Ripples

Now I am a lake.
Every skimming swallow
And every blowing breeze
Stir up ripples on me.

They spread out,
Grow wider but less intense.
Seconds,
Minutes…

I wait for stillness –
Patiently!
And then it sails in –
Peace!

I savour
The brief lull,
Till the  swallow or breeze
Returns to taunt or tickle me.

Let the swallows skim
And the breeze blow,
They can’t help it,
I don’t mind rippling either.

First-borns – Guinea Pigs?

Yesterday my first-born turned ten. And we (claim to have) successfully completed ten years of parenthood.

Has she been lucky or unlucky? In my opinion, for her it has been a combination of both.

How is she lucky? Usually the elder ones are the centres of attraction; they get all (or too much?) the attention from the parents and from the relatives too, if they are the first ones in a generation. They enjoy a lot of privileges – too many toys, dresses and other accessories. In fact it was we who were celebrating our new designations as papa and mama! Every achievement or turning point in the eldest ones’ lives is exaggerated and celebrated with all the pomp and vigour.

When it comes to the second one, the excitement would be slightly less. The parents have already been there and for them it is merely a repetition of the first episode. But sadly they are too busy to remember it’s the very first time for each of the younger ones. Being the second-born I have been through it all. (Eldest ones out there, I can read your thoughts.)

And there are a lot of health benefits too. They will be made of healthier and better components of life. The later ones are born to older and more tired parents.

[The given link will enlighten you more on the topic of birth order.]

But here I am more bothered about the seamy side of the first-borns’ lives. For the naive parents it is a time to experiment upon a hundred new things, certainly out of their love and eagerness. I must admit that bringing up my big girl I have committed a lot of parenting errors, mainly in the two crucial areas – health and education.

As tyros in that new phase of life we were naturally over-concerned about each and every aspect, especially her health. We surmised that every sneeze, cough or runny nose would end up in pneumonia, and rushed to the doctor who was only too eager to administer heavy doses of antibiotics. The recurrence of the ailments taught us some valuable lessons equipping us better for the second one. It made me bold and taught me how to resist temptation to grab the medicines each time.

And the second most fatal mistake I committed was the over-enthusiasm about her studies. When she got confused with P, b, d and 9, or when she flipped over certain letters, (at the age of three!) we often freaked out as if she was going to be doomed. When she could not discern the basic differences between numbers and letters, faltering at the questions like “Which is bigger – 2 or 7?” we seemed to be anxious about the Board after ‘12’ years!!  While we were passionately carrying out our duties, for her it must have been hell!

After her last PT meet (grade 5) as I was proudly looking at the 100% score in her Maths paper, I once again realized the benefits of intruding less and leaving everything to her. It was the fruit of her own hard work.

At times my younger one has to be satisfied with the used toys and dresses. However she enjoys a happier and more carefree childhood – only because her parents’ attention is divided and she has an elder sister who was already ‘guinea pig’ged!

Happy birthday dear! Thank you for all the great lessons you taught me in a decade’s time…

And when they met again…

For years
They were one friendly flock
‘Of a feather’.

Then it was time to part –
Autographs, promises, tears,
Farewell, well fared.
And they flew away
In fifty diverse routes.

Years thence
They met again, virtually.
Longed to make it real.
Yearned to relive those days.
Planning, preparations…

Then the great day came,
Birds flocked again.

How tired and old each had grown!
Feeble smiles and hollow words
Couldn’t gloss over the chasms.

What went wrong?

They had outgrown their nest,
Moreover, they were no longer
Birds of a feather.

Time and experiences
Had painted them all different –
The dull ones with bright shades
And the bright ones with not-so-bright.
Each flaunted its hard-earned hues.
No wonder it turned irksome.

Disappointed, dispersed again,
This time, for good.

Forest to Fuel

There was a charming rhythm in the way they walked. But in that pristine surroundings the sight of their day’s collection was a bit disturbing and disheartening. However, I should not forget that for me it was just my pleasure trip while for them it is their struggle for existence where they cannot afford sentiments towards Nature.

A few shots from one of remote hills of Kodaikanal, Tamil Nadu.

Technology-stricken

(Warning: Concocted contents!)

Before you read on, watch this ad.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQZTiQLSuj4

This happened at the clinic. I couldn’t believe I was looking at the very same lady featured in the given ad.

She looked worn out. The already size-zero figure had been reduced to some subzero size. What might have happened to the euphoric girl there? Somebody cast an evil eye on the happy family? I admit I had felt a bit green, but evil eye… no, never!

I was curious. I created an opportunity to talk to her while we were waiting for our turn. And what she told me was discomfiting, sort of.

This is the dismal side of my life these days as opposed to what you see in that ad.

When I opted for an easy clean paint for our apartment I had only one squeaky-clean intention: to safeguard the walls from the onslaught of a hyperactive father and son. The walls constantly exposed to their activities had been slightly shabby with the graffiti, murals and pardonable splashy games.

But with me around, they tried to be nice. Sometimes I felt sorry to see them restrain from their favourite games in my austere presence. So I approached the retailer in the hope of a permanent solution. The attempt was fruitful, or that was the impression I had, soon after the painting. And in the ad, you see what happened on the very first day we moved in after the paint was dry.

That was perhaps the last of my happy days. Sad that our loved ones often take our connivances for granted. What followed were dreadful scenes reminiscent of pandemonium.

Being a person as good as my word, I could not break my offer to be indulgent. As a result the games became more and more impish and unpredictable– splashy, squeezy, sprayey, what not! Without a break I have to keep on my heels cleaning the coffee stains, sprayed colours, drawings and all the possible techniques they could think of to mar the poor walls. Things get out of hand when they miss the wall and end up soiling my expensive carpet or wall hangings, which do not come under the cover of easy-clean technique.

Splashing his daily glass of milk on the wall is my son’s favourite game. He too has grown thin (like me) and become calcium-deprived. See, he fractured his hand yesterday.

The paint is darned-good. Of course cleaning has become easy, but at the cost of my leisure, my peace and my life!

Sorry, I was busy living…

Sorry, I was busy living
While you were vis-a-vis death
But I have been thinking of you (?).

The problem is:
You are no longer doing anything;
You don’t utter a word these days;
You are tethered to the railed bed,
And rooted to the myriad devices.
Thus you lie there in the ventilator
Day after day, living your death.

Though your body is there
Your presence is slowly fading.
What you have already done
Is of no significance
As there are no updates or posts.

If you were dead, they could declare it
And get through this uncertainty.
But you have put us in a dilemma –
You are alive, but not lively!
You are not dead, but inactive!
You are in a coma –
A comma, not a full stop,
That points to infinity!

What am I to do?
I cannot take time out
And sit beside you,
Staring at your eyes
That don’t bloom.
What are the feelings beneath?
I can’t read them.

Time to go back –
Life is beckoning!
Forgive me, I can’t take you along.
This purgatory is hell-bent
On holding you, it seems.

Moreover, you have no role left to play
In the world of the Living!

Bye…

(Even celebrities are forgotten when they are no more active. Out of sight, out of mind. Life is like that – so cruel!)

Fireproofing Our Schools

 Investigations have revealed that the fire that ravaged the *** Girls’ School Saturday was caused by five students. The girls ignited the fire in the underground floor of the school while playing with a coal holder and then ran away from the scene to their classrooms when the blaze picked up…..

In the past

In the previous years during this season we were under the threat of floods. That was after a really bad one that had rushed in from nowhere and vanished with its toll. It left the public and authorities aghast, and subsequently, alert.

Again we faced a worse flood without having much done (as far as I know) in the name of precautionary measures, except for the dinghies that had been deployed at certain ‘crucial’ points of the city.

Entry of a new villain

And this year the opposite element is the villain. Fire! Fortunately nothing went wrong all through the scorching summer heat when the air conditioners, that were knocking themselves out, were expected to blaze out.

Now when the mercury has fallen, we worry about fire. Queer!

Once again the ball is in the court of the concerned authorities. They are expected to somehow see to it that not one more school is ‘ignited’ in the near future. It must be sheer clairvoyance that has foreboded them that the succeeding months are set apart exclusively for fire accidents. Well, they have to do their duty.

The aftermath

Consequently we have been witnessing frequent inspections, mock drills, installation of more equipment, entry of new Emergency Exits, special training to the staff, demonstrations to the students on where and how to flee in case of a fire… Good job!

I could have easily made this post something like ’How to Avert a Fire’ because within a week after that accident (luckily not our school) I am almost an expert on Fire & Safety.

In short, these are some of the benefits: 1) We have picked up a lot of new terms related to fire. 2) Our girls will run for their life by default the moment they hear anything that sounds like an alarm or just the syllable ‘fi..’.

But what if it is a different disaster next time? God forbid!

The only one who seemed to take all the drama seriously was the little girl who innocently asked, “Teacher, this week will there be a fire in our school too?”

In the light of a fire (the sermon part)

We become more concerned and vigilant for a few weeks that follow a calamity. Usually nothing happens. The fear passes and we relax while the next disaster brews.  Accidents are accidental. They lurk in the least expected hide-outs to pounce upon us when we are least prepared. God forbid!

This all we could do:  Train our students to take care of themselves without losing their presence of mind during any type of emergency – tsunami, flood, earthquake or fire. Never panic (easier said than done). Be prepared for the worst in the future, without letting that loom over and spoil our present.

STOP cooking, for heaven’s sake!!

 “I used to have apartment neighbors who were Indian, and they constantly cooked. So my apartment smelled of heavy oil and curry — non-stop!”

This comment appeared below a blog post on ‘disturbing neighbours’. [In camera: The comment, instead of offending me or rousing my patriotic fervour, generated some vicious delight in me. Reason: It gave me – the kitchen-lazy – one more reason for often abstaining from heavy cooking.]

If she decides to write a letter to her neighbour, it might
look something like this. Perhaps I can produce this letter to my husband next
time when I smell the demand for a spicy/oily dish. 😉

 

Dear Indian neighbour,

I am your apartment neighbour. I live with my husband and son in the apartment right above yours. We have never met face-to-face and I don’t want such an encounter to take place anywhere in the near future. Getting perplexed about what I am up to?

Hope you are fine and have had your lunch. The latter part of that sentence was absolutely irrelevant and could have been edited out because I actually KNOW you have had it. And I KNOW you had an equally elaborate breakfast too, early in the morning.

Don’t mistake me for a spy. I don’t peep or eavesdrop into the privacy of the neighbours. Nonetheless, believe it or not, ever since the day you moved in, I have felt your presence, day in, day out – through the smell that leaks out of your kitchen invariably before the mealtimes.

I have some doubts which, I hope, you would deign to clear.

What do you people incessantly cook – fry, roast, pop, sauté, and that sort? Why does it always have to smell of oil? Do you add spices liberally to each meal – even to your breakfast? Don’t you ever go out for a meal?

Sorry to poke my nose (yes, nose!) into your affairs, crossing all the limits of propriety, but can’t help it. These are genuine doubts, because our breakfast is never more than toasted bread, scrambled eggs, boiled vegetables, fresh juice, milk etc, none of which lets out any sort of smell.

Of late I have encountered some serious problems because of your gastronomic endeavours.

1. I have started confusing my apartment for some Indian restaurant because it (literally) smells like one.
2. My curtains, sofas, bed – everything transports me (figuratively)
   all the way to India, through the ‘spice route’.
3. My guests seem to take a whiff of that lingering smell the minute they step in and I know they too can’t feel ‘at home’, just like me.

I feel I have to write to you at this time so that hopefully we can resolve this
matter and it does not have to go any further.

 “Going any further” means:

Unless you invent (asap) some technology to suppress that offensive odour that emanates from your kitchen daily, I will have to SUE YOU FOR POLLUTING THE NEIGHBOURHOOD AND DISTURBING ME CONSTANTLY!

Hope you got my point.

Done!

Thank you.

Tormented Neighbour.

Do you feel your cooking is actually posing a nuisance for your neighbours?

This is what I feel: One man’s food, other man’s poison pollution.

Solution: Invite your neighbours at least once to savour the exquisite Indian cuisine (of course with less oil and pepper, please). Then watch ‘pollution’ transform overnight into irresistible ‘food’!

The Last Few Seconds of a Young Man

And in the next moment everything went blank. He sensed the severe pangs of solitude – for the first time in his life, and that was more than his flesh and blood could stand. Adding to his misery, his acumen didn’t seem to work.

Bewildered, he mistook the ordeal for his Doomsday. As if in a trance he shut the doors to faith, while the shutters automatically lifted up to the heights of unnerving fears. Even the last ray of hope had abandoned him.

He couldn’t call to mind the green pastures he came from  – the hilarious occasions at home with his brother, the kind words and the appetizing dishes of his mother, the reassuring looks of his father, the moments he spent in cloud nine with his friends, the compliments from the colleagues, the track of his glittering achievements… Alas, nothing came in handy to alleviate his distress…

The tall wall in front obscured his vision and soon his brain. He neither looked up to see the blue sky that canopied him, nor looked down to see the warm earth that bolstered him. He didn’t bother to see the twittering birds on one side, the fluttering butterflies, the capering crickets and the swaying flowers on the other. He couldn’t get a glimpse of the thriving future that was in store for him – thoroughly overwhelmed by the enormity of the deceptive wall. He did not, or was not in a position to, deem the scores of possibilities.

Had he uttered a word to someone! Had he tilted his head! Had he merely taken some rest!

No miracles happened. Instead..

He just gave up….

His father whimpered, “I could have helped him take a detour!”

His brother grieved, “I could have assisted him to climb over the wall!”

His mother wailed, “I would have carried him in my arms all the way round!”

His friends mourned, “We would have pulled it down for him!!”

After all, just a WALL it was…

If we could ask you a favour…

 

Somewhere not quite far away, there’s beautiful nature. Unfortunately it has not been much concrete to me in this concrete jungle, where birds don’t sing, flowers don’t bloom, dew drops don’t drip – naturally. But last week a pleasant experience brought nature closer to me, or vice versa. I could still feel the ripples it created in me. Something long lost has been retrieved by the power of the right words, together with the relevant, captivating pictures and an audio version. Mother Nature is not yet completely bereft of people who love her for her own sake.

 

Greece – the land where history and mythology lie intertwined! The beauty of the place became animate to me through a unique blog which was Freshly Pressed recently. You might have already come across it. If not, discover more about Greece and nature in general through the blog ‘Notes from Near and Far” (www.julianhoffman.wordpress.com) by Julian Hoffman, an amazing writer and moreover a great lover of nature.

Hoffman’s latest post ‘The Wonder of Ordinary Places’ inspired me to keep my eyes wide open to the minimum nature I could track down in this desert. A patch of grass, an isolated tree, a little bird – these can be much treasured sights around here. The carefully preserved parks that flaunt their artificial beauty have not enticed me much as I am more interested in the pure, pristine nature.

I am dedicating this post to the one little tree in our school. Many of you who revel in the luxuries of nature may be taken aback by the triviality (I would call it ‘modesty’) of the sight and might wonder if it is worth mentioning at all. But you will be in sympathy with me when you realize that this venerable tree is the only green beacon available for the whole school – it is the ‘Wonder of Our Ordinary Place.’

1. Moringa Oleifera (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moringa_oleifera)  

These are some excerpts from Wikipedia.

The “Moringa” tree is grown mainly in semi-arid, tropical, and subtropical areas… While it grows best in dry sandy soil, it tolerates poor soil… It is a fast-growing, drought-resistant tree that is native to the southern foothills of the Himalayas in northwestern India. Reports that it grows wild in the Middle East or Africa are completely unsubstantiated.^{[citation needed]}  The leaves are highly nutritious, being a significant source of beta-carotene, Vitamin C, protein, iron, and potassium.^[5] The leaves are cooked and used like spinach. It is commonly said that Moringa leaves contain more Vitamin A than carrots, more calcium than milk, more iron than spinach, more Vitamin C than oranges, and more potassium than bananas,” and that the protein quality of Moringa leaves rivals that of milk and eggs.^{[citation needed]}

The nutritional and medicinal values of the tree have become its bane, making it vulnerable to the repeated attacks. Unruly hands ruthlessly rip off whole branches for a bunch of leaves or a few immature green pods. The tree looks very weak these days.

2. This air-conditioner torments the tree too much – keeping it exposed to the hot air continuously for ten hours!  As I pressed my hands over its bark I could feel the intensity of the heat. I couldn’t stand the heat for even a few seconds! The tree must be hardy within.

3. The bark of the tree is now all parched and wrinkled – looks like signs of premature ageing, though I don’t know the exact age of the tree. Oh, dear tree, you do endure a lot for us!

4. The tree, a symbol of forbearance and resilience, bears fruits for its beneficiaries. In the glare of the scorching sun, the sight of the foliage against the blue sky keeps our lenses cool.

5. Amidst all the adversities the tree is sending out new shoots. No grudge, no revenge – I feel the tree is spurred by the sheer hope to sustain.

One more World Environment Day is round the corner. When all over the world people fervently plant new trees, we, who cannot afford even a square foot of soil, are happy celebrating this little benevolent tree. Don’t feel sorry for us, but this time keep us in mind and PLANT ONE EXTRA TREE in your part of the world, where ever it be…