Pulling off the break wire

Pulling off the break wire of the two wheeler

Telling the rider to go ahead and drive

Is what I wish to do, when ?

When the rider hits you on the side walk and tells you watch where you walk

When the rider hits and breaks the side mirror and tells you nothing much go ahead

When the rider looses balance and falls all by himself and blames you going by for it

When the rider forgets his breaks and crashes into you from behind and says the fault is that I did break when traffic slowed

When the rider crashes into a stationery you at a signal and blames you for stopping in the middle of the road

When the rider scratches your car sides and tells blames you for not leaving sufficient space in between vehicles

When the rider takes a U-turn from the left into you going straight on your lane and asks you what's the hurry

When the rider forgets the load of bags on the side hits scratches and looses balance and blames you for not watching 

When the rider adjusts the mirror to check his hair and face forgetting it is meant to check vehicles behind and asks where you are looking

When the rider sways wantonly in front of you and then is offended when you give him the cut treatment

When the rider wishes honks chatters and follows so that you give way for him to only fail and then comment that ladies never learn to driver

Pulling off the break wire is all I wish to do

Rip it off the bike 

And say 'Go ahead and drive'.

In Memory of an Uncle.

Time, distance and man himself changes one's life and experiences.  Like the marks of water on land showing that once upon a time, water flowed, there were streams and rivers making the land fertile, green and beautiful, man's mind too is a canvas.  Despite the ravages of time having a marked look, the good times are the ones with colour and somehow always come to the surface to bring a smile.  

For me, the summer vacation at my uncle's place was the best times of my life.  My uncle was a man of many talent.  He was the child of a talented man himself.  As heard from my mom, my grandfather was known very well in the city, not just for being a congress man but also for being a humanitarian who was kind and giving.  He also had interest in literature, music and arts. She used to say that the fire in the kitchen at home would burn 24 hours and no one would leave home without having something.  

My uncle lost his father in his twenties and took on the responsibilities of bringing up his eight younger siblings, with the eldest being my mom, a teenager.  My mom did reminiscence that despite the troubles of the time, he handled things as well as he could.  He chose a career in banking and worked in the cooperative bank till retirement.  He inherited the traits of my grandfather in not just art, music and literature but also in his relationship with people.  Every time someone came home during breakfast, they would join the family.  Rest of the day it was always tea and snacks.  He was not loud spoken nor would get angry easily, but then those rare times I have heard him loud and get angry were chilling then and is still today.  He would convey his ideas and opinion with clarity and his brain was an encyclopedia in itself.  One could ask all doubts and questions to him and he would answer.  If he didn't know, he would go to his collection of books, a huge library, pick one and find out with you.   

Some memories around him are as clear as though it happened just a few minutes ago.  Like the time when he would play the harmonium and sing with my mom, aunt and her music teacher.  Those evenings were a world where my love of music got cultivated besides the radio that played at home.  Malayalam and Hindi songs, lines repeated when they went wrong.  He would play the harmonium and if he missed a beat, pause and play it back which in itself was a rare thing.  In the midst of this, I would watch him looking at me, and egging me to join.  Evenings that started around 7 pm would stretch for three hours before they all reluctantly would stop and call it a night.  Songs would be called out, sung, corrected where it went wrong, resung some times if required.  It was about getting together to sing, and spend evenings in the midst of music.  My mom had her notebook with lyrics which she would carry back home.  I still hold that music book of my mom. Those evenings were magic, like being transported to a different space, a different dimension.

Some evenings were with friends playing cards.  He introduced his eldest son once and asked him to join in.  I saw a father introduce a son gently into his world, the adult world.  He was that.  He wouldn't hold your hand, nor would he tell you directly anything.  He would watch, listen, gently show you the way and be behind, watching your step.  In the middle of all kind of conversations, have seen him watch everything, not missing anything.  I guess that eye for details, for knowing things and taking care of people was a quality unique to him. 

Most evenings, he would come from office to have someone waiting to meet him - a courtesy call, invitation, and many a time for suggestions and advice.  So, those evenings spent with him - silence sprinkled with conversations were special.  One evening, my uncle had come home with vegetables and he was cleaning the green leaves.   If I remember right, one of my cousins and me were sitting with him.  He used to ask me about school, learning.   Somewhere in the talk, I told something to the effect of  'I hate men'.  He had a pause.  When I turned, I found him looking at me.  He went back to picking the leaves, and asked me 'Why do you say that ?".  Me always the person stingy with words in articulating bad experiences, especially those days,  just said, 'I don't know.  I hate men.  They are not good'.  It was the year I started riding the bicycle and was experiencing boys and men whistle, cut in, cat calls.  I didn't tell him any of this.  There was a long silence and he asked me if I love my dad.  I said, yes, of course.  Your dad is a man.  Do you hate him ?  I said No emphatically.  I looked back at the leaves and I could hear the wheels of my brain turn and fire.  He let it turn and fire.  After sometime, he said.  There are all kinds of people in this world.  Good and bad.  Not all are good and not all are bad.  I still have issues with generalizing like many but that lesson comes to mind every time I do.  He didn't force an opinion, didn't tell me my thinking was wrong.  He just showed me a bigger picture and let me learn.  

Another time, was a conversation I overheard with my aunt.  She was in her 12th std I guess and was studying to give exams.  He told her to study well and you can go for teacher training and become a teacher.   The time when I failed my quarterly and half yearly in the eight standard in maths.  After the customary thrashing I used to receive for failing and few days of silence and peak tension  I remember my mom telling of a conversation he had with her. My mom had failed her exams at 16.  She was upset because she was a bright student.  She hadn't taken her exams seriously.  It was the year after her dad had passed away.  When the results came, it seems my uncle told her it was okay and to study and write the exam again.  She was upset and didn't do it which she regretted always.  In the sixties and seventies, an age when girls education was not much spoken off, here was a brother backing his sister to study.  He had told her she could train to be a teacher after she passed. My mom related this story and told me she regretted not taking her brother's advice.  If only she had taken his advice seriously, she would have had a career other than a house wife. She felt that she hadn't reached her potential.  My mom was a talented woman - literature, art, music, dance, gardening, cooking, design, conversations and relationships she could easily build with all people, her amazing memory of people.  Also, when later in life she found out about her friends, I guess it hurt her that she hadn't taken the right decision.  So, the feeling of not having achieved her potential stayed with her through life.  My uncle placed great importance on education on all his siblings and on the next generation as well.  

The time he brought sweets for the 'Grahapravesham' of the home we, six of us (three sisters and three brothers) plus sometimes neighbourhood friends built is the exact scene I can re-enact even today.  The hut was built under the mango tree.  A drawing and a kitchen, just a 8X10 max maybe with a partition, chest high.  As in previous years, we built the hut from scratch using poles and thatch.  My brothers knew how to build.  To this day, I don't know from where they learnt it.  They first would go check out the wood, size and strength as well as the coconut fronds, sometimes matted, sometimes not.  After an assessment, we would carry them to the site.  Then, they would measure roughly and start digging holes in the ground.  We sisters wouldn't be allowed to carry anything heavy.  We would scoop mud out or help with the ropes and the fronds.  The heavy and hard labour our cousins would do all by themselves.  Once the pillars and beams came up, the coconut fronds would be put up on the roof as well as the sides.  The ground would be cleared of weeds and grass and the mud flattened.  Mats would be brought from home and layed out on the ground.  The rest of the summer, this would be our  hole from morning to evening.  Once finished we invited my uncle and aunts to come home just like in previous years.  So, the evening he said he will come, we prepared lemon juice and my cousins bought some candy with the pocket money they had saved.  It was excitement when my uncle returned home in his trademark scooter from the bank.  We waited.  Sometime later, there he was, walking with a basket on his head, filled with treats, walking beside him, my aunt(his wife), followed by his three sisters, in a procession.  He was singing some song and made an elaborate walk around the main way and came home.  I still remember him taking his role very seriously.  He came home and sat on the mat, enquired, how we built the house, the rooms, what we do.  It was so surreal then and more so today.  We offered the juice and candy and part of what he had brought - back to him.  After exchanging pleasantries and chatting, they took leave and left us.  We jumped into the basket full of sweets and savories, enjoying our home.  This happened every year but that particular year, we had built the hut in a different location and hence the way from home through the main walkway could be clearly seen.  That was the last year we built a home as my move to the ninth standard meant no more of summer holidays.  Exams took over life forever after that and long distance travel became like taboo.  

Then there was this one time, when I saw the full extent of his anger.  I never knew or thought till then that he would or rather could get this angry.  My cousin and I had this habit of chatting a lot in the morning and therefore delaying brushing our teeth to have morning breakfast.  Today I wonder what kept us so engrossed and what we were chatting about.  With toothbrush in hand, both of us were chatting away.  We were called once, then a second time.  We said okay, coming and then continued chatting.  The third time, call came from my uncle.  My cousin ran up to him.  I stayed back and the next thing I know, I can hear my uncle tell loudly, don't run, come here.  I see my cousin run for his life with a coconut frond wielding uncle behind him, running around the vast expanse of coconut trees. As my cousin ran around the coconut trees impleading his dad to not catch him and asking for help from my aunt and skirted being thrashed, my pulse went up.   The fear that came in saw me running and brushing my teeth and landing up at the dining table.  The cries from my cousin were bad and made me feel guilty as hell.  Still I did not dare go anywhere near that transformed uncle of mine.  Never have I heard a strong word, forget a frond wielding runner at his fiercest.  After that, I always looked out for my uncle's hand.  Both of us cousins avoided each other that day and the day after and the day after ... and were quiet.  It was quiet sometime before I got over what I saw.  I never asked my cousin what happened nor did he volunteer.  That was the only time I saw my uncle like that.  Despite having had a dad and mom in that form and been at the receiving end multiple times, my uncle in that form shocked me.  Since that day, I have tried recollecting what that so important non world changing matter engrossed us and to no avail.  Nor have I ever asked my cousin.  I have absolutely no recollection except the place where we were talking and then that wild chase I witnessed.  

Another time, there were a group of people who came home requesting my uncle to mediate some matter.  One man was particularly striking.  He wore a white mundu of course, but his height, beard and turban made him look imposing.  So, after my uncle dressed up and told my aunt he was leaving, my cousin and I started walking with him.  On the way, he said he was going to mediate a matter between two sides and he hoped he will be successful.  I saw him calm on the surface but also, that sense of purpose in him.  When he reached the point where he had to cross over the railway line to go to the other side, he stopped both of us and told us to reach home safely.  Across the line, I saw a tall man in a turban and felt uncomfortable.  My uncle went across and we waited for him to return home.  He came back the calm, collected person he was with no indication of what had happened there.  Have heard many a time my dad say that he has stood as mediator or helped solve issues between parties and thereby avoided confrontation.  

It was only two months vacation for few years that we got to spend with him, yet, memories of the time are etched in the mind, as clear as that day.  Of course there are many more such things, important and mundane.   The day before, it all became the past.  I have wondered many a time what he thought of me becoming an academician.  Never asked.  Wondered what he thought of me having succeeded in educating myself despite the struggles for a few years in school.  Never asked.  For in him I saw a vastly talented man, who was capable of many a thing and lead a remarkable life.  Just like any other, life threw many challenges, struggles, grenades, mines and bombs.  Yet he maneuvered life.  I know he maneuvered because I have seen a couple and much later came to know.   Looking back even today, wonder how he held himself up, how he managed to keep cool.  Wondered if he wished he had done something different to change the outcome of situations he came across.  Some struggles I know of, some of course I will never know.   It must not have been easy to do a lot of things, but some people have the talent to pack it all into one life.  He did that.  How well he handled or if he could have done better or done things differently, I have never looked into, never thought much and consciously chose never to judge.  The me of today understands he lived life his way, surely the best he could, within the circumstances life threw at his step.  Sometimes, I wish he wrote his autobiography.  Atleast, some stories.  

In the last few years, he waged a final battle, with Parkinsons.  Seeing him on those rare occasions, brought back so many memories and the thought that a brain as remarkable as his was failing him.  How could it and why ? I preferred to remember that full of life and coconut frond wielding uncle than the one who was fighting Parkinsons.  For there are only so many memories in that little bag of mine that I chose to carry into my old age, having removed many and thrown in the garbage bin of time.  That little precious bag of mine, I choose to keep it safe, because on and off, there are times that items from the garbage bin come back as though hit by a restore button, to sully and destroy, to put foil to all my efforts to clear the clutter.  In my mind, there are a few pictures of him saved forever.  One of him on his scooter, another of him in white shirt and mundu, with specks on and face tilted a bit down showing how much of my grandfather I never saw nor knew he looked like, a third of him bare chested wearing a lungi and carrying that basket of goodies for our house warming, a fourth of him singing and playing the harmonium and the last one of that coconut frond wielding runner.  

Till we meet someday, I will carry the pictures and memories of an era gone by.

 

Waiting for the Education Sun to rise again

Education - need for a futuristic system keeping in ming our history, our culture and our unique geography in an ever changing and inclusive world is crucial.  The writeup in NDTV is apt at a time when entrance exams of all kinds are going on and students who have given their crucial 12th standard examination are waiting for the results which decide their future.  Not all of their future, but a large part of it for many.  It is one of those deciding moments, a milestone in everyone's life - 12th results, first degree, campus or first job, marriage, first child.  One of those moments or time which have a period : before and after.  Education and in turn degrees have played a crucial role in the fate of millions and will continue to do so.  Whether getting a degree means one is educated or if education is validated through a degree, whatever maybe one's argument, in India, the meaning of these terms are changing and need to change for a young and aspirational population.

Some of the reasons for getting a degree yesterday and today ranges from a focused goal of wanting to do higher studies, becoming a global player in the industry, passion for technology, science and arts, to the normal like basic requirement for a job, a government job or bank job, security for future, to the sad one of 'not possible to get a degree later due to age bar' to the unexplainable by many 'need degree after name in a wedding invite especially an engineering one', 'requirement to marry an educated groom/bride', 'requirement to marry someone working abroad'.  To each their need being important and in this ever changing world, the need to move ahead, to move up, to move forward, to not becoming stagnant, to not be left behind is a big driver.  Whatever maybe the reasons, when quality of  institutions and especially educators is compromised with business and other considerations, the future of generations is at stake.  The need to cater education to meet the needs and aspirations of a rising India is more important than ever before.  With the cycle of todays youngsters becoming the engineers, doctors, mathematicians, researchers, politicians, scientists, bankers, bureaucrats,,,,,,,,, and very importantly 'teachers' of tomorrow, there is an urgent need to get this sector on track.  

Especially important for a country like ours where for the first time in recorded history, the numbers of our youth are more and aspirations of our young are sky high.  There is need that this must be always kept centric in all our policy decisions for today, tomorrow and the future.

In this light, the article needs to be given a ear by everyone.

https://www.ndtv.com/india-news/worthless-degrees-are-creating-an-unemployable-generation-in-india-3957341#pfrom=home-ndtv_topstories

The Three Musketeers

 Are we really different from animals ? Or are they different from us ? 

So, there are three friends (stray dogs) who come home to get biscuits both morning and evening. It was Rota's favourite to get three Marie biscuits both morning and evening, bless the manufacturers. We continue the same for Puppy the matriarch, Achu the young guy and Waggy Boo, the cool guy and Puppy's heart throb. Waggy Boo is not shrewd nor street smart like the other two.  We are sure he has been either lost or let loose by the owners.  For sometime now, we have an ongoing tussle with them over their habit of hunting peacocks. No coaxing, scolding, threats nor absolute silence deters them.  You would not believe until you see the strategic hit Puppy and Achu can make in coordination. Achu and Puppy are born hunters, both in terms of agility and speed. They communicate just by a look before hitting top speeds. The only other dog around here who matches them is Roxy, a neighbours' pet, who we guess has a wolf's gene somewhere in his lineage. 

Anyways, the transformer in front of our home is easy hunting ground to catch a wounded bird. Peacocks are most hit being poor flyers and if my deduction is right, with not so good eye sight. Their wing touches the line, and they get knocked out. We have saved some, lost many. The next most hit are myna's followed by crows.  Our race is nowadays with these three to get to a wounded bird first.

So, today morning, Achu finds a peacock walking in the area among shrubs, and looks to catch Puppy's eyes. She is resting looking in the opposite direction. Waggy Boo is next to her sun bathing himself. On seeing this from bird's eye view from the terrace, I warned Achu, 'No'. A line or two more as a threat.  So he walks away from the area, and takes a far left turn somewhere and reaches back near the transformer.  God only knows how, Puppy has got the signal and reaches there.  Both stand still, looking into the shrubs for movement before they move in. Absolutely still, intense. Along comes Waggy Boo, goes in the middle, stretches himself wagging his ever wagging tail, and is digging mud backwards with his hind legs pumping himself up for the hunt. On this, Puppy and Achu look at him, at each other and then again at Waggy Boo, their shoulders move down and walk back towards our gate defeated.

Now, tell me. How many of us have a friend like Waggy Boo or are ourselves Waggy Boo on occasions  ? 

I couldn't believe this scene that played out today morning in front of me and every time I think of it, I can't stop laughing.  It was so good that I acted it out to Arun who knows Waggy Boo.  If only they could talk, Arun would have got a re-enactment of the whole thing from both Puppy and Achu, to Waggy Boo's constant wagging of tail.

For the Blacks and the Browns

 Of the many cultures and tribes

They say we are not civilized enough

They say we are not modern enough

They say we are sticking to rituals

They say we are not walking with the times

What of their horse drawn carriages

What of walking around in head gear from the ice ages

What of the marches and standing in four directions

What of the clothes that look like clowns

What of the stiff you are travelling around the country with

What of the unnecessary pomp over an occurrence that time specifies

If for you your own is precious

So it is for everybody else's theirs.

You are proud of your heritage you say

The heritage that went crossing oceans

To loot, kill, torture and plunder

The blacks and the browns.

The diamonds and rubies stuck on your crowns and tiaras

The emeralds that hang on your neck

The pearls that drop from your ears

The gold that keeps all this together

From the blood and sweat of billions

Belonging to the blacks and the browns.

You adorn yourself in worthless splendour

Matching hats and shoes with other

And show off pomp like no other

With the riches plundered of others

Sounding bugles hollow as your holler

To display and regale your plunder.

Time is a healer but also a witness

Time is a teacher like no other

For every tear there will be a tear

For every drop there will be a drop

For every paisa there will be a paisa

If for you time was on your sails yesterday

For us it is today and tomorrow

For us the blacks and the browns.

Good Luck

Going through old stuff, found this.  Something I had written for the 2015 batch MCA just before they started their internship.  Something that day triggered this writing and I do remember what it was.  Some batches are close to your heart as a teacher because you walked in the first day and said 'Hello'.  Others because something clicked.  Some others because you found a little of you in them.  Some because you started dreaming something for them.  Some because you saw the potential and they weren't willing to use it, ensuing a struggle to reach common ground.  It has always been a roller coaster - pride when they work hard, hope when after hard work they fall and rise up, happiness when you see their achievements shine in their smiles, anger too when they are lazy and don't try.  'Potential' is something present in every person.  It varies in form and shape, but it is very much there.  It is a struggle getting to make a person see their potential - something I wish my teachers in college did for me.  Wish they had battled a little harder with me, especially when I slacked.  Reading this letter reminded me of batches passing out.  It is a mixed feeling, happy and sad, confident and unsure, hopeful at the same time worried, praying and believing that the universe gifts them abundantly.  I remember how unprepared I was for my internship.  It hit me hard the first month.  Madras in 1997 was different from Trichy in many ways.

So, when I chanced upon this letter written in December, 2017, realized so much I missed out saying.  

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Dear Students, 

You were students in our department and college till yesterday. Today you are still a student (we are not ready to let go, not yet) but you have also taken a step outside to work in the industry. The past two and half years in college we hope has given you a foundation from which to launch your career. The step you are taking into the industry is a huge step and things will be new. However, remember, it is an exciting time to step into the IT industry right now. With the speed at which technology is changing lives of people, it is a time when you can explore, learn and acquire skills beyond what the college has provided you and contribute to society in ways you dream of.

The advantage of being an intern in an organization is that you get a feel of what the job of a software engineer will be. It helps you learn, as the company will aid in honing your skills, both technical and personal. It is also the time for you to assess gaps and fill the gaps before becoming an IT professional. That is the main purpose of the six month project.

While we faculty understand that the new environment and practices take time to get used to, you need to know that change is going to be a continuous constant in this industry and change happens fast. Change will come in the form of technology, products, projects and in turn the skills that you need to keep acquiring. Change will also be a constant in terms of the people and place you work in.

It is going to be a highly competitive environment and to be successful you need to embrace this change and learn to grow with it. You need to be open to learning, to challenges and difficulties. 

We hope that during the project, you will apply yourself and push yourself to learn. It doesn't matter to us whether you are doing your project in an MNC or a local startup. What we want to see is that you have worked hard and set high aims for yourself. We would love to see you show us work of very high quality even if the quantum is small. As you know, a functionality without error has higher value than a software riddled with errors. Please ask questions about the project, know it thoroughly as though you own it and build it with quality. Also use this time to build your interpersonal and communication skills. This skill is as important and sometimes far more important than technical skills. 

Above said, it will also be a time of realization. An eye-opener. Some of you will love what you are doing while some of you may realize it is not your calling.  This time as an intern will help you in deciding if this is the path you want to tread. However, do not take that decision in the first month. Please give yourself the six months internship time and at the end of it, decide. Better would be to work for a year in case you are still to decide. Use this time to learn, work hard, build contacts and see how a company works. This experience, this learning will not go waste.

During this time and also in your career, you will have a string of success as well as defeats. When success touches you, pat yourself  on your shoulder and set new goals. When defeat touches you, be bold, pat your shoulder, tell yourself that you will do better next time, rise up and start the run again. No defeat will be a defeat if you do not accept it. So be passionate about learning and any work you do. A life without passion, I believe, is a life half lived. That is what we wish you to aim.

We know that we have pushed you everyday and will continue to push you. As teachers, we aim to help you see your own potential and realize it.  We have corrected you and scolded you for mistakes, sometimes little, sometimes big. Please remember what we disagree is not you, the person, but the action. We hope you learn from them and move ahead.

What makes a great human being is not just the technical skills (s)he possesses nor the status, nor money earned. It is being human, and you, our students have always had that in abundance. We have always been proud of how you have stood by each other, supportive of shortcomings. We, your teachers have always admired you when you have emptied your pockets to help a friend in need. Please don't think we haven't noticed. We have laughed with you and also wished your hurt away. Each of you is unique, and we have gained and our life has been enriched from knowing you. We respect you for your qualities and we learn from you something everyday. We hope you will hold on to these qualities life-long.

An adult life has a different pace from that of a student. Work takes over, and many a time, days, months and years go by fast without your noticing it. Through all this, remember to hold on to your family and school and college friends for they are your strength and anchor. They know you best and are least judgmental; they take you for what you are. However, also build good relationships and develop new friends where you go. Through all this, remember to have fun and to live life to the fullest.

Stepping out into the world, you are the dream and torchbearers of not just your family but also of your teachers, department, institutions(school and college) and this great country of ours. You hold the key to the future. In you, our youth, rests the hope of this nation. While diverse in terms of language, culture, religion and beliefs we are one.  Hope you will fight for the ideals on which this nation was built and contribute to her growth. Hope that through your chosen field, you will help in building better technology/process for our countrymen to lead a better life.

We hope and pray that good health and success is always yours and that God will be kind to you in times of difficulties. We, your teachers strongly believe that you will do well in any field you set your heart.  As someone said, 'Go kiss the world.' May it welcome you with open arms.

Good luck and God Bless.

Regards

Sapna

Wrestling with the Baingan

'Baingan Bartha' is a recipe I have heard long back.  Once, my sister who lived in the US at the time nearly enticed me to making it as she had made it sitting in the US.  I never fell for the bait.  First, it was baingan, a vegetable my husband kept at leg's length, and second I wasn't a big fan of baingan.  I did make the occasional 'Enna Kathrika' the Tamilian way.  Onion, garlic and brinjal spiced with chilli powder and salt.  

Last month's visit to the Arts College Pazhamudir got me buying the big brinjal.  Dark purple with green stalk - colours resplendant.  I had these brinjals often during my time in Italy, cooked the Tamilian way.  Yes, sitting in Italy and being Tamilian.  When I googled for recipes with Brinjal, the 'Baingan Bartha' came up.  I read, reread and rereread the recipe.  Different recipes made with one or more ingredient plus or minus.  I didn't have a charcoal stove.  Cooking on fire - now that is a little bit of risk.  Me, who burns myself every time I deep fry, grilling green vegetables on gas stove fire was a risk, small one.  I wondered if the seeds will splutter, whether it will mess up my stove burner, if I will burn it or will it melt down.  

There are two things my dad always dissuaded me from doing in the arena of cooking :  breaking/grating the coconut and deep frying.  Every time I break a coconut, till date, I will get my finger caught in the crack and scream.  If I ventured grating, it was slow and a little bit of my skin in one or multiple fingers was also grated.  So, he would do it for me every morning.  'Ulundu Vada' is a favourite of my dad as is 'Pazham Pori'.  These are two things, deep fried, I did venture to cook.  No puris, no cutlets, no samosas.  The moment I pour oil, he will issue a word of warning and let me know he didn't mind not having them compared to seeing burnt skin.  To date, I will end up having atleast one splash of hot oil every time I cook these two recipes, despite all the care I take.  The times my husband offers to try frying, seeing me try so hard, I just ban him from the kitchen.  I can atleast answer my dad for burning my fingers and hands.  No way I can answer for Arun's.  There would be only one question : 'what were you doing ? '.  The guilt of living with that line is too much to handle.  Funny, how our parents can make us do and not do things with just a one liner.

Anyways, so the last time, I went back to making Enna Kathrika despite all the reading.  Last week's visit to Pazhamudir, and there they were, the Brinjal's waiting for me to pick them up.  After walking by them more than twice, I said to myself, 'Come on, you can't run away from a challenge'.  I have never said no to a challenge, except the cooking kind.  Many a time, looking at my frail frame, I have been dared to lift heavy weights or eat a big full plate of food.  I wasn't as surprised as the challenger in the end.  It took me one hour out of two to change a Fiat Premier Padmini tyre - the nuts of which were secured super tight.   That was one where I thought for a second that I might loose, but I did come up with a way to do win it.  However, I have not tread anywhere close to a cooking challenge.  So, time to change history I told myself and I picked three of them, shining purple and contrasted with green, beautiful brinjals.  

Today after seeing the brinjals in the fridge for the umpteenth time and knowing well that a challenge had to be faced, I started by reading the recipe.  I reread the recipe. No, not enough.  I looked at the pictures.  I looked at youtube videos.  I read the literature, from the translation of the word 'Baingan' meaning Brinjal, the King of Vegetables, ~ Vangaya - Eggplant ~ Aubergines.  Geography also rolled in - the Punjabi Baingan Bartha, Maharastrian Vangyache Bharit, the Tamilian Kathrika Gothsu to the Middle Easter Baba Ganoush.  Here I was, being true to my profession of being a researcher.  Reading and rereading, running every step in my mind.  Time flew beyond lunch time.  Despite the sambhar, keerai poriyal and salad ready, I wasn't going to have lunch.  Not without the Baingan Bartha.

I finally picked the tongs and put the first brinjal to grill as in the recipe, all the time checking and re checking.  It felt like forever by the time I have cooked the brinjals.  No lighting of charcoal, and infusing the earthy aroma.  The only infusion was when I burnt the tip of my finger. Skinning the Brinjal and mashing it up, removing seeds - there was no explanation of an easy way to remove the seeds.   The rest of the recipe was followed to the tee.  It took double the time it stated in the recipe to touch the finish line.  At the end, when I tasted it, wondered if this was the way it should taste after all.  No one explains to you how it should taste at the end of the recipe, nor is there a taste transfer technique.  Imagine, after all the effort, there is no standard to compare against.  

My better half being the better man that he is, despite being starved during the time, had a good word for trying and even had some despite his strong dislike for Baingan. For, I had fulfilled the desire of having Baingan Bartha after all.  There is enough for tomorrow and the day after, and I will have to have it all by myself I am sure.  Still, it is my Baingan Bartha, no comparisons to make.  The next time, I will hit a Punjabi restaurant to check it out.  Till then, I should remember the taste.  

The Pain of Looking Young

The ‘Fountain of Youth’ is a search one will find in mythology and passed on to stories and films.  It is an eternal search among human kind.  However, one just has to ask the affected how it feels to be treated like someone younger than themselves.

The 'Pain of Looking Young' is a curse, felt by people who have no way of expressing it in words.  I have faced it in my twenties, and told myself that it will get better when I turn thirty, which was moved to forties, and now, I am irritated as ever.  I understand that there is no end to it and it is not a matter of looks.  The first strands of grey is something I have heard people fret about, feel bad about and trying to hide under dyes and henna.  I welcomed it, and have always looked forward to looking my age. 

Every time someone in a bus, office or public space has called me ‘paapa’, I have cringed inside.  When men cut into a queue in front of me (not the lady in front of me) and start behaving funny when I object and tell them to stand in line, I have felt fury inside.  The times I have been treated like someone who needs to be protected from the world, I have felt like revolting and picking up a sword.    It was something that affected both my personal and professional life.  Both areas, there are people who told me that I didn’t look my age, that I didn’t look the part.  That I didn’t look old enough to be in the position I was in, that I didn’t look mature enough, aged enough.  That many thought I was way younger than who I am and hence treated me so.  The reason didn’t help as it made me angry for being judged by my looks.

I always have had to work double hard to get to where I got.  Forget the big ones, I go to a bank and they tell me to wait and serve a customer who has come after me, many a time a man, or someone my age or thereabouts.  Yes, I have watched if it happens to others who have been ahead of me in the queue and no it did not.  I count to 100 before I start giving them a piece of mind.  Places where they have made me walk up and down counters, unlike others for similar transactions, my going to the bank repeatedly to get a simple TDS certificate, someone who has come after me being served before and then it doesn’t happen to another, family that treats me as though they are elder to me and more wise and capable, groups – personal and official, where my suggestion would be turned outright as impossible, naïve and not workable to be later proposed by people as their own, facts told unbelievable and later becomes conveniently believable when shown by another.  Name the place – supermarket, bank, shops, it is the same.  I have walked away from places that treat me badly.  I know the difference because if my husband is around, then things work differently.  The word ‘madam’ absent till then appears and the tone changes. Me thought of as my husband’s daughter, everything except his wife. More importantly, I have seen women my age or younger who look their age getting treated better.  The time I was alone, searching for something in the supermarket happily, only to be approached by a pair, a boy and girl, around 21-24, who asked about UNICEF assuming that I might not know or have heard about UNICEF.  No, the question can be passed, but not the tone and body language.  As though they were speaking to a twenty something instead of someone nearly hitting fifty, I gave them a strong piece of advise, asking them to start with assuming I had heard about it as I was easily twice their age.   Sometimes, people have come back, telling they assumed I was younger as I didn't look my age, as though it was some kind of compliment.  You can't imagine what it felt inside.

I have asked myself and my husband many a time if it is me.  Something with the way I behave ? My husband says, when it happens don't put up with it, walk-talk-behave authoritatively, put your foot down which both of us agree is not right or the way to do it, but if there is no go, do it anyways than feel bad.  It has turned my husband over protective of me especially as he sees it in close quarters nowadays.  I argue with my husband and ask him to stay away, let me handle things, just let me be and not try to protect me.  He stands far away, and when he sees something amiss, he steps in and the scenario changes.  Which infuriates me even more.  I have stopped wearing T-shirts, kurtis and jeans to many places, no kurta, and I wear salwars(with that stupid dupatta) and do everything to look normal, that is, my age. Today, after being treated twice as though someone not my age, the second one was an innocent lady(I told her my age and smiled, trying to keep my cool), I felt rage.  No, it is not me generalizing and assuming it is because of my looks.  When people call me 'paapa', olunga vandi otta padi(when I drive normally), get asked what degree I am studying, ....  I just know.  It throws patience, tolerance, everything similar steam out of my burning ears.  I can see that cartoon of myself afterwards.  And feel all the more horrible afterwards.

Don’t judge a book by its cover they say.  But, that is what we all do, everywhere.  So, to those that look their age, please consider it as a blessing, for you know not what it is to be treated and made to feel like an idiot/moron/stupid for that is what I feel at the end of such an experience always.  Only to wake up to battle another day.

If that one wish came true

Many a times, one hears a question :  What is that one wish you would want to come true ?  

My one wish.... I want Rota back.  

It's for me, my happiness, my joy, for getting me back my life.  It's four months and two days since he left, and I have been counting days, weeks and it has turned into months.  He left a gaping hole in my heart and I feel it every morning I wake up, every night when it's time to go to sleep and every moment in between.  A year of living 18+ hours of my life, happily with him cannot be filled by anything else.  

First thing in the morning, I would walk to the door to see him.  Same at night, just before going to sleep. Most nights, when we wake up, we would go check on him.  He barks and we would go to back him up; not that he need any from us.  He was bold and gutsy, protective enough to kill. 

During the day, not more than half an hour could go by without looking at him, talking to him, cuddling up with him or playing with him.  Sometimes, fighting with him too.  His soft snore was both a comfort and lullaby.  If I did not notice him, then he would get me to... a nudge, a poke, a pat with his hands, my books would be pulled down, some paper on a table taken, a coconut missing, a pen in his mouth, something.  Or he would bring his bedsheet to me and rip it.  Indicative of him telling me, comeon, lets have some fun.  At my worst, he was with me every minute, refusing to leave even at night.  There are days I have woken up, turned and looked to have him looking back at me with concern.  He was never far away from me in every way.

So, today, as I live bereft of him, his touch, his smile, his naughtiness, his thoughtfulness, his care, I am just a shell of myself.  Without that person who made me smile, laugh and made me beautiful, I feel a deep hole, never ending.  I feel an anger with myself for all those moments I couldn't spend with him, of the times I disciplined him, of telling him 'No' when he asked for something, of not been able to take him on rides as much as he wanted, for not having done more for him and with him.  I am angry with God for not giving him a life as long as a human beings.  I am angry with God for taking away my son, my soul mate, my best friend.  

So, if God were to grant me a wish, my wish, my one and only wish, it would be, 'Give me my Rota back forever'.  I know, it is something not possible.  Not because God can't.  Because, what the heart wants has no rhyme or reason.  For the heart wants Rota.  Anyone who knew Rota would say, if God has Rota with him, there is no chance of Him parting with Rota.  That was how much Rota can love you.  Even if you don't return any of it.  

The few pictures and videos of him is a blessing.  Watching them over and over again makes me relive those moments, magical moments.  After wishing every day, every week and every month for Rota to come back, now I have started wishing that I meet him just once.  Yes, I have told him a thousand times that I love him and he is the best thing that has happened to me in a long time.  Still, I would love to hold him once, kiss him, cuddle up with him and tell him that nothing, nothing on this earth can stop me from loving him, wanting him in my life and that I look forward to the day I can join him.  What would I not do to see that happy trot, that glint of naughtiness in his eyes, that look of understanding.  What would I not do to be hugged, to be licked.  

If he knew this, he would be cross with me.  Of course he knew I didn't need lessons in getting work done, in managing and taking care of myself.  He knew I was a force to reckon with if situation required.  In the time he was with us, he tried teaching me a few things I was not so good at - just live life, be adventurous, be happy, live in the moment, don't fret, don't be upset, just laugh, have fun and enjoy life.  I am such a poor student.  With him around, it was easy to learn and follow his principles.  Now, every time I falter, I remember the teaching but find it difficult without him to lead and show the way to do it.  He could make me let go, of many things that upset me.  He is the only reason I could challenge the challenges life threw at me.  For I knew, at the end of the day, all said and done, there was this one person waiting for me with open arms to love and accept me as I am.  No judgment, no questions, no complaints, no hard feelings and tell me that everything is okay.  He helped me be kind, see reason where there was none.  Many a human being will ask me how a dog could convey all this.  For that, you should have met Rota and lived with him.  You would then know.  Rather, meet any person who has really lived with a dog, and they will tell you.

So, I live with that one wish.  To meet him, once more.  

Would we sterilize our kids ?

A roughly six to eight month old pup was found two weeks back, next to our neighbour's gate, shivering in the rain. He was infested with ticks, a torn ear and just bones. When calling animal rescue and trying to secure the pup for five days did not work, we decided to feed the pup and save it from starving. Over the last week, the tick infestation has reduced and the ear is healing. However, the pup's fear of humans continue and he doesn't come anywhere near us which is alien to us dog lovers. Today morning, the pup came close and it was then that I saw that he had been neutered, sterilized. A six month old child, baby neutered. What are the effects of this on his childhood ? What are the repercussions of this on his life ? Doesn't he have a right to an equal life ? Doesn't he have the right to enjoy the joy of fatherhood ? Wouldn't euthanizing him have been better ?

The sterilization programme of adults in India carried out in the 70s as a method of population control left a deep scar on more than one generation and is still a scar on the national psyche. However, we are ready to do sterilization of not just dogs but their children. In a fair world, where humans are on the same scale as any other being, I believe nature, mother earth will say this is worse than genocide.

I have had this argument before with people and they thought otherwise. I still have this question : Would you sterilize yourself before marriage, atleast after having one kid ? Would you sterilize your grown up children, leave alone kids ? In a nation of one billion plus human beings, what is the ratio of dogs/cats we have ? Who is responsible ? I know, hard questions - no answers. Dogs are a problem, cats are a problem, birds are pests, elephants are a problem, tigers are a danger, leopards are invading our space, insects are pests, everything except human beings are a problem, according to the most invasive and dangerous species called 'homo sapiens'. Yes, these questions are a problem, but if we have a moral compass, these questions would arise.

I was standing there left stunned. I couldn't move when I realized that the pup had been sterilized. I understood perfectly the deep distrust that little pup has for all humans. We have scarred him for life.

Ring in the Old

 When doing construction work in the house, one important factor is reuse of existing items.  Be it plumbing, electrical or material.  A practice I am sure, I learnt from my dad.  If there is work to be done, my dad would take out existing plumbing/electrical items and check before giving the go ahead to buy new material.  In the recent years, he said most of them, new age workers looked down upon reuse of items.  His refrain, 'why would I waste my money rebuying existing stuff, and then where will this buying new get us except just generating more waste'.  

We as a culture in India were brought up to reuse and thereby minimize waste and inturn be environment friendly.   It started from when children were born.  New born children were dressed in already worn clothes, generally of the mother's or of a close family member.  Books and clothes were handed down from one's elder siblings or cousins or friends. School uniforms, belt, shoes among other things were usually hand me downs. Stationery like crayons and colour pencils too.  The geometry box is a classic example as were rafters in engineering.  As one grew older, elder siblings or mom's sarees and brother's or dad's watches and shirts.  Wearing granny's and mom's old silk sarees was a matter of pride.  During marriage, family heirloom was important.  Jewellery handed down was a treasure.  Same with head gears and other adornments like watches and bracelets that boys wore.  The dowry (not a supporter) would have antiques handed down.  Jewellery as well as silver, brass and copper vessels as were customs of the family.  Reuse of items was ingrained in our culture.  

That has changed today.  Parents buy everything new for their kids, every year.  From books, uniforms, bags to stationery, tiffin boxes and water bottles.  It is either not to make their kids feel bad, or for fear of themselves or their kids being mocked.  In today's age, reusing items or using old ones are taken as a sign of penury or being miserly.  

I've had my share of run ins.  The furniture at home is a point.  Our cupboards, book shelves, chests, tables and chairs are all old pieces.  Made of teak and rosewood, they of course have seen better days.  A little work, some polish and they shine.  For me, the point that they are made from trees that lived before my time and hand crafted makes a personal connection.  While there are some who admire the antique pieces I have sourced over the years, there are those who walk in and say, 'Oh, you don't have a built-in wardrobe.  Why don't you give away the old cupboard and make built in bookshelves.  All of us at home, parents and siblings love old wood and stone work.  My parents appreciated and inculcated in us the beauty and skill of craftsmen gone by and it has rubbed in.  Same is the case when interacting with plumbers/electricians and other workers.  One of the common comments I hear is, 'Oh, you are trying to save on cost.  You don't want to spend money.' They want to us to buy new material fresh out of a shop instead of using new material bought and left over from last time or removed and in good shape.  Of course I know reuse means maybe shorter life span but am ok with the tradeoff if material is good.  It is on very rare occasions that one finds workers selling you the old stuff instead of buying new, like the guy who came to rectify the fridge.  He told us that newer fridges were flimsy and to hold on to the old one.  When it broke down twice in three months in peak summer and laid waste to all the stored food we bought a new one but realized that the fridge repairman was right about what he said.

It is sad that many people throwaway old woodwork in exchange for plywood and laminated things.  They throw away old handmade silver, brass and copper to buy new machine made ones.  Old heirloom jewellery is melted to make new designs. We complain of the west being very materialistic and showy.  The truth is we are on the way there, whereas they are doing the opposite.

During my days in Italy and US, I have found so many weekend and yard sales where all kind of things at home are put for sale.  Many people buy them and either clean, polish and use or refurbish them to suit their taste.  I found that besides furniture, electrical, electronics, toys and other home items, old crockery and jewellery was something that people bought and treasured.  All this when Home Depot and Amazon were just a click away.  At New York, we went into Christie's, the famous auction house to have a look.  We saw beautiful old pieces, furniture, crockery and jewellery which had the craftsmen's identify in the form of person's name or company name as well as year of making.  And many of these items were auctioned at high prices.  In India, somehow, the craftsmens identity and year of make was never recorded as items were mostly commissioned.  So, the antiquity of items was never recorded which is sad.  

When newer cultures and lands are holding on to their treasures, and making it a habit, why are we throwing it all away.  Why are we reluctant to reuse old beautiful pieces and ready to buy the newage machine cut ones.  Same with preserving old houses.  Trichy had old houses and huge bungalows.  Cycling was a joy partly because I got to see the beautiful houses.  Same was the case when I came to Coimbatore in 2000.  Today, the number of old houses and bungalows has dwindled down to make way to dead pan flats.  While flats are good in terms of conserving land usage and affordable housing, it is time we thought of preserving the architecture and thereby the personality of our towns and cities through its heritage homes and buildings.  Otherwise, we will all start looking the same and loose our heritage and culture. 

I hit the refresh button on life.

It is nearly a year since Corona started ruling our lives.  However, mine was totally re-evaluated since Jan, 2020.  A lot has happened in this short time.  My 'rock', the man I have always tried to live up to, the one person on earth whose principles I have followed, the man who has faced so many battles in life and come out stronger, the man who taught me by example how to stand up after a fall, the man I love and looked upto, fell ill.  He had a stroke and suffered paralysis of the right side of his body.  It impaired his movement and speech.  After having recovered totally from a stroke twenty years ago, we hoped that this time too he would beat it.  However, age is not on his side.  A month in hospital, his improvement was still slow.  During his time at the ICU, in his condition, he saw patients die right next to him. Despite the high risk of aspiration, he came home wanting not to stay in the hospital.   

He battled hard and got back to walking and eating by himself when the universe decided to battle out again with him.  This time harder.  May end, he had another stroke which left him at square one, actually even worse.  All the hard work of five months went wrought.  

We drive down to Chennai at the peak of Covid, June beginning, fearing the worst. For two weeks, seeing him in that state,  just asleep, crying in pain through the night, not knowing if he recognized us, made me question my existence, my life, the purpose of it all.  Me, never one to hold his hands, held his, not ready to let go.  Hoping all my energy would flow to him.  All the money in the world couldn't help us, his family, get him the medical aid he needed, he deserved.  What use of all the education, of all the wealth, when none of it can help your most loved one.  That feeling of desperation is unexplainable.

When news of another lockdown in Chennai came in, I knew I would have to get back to Coimbatore, and maybe not see him ever again.  I have never felt fear like that ever before in my 47 years of existence.  The worst I had gone through before in my life didn't even come close.   It is unexplainable.  Knowing my dad was there no matter what happens made me bold, strong, confident, basically the person I am.  Close to loosing that was loosing myself, my existence and my being.  I realized the root of my existence that day morning, the day before I left Chennai.  The fact that the universe was tugging at those roots was scary.  I don't remember the rest of June at all today.  All I have kept asking from Jan to date is 'Why ?' Why him ?

My dad and I have had a unique relationship, looking back.  While he expected the world of me, I expected the heavens of him.  He didn't bring me up less because I was a girl.  As the eldest, he expected me to be bold and go get things done by myself.  I could never go back crying to him.  He would say, handle it and learn from it.  I had a thousand whys for him, which sometimes got on his nerves.  I wondered how he could spring malayalam poetry learnt during school with such ease.  He remembered recipes from his early childhood that he had seen women cook.  The dishes he made did taste unique, especially his panchamritham.  He could belt out lyrics of tamil and malayalam songs, some so old.  He taught me business, accounts, took me to the Sales Tax office, banks and showed me every thing needed to run it.  He taught me whatever knowledge I have of carpentry, electrical, plumbing, civil, looking after dogs and cows and every other thing in this world.  He brought back to life, two cows who were bone and skin and couldn't lift their heads after a bout of foot and mouth disease, who doctors said wouldn't survive, to up and running in six months.  Love, confidence, commitment and perseverance and above all the belief in the goodness of animals, the universe and Krishna.

'You should learn and know everything.  Nothing is impossible if you try hard enough', is his mantra.  He follows that mantra.  He loves life and lives every moment and expected me to do the same.  I have fought tough with him and loved him as much, though I never said so.  Same with him, I guess. Always, subtle, it is on very very rare occasions that I have seen it straight.  Those were moments of high.  

The 'Why ? Why him ?' question continues.  It has made me wonder the purpose of life, why we are here, to what end this run after work, making money, acquiring possessions when at the end, it is time to enjoy the fruits of one's work, the body already ravished by the passage of time, by wear and tear, by the pressure of the earlier years, starts giving away, denying one the right to a decent life and peaceful death.  By coincidence, around the same time, I heard the exact same thing told by the Dalai Lama.

With help from the better half and my dog, and with the life lesson of my dad to get back on my feet, I picked the pieces of myself, still disjoint and continued working.  As any good teacher knows, from the time you enter class to the time it ends, time stands still.  It is a bubble where you put in everything to delivering the knowledge you have acquired over the years, where you pass on the knowledge gifted to you by the universe to others for the goodness of mankind.    

However, something had changed, both at the official level and teaching level.  I have never taken leave except when I was sick.  The longest leave I had taken was early in my career when my dad had a bypass surgery.  So, the response I got for my first leave request in January took me by surprise.  We as a family took shifts to be in hospital.  The time in front of the ICU was a lesson on the fragility of life.  In the run for many things in life, I realized, I had missed out on many moments with my dad.  All I wanted to do was to be with my dad through the recovery.  I came to Coimbatore to set things at home for Arun and Rota, apply for leave and go back.  I went to work to find that Arun was taking my class, stretching himself to limits and all other work pending.  It took late hours to finish paper work.  What two faculty should be doing, I did all alone.  I nearly said enough.  I went back for few days in March to be with dad.  With Corona cases starting, we knew it was just a matter of time before lockdown would be announced. The second time around, in June, at the peak of Corona pandemic, when I sat next to my dad, lying still in bed, and answering queries on Whatsapp despite informing of emergency, my perception changed.  When my health took a beating in the months after, and there was no way I could handover classes and office work to take leave and recuperate, I realized that this was not worth it.  When a parent called up and asked why students were left free after semester had completed when other courses were given project, I didn't say I was sick and there was no other faculty to take classes and stop.  I started projects the next day because I was taught by the best to stand up.  I wasn't a bonded labourer but the feeling was somewhat close. 

There I was, unable to walk about or sit for more than half an hour, trying my best to take class and do it well. I started taking medications but not much effect.  Going to a hospital was not a safe option.  Dragged through for months.    

Online classes were different and enlightening as well.  I saw things which maybe happened before but I had not noticed.  When there was no response after class, silence from the other side for questions, seeing unwarranted smirks and comments, receiving weird messages on Whatsapp made me re-evaluate the job I was doing.  Doubting if I was not upto taking class, I recorded my classes to playback, but I made good sense with the topics.  I had my better half listen to my class too.  The content was fine.  So, what was different ?

In 2018, my dad had asked me if the job I did was worth it ?  It was during the time I had taken medical leave for a few days and he had had come home to be with me hoping I would be at home taking rest.  The numerous work calls and seeing me exhausted after trying to convince people to finish work despite being sick got him upset.  I was a workaholic.  I loved my job.   I always have aimed for perfection.  A crime today, yes.  Thus, I never finished my job when the last bell rang.  I used to read every word of every assignment and lab submission, read every line in answer sheets and write comments including spelling and grammar.  Which meant it took forever for me to finish work.  Still I loved doing it because I strongly believed that is the right way.  I just overlooked when most students in class would just look at front sheet for marks and not turn their own pages to see corrections.  All those late hours and late nights going waste, I overlooked gaining satisfaction from the minority that did go through every correction and came back asking doubts and clarifications.  I believed in doing work to the very best of my capacity. I would be thorough in checking my own work and chide myself for mistakes. 

It was worth it I felt.  I had certain ideals, role models, values and beliefs.  I had as an example of a teacher - student relationship, my father's relationship with his fifth standard teacher.  Every time he went to his native, the first morning would be a visit to the 'Thali' Shiva Temple followed by a visit to his teacher.  He has kept in touch with her and family all these years.  He took me to her for her blessings before my marriage.  Shantha teacher told me, unheard by him, of how proud she was of what my dad had achieved.  From having nothing to earning everything by himself through sheer hard work.  That relationship of a teacher and student at an advanced age for both teacher and student is unthinkable and inconceivable today.  He spoke to me at length on how the ideals I had started my job with will not hold in this changing world.  That I will be challenged at every step if I stuck hard to those ideals and will get knocked down if I do not compromise.  

My dad's calls during working hours meant he worried about me.  Every time he read news of students, he would call me because he knew that I was pretty strict with my students.  He also knew I supported and wished the best the world had to offer for them.  After listening to me, he counselled me many a time how I was not their parent.  Teach and leave class.  Whether they copy, don't study, finish work - advise them once, then let it be.  I countered, how was I not to get personal with my students, not care about their well being and still teach them.  I just didn't know how to do that.  I pointed to the relationship that he had with his teacher, because the teacher had invested time and interest in him.  He countered back, 'times have changed'.  

I finally understand the meaning.  Times have changed.  I have not changed.  I want to stick to my beliefs and ideals.  When the most important part of the job was not satisfying, I realized it was time to let go and quit.  However, with Corona still persisting, decided to finish the semester.  When boiling point reached, me being my dad's daughter, had no intention to compromise on dignity, integrity and principles.   So, I decided to let go and took a medical leave. I couldn't quit immediately because I owed it to one scholar of mine to help her complete an important journey.   

Liberating it is. Life is different. Options present itself.  However, for now, I need to get my health back on track.  The health issue that started in 2015 and I thought was solved in late 2019 has come back full force.  For now, I just sit still, praying and wishing to the goodness of the universe and Krishna for good health of my dad besides living life every moment rather than pass it as a blur, in the run to work.  I today pursue my interests in software,  learning new technology (Machine Learning - Computer Vision, NLP), writing stories, reading literature, painting, art, gardening and just being, with Rota and my better half, watching birds, sunrises and sunsets, insects and caterpillars.  I replay my life, looking at experiences and relationships, wondering at the meaning and purpose of it all.  I am convinced that my strength is my dad, his being, his being around, his strength, his principles and values.  Without him as root, I am lost. A nobody.  I admire the mettle my sisters are made of, for they have taken care of my dad throughout.  I wonder if I have that strength.  I wonder at the universe and my place in it, if there is any at all.  I wonder about my life, its purpose.  I have a guide book in the Mahabharatha and Bhagavad Gita.  It is a new journey, for a more meaningful and purposeful one. One worth calling a life. One worthy of my creator.  One worthy of my dad. 

Diwali

This is a piece I wrote two weeks before Diwali and saved it. Posting it today as I feel it is still relevant and correct. 

A forward by someone on not bursting crackers and lighting lamps made me revisit an issue I had debated within myself for years before I came to a conclusion.  I am putting down the debate that raged inside me for years.

My childhood was one were festivals were central, be it Diwali, Pooja, Pongal, Vishu, Onam, Christmas or Ramzan.  My parents celebrated all, in the true spirit of being Indian.  Born a Malayali, but more of a Tamilian due to the state where I have grown up and lived, festivals were celebrated irrespective of the concern of borders.

While Vishu and Onam are festivals celebrated in Kerala, Diwali and Pongal have more of the Tamil culture.  Diwali and Pongal were more grand.  We celebrated Diwali bursting crackers for two days.  Pongal was celebrated for three days, with Maatu Pongal being the best, since we had more cows than children and dogs put together at home.  As a kid, I joined my dad in bathing and decking up the cows on all the days.  It was also my favourite festival.  Only once did I abstain from the celebration, because my favourite cow had passed away.

So, back to the topic.  When this issue of crackers polluting the environment was first brought up, me a convent going girl also nodded my head.  Science spoke to me, telling me that saving the environment is essential.  When I presented this viewpoint once to my dad, he replied thus :  "Yes, environment is important.  However, there is an entire district in Tamil Nadu where families are involved in this trade, from old people to children.  This is the only occupation they know.  As a child, they enter, thereby loosing education and the benefit of changing trade.  What should they do ?

That set me thinking.  If I knew only one way of earning my living and have done that only, what will I do if they shut down factories ?  Also, given that no other industry that provides jobs in large scale exists in the district, should a family leave their home and land and become labourers else where ?

July 4th, is celebrated with fireworks across America.  Sydney has its own day with grand fireworks.  While fireworks cannot be lit by individuals in both these countries, people congregate for an hour or so for fireworks display.  Don't they pollute ?  Especially with these countries having such stringent environment control mechanisms. I also learnt that some of the fireworks goes from Sivakasi - I do not know if it does, today.

Then, this sudden conscience of people using environment as a reason.  People litter on the roads, use plastic incriminatingly, the government directs sewage lines onto canals and rivers that carry life giving water.  Vehicles pollute, politicians show their might as a convoy of 100s.  There is coal being used to provide electricity which actually is harmful in two ways, degradation of environment and pollution due to burning of coal.  We build nuclear reactors to fuel our ever increasing need for electricity, unmindful of the harm to the environment on a daily basis.

So, why this flip during Diwali alone ?  Why this act during Diwali ?  Why this farce ?

Not courting controversy, not being radical.  Why does no one speaks of saving electricity by not lighting up trees and roads for days during Christmas.  It will save electricity thereby ensuring uninterrupted supply to interior areas of the country.  Or why isn't the mass killing of animals for Ramzan and Bakrid not decried as inhumane especially on the day of a festival ?  I remember tring to lift myself into air sitting in a bus, because the bus was driving down the red road on Mehdipattnam, Hyderabad the day after the festival.  My friend  and I wondered why there was red water flowing till we realized it was blood - of the goats killed.  We came back by train from Nampally.

Every festival, irrespective of religion has customs, traditions and ways of celebration.  Moderation may be requested always.  However, advertising something like doing away with crackers that is the only industry in an entire district upon which survival for millions of people depend is wrong according to me without presenting the other side.  Further, what has the government done to provide an alternative ?  What action has been taken when there is a fire in a cracker production unit ?  How many public servants who have issued licenses without checking requirements have been fired ?  What safety mechanisms have you enforced ?  What research have you directed to make it possible that people may enjoy crackers at the same time reducing pollution ?  And why haven't you banned sale of firecrackers of Chinese origin ?

I read in the papers that the Supreme Court has banned use of fireworks in the capital in the name of pollution ?  This order comes in a few days before Diwali.  Why not earlier ?  How many support this ?  Does it's order not infringe on the right of an individual to celebrate a festival, the way it has been celebrated for ages.  I do understand pollution and health concerns.  However, to reduce pollution, what else has been enforced forcefully ?  If fire crackers are not to be burst, why were licenses for sale given to business people after charging them ?  Who is going to bear their loss and who is responsible ?  Further, personally what have the judiciary/political class given up when compared to the travails of the common man in Delhi ?  Will the honourable judges of the supreme court be willing to avoid gas guzzling vehicles, car pool, travel by the metro or atleast give up the two/three vehicle protection they happily carry around ?  No politician is ready to, anyways.  They keep using vehicles that look like battle tanks on our old galis and roads intimidating everyone around.  Or is just a case of enforcing a law unmindful of its ramifications in the name of doing good for society ? Or is it because the elite of elite in India live in Delhi and their lives are more precious than others ? Or is this westernization of India that the elite are happy to take up being enforced on the whole population silently ?

Before clamping down on bursting of crackers, I humbly request the Supreme Court to clamp down on all public transport vehicles that do not pass pollution tests, ask public servants to travel by public transport, not use convoys, ban diversion of sewage into lakes, ponds, tanks, rivers and the sea, ban the use of plastic across the country, stipulate how hazardous things(batteries, chemicals, other waste) have to be disposed and strictly enforce the same with the same enthusiasm that they are enforcing this.  Otherwise, it is a farce because you know the common man will not raise their voice together as there is no union to bind them, but factories, especially big ones dirty the Yamuna few miles away from you and you haven't been able to put a full stop after all these years, because they fight using the law of the land to get away.

I remember as a teenager sitting in a train, watching a couple work on red mud near the railway line.  Their children were also playing in the red mud.  For a long time I watched the parents and their kids, little realizing my dad was watching all this too.  I asked my Dad, 'Will these kids be going to school ? '.  My dad replied, " They are 'Mannunde Makkal', children of the soil.  Their parents are too, like all of their forefathers.  Their parents livelihood is dependent on the only occupation they know - the soil and they travel wherever it carries them.  So, with parents as nomads, how will the children get an education because their parents will never stay in a place long enough ?  The children will start this occupation the day they leave their childhood and then it will be the only occupation they know.  So, it will be for their children unless something comes along good enough to break this cycle and ensures their right to a childhood, right to education and right to livelihood.  Till then, they will remain 'Mannunde Makkal'.

So is the case of the workers of the firecrackers unit of Sivakasi.