SAVING THE BEST FOR LAST

At the start of 2009, I decided to write on my blog every month, either a story, musing, articles, thoughts whatever, but with one condition that they should all be written by me– either what I had already written but never had the inclination to display it anywhere OR ones that were inspired on the spur of the moment (like the one on walking). Winning the first prize for my essay on my mother (Read it. it's titled "Who is she" elsewhere in the blog), spurred me on to write more.

I am glad that I have stuck to my resolution and diligently posted a write up without fail month after month. It has been a real pleasure to look forward to every month. Looking back, it has been a good year and I have done a lot of things that was stagnating for sometime. Writing was one on that list that I kept putting off. Going ahead, I won’t stop blogging. It may just mean not writing every single month. But write I will.
For as the quotes go, “We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection” - Anais Nin AND “For me, writing is exploration; and most of the time, I'm surprised where the journey takes me. “ Jack Dann.
I am going to break one rule this last month of the year (December) and post two mails that have really inspired me many times over, ones I never get tired of reading, ones I revisit when I feel I need explanations especially when things get complicated with life and people, ones that I draw strength from time and again. I felt that it is only right to post them here to mark an end to 2009. To all those reading this, hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

PART 1:


SEASON, REASON OR LIFETIME – EITHER COPY AND PASTE THE LINK AND READ IT WITH THE GREAT VISUALS AND BEAUTIFUL MUSIC IN THE BACK GROUND OR JUST READ IT HERE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bLltt5cPDOc&feature=related
People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. When you figure out which it is, you know exactly what to do.
When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed outwardly or inwardly. They have come to assist you through a difficulty, to provide you with guidance and support, to aid you physically, emotionally, or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend, and they are. They are there for the reason you need them to be. Then, without any wrong doing on your part or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end. Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away. Sometimes they act up or out and force you to take a stand. What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled; their work is done. The prayer you sent up has been answered and it is now time to move on.
When people come into your life for a SEASON, it is because your turn has come to share, grow, or learn. They may bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh. They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it! It is real! But, only for a season.
LIFETIME relationships teach you lifetime lessons; those things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person/people (anyway); and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas of your life.

PART TWO: TAKING A FRESH LOOK AT YOURSELF


The second one is a bit long, but worth reading. I totally loved every word of this and I hope I am getting there…..

There comes a time in your life.....
There comes a time in your life when you finally get it…when, in the midst of all your fears and insanity, you stop dead in your tracks and somewhere the voice inside your head cries out…ENOUGH! Enough fighting and crying, blaming and struggling to hold on. Then, like a child quieting down after a tantrum, you blink back your tears and begin to look at the world through new eyes.

You realize it’s time to stop hoping and waiting for something to change, or for happiness, safety and security to magically appear over the next horizon.

You realize that in the real world there aren’t always fairy tale endings, and that any guarantee of “happily ever after” must begin with you…and in the process a sense of serenity is born of acceptance.

You awaken to the fact that you are not perfect and that not everyone will always love, appreciate or approve of who or what you are…and that’s OK. They are entitled to their own views and opinions.

You learn the importance of loving and championing yourself…and in the process a sense of new found confidence is born of self-approval.

Your stop complaining and blaming other people for the things they did to you – or didn’t do for you – and you learn that the only thing you can really count on is the unexpected.

You learn that people don’t always say what they mean or mean what they say and that not everyone will always be there for you and everything isn’t always about you.

So, you learn to stand on your own and to take care of yourself…and in the process a sense of safety and security is born of self-reliance.

You stop judging and pointing fingers and you begin to accept people as they are and to overlook their shortcomings and human frailties…and in the process a sense of peace and contentment is born of forgiveness.

You learn to open up to new worlds and different points of view. You begin reassessing and redefining who you are and what you really stand for.

You learn the difference between wanting and needing and you begin to discard the doctrines and values you’ve outgrown, or should never have bought into to begin with.

You learn that there is power and glory in creating and contributing and you stop maneuvering through life merely as a “consumer” looking for your next fix.

You learn that principles such as honesty and integrity are not the outdated ideals of a bygone era, but the mortar that holds together the foundation upon which you must build a life.

You learn that you don’t know everything, it’s not your job to save the world and that you can’t teach a pig to sing. You learn the only cross to bear is the one you choose to carry.

Then you learn about love. You learn to look at relationships as they really are and not as you would have them be. You learn that alone does not mean lonely.

You stop trying to control people, situations and outcomes. You learn to distinguish between guilt and responsibility and the importance of setting boundaries and learning to say NO.

You also stop working so hard at putting your feelings aside, smoothing things over and ignoring your needs.

You learn that your body really is your temple. You begin to care for it and treat it with respect. You begin to eat a balanced diet, drinking more water, and take more time to exercise.

You learn that being tired fuels doubt, fear, and uncertainty and so you take more time to rest. And, just food fuels the body, laughter fuels our soul. So you take more time to laugh and to play.

You learn that, for the most part, you get in life what you deserve, and that much of life truly is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

You learn that anything worth achieving is worth working for and that wishing for something to happen is different than working toward making it happen.

More importantly, you learn that in order to achieve success you need direction, discipline and perseverance. You learn that no one can do it all alone, and that it’s OK to risk asking for help.

You learn the only thing you must truly fear is fear itself. You learn to step right into and through your fears because you know that whatever happens you can handle it and to give in to fear is to give away the right to live life on your own terms.

You learn to fight for your life and not to squander it living under a cloud of impending doom.

You learn that life isn’t always fair, you don’t always get what you think you deserve and that sometimes bad things happen to unsuspecting, good people…and you learn not to always take it personally.

You learn that nobody’s punishing you and everything isn’t always somebody’s fault. It’s just life happening. You learn to admit when you are wrong and to build bridges instead of walls.

You learn that negative feelings such as anger, envy and resentment must be understood and redirected or they will suffocate the life out of you and poison the universe that surrounds you.

You learn to be thankful and to take comfort in many of the simple things we take for granted, things that millions of people upon the earth can only dream about: a full refrigerator, clean running water, a soft warm bed, a long hot shower.

Then, you begin to take responsibility for yourself by yourself and you make yourself a promise to never betray yourself and to never, ever settle for less than you heart’s desire.

You make it a point to keep smiling, to keep trusting, and to stay open to every wonderful possibility.

You hang a wind chime outside your window so you can listen to the wind.

Finally, with courage in you heart, you take a stand, you take a deep breath, and you begin to design the life you want to live as best as you can.

What a gift!
Author Unknown.

APPU & BILLI - A TV SCRIPT

I was given the assignment once to write a TV script, for 10-12 year old kids and the topic was “The merits of keeping physically fit for children.” Given that I haven’t watched TV for over a decade, I didn’t have a clue as to how to proceed. What the trends are, what may appeal to kids, sequencing of a script, how to get a message across without sounding preachy… Nor do I know much about exercise. So here goes, my first effort at writing a script ever. By the end of it, I could actually visualize myself watching this in an animated version, in any language. I quite liked the ending after all the gyan that Billi gives.

APPU & BILLI.

Scene 1 shows a little boy sleeping on a bed.

(Excited high pitched voice) Wake up! Wake up! It’s time for a walk.

Appu opened his eyes, rubs them and looked sleepily around his room, a rather messy room at that. Appu is a plump, lazy 10 year old and Billi is his dog, a brown mongrel with a melting eyes and a tail that wouldn’t stop wagging.

Appu: Who’s that? Who spoke (He looks around and could not see anyone except Billi, his dog, near his bed).

Billi (Appu’s dog speaking in a high “dog voice”): It’s me, Billi, your dog speaking. What an awful name you’ve chosen for me. Don’t you know cats and dogs have been enemies for ages?

Appu (thinking aloud in a surprised voice): I’ve had Billi since I was a pup, but this is the first time he’s spoken to me and demanding a walk too. I must be dreaming.

Billi (in an impatient tone): Well! What made you give me a cat’s name?

Appu: (slowly getting used to this crazy situation and answers in a lazy voice): umm... I was too lazy to think of a proper, appropriate “doggie” name for you.

Billi: That’s the problem with you. You’ve always been too lazy for words. It’s time to change all that.

Appu: But I like being lazy. I like sleeping and simply lying still. What is wrong with that?

Billi: Shame on you! A young child like you! Nothing wrong with sleeping and eating well, but one must also exercise to keep fit.

Appu (in a horrified tone): EXERCISE? ME? I have never done it and I am not sure I want to start now.

Billi: Like I said, it’s time to change all that. Go on! Get dressed and let’s go to the park opposite your house and I’ll show you how to have a good time.

Appu (in a reluctant tone): Okay.

(Appu gets dressed, grumbling all the way, moving sluggishly with Billi romping around him and encouraging him to hurry up. )

Scene 2 – Park Scene.

They walk out of the house and reach the park.

Billi: Now let’s both run from one end of the park to another.

Appu (sarcastically): Whatever you say, my lord!

(Appu and Billi start to run. The cool, green grass beneath their feet, the wind blowing in their faces. They stop when they reach the end of the park).

Billi: How do you feel now?

Appu (panting): My heart is beating so fast.

Billi: Good! You got the blood pumping. Regular activity and exercise make for a healthier heart. A healthy heart is a strong heart that works efficiently and is able to easily supply the body with blood. (This piece of information is accompanied by animated visuals with Billi’s voice in the background).

Appu: I could do with that. I get tired so easily.

(Appu and Billi run around the park again, more slowly this time. Appu take off his shoes to feel the grass beneath his feet and runs bare feet).

Appu: Looks like I can do this better as it goes along.

Billi: Endurance or stamina refers to a person’s ability to continue doing a strenuous activity for extended periods of time, meaning a person with good stamina can bike, jog, play or run for a long time without getting tired easily. This comes from regular physical activity. The body also gets a boost from exercise that helps it to fight colds and diseases. (This is explained with animated visuals supporting the sentences in Billi’s voice).

Billi: Now. Let’s both roll over on the grass and then you can try and catch me.

(Appu and Billi do roll over and over on the grass. Then they both play “run and tag”. This continues for a while with peppy music in the background.)

Appu (laughing): This is so much fun! I never knew I could enjoy myself so much.

(Appu’s skin is no longer dull. It is glowing. He is able to breathe easy and no longer moving slowly and sluggishly).

Billi: Do you know, Individuals who are physically active on a regular basis don’t get sick as much as those who are inactive? Physical activity not only builds muscles, it builds stronger bones too, which in turn goes hand in hand with healthy joints. As the body builds muscles, it tends to lose fat which results in a leaner, healthier body. (Again, all this is accompanied by visuals in Billi’s voice in the background).

Appu: I definitely feel good. I am no longer sleepy like as if there is a fog in my brain.

Billi: Exercise also benefits the mind. When a person is physically active, the body releases what is called endorphins – a substance in the body that act as the body’s natural pain reliever. When endorphins are released, a person may experience a rush of happiness. Many people enjoy this feeling and look forward to it the natural high they get from keeping physically active (Billi’s voice explaining all this with animated visuals).

Appu: You are right Billi. I should make this a part of my daily routine. Now can we go home? I feel I need to rest.

Billi: While physical activity and exercise can make people feel more alert, they also allow people to feel calmer and sleep better.

Scene 3 – Back in Appu’s house.

(Appu and Billi walk with a bounce in their step back to home. Appu is tired but is feeling good and as soon as he sees his bed, takes off his shoes, changes into comfy home clothes and flops on the bed. He falls asleep in minutes. Sometime later, he wakes up and yawns.)

Appu: Was that all a dream? He looks around. He can see his muddy shoes and the shirt he wore to the park has grass and mud stains on it.

Billi who is sleeping near Appu’s bed stirs and looks at Appu.

Appu: Thank you Billi for making the whole exercise experience very enjoyable. I feel great and I promise to exercise everyday, now that I know about its benefits.

Billi: Woof!

Happy is the man (in this case, woman) who has acquired the love of walking for its own sake! - W.J. Holland

I did it! I walked all the way from Indiranagar to Jayanagar shopping complex, which is about 14 Kms. I did this on September 12th, my birthday, reached there with sore feet and thoroughly exhausted and I loved every minute of it.

Regular walkers may pooh-pooh the effort and say it isn’t much, but for someone whose only exercise for years involved just pushing my luck, this felt quite liberating. I must say that the walk lasted for about four hours and I can’t really explain what happened in between, but I felt like a different person at the end of the day. Here is my top five lessons learnt that day:

5) To let go of my regular purse. Now, I am used to carrying a mini home in my bag which has everything from common stuff (money) to the not-so-common (like magnets and no, don’t ask me why). It usually weighs a couple of kilos. Walking that far meant carrying a little excuse of a bag slung across my shoulder. Boy! Did I feel like a part of me has been amputated.

4) To not give in to temptation to stop, come what may and especially when auto drivers were falling over themselves every 10 minutes or so, willing to take me wherever I want. WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY WHEN THEY ARE NEEDED THE MOST?

3) To finally understand what it means when people say the last lap is the toughest in a race. I was sooo tempted to take an auto from 3rd block to 4th block which is like, a blink away. Looking back, its quite a strange feeling that I made it so far, yet found it a struggle to walk about five more minutes.

2) To find out that food tastes so much nicer after a long, long, long, long, walk. I have been eating chaat in Jayanagar complex for years, that day it tasted so much more dee-li-cious.

1) To put your finger on what is the one thing that makes the walk really good…. Some may say good company to walk with, some may say good shoes, some may say to have something to munch along, some may say the path that you take, some may say wear comfortable clothing but in my opinion, its great weather that keeps you going. If the weather had played spoilsport, too hot or if it was raining, I probably wouldn’t have enjoyed it all that much

That day, the weather was gloriously perfect. I mean it when I say, I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday gift!!:)

Radha- Complete the Story.

I was given this assignment when I was doing a course in creative writing. After reading it, you may want to end it differently. Think about it.

Write the opening lines of a story on a topic of your choice. Then write broadly the story line in a few sentences. Thereafter, suggest two possible endings to the story.


Opening lines:

The shrill sound seems to pierce and shatter through the peace and quiet of the morning. Radha woke up with a start. It was her bedside alarm clock giving out a piercing sound. It was still dawn and the sun streamed into her bedroom. Radha shut off the alarm and looked around her room with pleasure. Mama had done it exactly they way she wanted it, her favorite color pink with Barbie doll posters. It looked bright and sunny and cheerful as she felt. She threw off the blanket, went to the bathroom and splashed water on her face. She could hear noises downstairs. Her parents were up already and seemed to be having a conversation. Radha who was never an early riser, decided to join them for breakfast. As she goes down the stairs, her bare feet hardly making any noise. She catches her name, Radha mentioned in the conversation. “Maybe they are planning on a surprise” Radha thought. It was her birthday and she was going to be 10 years that day. Curious, Radha eavesdrops on the conversation. Her parents unaware that they are being listened to, continue their conversation. Radha listens in and freezes, shell shocked about what she heard. In a daze… Radha slowly retraces her steps back to her room as quietly as she had come down the stairs…

Broad outline of the story:

Eavesdropping on the conversation, Radha learns from her parents that she is adopted. They had decided to tell her very soon, on her 10th birthday which was the following week. Shell shocked by what she overheard, Radha rushes back to her room, packs whatever she can in a bag and manages to get out of the house. She wanders aimlessly and finds herself at the railway station, her thoughts in a jumble and her feelings and emotional roller coaster. Starved and tired, she befriends some curious urchins on the railway platform who are curious about her. Their leader sathish all of 14 years of age and too wise for his age, takes her with him and the other urchins to a makeshift shack a little off the railway track. She joins the children and soon learns their ways of life. Most do not have parents and once who did abandoned them when they were little. She hears horror stories of alcoholic parents who beat the kids and one boy whose parents even tried to sell him. Radha misses the luxuries of home and her parents, but the feelings of anger and betrayal of having hid the fact that she was adopted was too much for her to bear. She does bitterly wonder what her adoptive parents had wanted to do with her ultimately. She used to watch sathish and others operating from a distance though and this was a routine until one day….

ENDING # 1: Until one day..Radha accompanies the children to the railway platform. Her eyes taking in everyone and everything around her. She sees an old man with a little boy presumably his grandson and a lump forms in her throat. She sees another woman feeding her child. Then she spots a lady, her gait slow, her back turned to Radha. She seemed to be showing something to passers by. Many just shrugged and moved away from her. The man beside her was also stopping people and asking them something. He too seemed to meet with shrugs and shaking of heads. Radha goes closer and realizes with a start that it is her mother. She stood rooted to the spot. Around the same time, her mother turns and catches a glimpse of her. She is equally transfixed, her face looks lined with worry before letting out a wail of recognition and rushes towards Radha. No words were needed. Just mother and daughter embraced. The days of separation seemed to disappear and it seemed like Radha was never away. Radha goes home with her parents, does learn that she was adopted when she was only five months old. Her parents speak to her at length all about adoption and how much they love her more than life itself. Radha is home.

ENDING # 2: Until one day, she spots a lady, her gait slow, her back turned to Radha. She seemed to be showing something to passers by. Many just shrugged and moved away from her. The man beside her was also stopping people and asking them something. He too seemed to meet with shrugs and shaking of heads. Radha goes closer and realizes with a start that it is her parents. She stands rooted to the spot. Around the same time, her mother turns and catches a glimpse of her. She is equally transfixed, her face looks lined with worry before letting out a wail of recognition and rushes towards Radha. Her words are drowned out by the shrill whistle of an approaching train.

Radha wakes up with a start. It was her bedside alarm clock shrilling away like that of a whistle of a train and shattering the morning peace. For Radha however, it was a sound that was most welcome for but slowly realized that she had dreamt it all.

Readers: Give it a shot and try a different ending!

Daddy Long Legs - Book Review

When was the last time you ever sat down and wrote a letter to someone? I meant the paper and pen kind, not the widely used electronic media.

Read Daddy long legs - the title is misleading and has nothing to do with the particular species of spider found worldwide. It’s a lively story about Judy Abbott and her letters, a quaint love story with a lovely surprise ending.

Meet Jerusha “Judy” Abbott, 17 year old living in the John Grier Home for Orphans. She has done well at the local high school and one of the trustees of the orphanage offers to pay for her to go to college. For Judy, it is her first contact with anyone other than the orphanage and she is thrilled but her benefactor who sponsors her education insists on remaining anonymous. His only payment for funding her education is that she write a letter to him regularly to let him know of her progress. The letters are to be addressed as John Smith and will be sent care of the secretary. She is to expect absolutely no reply from him and the correspondence would be one-sided.

Rather tough, one would think, to write personal letters to someone you have absolutely no knowledge about.


An extract:

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

You only wanted to hear from me once a month, didn't you? And I've been peppering you with letters every few days! But I've been so excited about all these new adventures that I MUST talk to somebody; and you're the only one I know. Please excuse my exuberance; I’ll settle pretty soon. If my letters bore you, you can always toss them in the wastebasket. I promise not to write till the middle of November.

Yours most loquaciously,
Judy Abbott.

Thus begins a series of correspondence from young Judy who is rarely at a loss for words. Her letters are a delight to read, right from the way she addresses Mr. John Smith to the way she signs off in each letter. Over the years, the letters continue while Judy deals with her lessons and exams, college life and trips, and makes new friends. She meets a lot of exciting people one Mr. Jervis Pendleton and Jimmy Mcbride, both relatives of her roommates who find Judy’s company thoroughly enjoyable.

In an age where letter writing is a long forgotten art, one could get swept away with the language and style of writing but more so by Judy’s personality which reminds me of a rainbow – a colorful set of emotions. She can be funny, strange, sweet, charming all at once.


Then Judy falls in love.

I’ll leave it up to you to read the book to find out with whom. The build up right up to the end of the book, however, can hardly stop you from reading the last page first to find out who she falls in love with. The book is a reader’s delight and an inspiration for all would be writers.

My Bangalore (Sigh!)

This poem was written during one of the numerous power cuts, by torch light. I am no poetess but this poem has less to do with sense of rhyming and more to do with a need to vent (THE LAST PARA SUMS IT ALL!!) and I am sure a lot of people from Bangalore will wish for all that is written below !!

I wish for a Bangalore
That is bright and green
With its air condition-like weather
As it had once been.

I wish for a Bangalore
Where is mind is without fear and the head held high
Free from pollution and traffic woes
Instead of road rages, howls and sighs.
(With due apologies to Tagore for borrowing a line here)

I wish for a Bangalore
Where water freely flows
And never have to pay through my nose for the tankers
And made easily available in every house.

I wish for a Bangalore
With zero power cuts and 24/7 light
And should there ever be a power outage
The authorities will permanently set it right.

I wish for a Bangalore
Where the government is dependable and solid as rock
Instead of one that is designed
To give us the frequent jolts and rude shocks.

I wish for a Bangalore
Where we never have to play the waiting game
For promises to be fulfilled
Instead, only to abuse and to blame.

But most of all, I wish for a Bangalore
That doesn’t inspire poems like these
At 4.a.m. during a power cut
When I would rather be asleep!!!

Who is she?

This write up won the first prize at the Gitanjali “Special Woman in your life contest” organized by Gitanjali Jewelers this year beating more than 50,000 entries.


Who is she?

Once, when I was researching various professions that exist, I got huge list of them all, but not one listed “mom” as a profession. Then I realized, it was probably because she was all those professions rolled into one some time or the other and more which makes it so hard to define how special she is in a few words or lines. In my life she has played the role of:

Father who I lost a child,
A friend, a philosopher, a guide,
A light bulb changer,
A bottle opener (for those really tough bottles that wouldn’t budge),
A band aid for bruised knees and hurt egos,
Fought court cases alone far better than any lawyer,
A tower of strength against injustice meted out against her as a widow in the society,
A value system builder,
Took crucial decisions like a CEO despite not having an solid educational background,
a counselor, a problem solver from getting rid to imaginary monsters of her kids to getting civil work executed at home,
A HR manager for managing to keep good human relations despite all odds,
A sales and marketing manager when she had to persuade her kids to follow the right path,
Administration manager to run the house,
Technical and operations manager when there were glitches that comes with maintenance of a house,
A finance and accounts manager and
A home maker and chef, rolled into one,
Logistics and procurement manager from buying to using resources to make ends meet,
A teacher, a psychologist, an advisor, an actor and story teller to help forget the bad times and to eat the veggies,
A hope builder,
An auditor who looked at our mistakes and corrected them till we almost got ISO certificated for it,
A barber (for cutting my hair as a kid),
An analyst,
Home health aide,
Pest control worker (for driving away the cockroaches and lizards that used to make me scream in fright),
Probational officer for the times we overstepped the limits,
A detective who had eyes at the back of her head and knew exactly what the kids were up to,
To an all round nurse and doctor who stayed up, healed, nourished and held our hands through illnesses and more!! In short – SHE IS MOM!

Despite the generation gap, the fights and the complexities that go into every relationship, my mom is not just special in my life. She is my life.

“You know you've read a good book when you turn the last page and feel a little as if you have lost a friend.”~Paul Sweeney

That’s what I felt like when I finished Pollyanna by Eleanor Porter. This book should come with the warning: “This could change your life.”

I, then, gifted a copy to a friend of mine who was complaining about all the bad things happened in her life. She looked at it and said, “It looks like a kid’s book to me.” “It is, I said, but looks like we adults could need it. After she read it , she couldn’t thank me enough.

That’s Pollyanna for you. A medicine sweetened for us all to swallow in one gulp and leaves an everlasting taste long after you finished reading it.

The overview

Pollyanna has had a hard life. Her mother died when she was young, and she has been impoverished all her life. Then her father dies too. Orphaned at the age of eleven, she is sent to live with her aunt, an uptight, humorless woman who looks upon taking Pollyanna under her care as her duty -- and nothing more and hopes that the child won't disrupt her quiet, bland routine too much.
But disrupt she will to her life and to the lives of all the others who are lucky enough to come in touch with her, for Pollyanna’s father has taught her to play a game, a game that can be played by anyone, anytime, anywhere and in any situation, a game that could well become a revolution in this world. It's called the Glad Game, and with it Pollyanna proceeds to turn the entire town upside down.


From the Böök:” You see I'd wanted a doll, and father had written to them so. But when the missionary barrel came the lady wrote that there hadn't any dolls come in, but the little crutches had. So she sent 'em along as they might come in handy for some child, sometime. And that's when we began it. ... the game was to just find something about everything to be glad about -- no matter what 'twas," rejoined Pollyanna earnestly. "And we began right then -- on the crutches."
Her father told her that she could be 'glad' that she didn't 'need' them, and that's when the game of finding a silver lining in every cloud began.

The book, classic in its language, is joyful and refreshing and the message in it is universal. You are left, with the feeling of wanting to find something good in everything in life and can almost feel like you know Pollyanna personally and like the quote says, at the end of the book, you feel a little like you lost a good friend though her message would stay with the reader. A must read for young and old alike.

Vidya.S

Thoughts in (BRACKETS).

After hearing about the recent bomb blast at Pune, I was transported back in time when Bangalore the city I live in experienced a series of bomb blasts, the first ever and hopefully the last. I dug out an article which I had written then to express my feelings and the interesting reactions of people I interacted with.

Today, I woke up and got dressed with great enthusiasm. My friend and I were having lunch together and post lunch, we decided to explore a popular mall. Half an hour into blissful shopping, we saw people shutting shops and packing up. The coffee shop we were having coffee, served us the coffee and asked us to leave. “Some service this!” I thought to myself and asked for the reason. It was then we got to know there was a series of bomb blasts that rocked the city. I looked at my mobile phone and with calls of concern pouring in, we managed to get in to an auto and reach home safely – a good three hours later than usual because of the chaos around us. Sitting on my bed tonight, a day after the blast I tried to pen my thoughts on all that happened during the last day and half. What really stood out were the mixed reactions of people I interacted with as soon as they heard the news. Friends, by standers, a little kid from the class where I teach, auto drivers and I felt I had to put these down. My thoughts are in (BRAC KETS).

“Must be a joke. It is real amusing (The first reaction to any bad news – Denial).

“Bangalore? Not possible. It is such a peaceful, safe city (More denial. It took a long time for people to register, but the camera didn’t lie, the blood, the damages and the deaths all confirmed it).

“Bangalore now. What next?” (A sheer feeling of helplessness. You know all is not right and what to do about it?).

“Where the hell were you? My heart was racing and I am so glad you reached safely.” (Mom – at her worried best. No one can measure the anguish that loved ones went through that day).

“I was so shaken yesterday. I couldn’t sleep.” (Grief for all that is lost and the beginnings of insecurity from being jarred out a peaceful living).

“Miss, there won’t be any more bomb blasts. God has seen everything and he will punish those who did it.” (The five year old in my class where I teach kids. Ah! The innocence of kids who symbolize hope).

THIS IS NOT AN ATTEMPT AT A NEW STYLE OF WRITING. JUST A WISH THAT PEOPLE WHO COMMIT SUCH INHUMAN ACTS WOULD REMOVE THEIR MENTAL BRACKETS AND (THINK BEYOND THE BRACKETS. THEN MAYBE WE CAN CREATE THAT PERFECT SENTENCE WHICH NEEDS NO EXPLANATIONS….

THE BLESSING

What is it about some people that they simply cannot say no? It’s just two little alphabets after all and doesn’t even require a tongue twisting pronunciation like kollimollyttowitzkaloo.

It’s like if they ever get around utter the word, they probably fear that lightning would strike them dead or some equally crazy catastrophe would befall them giving rise to a new phrase. I sure have come across many of them.

I am not sure about the lightening striking them dead part, I am really sure that a lot of guilt and resentment strikes them, making them wish they were dead (their words not mine).

My mother was one such person. The word “no” didn’t have a place in her dictionary. Coming from a conservative Brahmin family that belonged to an old school of thought (make that very, very old), she simply felt it was her duty to be everyone’s yes man or in this case, yes woman. Refusing somebody something meant it looked “bad” on her part. Naturally this made her the most exploited-walked upon- doormat on which you can wipe your feet on-taken for a ride family member. Now me? I have the opposite problem. Saying yes to anything. Its three alphabets and considerable strain. Saying no was far, far easier and I could do it with a smile, style and sometimes not so gracefully.

With mom being the yes person and me the no person, this was one case where opposites did not attract, but she sure used to attract a lot of people with numerous sob stories coming up to the house asking for money. “My father is ill.. I need money for his medicines” or “my daughter in my village is getting married…I need money” or “My son’s education…if you could spare some money…I need to pay college fees…I need money.” Of course if one was observant enough to notice the pattern in the talk, it always boiled down to one thing. I need money and I need a nice lady like you to provide it.

Mom most times has a very generous heart and does give away easily, sometimes to an extent that would have given Karna, the Hindu mythological character known for his generosity a run for his reputation. Other times, when she felt she was being exploited made her angry and unhappy, but did this make her any less giving? NO!

One such person was Ravi. Ravi from Hubli. No one knows who he was or why he had knocked at my house one fine afternoon, why our house of all the choices in a long lane that we stayed in, why he targeted mom, but there he was standing at the door. He explained that he was from a small village in hubli. His parents were very poor and old and ill. He couldn’t afford to educate himself to finish his graduation. He wanted to complete it at any cost. He needed money to pay for his college fees and would a nice lady like you (mom) be kind enough to give some money (didn’t I say earlier that it all boiled down to one thing?).
Mom, after hearing many such sob stories had learned to be wary of entertaining people who seem to be seek her out like she were some long lost relative, but did she refuse? No prices for guessing. She gave him the money and then dismissed the matter.

Three months down the line, the guy was back again. This time it was money that he needed for text books for his studies. Mom now began to resent it that it was slowly developing into a habit but did she refuse? She gave him the money.

Another three months passed when there was a knock on the door. Yes! Ravi again. Fees for his mid term exam.

And so on it went. Months turned to a year and more. Mom now really became agitated at his sight, but did she refuse? She was yet to learn to say no. Ravi on the other hand seem to make her his ATM and dropped in anytime he wished to with reasons why he needed the money, all in some way connected to his education.

Mom did crib to me, her one and only daughter about how Ravi asked for the money but since I had never had the problem with uttering those two measly alphabets, I could not identify with her feelings about asserting herself and told her so without mincing words. After that she didn’t talk about it, but I could see she silently felt that she was being exploited and didn’t like the turn the whole thing was taking.

Nearly three years went by. One afternoon, when mom was having her noon siesta that she dearly treasures, there came a knock at the door. Bleary eyed, she opens it only to find Ravi standing there.

Like a person in an inebriated state, she let her tongue loose. That sure was a first, her raising her voice when she is usually soft spoken, she yelled about her generosity being exploited, that she seems to be the only target for sob stories – a magnet for the needy to ask her for money and how it all boiled down to the same thing (dint I say so before?), that of all people SHE had to be his target to ask for money and on and on it went.

Ravi couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

Minutes later (and it seemed like ages), she paused for breath. Ravi then says,

“Madam, with your kind permission can I say something?”

Having exhausted all her frustration on her inability to say no, mom nodded.

“Today, I didn’t come to ask for money. I finished my BA and got a job as a teacher in school that is in my village. I came here to thank you for funding my education and to take your blessings.”

At that very moment, I would have loved to turn into a little insect to get into mom’s mind to find out exactly what was she thinking. There she was, asserting herself for the first time and for all the wrong reasons!

Ravi carrying mom’s heartfelt good wishes and blessings with him (after his speech, mom eventually did cool down), left with a smile.

Mom closed the door, feeling equally blessed.

DEATH THE LEVELER

Whew! What a day! I thought to myself as I headed home. My office was conducting one of those training programs which I was a part of and I just hit home, tired but with the soda bottle high that one normally gets after attending an interactive training session, all bubbly and energetic despite a long day.

I lay on my bed musing over the events of the program when I heard my mother calling me for dinner.

Dinner was regular affair with rice, curd and papads. I was happily tucking in when mom questioned me about the day and I, in turn, asked about hers. Family was just mom and I you see; dad passed away when I was a little baby and I have a genius for a brother who was abroad, involved in his research. I had just finished my graduation and began working as an executive in a telecom company and overall life was looking good.

Dinner time, besides chatting about the day to life events to politics, was also the time when decisions were taken jointly regarding the domestic issues by mom and I and this time, it involved modifying our kitchen which looked a thorough mess and resembled nothing on this earth with its damp walls and grease, dirty floor one couldn’t step on and a clogged up sink. Mom mentioned that two men who were into civil work and had come over that day to take a look at things for remodeling.

In the course of the conversation, Mom spoke about an event which was to affect me more severely than what I thought it would.


Apparently, while mom was negotiating the price and showing the kitchen contractors the place, it turned out that there was a bucket half filled with water and a little baby squirrel had fallen into it. Mom had got the bucket of water ready to use it to wash clothes when she was interrupted by the men. One of the men emptied the bucket complete with water and squirrel out in our backyard and it lay there for a few minutes, shocked and shivering with cold and fright before bounding away.

The squirrel had escaped death for the first time that day.

The incident was dismissed and once mom was done with the contractors and her washing up she went outside to stand near a wall separating our house and that of our neighbor. As was the routine every evening, mom was gossiping with our neighbor next door a spirited old lady when there was a sudden movement and something that looked like a blur passed by her. Before she could recover, there was another movement just as fast. It took both for a minute to grasp that it was the same squirrel that mom had found in the bucket now being furiously chased by a cat.

My neighbor, a rather enthusiastic old lady, tried to chase away the cat that was excitedly mewing at the squirrel. As for our friend here, it had gone close to a pot kept close by and just sat there shivering with fright. The cat had to pass my mom and our neighbor to get to the squirrel. It mewed away in hope to cross but was also wary of the watchful eyes of mom and my neighbor, who seem determined to keep it away from the squirrel. After a while with a disgusted look at the ladies, the cat slunk away.

The squirrel had escaped death for the second time that day.

Mom finished relating this incident in time with me completing my dinner. I went to my room which was in the first floor of the house to listen to music, as is my post dinner ritual. As I entered my room, I opened the bathroom door and lo! There was the little squirrel dashing about the bathroom.

It had come in through a little window which had a tree growing by it outside. I was in a dilemma. Should I let it out? It was nearly midnight and how can I open the doors so late? What if it dint go through the door and starts jumping all over the house? What if the cat gets at it?

While I was thinking, I heard a mew just outside the door. That decided it! The cat was somewhere about outside and I decided that the squirrel was safer where it is than outside at the mercy of the cat. After all, it had shelter and it was safe from the greedy cat. I locked the bathroom door so it wouldn’t get out and bound all over the house.

Thus the squirrel had escaped death for the third time that day. I sure felt like a savior thinking of that.

Next day being a Sunday, I had my own plans. I hardly went to the first floor of my house. The squirrel was completely forgotten as I stayed in the ground floor. After finishing my chores, I set out to go on a shopping spree.

It was evening when I reached home and rather pleased with my purchases. I suddenly remembered the little squirrel still locked in the bathroom.


I rushed upstairs to the first floor and opened the bathroom door cautiously, half expecting it to dash out.

Unlike the previous night, there were no movements or noises in the bathroom. The room was eerily quiet.

“It must have escaped through the very window that it came in” I thought to myself and went into the room. A quick, accidental glance into the toilet made me freeze on the spot.

For, fallen in the toilet that was left open the previous night was the squirrel, lying there deathly still. There was only one feeling that I felt. It overtook all other emotions and seemed to match with that of the squirrel’s expression in its death– a feeling of sheer helplessness – that when death decides to strike, no one is spared.

MATTERS OF THE HEART

I am posting a series of incidents from my experience as a facilitator for children in the age group of 4 to 6 years old. Do check out all my classroom tales – Kings and Kingdom, The simple truth, Matters of the heart and What’s the hurry and hope it brings a smile to your face:)


How in the world would you explain a concept called trust to a 4 year old? Or for that matter a 40 year old? A word that has too many personal definitions, that is built on personal experiences and perceptions?

I proceed haltingly, my mind raking for examples appropriate to make my class of eager eyed listeners understand the concept.

“Suppose,” I began, “just suppose your mama who comes to pick you up at 1 o clock after class ends, promises to come, but does not turn up at the said time, would you trust her to come the next time around?”

“Yes!” Came the confident response from one wide eyed four year old.

“Well! What makes you so sure”…I ask somewhat taken aback by the unconditional yes.

“Ma’am, I know that she’ll come. My heart tells me that she will.”

Now, is that trust or what?

Vidya.S

THE SIMPLE TRUTH

“Fruit time”, I declared the theme for the day as I handed out blank papers and crayons to my class of 4 year old kids. “Draw any fruit you like best and color it.” Having seen the group settled down, poring over their papers, furiously coloring away, I then proceeded to draw one myself. I always liked to get involved in any activity that is designed for them. It helps me get in touch with my inner child.

I drew a banana, picked up a green crayon from a basket of crayons lying beside me without looking at the color, half lost in thought I began to color the banana.

Halfway through, I paused and let out a groan.

“I should have colored this banana yellow!” I exclaimed.

A 4 year old boy, busy coloring looked at my drawing and then said to me, “its okay ma’am. Just think it is a raw banana.”

Really! Life is that simple isn’t it?

Vidya.S

WHAT’S THE HURRY?

Timez up!! I yelled like I usually do at the end of each session to my class of 4 year olds. My yell was accompanied by squeals of excitement and scrambling for bags and loud “Bye ma'am’s” amid hugging them all goodbye for the day. I began to quietly put away my stuff and turned around to see an adorable 4 year old who hadn’t budged from the classroom. This was surprising considering “time’s up” yell is one harried time with everyone rushing about before they could rush home. I am equally impatient to pack up and leave the class and head home and here was this girl, yashoo was her name, standing still and looking at me without a word.

What happened yashoo? I asked kneeling down to her level until we were eye to eye.

No response.

“C’mon speak up. You need something? Can I get it for you?” I asked wondering if she needed to answer the call of nature.

“Tell me what it is.”

“I want a hug from you” she lisped.

As she threw her arms around my neck and as she laid her soft cheek against mine, I thought my heart is going to burst into a million pieces with the gesture and I asked myself – what’s the hurry after all?

Vidya.S

LESSONS FROM THE CLASSROOM-Kings and Kingdoms

Kings and Kingdoms! I thought excitedly, a volley of ideas swimming through my head as I tried to chalk out the flow of activities for my forthcoming class session with 4 year olds. My job as a teacher gives me ample exposure to come up with ideas to make lessons most interesting for the little ones for I teach the age group of 3 to 5 year olds. Little did I realize that over time I wasn’t the only influencing factor in the class, but was learning a lot from them too. Some of the interactions with the kids over time also made for amusing anecdotes that I felt simply had to be penned.

Since of my kids still lived in a fantasy world of kings, still thinking that they existed only in books and that they almost were magical, I thought it would be better to give them a more realistic view about kings how they lived.

My sessions was scheduled thus –

Starting with the story of the emperor’s new clothes – wherein this clothes obsessed king who wanted a new dress everyday gets fooled by his tailors into walking naked in the streets thinking he was wearing a new invisible dress. The tailors had played a trick on the king saying that it was the most desirable outfit that can be seen only by wise men and had pretended to dress him up with the invisible dress when the king actually had nothing on him. Little did the king realize he was naked as a new born baby as he paraded the streets, telling people that he was wearing an invisible dress and was ridiculed by all and suffered shame and humiliation.

This was followed by movies and clips of the kings in India, the palaces they lived in. Then we went about trying to create little puppets of kings and kingdoms out of clay.

Duly satisfied by the exposure provided with the original objective, I called all the kids for a reflection round of all the activities – a time when we were to pour out our learning’s for the day.

“So,” I asked, “What qualities do you think a king should have?”

“A king” declared an eager 4 year old, “must wear clothes all the time.”

“And even if he doesn’t” quipped another, he must not lie about it.

That’s wisdom for you – as basic as it can get.

Vidya.S

THE SIN OF BEING SINGLE

RECIPE FOR THE PERFECT MAN.

A cup of chemistry.

A variety of communication strategies to be employed as and when needed.

Spoonfuls of imagination.

Cups of thoughtfulness,

Bowls overflowing trust and compatibility.

A dash of humor.

A pinch of stability.

A blend of mischief and maturity.

A handful of memory for birthdays and anniversaries and for all other occasions that only women can keep track of.

Method:

Step 1: Season the start of the relationship with lots of chemistry and communication. Add by mixing a bit all the above ingredients, except the bowls overflowing with trust and compatibility.

Step 2: Stir it up with lots of energy and enthusiasm. Note that at this stage, all the ingredients would have doubled in quantity. Keep stirring.

Step 3: Bring it to a sizzle with bowls overflowing with trust and compatibility for this takes time after all the seasoning and stirring.

Step 4: Garnish with everlasting love and serve hot.

Wouldn’t life be real easy if we could cook up a recipe for things we like? Especially for our life partners who can be chosen and cooked to perfection (I am not being cannibalistic here) to season, add, simmer and occasionally mash and be mashed on the process? Reality doesn’t even come remotely close.

A friend of mine once said, “Men are like fine wine. They start out as grapes and it is up to the women to stomp the shit out of them before they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.” Having researched and experienced the grape making process thoroughly, I found it really tedious and prefer to opt for the single life.

If it weren’t for the people around me, I’d truly enjoy staying single. Unfortunately this is not possible unless I am living in some remote island filled with animals and feast on herbs and roots. Once the “marriageable” age is reached, let alone the older generation who talk about “settling down” in every sentence they use, but your own peers, the ones who went through the “singles” phase and loathed those who popped the “M” related question end up joining the conspiracy against the singletons and pop back the same question to you! The audacity of it all!

Or is it just plain concern?..

I have had various explanations to my single status, not from my imagination mine– that I must be someone with a preference for the same sex which is why I am not getting married ( I couldn’t be more straight), that I must have suffered some kind of abuse as a kid and that is manifesting by my refusal to get married and , that I must have been dumped by someone or the other in the past and hence hate the male species, that maybe I have a secret lover that I aren’t talking about ( and in this case, “ask her about it and do get her married to the guy of her choice” say my relatives to my poor mother who in turn interrogates me on my non existent secret lover), that I am harboring a deep fear for the “one-eyed snake” as one person put it (please don’t ask me to explain this. The guy needs to be given credit for his subtleness), that there must be “something wrong somewhere” for her to stay this way… the list is endless.. The cake goes to my maid who comes in to clean at our place advising mom to “hypnotize” me into getting married if it doesn’t work any other way.

Please! Cant a woman be healthy, attractive, intelligent, independent and STILL stay single and enjoy it without people acting like as though being single is a disease?.

Then there is the dreaded Valentine’s day. Heart shaped pizzas and couples in love feeding them to each other. I can look at that and feel happy that there is love in the air, if it weren’t for the comments I would get, making me feel incomplete, like I have lost a limb or something. “What are you doing for Valentines?” “Aren’t you going out? You mean you still haven’t found anyone yet.” Like partners are meant to be picked and chosen like vegetables off the market.

Maybe one day they’ll have an island where they’ll banish all people who are single and who knows I might find my man there and get married!!!

Vidya.S