Woman

Woman,
Mother, Sweetheart,
Lover, mistress, wife, pawn
Used, abused
Scarred, tortured
Mentally, physically
The soul destroyed
Dreams and aspirations
Blown apart
Doomed to a life
Of subservience

She was violated
Battered, bruised
Broken in spirit and body
Yet it was trivialized
But when it dawned that
A torn piece
Of tissue
Was a matter of honour
She was killed!!

Freedom

Someday, somewhere
In not too distant a future
I shall be enslaved
Shackled and bound
By the diktat
Of the regime
I who thought
That I shall always soar high!!

Is this hallucination?
Or a dream?
For am I not
Fettered already?
Makes me wonder
Was I ever free?
Or, is freedom
A mirage?!!

Resolutions Again

Old habits die hard and there are certain lessons one never learns. Or perhaps one does not wish to. After all they are somehow connected to the matters of the heart. Anyways, I am back a year later in my reindeer print PJs and ready to pen down my resolutions for the New Year. Last year's resolution did not go down the drain....still a work in progress I assure myself.

2009 is on its last legs and 2010 is waiting in the wings. As I sit and write, I can hear the revelry outside. The DJ at the Woodrose Club has really pumped up the volume and I can hear the popular Hindi film ditties that are traversing the air waves. Earlier in the evening I was told that by the time he is through, the dance floor would break. That was his famed notoriety!!

The house is quiet and almost like an empty shell. Every member of my large family is away in some other city except for the daughters. My babies are asleep and so is my Aunt (dear Kusum Bojawa) who is visiting along with Boogie her little old Dog. I tried to get drunk and fixed myself a stiff one but hey it was a failed attempt. So here I wait for the clock to strike the midnight hour. Will then light the lamp, say a little prayer and head for my babies under the covers. The toddler's snore and warm breath is very calming. When she grows up I must tell Tamanna that it was she who breathed the lullabies to me. And Aarzoo's long limbs come out of nowhere and land on me. She has healing hands that one....its been a blessed decade with the arrival of the girls.

So it is about time I took a good hard look at the life that I have lived so far. And in doing so have decided that "Shut up and Listen" is going to be my New Year resolution. So here's to a new me......

HAPPY NEW YEAR WORLD.............

Tamanna's Initiation

Tamanna, turned two and a half in October this year. Perfect timing to start school and Little Feat Montessori was the answer for her as it was for Aarzoo when we moved to Bangalore in 2006. Perfect timing also because late September this year had India celebrating Dusshera, a ten day festival, which culminates in Vijayadashami.

Vijayadashami, is the day when most children are initiated into the world of learning. In the southern states of India, a big deal is made of it with the toddlers taken to the temples and carted off to scholars and others who the parents decide are the ideal candidates to guide their precious little ones at the start of this long journey. Though I could describe myself as agnostic, there are certain specific philosophies and rituals that I put my weight behind. The initiation of toddlers on Vijayadashami is a very Hindu practice. But my mother, a practicing Catholic, tells me that this has become the norm amongst the Muslims and Christians in Kerala with the little ones being taken to their respective places of worship.

For those in school or college, across India, this festival is a very special time and looked forward to with great earnestness and fervour. For a great many of these kids, it is not because of any high special purpose or spiritual understanding. It is an escape from the drudgery they are subjected to for the major part of the year. This is the only time that parents who are otherwise nagging the kids to “study, study, study”, voluntarily ask them not to touch their books. On the 8th day of the festival, known as Ashtami, books and other tools or instruments of academic interest, are placed before Saraswati, the Goddess of learning and worshipped. A lamp is lit and many a prayer sent with fervent requests to help them get through the academic year without any major skirmishes with red marks in Progress Report, which arrives with clock work precision at the end of the term. Though they look quite cute in aesthetic terms on the said Report, the downside is that one had to deal with the red faced folks at home and teachers at school! These books are moved from the altar on the 10th day after elaborate prayers. Despite the fact that there was no nagging or bullying to study from my parents, I adopted this ritual when we moved to Madras (now Chennai) and I saw my friends, Sridhar and Vijayshree, who lived next door, practice it. Of course, my way of practicing it was minus all the rituals and the paraphernalia. But the prayers were very heartfelt and the kind where I meant every word to propitiate the Goddess of Learning!

My oldest, Manoj, is in his final year of undergraduate college. My fervent prayer (among other requests put forth) this year to her, was that he carry on in academics for a few years more before bidding "Good Bye” to the academic world. And the baby of the family has just stepped into the fascinating world of stories and rituals and learning. As for me, I have begun a journey of whys, whats, wheres, hows, buts, ifs…..all over again. With B.T.Venkatesh, one of the finest human beings in our little world today, as the first Guru having helped her take the first step, Tamanna has a lot of promises to fulfil and miles to go before she sleeps. I am sure Baba, who initiated Aarzoo, must be sitting beside Saraswati and nodding his head in approval.

Bend it like Alex P.Thazhamon

The son will tell you that no conversation on football goes anywhere without fat Momma mentioning Alex P.Thazhamon. Alex was my classmate during the last three years of school and captain of the school football team, Kendriya Vidyalaya - Port Trust. And if memory serves me right, he also played with the big guns on the Cochin Port Trust Football team. A champion and an athlete to the core he was also very aggressive in any sport that he played; and he played to win. This made him quite a hero in school, not to mention the couple of hundred thousand crushes and broken hearts that he was the root cause of.

But all those who knew us will tell you that Alex and I had an unreasonable mutual hate society going. I don’t know what Alex’s reasons were. But after all these years, I finally figured out the “why” from my end. For me it was the fact that Mom considered him a good boy. A good sportsman and footballer and the blah, blah, blah!! Talk about irony. Of all the guys in my class, Mom liked the guy who picked on me for no reason that I could fathom! And when you are sixteen that is just not done. It was like mutiny at home! At some seminal level I probably felt that Mom wished that he was her son instead of me being the daughter. Totally, irrational and unjustified, I know. But that my friend is the whole truth. The days when Mom and I had the most turbulent times in our relationship, were the times when this feeling assumed monstrous proportions!!

Historically the mother-daughter relationship has always been one bumpy ride. All hell can break loose when they do not see eye to eye. And despite the few breaks in between, the tradition continues from generation to generation in most homes. There is always some amount of bickering. But this really took the cake for me. Could she not see that he was mean to me? He was constantly teasing me and making me miserable. Did the reports of this rift not mean anything to her? Any other girl in my place would probably have given up school, cried buckets and got daddy dearest to meet the Principal. Highly dramatic I know but for sure it is true. It was thick skinned me who behaved as if it was water off a duck’s back and stood my ground.

Coming back to Mom who heaped praises on Alex. Could she not have picked K.J.Antony who by far was the most even tempered guy? With his cute dimples and an ever smiling face, he was a church goer to boot. In all the three years that we studied under that asbestos roof, KJ lost his cool only once. It took every one in class by surprise and caused a major stir. I still remember that murderous look on his face and still find it hard to believe that it was dear good-humoured KJ.

That Deep Pande was IIT material and the favourite of the parent’s collective of the school was a given. So no issues there for lesser mortals like me. I knew my place under the academic sun. References to him were made from time to time by the old lady but they did not give rise to bile. Or thoughts of murder for that matter!!

I could list the entire class here. But will save it for another story. Writing all this down has been quite cathartic. I am glad I lived through it all and it is out of the way.

Yet, despite all that negativity, I really cared for Alex as I did for the others in my class. I rooted for him, cried myself hoarse and cheered him on when he was on the field. As he did for me. Despite all that anger and resentment, I know he watched out for me and wished me well. Go ahead, call me biased or whatever, I still think he is leagues ahead of the current crop of footballers, anywhere in the world!

And it looks like this sport and memories of those times gone by will have me in a bind for kingdom come. My son is a crazy football fanatic and a Chelsea supporter. It goes without saying that he has turned me into one too. My older daughter plays football in school. The toddler, all of two and a half, too seems to have the knack for it, along with the style and the chutzpah of my champion friend!! The son is a major influence on the girls and the three of them spend a considerable amount of time kicking a ball around. For all you know my girls are probably going to do a “Bend it like Beckham” on me!!

Baby P - A Tribute

The time has come
The womb has begun to spew vitriol
And messes with the mind
So the end is near
That's right Humans
The end is near
There is no way out

Words so harsh
They sear the soul
Mince the gut
Wince is all one can do

Where has the love gone
That of maternal origins
Which was meant to nurture
But now all askew

The boy named It
Was the first story, I guess
To be documented
Violence inflicted on the innocent

Videos circulate in cyber space
About Baby P
Wounded, battered and bruised
The concept of right and wrong
Not even an idea within
The life that had just begun it journey
But a life's journey cut short

The hands that were meant
To nurture, turned murderous
Assaulted,
Caused unbearable pain and suffering
A mother's compliant silence
A father's brutality
And a baby who turned one
Passes on

And we go all teary eyed and say
He is far safer and happier
Where he is now

Rest in peace
Baby P
Rest in Peace!!

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For more details on this story, please check the following link

http://media.causes.com/564357?p_id=12614341

Psalms from my Bible

This forward has probably gone round the world and still continues its jet setting as I write. The originator of this was a person of Indian origin, our very own desi Jitendra Singh. He has no idea of who I am, but if I were to draw parallels from the family tree then I would say that he is a friend four times removed; that is to say he is a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend!! Phew……but thanks a ton Jitendra for taking the effort.

Anyway, lucky to have him in the pyramid of friends because I have been able to read through some lines which are profound in their very simplicity.

ANNA QUINDLEN

Anna Quindlen was a first rate New York Times reporter who left at her prime to pursue her life as a writer. A few years ago she was invited to speak at the commencement at Villanova University. But given her views on abortion, some people threatened to demonstrate against her. She declined to speak, since she thought the students did not deserve protest demonstrations for their graduation ceremony. But when some students wrote her for the text of the speech, she did e-mail it out and it became an internet legend of sorts.

THE COMMENCEMENT ADDRESS

"It's a great honor for me to be the third member of my family to receive an honorary doctorate from this great university. It's an honor to follow my great-uncle Jim, who was a gifted physician, and my Uncle Jack, who is a remarkable businessman. Both of them could have told you something important about their professions, about medicine or commerce. I have no specialized field of interest or expertise, which puts me at a disadvantage, talking to you today.

I'm a novelist. My work is human nature. Real life is all I know. Don't ever confuse the two, your life and your work. The second is only part of the first. Don't ever forget what a friend once wrote Senator Paul Tsongas when the senator decided not to run for reelection because he'd been diagnosed with cancer: "No man ever said on his deathbed I wish I had spent more time in the office." Don't ever forget the words my father sent me on a postcard last year: "If you win the rat race, you're still a rat." Or what John Lennon wrote before he was gunned down in the driveway of the Dakota: "Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans."

You walk out of here this afternoon with only one thing that no one else has. There will be hundreds of people out there with your same degree; there will be thousands of people doing what you want to do for a living. But you will be the only person alive who has sole custody of your life. Your particular life. Your entire life. Not just your life at a desk, or your life on a bus, or in a car, or at the computer. Not just the life of your mind, but the life of your heart. Not just your bank account, but your soul.

People don't talk about the soul very much anymore. It's so much easier to write a resume than to craft a spirit. But a resume is a cold comfort on a winter night, or when you're sad, or broke, or lonely, or when you've gotten back the test results and they're not so good.

Here is my resume:

• I am a good mother to three children. I have tried never to let my profession stand in the way of being a good parent. I no longer consider myself the center of the universe. I show up. I listen. I try to laugh.
• I am a good friend to my husband. I have tried to make marriage vows mean what they say. I show up. I listen. I try to laugh.
• I am a good friend to my friends, and they to me. Without them, there would be nothing to say to you today, because I would be a cardboard cutout. But I call them on the phone, and I meet them for lunch. I show up. I listen. I try to laugh.

I would be rotten, or at best mediocre at my job, if those other things were not true. You cannot be really first rate at your work if your work is all you are.

So here's what I wanted to tell you today: get a life. A real life, not a manic pursuit of the next promotion, the bigger paycheck, the larger house. Do you think you'd care so very much about those things if you blew an aneurysm one afternoon, or found a lump in your breast?

Get a life in which you notice the smell of salt water pushing itself on a breeze over Seaside Heights, a life in which you stop and watch how a red tailed hawk circles over the water gap or the way a baby scowls with concentration when she tries to pick up a Cheerio with her thumb and first finger.

Get a life in which you are not alone. Find people you love, and who love you. And remember that love is not leisure, it is work. Each time you look at your diploma, remember that you are still a student, learning how to best treasure your connection to others. Pick up the phone. Send an E-mail. Write a letter. Kiss your Mom. Hug your Dad.

Get a life in which you are generous. And realize that life is the best thing ever, and that you have no business taking it for granted. It is so easy to waste our lives: our days, our hours, our minutes. It is so easy to take for granted the color of our kids eyes, the way the melody in a symphony rises and falls and disappears and rises again.

It is so easy to exist instead of live. I learned to live many years ago. Something really, really bad happened to me, something that changed my life in ways that, if I had my druthers, it would never have been changed at all. And what I learned from it is what, today, seems to be the hardest lesson of all. I learned to love the journey, not the destination. I learned that it is not a dress rehearsal, and that today is the only guarantee you get.

I learned to look at all the good in the world and to try to give some of it back because I believed in it completely and utterly. And I tried to do that, in part, by telling others what I had learned. By telling them this:

Consider the lilies of the field. Look at the fuzz on a baby's ear. Read in the backyard with the sun on your face. Learn to be happy. And think of life as a terminal illness because if you do you will live it with joy and passion as it ought to be lived.

Well, you can learn all those things, out there, if you get a real life, a full life, a professional life, yes, but another life, too, a life of love and laughs and a connection to other human beings. Just keep your eyes and ears open. Here you could learn in the classroom. There the classroom is everywhere. The exam comes at the very end. No man ever said on his deathbed I wish I had spent more time at the office.

I found one of my best teachers on the boardwalk at Coney Island maybe 15 years ago. It was December, and I was doing a story about how the homeless survive in the winter months. He and I sat on the edge of the wooden supports, dangling our feet over the side, and he told me about his schedule, panhandling the boulevard when the summer crowds were gone, sleeping in a church when the temperature went below freezing, hiding from the police amidst the Tilt a Whirl and the Cyclone and some of the other seasonal rides. But he told me that most of the time he stayed on the boardwalk, facing the water, just the way we were sitting now even when it got cold and he had to wear his newspapers after he read them. And I asked him why. Why didn't he go to one of the shelters? Why didn't
he check himself into the hospital for detox? And he just stared out at the ocean and said, "Look at the view, young lady. Look at the view."

And every day, in some little way, I try to do what he said. I try to look at the view. And that's the last thing I have to tell you today, words of wisdom from a man with not a dime in his pocket, no place to go, nowhere to be. Look at the view. You'll never be disappointed."
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I find a lot of people are making it easier for me by handing me adequate props for use in my role as a mother. And also as mentor, teacher and friend. Thanks to friends even a hundred times removed, I am able to collect the Psalms for my own personal little Bible!! Take for example the video of Kate Bornstein speaking at the 40th reunion of the Class of 69, at Brown University. It was posted by Anita Mathew, friend (and co-actor from The Roosters) on her profile on a social networking site and I copied it onto my profile as well.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcKLBi00EHE

Hope someday my children would care enough to read from my Bible of Life as well!!