Gonna be away...

Since I'm now posted in Puducherry, and have barely any access to the internet, I don't think I'll be blogging for a while. Of course, there are internet cafes, like the one I'm in right now, but... I don't like it. It's just not the same as blogging from home, is it?

But I promise a long and photo-rich story on my stay here, as soon as i get back home. That'll probably be around the last week of November.

Till then!

P.S: I'm working in JIPMER. Sounds pretty cool, doesn't it!!
:P

Kid-ding

"I'm going to be away this weekend... Is it OK if I leave T (speaker's five-year old son) here? He just loves playing with you"

In spite of being a speech-language pathologist (well, almost), and 'in spite of being a girl', as some people like to point out, I detest kids. At least, most of them. A lot of my work centres around children; I don't mind children who have problems, but I DO mind those who don't have problems, but behave as if they do. And T is most definitely one of them.

"Why, of course, auntie. He's such a sweet kid. I'm sure we'll have a great weekend. It's no problem at all... Really!" At the same time, I'm thinking, "If I were Pinocchio, my nose would've been digging into lunar soil".

"If you don't mind, S (five-year old girl, T's friend) is going to be here in an hour or so. Maybe she can spend the afternoon with T... You can sit back and watch them play, it's a lot easier for you that way. Just see that they don't get into one of their violent squabbles." With that, she was gone. Leaving me alone with T, with less than an hour to get all breakable things out of the way before S turned up.

As it turned out, the girl wasn't that hard to manage. All I had to do was let her sit on me and kick me repeatedly in the shins. The boy, on the other hand, wasn't satisfied with the rather dull activity of pulling my hair out by the roots. Tiring of that activity pretty fast, he shoved the girl off my lap, stood on me (wearing his Bubblegummers with God-only-knows what unspeakable filth on the soles), and punched me in the face to get my attention (I wasn't supposed to be looking at the girl who was now howling on the floor). "FOOD!", he yelled. Emptying my lap of a boy who was chanting "Food. Food. Food. Food", and careful not to step over the bawling girl, I walked over to the telephone and called my cousin, who had very kindly agreed to take us out for lunch.

We went to one of the 'big' restaurants in town. A very unfortunate decision, as it turned out to be. Our T made a beeline for an elderly man enjoying his fish, and said in a loud, clear voice that carried right ti the other side of the hall, " NEVER eat fish. Fish is yucky. Cheeeeeeeee!" And with his fingers clamping his nose, he ran back to us. The clink of cutlery had suddenly stopped, and I could feel two dozen pairs of eyes focusing on me. Any charitable floor would've opened up and swallowed me whole, but this one didn't and let me enjoy my moment of unadulterated embarrassment.

Luckily, S went back home after lunch. The rest of the day passed quite pleasantly, except for random incidents of hair-pulling, glass-breaking, yelling for no reason... the usual stuff. The kid slept a bit, while I enjoyed myself, using his crayons and his coloring books. Dinner was bearable too, owing to the presence of several older, wiser and stricter adults at the table. I got to read him a story (which I didn't mind at all), answer his "Why?" at the end of every sentence (which got very tiring after a while... I have a rather limited imagination), and then put him to bed. Peace!

On Sunday, we watched a lot of TV... Barney The Purple Dinosaur, Bob The Builder, Clifford The Big Red Dog, Elmo, and, for some reason, Ed, Edd & Eddy, which HAS to be one of the ugliest cartoons ever. My tastes are slightly different from his, but I wasn't going to grapple with a five-year old for the remote. But I wasn't overly enthusiastic about playing board games with him for hours on end. Imagine having to play Snakes and Ladders again and again and again and again and again. And again. AND losing every single time, on purpose, because he's 'still a kid'. Kinda hard on a 20-year old.

That evening, his mom came to pick him up. T bolted out of the room we were playing in and hurled himself at her. "Can we stay here amma? With Neha akka? Please? Please please please please?" That's when I felt a little guilty... The little thing DOES seem to like me, I thought. Aloud, I said, "Why don't you come over next weekend too? We could play with your new water gun (the truth- I wanted to play with his new water gun)..."

"You don't mind? Are you sure? "

"Absolutely. I'd love to have him over." Maybe I mean it. May be.

"Can S come too?" T wanted to know.

Uh oh. "Uhm... Sure, why not... Yes, of course."

T and his mom grin and disappear. I grin too... a weird, twisted grimace. Shaan's song, "Kya karoon, mujhe naa kehna nahin aata" is playing in my head. It's only five days to the next weekend. Only five.

Eye yam back!

Just when you thought this blog was dead... Sorry, folks. No such good luck, I'm afraid. I hadn't been able to post anything for the past couple of months owing to a string of rehearsals, performances and random cultural events at <name of college> , and also owing to certain... er.. 'unavoidable circumstances' (read overwhelming laziness). Anyhow, I'm back now, and hopefully, I'll be slightly more regular a blogger than I have been this far.

Adjusted relationships

"Well, I think you should call her"

I looked at my mom, not fully convinced. Actually, not convinced at all. It was the birthday of my old teacher. Had it been anyone but her, I wouldn't have thought twice before dialling his or her number and trilling "Happy birthday!". But now...

It had been several months since I'd met her. We had parted on decidedly bad terms; she declaring that she'd officially 'kicked (me) out of the Academy', and I vowing never ever to go back to her again, even if she begged me to. I found myself another teacher and she, I suppose, found herself many other students.

I remembered the numerous times she'd yelled at me, reducing me to tears. The ten years I spent training under her were the ten most teary-eyed years of my life. And her last outburst had been the last straw. That's when I decided to quit, for good. That should've been the end of the story. But it wasn't. Mom wasn't going to let that happen.

"You supported me at that time, remember? You were so totally on my side!" I said reproachfully.

"Yes, and I still think you were right to quit. But then, she is your teacher, you know..."

"Was", I mumbled.

"No, is. A teacher always remains a teacher, even if she isn't actively teaching you anymore."

"What, once a teacher always a teacher?"

"Yes! Go ahead. Call her. She made you. No matter how bad you feel now, you do know that she's the reason why you are what you are today. Call. You owe her at least that!"

"Uhm..."

"Well, it's up to you. Your call!" With that she walked out, leaving me alone with my cell phone and my conscience. I sighed. I didn't have enough balance to call from my cell phone. And as for my conscience... Well, I didn't call her. Not right then, anyway.

A week later, I decided I'd rather just grit my teeth and do it, rather than let mom make me feel guilty. And so it was, that I found myself outside her room in school, nervously clutching a cheap bouquet and a Dear Teacher card. I took a deep breath and walked in. I knew from experience that she could raise a frosty eyebrow and ask me to leave her alone. Or worse, pretend she was stone deaf till I walked out of the room. I was prepared for all that.

But what I wasn't prepared was the warm hug she gave me, or the genuine joy that seemed to sparkle in her eyes when she saw my card and flowers. We ended up having lunch together. We had a nice, long chat... Something we certainly hadn't done before. I found her an interesting person, to say the least. The conversation was animated, and I enjoyed every bit of it. It was nearly two hours before I decided to get back home, but before leaving, I promised her I'd visit her, at her place, soon.

It was nearly a month before I could make good on that promise. As I sat in her living room yesterday, eating my way through a plateful of green grapes (something we both love), my eyes fell on a faded, wilted bouquet by the side of the TV. She saw me looking at it and smiled. "I can't bring myself to throw it away", she said. "That's the only thing I received this birthday". As we sat there, smiling at each other in a comfortable silence, I realized I'd found myself a new friend. It's a weird relationship we have. I still learn from her, and she from me, as we keep up a continuous flow of 'gyaan'. Of course, she still doesn't want me back in her Academy, and I don't want to be there either. But friends we are, and, something tells me, friends we shall remain.

You know, sometimes, it really pays to listen to your mom!

Dad's little adventure

Today, my father returned from his pilgrimage to Kailas-Manas Sarovar, and I've been jumping around all day, tremendously escited and delighted to see dad after over a month. Here's what he had to say about his trip, in his own words (well... more or less his own words):


We arrived in Kathmandu at 4.30 in the afternoon, and checked into our rooms. In spite of the heavy rain, we managed to take the Mountain-air flight, which offers a splendid aerial view of the Himalayan range, Mt. Everest included, as it flies past them. As luck would have it, I got the seat right above the wing of the little airplane. However, I got to take a few pictures from the cockpit. It's awesome... Those gigantic mountains seemed intimidatingly close, and breathtakingly beautiful. If anyone had asked me, or any of us, to describe how we felt, the answer would've been "Top of the world...Literally!"

Once we got back to Kathmandu, we went to the Pashpathinath temple. We tried to hire a vehicle to Swayambhunath, but because of the incessant rain, we couldn't do anything but sit around and talk.

The next day, we left the hotel at 3 a.m. and set off towards Nylam, China. We got off at Kodari, a tiny Nepali village on the Sino-Nepal border. After getting our visas, and some sort of laser-stamping on our foreheads, we crossed the Friendship Bridge and walked into China. The land cruisers that would take us to Manas Sarovar were there, waiting for us. It was an extremely hot day, and the road was very, very bad. However, the beauty all around seemed to make up for the sweat, dust and backache- A raging river on one side, and towering mountains on the other.

It was a little past 7 p.m. when we reached cold, rainy Nylam. Seeing that the rooms allotted to us were pathetic, we decided to find ourselves a decent place to spend the night. This turned out to be a lot harder than we'd expected, as none of knew Chinese, and the none of the locals spoke even a modicum of English, let alone any Indian language. But we managed, all right... using a variety of hand gestures, bodily actions and a calculator (to haggle over the room rent).

In the morning, we found that there was no water to bathe in. When we asked the girl at the Reception (we had to mime out our request. It was a little embarrassing, but there wasn't much else we could do), she led us to a tap a short distance away from the hotel. She turned it on. Nothing came out but a deep, gurgling sound. She pointed to the tap, then at her watch, then held up nine of her fingers. Water at 9 o'clock. It was 6 o'clock then! Later that morning, we went for a preliminary fitness trek. We spent the rest of the day climbing, sliding down glaciers and having snowball fights.

The next day, we drove across a blistering desert, past pastures and bleak, featureless plains in the midst of bare, rocky mountains, and reached Saga in the evening. We stayed there for the night. In the morning, we left for Paryang. The drive, scenic but bumpy, was long and tiring. When we reached Paryang, we saw that our rooms were filthy, musty and all but falling apart. There were almost no toilets... It cost me 10 Yuvans (that's like 60INR) to find myself a potty!


We left Paryang at 9. 30 the next morning, and drove to Manas Sarovar. I was absolutely thrilled when I saw the famed Lake and Mt. Kailas. I was surprised too, for I had never even imagined that at the sight of Manas, my eyes would well up, or that my arms would be covered with goose bumps (though that may just be because of the sold, relentless wind). To be there, under the clear sky, surrounded by snow-covered mountains, with the vivid blue lake before me was an experience that simply refuses to let itself be put down in words.

We drove around the Lake once before going to a nearby place called Dolpa. I got to bathe in a hot-water spring, much to my delight. There's another stream here. People say the stars (nakshathra devatas) come down here at dawn to bathe. Everyone says 'miracles' such as this one are very common around here. However, we saw no such happenings. Maybe miracles don't happen in bad weather.

I tried to take a picture of Kailas at sunrise, but it was terribly cloudy. We went to the Lake, performed some pujas, then proceeded to Darchen. The trek around Kailas (parikrama) starts here, at a small doorway right in the middle of nowhere, called Yamadwara.

We were to start our parikrama the next morning. It had been so cold in the night that all the water we had had turned into ice. Even the streams had frozen over. Manas alone remained unaffected, rippling blue in the chilly wind. Almost as soon as we got up, we learned that 13 members of our group (of 40) were ill, four of them critically so. All four had had heart attacks, and one of them had pulmonary edema. They were transported to the Saga hospital in a helicopter, with much difficulty and at an unbelievable price.

Once this was done, we started climbing. We went over 5 km up on the rock-strewn path, past frozen rivers, mountain springs and glaciers. The landscape was bleak- bare and colourless- in an appealing sort of way. At around 24,000 ft above sea level, at seven degrees Celsius below zero, every step ahead seemed a victory, every breath an achievement. Before long, our noses started bleeding. But we ploughed on, intending to reach the first base camp. We knew we wouldn't be allowed to go any further from there anyway, owing to a raging blizzard a little higher up.



We soon met a Swiss group on their way back to Darchen. They told us to turn back too, as it wasn't safe to go on ahead, what with the gusty wind and heavy snowfall, the snow nearly 4ft deep in places. Not wanting to take the risk, we headed back to Darchen. As we couldn't do the actual parikrama, we had to make do with the parikrama of Chhota Kailas, a small shrine made of cloth and string, with three holy rocks in the centre.


The next morning, we woke up to find the village looking like something on a Christmas card- houses, cars, the road... Everything was under a thick blanket of snow. Later that day, we learned that one of our tourmates had died on the way to Saga. We immediately started on our way there, despite the poor visibility. At Saga, we learned that neither cold storage nor a coffin box was available, to preserve and transport the body. All of us were miserable and disturbed. All we wanted was to get back home.

The following day, we drove to the little village on the border. The vegetation here seemed violently green, in contrast to the brown, grey and white of the past few days. I went out to buy some soap. The shopkeeper kept interpreting my actions- repeatedly rubbing my hands over my face- as 'lotion'. Finally, exasperated, she let me in behind the counter and asked me to pick whatever I wanted. I bought a cake of Mysore Sandal Soap (packed in 2003) and a razor. Once I returned to the hotel, I set about the task of getting rid of my new, white beard and making myself look more like the me I was accustomed to.

We arrived in Kathmandu the next day. We visited Mukthinath and Bhakthipur. At last, it was time to go home.

And now we're back... A bunch of middle-aged men and women, badly sunburned, stiff and tired, but happier than ever before. After all, as they say, "East west, home's best!"

Of fairies and farces...

Having pulled out my wisdom tooth, the dentist straightened up, beaming, his own crooked, white teeth gleaming in the afternoon sun. "Here you go!" he held out what was, till moments ago, a part of me- my tooth. "You might want to keep it... Maybe the Tooth Fairy will give you something for it!" he chuckled. I could only glare back in reply. The guy had caused me immense pain, and was now chortling. You don't do that when a fellow human being is in pain. And in any case, Tooth Fairies wouldn't want wisdom teeth.

The Tooth Fairy is, today, probably one of the most loved and most popular fairies. In the United States, Britain, Canada and Spain, she supposedly visits in the night and leaves money or little gifts in return for milk teeth placed under a child's pillow. Nobody seems to know when exactly tales of the Tooth Fairy began, but it was in the early 20th century that this little fairy started gaining popularity. However, the association of teeth with gifts dates back to over a thousand years ago, when Viking children were given a 'tooth fee' when their first tooth grew in. In the nineteenth century, European children often placed their teeth in mouse holes, under kitchen shelves and other such places where their 'Tooth Mouse' might find them. These Mice not only left behing coins and candies, but also made the child's new tooth as sharp as a mouse's!

The word 'fairy' itself comes from the Latin word, fata, which refers to the three mythical women (Fates) who spin the threads of life, controlling all our destinies. Fairies often participated in the lives of mortals... Sometimes helping humans out of sticky situations, and sometimes doling out huge servings of misery. So much so that during the Middle Ages, fairies were blamed for more or less everything that went wrong- from bruises to paralysis to missing babies. By the 16th century, the fear of witches grew to be more prominent, and fairies began to be seen as benevolent and fun-loving creatures. But they still engaged in their share of mischief- upturning trash cans, smashing dishes, and so on.

In July 1918, Elsie Wright and Frances Griffith from Cottingley, England, produced the world's first photograph of actual fairies. The picture showed Frances sitting in a forest with several tiny, winged fairies around her. Though Elsie's father suggested that they had staged it all, the girls swore they'd seen the fairies in the woods, and not just that once.

Elsie's father didn't believe the photos, but her mother mentioned them to her friends, who were rather inclined towards the supernatural. The story spread quickly, catching the attention of many, including that of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of Sherlock Holmes. Doyle and equally interested others consulted several experts to determine if the photographs had been faked. Except that the fairies' hairstyles looked a bit too modern, no evidence of fraud could be found. In 1919, Doyle published an article in the magazine Strand- 'Fairies Photographed- An Epoch Making Event'. While the article fueled much excitement, leading to a heated debate between the believers and the skeptics, the girls surprised the world by coming up with three similar photographs in 1920.

The debate as to whether the photographs were 'real' raged on for several decades. Finally, in the early 1980s, Elsie and Frances both admitted that they had constructed the fairies out of paper and had used hatpins to secure them to tree branches. They said they themselves had been shocked that so many individuals had believed their story. As she said, the pins were visible in a few pictures- and nobody ever noticed!

Kissa kiss ka

I frowned down at the India Today in my hands; the cover story was about the Richard Gere-Shilpa Shetty kiss that's sparked off a huge controversy and has created a lot more ruckus than sanity allows. I mean, come on! It's just one little kiss! Why do the ego-maniacal, self-appointed moral police of our country have to split hair over an issue as trivial as this one? If anyone has the right to complain, it's Shetty herself. Why then, as the cliche goes, are we making a mountain out of a mole hill?

I've often wondered why kissing in public places, or anywhere, for that matter, is condemned with such relish. Aladdin was handed an 'A' certificate by the Censor board. Why? Because of the passionate kiss that Aladdin and Jasmine share on the balcony, right at the end of the movie. Apparently, Indian women don't kiss!!! Saying the word 'sex' aloud is often accompanied by titters and nervous giggles, and even more often, met with throat-clearing and 'Chi!'s and 'Ssshh!'s. Why, people are even against sex education (I'll be airing my opinions on that issue soon)! One teacher wanted condom ads to be banned, as they were instilling 'wrong ideas in the youth'. Talking about sex is a no-no. Because it's just not 'Indian' to do so, you see!

Kamasutra was written right here in India, by an Indian. I haven't read it myself, but if public opinion is to be trusted, it's the most comprehensive sex manual ever. It's here, in India, that we have a temple whose walls are carved with orgies and depictions of the umpteen positions in sex. Yet, when it comes to discussing safe sex, AIDS or even kissing, we're terribly prude. If this isn't hypocrisy, what is?

I always thought the right to express oneself, feelings and emotions included, was universal. It's sad to learn that our 'culture' (the same culture that created the Kamasutra and Khajuraho) represses our freedom of expression.

What kind of an image would Gere have of India now, after being quagmired in our royal cultural mess? What is the world going to think of India, a nation progressing fast on the path to development and modernization, if we continue to adhere to rather medieval values?

If we don't learn to draw a line between being morally right and being ridiculously conservative, we might as well kiss the picture of a 'modern' India goodbye.