is a pie in the sky but the truth remains that there is nothing such as a free lunch. You may have to polish the apple to whet your appetite to achieve success.

STRAND BOOK STALL AND THE PPRS

The news papers are buzzing with how the iconic book stall in Mumbai 'Strand Book stall' is shutting down. In the face of severe competition this little book store hasn't been able to keep pace and is shutting down.
( Strand Book Stall )

Strand Book Stall has been a huge part of my life. My father, a self confessed bibliophile was a regular visitor to the shop. Our breakfast table and dinner table stories for years revolved around the eminent people he met at the book store, his interactions with the owner Padmashree T.N.Shanbaug and the ever ready to help manager- Shenvi uncle. Dad was so well connected to all the people at Strand that one had to only inform the guys at the shop that they were sent there by PPR, one would get a further discount on any book purchased.

It is difficult to visualise my dad without a Strand Bag. Strand would willingly hand him over a dozen of their bags , which he would pick up at regular intervals. God forbid if he used any other bag. The bags were always at home( and are there even today) Dad was a mobile advertisement for them. I vividly remember when he had to withdraw money for my wedding, he safely carried cash worth a  lakh in a Strand Bag all the way from Colaba to  Vile Parle. Even as we were aghast, may dad coolly said, who will imagine that this bag has money.People will only think it has some books.
For years it was difficult to meet my dad on Monday mornings. It was his weekly trip to Strand.This ritual continued a good fifteen years after his retirement till my mother decided that he was too old to travel alone!

On his journeys to the book stall, my children have accompanied him , during their vacations. It was almost a mini summer camp  with me dropping them off on a Sunday evening at  my parents house , so that they could go to Strand Book Stall on a Monday morning. While my daughter enjoyed the travel ( which included a train, a bus and a cab and the most coveted icecream!) , my son loved to pick up the books. Both have very fond memories of the place.

The relationship Dad shared with the shop was of joy and pride which he shared with many of us. Though I didn't go regularly to the shop, I have fond memories of the few visits that my sister and I did to the shop during our annual trips from Trivandrum. We used to spend hours at the shop sifting though books, reading some and finally picking up two or three for the vacations.

Later on , as a teacher, when I was in-charge of setting up the library for a school I worked in, Shenvi uncle and Strand helped me set it up in a jiffy.And to the management's delight they offered huge discounts.

Strand Book Stall has been a part of my life for the last four decades. directly and indirectly.

The old will give way to the new and Strand today symbolises just that. It will be alive in the memories of  thousands of people whose life it has touched in small and big ways.
It will , forever hold a cherished place in the hearts of the PPR family for sure.

No, I will not take a chill pill.

Recently I saw a video of Andy Murray where he corrects a journalist who totally ignores the female tennis players of USA.  When the journalist says that Sam Querrey is the first American player to reach a Grand Slam semi final since 2009, Andy made it a point to inform him that Sam was a male player, implying that there have been women American players who have won the titles earlier.  As the journalist laughed and commented yes of course I could hear an undertone which said do females even count? (http://indianexpress.com/article/sports/tennis/first-male-player-andy-murray-takes-on-casual-sexism-in-press-conference-watch-video-4748035/)

The constant undermining of women on social media rattles me.
When I get forwards about wives being the bane of husbands lives and Botox Queens being better than naturally aging ones I get angry.
When there are jokes on how classmates looked like chillies when in college and look like capsicums now I fume!  
And what irritates me more is that when I react to such instances I am told by my male friends that I need to chill and learn how to take a joke.
I can take a joke and of course crack so many of them on myself.  But when the so called jokes reinforce stereotypes of negative imaging of women I cannot. 
If the woman who is a wife is the most painful thing in a husband’s life, do not get married. Do not disregard a person who is sharing her life with you. Living with you is not an easy task. Many of the wives never even bargained into this deal!  When you forward jokes on wives, do you realize you are teaching your sons that it's OK to laugh at your wives and deride her role in your life.  That's what she deserves.
When a female college mate of the same age looks older than a male one isn't it obvious she has gone through a lot in life which may include giving birth to babies?
If she doesn't care to maintain her body like a film star that's because she doesn't have the luxury or the necessity to do so. If she hasn't cared for herself may be she cared for others. 
But what message do you pass on to your son? That a woman is valued only when she looks good.  

And when you tell the women to relax and take a joke do you realize you  are teaching your  sons it's OK to  ignore the presence of real women in their lives. It's OK to joke on them and deride their roles. It's OK to call a woman someone's property.  It's OK to mention a woman only in relation to a man!  It's OK to negate her individuality and her existence! You are also passing a strong message to your daughters that tomorrow this is the treatment they will get form men in their lives and they need to take it with a chill pill too!

And No, I will not take a chill pill. 

Campus Cheers

Bichde they hum zindagi mein kuch sapne aakhon me leke

Kuch ke sach hue, kuch ke badal gaye,

Kuch ne naye sapne saja liye, kuch ne purano ke dafna diye.

Kuch sapane tutke bikhar gaye,

Kuch shor macha gaye

Bichde then hum zindagi mein kuch sapne aakhon me leke

Kuch sapne badal gaye, kuch hum badal gaye!

When a motley group of 40- something traverse distances to relive the life that went past two decades ago, the result is sheer magic.

We all had left each other twenty years ago in May 1995. Each had travelled on in life. Further degrees, jobs, marriages, kids and worldly matters had hauled us to different parts of the world. 

Today we packed our bags and travelled back to meet those who had vanished two decades from our radar.

Today we travelled back to renew those memories that were tucked away in corners of our minds.

Today we travelled back to pause life for three days.

Anila, Neena, Anita, Reds, Shiva, Surendra, Kadhi and me formed the first gang.

On the train journey to Mysore, the instant chatter that began at 11.00 am and paused only when we alighted from the train. In two cars we headed to Silent Shores Resort and Spa. 

We checked into four mini bungalows.  This was just perfect. The open space outside the two rows of bungalows was so right for the gossip session post dinner.

 KRS was cancelled in favour of the college campus. No one could stop us from visiting the campus immediately.

And as we entered the campus with a flutter in our heart, we realised that the campus had changed. The English department building had more gates. There were more walls. The lobby had a huge roll of honour of all principals. We invited ourselves into the principal’s office. Dr Rao entertained us in the conference room and a good discussion ensued for the next half an hour.

We went to our classrooms; sat like students, behaved like juniors, then like seniors and spoke loudly of memories of each room. Each heart ruminated on so many other unspoken ones.

From there we walked into the canteen crossing the library. Sadly the canteen was closed. Proceeding to Ganga hostel we found that closed for renovation too. 

The Campus seemed to be speaking loud and clear: Change is inevitable. Do not look for what you left. Face what you see now. Life moves on.

With these thoughts we moved on to Ms.Prema Raghavan’s home. A beautiful couple in a perfect home, Mr Raghavan and Prema ma’am entertained us patiently for almost an hour. It was a privilege to meet one of the most influential person in our lives.

From there we went to meet N.S.Raghunath Sir, one teacher who helped us become the teachers we are  today. In a world that is as intellectual as he is, NSR ( as he was called in college) was strong as ever with the fire in his belly against corruption and mediocrity in academic life.

Contentedly, we went back to the resort. Post dinner, we brought the sofas out and all of us settled in the open air. Gossiping and chatting about how life has taken us, how we all are in good spaces and how we feel blessed about the chance life gave us to meet!

The next morning we were joined by Deepa Nair, Naveen and Ramkumar. Once again we headed to the campus. The call of the Campus was just too intoxicating!

We headed to that corner of the ground where we were subjected to the first few instances of ragging. The place where we were ragged by our seniors was now cemented. As we stood there taking selfie we met a present day student whom we promptly ragged. Madhu was sporting enough to humour us and even accompanied us as a photographer. On campus we met Harini, who now teaches at DMS. And did the teacher bunk class to sneak in some tea and biscuits at Kalpavalli! Once again all settled down to chatting. Every plan that we made was redone over and over again and finally we realised there is no time to do much but head to the city and have lunch. So as we dropped Harini and left the campus, we heaved a sigh of contentment.

So we manoeuvred our way to RRR, a favourite haunt during the heavenly days of college. Ramkumar now bid goodbye to us and we herded ourselves back to the resort.

We went back to the resort only to welcome Sona and  Gangamma who joined us for dinner. As we bid goodbye to Gangamma and her family, we realised that the group kept growing and diminishing as the two days progressed.  People joined us, spent time and went away. We went on like a river embracing all who came along. We watched with pain and tears when people said bye. We rejoiced with those who remained.

Girls can spend a whole night gossiping and girls will be girls, irrespective of their age! We, girls spent the night, till FIVE a.m chatting and gossiping. We gossiped about what we knew, gossiped about what we didn’t, gossiped about each one in class, in college and gossiped about ourselves. We disclosed long hidden stories, heard unheard stories, and shared concerns about classmates, husbands and children. We shared fears and worries, cheered our victories and triumphs and refused adamantly to sleep! We savoured every minute of the journey. We hung on to every moment so that the memories last a life time.

When we boarded the bus to Bangalore, we hoped that this time round life doesn't make us wait another twenty years. 

The dust has settled. The hangover is gone. The humdrum of routine has set in. The memories are ever alive for me to cherish and hold close to my heart.

The Liberated Woman

Over the last three weeks, I read two novels: 

Aavarna The veil By S.LBhyrappa (Originally in Kannada; Translated into English by Sandeep Balakrishna) and Sita's Curse: The Language of Desire by Sreemoyee Piu Kundu.

Aavarna published in 2007 deals with religious fundamentalism in the background of an inter -religious marriage. Lakshmy, a Hindu girl marries Amir, a Muslim boy. She feels the marriage personifies her progressive thoughts. On Amir’s request she converts into a Muslimand takes the name of Razia. This begins the breakdown of the progressive Lakshmy. The death of her father, twenty years later brings her into conflict with herself and the rest of the book deals with her search for her real identity.Is she a Hindu, a Muslim or just a human being? Her search confronts the pages of history that have been covered up so long in order to create the illusion of secularism in this country. She pens a novel that is banned.  

Sita's Curse: The Language of desire, published in 2014 deals with the desires of a girl Meera. Meera, who is taught how to behave like a woman, finds her surroundings frustrating and often takes respite from the monotony of her daily routine in sexual escapades. These range from incestuous, with her brother Kartik, to lesbian, with her friend Binal to heteresexual, with the stranger by the river, her husband, Guruji, the dance teacher and Yosuf. Meera faces her inner self questioning her existence, very ironically when Mumbai is submerged in the ravaging floods of 26th July. Mumbai never faced a more severe torment. Meera never faced a more severe breakdown.  

Both the books have women protagonists. Both women are strong and confident. One seeks knowledge to liberate herself. One seeks sex. Razia seems to have a nonexistent sex life, especially after her husband pronounces talaq and remarries. Meera seems to have a nonexistent knowledge life. The only references are her going to school and years later taking up English classes

While Razia goes back into history in her quest for her true identity, Meera veers on casual internet sex and enters into a real sexual relation with a virtual partner.

Both seek love and affirmation from their partners. But do not get it. Razia is damned if she is progressive, dammed if is not. She is thrown out her community for not following her beliefs by her own father while Amir disowns her when she begins to ask him difficult questions about his religion. 

Meera is damned if she speaks her mind, damned if she follows her heart. She is charged of not being able to conceive a child when she knows this is due to husband’s shortcomings. She is charged of being a whore when she has male admirers. 

What set me thinking was the presentation of both the women. Why these two aspects of a woman life- education and sex never present themselves simultaneously? Why is one oblivious of the other? If Razia was more sexually active would she be less progressive in her thoughts? If Meera was more educated would she be less liberated than she is now? 

The stereotypes that we have of educated women being almost sexless... and a sexy women of being a bimbette. 

Razia is equally hungry for sex as is Meera.

Meera too has a curious mind that gets fulfilled by learning computers, internet and chat sex.

Razia leaves her family in search of herself.

Meera walks out of her home in search of herself. 

Is the liberated woman only about being educated?

 Is the liberated woman only about being aware of her sexual desires? 

Is the liberated woman only about living for themselves? 

Is the liberated woman only the one who leaves everyone to search for herself?

Is the liberated woman, the one next door, who educates herself, who works in the economic market, who updates herself, who looks after her family, who is active sexually without being apologetic about it, who lives each day realizing that her search begins each morning and ends each night? 

Who is the liberated one? Sita? Meera? Razia? Lakshmy? You? Me? 

Dance Dance

The countdown begins
A week  away from the arangetram of my daughter, I reminiscence of the journey that led me here. As a young girl dance always fascinated me. I loved bharatnayam.  And growing up in a tam brahm family pursued it for some time. But the focus soon shifted to academics and carnatic music. Dance was washed away under the various other tides of time.
Circa 1997 my daughter enters my life. Like any other mother I enrolled her into the nearest bharatnayam class.....more as a ritual. She was enjoying those classes. But the class shut down and I was hunting for another class. My mother found out about Smt.Anjana who conducted classes in Vakola. So I march there and get Ashwini enrolled.
She begins the training and thus embarks on a ten year long journey.
An annual day from the class every year, Sunday classes, and once a year annual exams.
All seemed mere routine and I never for once had thought it would become her passion.
With her I grew. .to be more open in my thoughts. ..to be aware of options life offers...to be able to follow my heart.