Am on vacation. Rather "vacation". And hence :P Check the above link. Loved the above "graph" :P
oh yes! Happiee 2010!
When the whole world wakes up to a brand new day and a brand new year, I usually wake up to a a new day which I wish to be brand but get reminded that it is another countdown. Thanks to P, my life's great. How I wish the countdown wouldn't bother me even to the extent of blogging about it.
My life now.
1:26 A.M. Countdown continues. loud music at neighbours'. laughter. countdown continues. pages turned are markedly fewer than pages unturned. calls. new year wishes. piled books. photocopies here and there. pen marks all over. highlighters, markers and all of Faber's products seem the only nice things around. louder music.
laughter. ---- how I wish they'd realize my plight ---- P calls. Life is great. I talk. Life is greater. Countdown stops. music seems wonderful. realization that life is more than exams :P P says bye. Countdown starts. Eyelids droop. yawn. effortful eye-widening episodes. chk FB. No friends. guilt. more guilt. and guilt again. guilt. self-questions why aren't others online. realizes that everyone isn't that dumb. gets scared. forgotten books. go to the pile. vini, vidi and veterina of Phd. slop down. can't believe oneself. yawn. P calls. close books. go to bed. guilt disappears. wants to live for the moment. why force? realizes that everything done was by choice. why not this? talks. happy. g'nite sign.
use calendar on mobile to hope for some kinda miraculous increase in number of days. countdown is getting shorter. it is past 12.
guilt. close eyes tight and wish tomorrow is a better ( read: more productive) day. forgets everything. hugs pillow. why aren't there exams for the longest sleeper? or the happiest sleeper?
Tomorrow arrives.
See above.yesterday repeats.
Christmas and new year = odd sem exams.
:P
Friday, January 1, 2010
Monday, November 9, 2009
To opt or not to opt!!!!
TOI, DH, IE, Hindu…. Rediff, yahoo! Just about everything was gung ho about 10th exams going optional! So much so that, the permanent link to the rediff item ends in “govt-makes-strong-pitch-for-educ-reforms.htm”. Hmmmm….
It was as though there was a furious re-arranging of the deck chairs going on as the ship sank. “The Class X board exams will become optional in all CBSE schools from the coming academic year (2010-11).”
NEWS!!!!
The government on Monday announced that it will introduce grading system in all Central Board of Secondary Education (CBSE) schools and make Class X board exams optional from coming academic year (2010-11).
Union Human Resource Development minister Kapil Sibal, during a press conference in New Delhi, said: “Central Advisory Board of Education (CABE) supports making Class X examination optional in CBSE system.”
And then the letters to the editor followed. I especially remember this one -
“This is a revolutionary bold step undertaken by a minister. Had it been taken by some one 30 years back, I would have also cherished by childhood instead of remembering it as the most traumatic period of my life. Anyway, I feel happy thinking that atleast now onwards god gifted human life specially its child hood will be remembered happily by everyone. Learning should be always a happy and enjoyable experience. The moment it becomes an unpleasant painful job, it will fail to fulfill its objective and the whole exercise of education system will be futile..Last but not least it is an humble request to the hon'ble minister Sri Kapil Sibalji, to think about the entry age of children of going to school.”
And that set me thinking. One of those Wordsworth’s “pensive” moods I guess. I didn’t know what it meant to make an exam optional and replace it with a “grading system”. The grading system is “an aptitude exam, which schools can use to test Class X students on their level of understanding in each subject.” What’s the distinction and what difference will that distinction make?
Won’t the student’s competitive spirit dampen? Won’t it all get diluted? What’ll happen to the good ol’ days of studying? Will students succumb to the “chalta hai” attitude? Will parents no longer push their children to be their best? What will happen to the torches of tomo? Won’t all of them make it the easy way?
But then, a move such as this one must have really been under consideration for long and probably after a long deliberation, implemented. So, what must have been going on in the mind of Kapil Sibal when he introduced this move? As he put It, it was to de-traumatize education.
Interesting! I pondered.
How many of you had to forego your cricket camps because it was “10th board exams?” “Oh! I stopped sending sheela to music classes.. after all, it is boards this year.she ought to be studying!” I could hear my neighbour say. My own brother discontinued cricket because 10th was board. One promising left arm spinner, lost! Why, you ask? Because, after 10th it is pre-univ and board-time again! So, it never goes beyond that. Atleast, most of the time. I at times wonder, what would have happened if the parents had continued to send their children to extra-curricular classes instead of just sweating it out in front of books! Instead of making them write the grammar lessons which they never really understood a zillion times just coz’ u can score a 100 in Sanskrit. Or grab all the formulae that the student came across lest he miss out on something that may appear for "one" crucial mark in “the boards!”. The young singing talent lost her voice because she was made to read aloud her history dates early morning everyday – so loud and clear lest she forgets them. Or seen parents askin' children not to read the latest knowledge bank or maybe even tinkle, coz it doesn’t have Board curriculum! Huh! These are just a few of the most generous and lenient instances.
I haven’t touched tuitions yet. When the rest of the whole world blissfully sleeps, alarms go ringing right from 3 or even earlier and then you know! That there is a student who is appearing for the “Boards!” oh yes! Ofcourse, you realize. Their day starts this early. And when the rest of the whole world thinks of jogging and getting some good refreshing exercise, the “Boards” victim is off on his bicycle carrying with him a rucksack as though on an expedition. Socials, science, math and what not! Yes, he has to finish his math tuition and then run to science classes! And there is hardly a gap of 15 mins. Ofcourse, he can’t come home. The tuition is faaaar off! Great!
The whole world cheers TZP – makes it a runaway hit! But hypocrisy prevails when it comes to treating their own kids! If you are a 10th std board candidate, try taking your easel and do that sketch u always wanted to do. And you’ve had it! “U are in Board! This isn’t the time to be doing it! Do it in ur summer vacations” comes the call. You drop what’s in your hand, totally frustrated, you walk towards ur room, pull out a book and all you can see is images of that one sketch you wanted to make. And nothing goes in.
Oh…. How could I miss the mocks! Umpteem number of mock-tests…. Mock state and national rankings…. More mock tests.. more rankings…. Life!
10th standard! That’s like 14 or 15 yrs! A teenager…. An inquisitive mind…. Hot blood…. Curiosity to see the world.. do something new…. Challenge…. Pursue their passion…. And ofcourse, Experience the sheer joy of childhood !Isn’t that supposed to be happening?
What is this life full of care, when we have no time to stand and stare?
What happened to the happiness lies where the heart is? What are we pushing them towards in the name of developing a competitive spirit? 7th and 10th students committing suicide coz’ they got a math problem wrong? You call that healthy?
And don’t ever blame it on the child, saying he was sensitive – you made him so! The system made him so! A child, probably a Sachin of tomo was killed because you failed to see the talent in him? Because board exams don’t measure your other attributes? Or you are looking down on the child’s innate abilities and are after him to acquire something new and beat others in it when he could have topped in his area of expertise?
The Board just does that. No doubt, it instills the competitiveness and urge to fight. But, what are we fighting for? 1 mark? 2 marks? Have you seen kids line up infront of the teachers’ desks being at their persuasive best for a quarter mark because that quarter will make them top? Is this the kind of competition we teach? So, what do you think will happen to these kids? They’ll never enjoy the process. They al become so result-oriented and selfish, that they fail to think beyond.
“I play to win” sounds nice when you really enjoy the play and learn along. Learning is not always measured by marks. Learning is an all-round phenomena. What you learn becomes crucial at a later stage.
"It is sports day after all! Stay at home and revise for that test next week. Don’t sign up for any dance events." "It is Boards this time. Don’t this. Don’t that."
When Kapil Sibal talked of de-traumatising education, he meant this and much more which can never be put down in words. The psychology of the child is so inexplicable – you never know what you can do by foolish acts not to mention education systems gone haywire!
Grading system overcomes all this to some extent. It is revolutionary. It is a positive move – one that instills hope that not everything is so bad after all. An optional system is in no way going ot dilute the quality of education, trust me on this. Students are not going t be let away with whatever they do. There is a constant evaluation happening and hopefully one that takes into account the student’s overall performance. So, this kind of monitoring will keep the student on his toes – he has to constantly perform but the difference being – there is no pressure , so scope for optimal learning accompanied by performance. A cool example of competence and performance nourishment sans pressure. Infact chn will have a more rounded personality. Isn’t this the optimal environ for growth?
Young kids should not be considered as computer hard disk memory so that we keep on storing information in the name of imparting knowledge. Through education let us not make the effort to make some one learned but let us kindle the light of desire to know the unknown by themselves. Education always meant that, didn’t it?
It was as though there was a furious re-arranging of the deck chairs going on as the ship sank. “The Class X board exams will become optional in all CBSE schools from the coming academic year (2010-11).”
NEWS!!!!
The government on Monday announced that it will introduce grading system in all Central Board of Secondary Education (CBSE) schools and make Class X board exams optional from coming academic year (2010-11).
Union Human Resource Development minister Kapil Sibal, during a press conference in New Delhi, said: “Central Advisory Board of Education (CABE) supports making Class X examination optional in CBSE system.”
And then the letters to the editor followed. I especially remember this one -
“This is a revolutionary bold step undertaken by a minister. Had it been taken by some one 30 years back, I would have also cherished by childhood instead of remembering it as the most traumatic period of my life. Anyway, I feel happy thinking that atleast now onwards god gifted human life specially its child hood will be remembered happily by everyone. Learning should be always a happy and enjoyable experience. The moment it becomes an unpleasant painful job, it will fail to fulfill its objective and the whole exercise of education system will be futile..Last but not least it is an humble request to the hon'ble minister Sri Kapil Sibalji, to think about the entry age of children of going to school.”
And that set me thinking. One of those Wordsworth’s “pensive” moods I guess. I didn’t know what it meant to make an exam optional and replace it with a “grading system”. The grading system is “an aptitude exam, which schools can use to test Class X students on their level of understanding in each subject.” What’s the distinction and what difference will that distinction make?
Won’t the student’s competitive spirit dampen? Won’t it all get diluted? What’ll happen to the good ol’ days of studying? Will students succumb to the “chalta hai” attitude? Will parents no longer push their children to be their best? What will happen to the torches of tomo? Won’t all of them make it the easy way?
But then, a move such as this one must have really been under consideration for long and probably after a long deliberation, implemented. So, what must have been going on in the mind of Kapil Sibal when he introduced this move? As he put It, it was to de-traumatize education.
Interesting! I pondered.
How many of you had to forego your cricket camps because it was “10th board exams?” “Oh! I stopped sending sheela to music classes.. after all, it is boards this year.she ought to be studying!” I could hear my neighbour say. My own brother discontinued cricket because 10th was board. One promising left arm spinner, lost! Why, you ask? Because, after 10th it is pre-univ and board-time again! So, it never goes beyond that. Atleast, most of the time. I at times wonder, what would have happened if the parents had continued to send their children to extra-curricular classes instead of just sweating it out in front of books! Instead of making them write the grammar lessons which they never really understood a zillion times just coz’ u can score a 100 in Sanskrit. Or grab all the formulae that the student came across lest he miss out on something that may appear for "one" crucial mark in “the boards!”. The young singing talent lost her voice because she was made to read aloud her history dates early morning everyday – so loud and clear lest she forgets them. Or seen parents askin' children not to read the latest knowledge bank or maybe even tinkle, coz it doesn’t have Board curriculum! Huh! These are just a few of the most generous and lenient instances.
I haven’t touched tuitions yet. When the rest of the whole world blissfully sleeps, alarms go ringing right from 3 or even earlier and then you know! That there is a student who is appearing for the “Boards!” oh yes! Ofcourse, you realize. Their day starts this early. And when the rest of the whole world thinks of jogging and getting some good refreshing exercise, the “Boards” victim is off on his bicycle carrying with him a rucksack as though on an expedition. Socials, science, math and what not! Yes, he has to finish his math tuition and then run to science classes! And there is hardly a gap of 15 mins. Ofcourse, he can’t come home. The tuition is faaaar off! Great!
The whole world cheers TZP – makes it a runaway hit! But hypocrisy prevails when it comes to treating their own kids! If you are a 10th std board candidate, try taking your easel and do that sketch u always wanted to do. And you’ve had it! “U are in Board! This isn’t the time to be doing it! Do it in ur summer vacations” comes the call. You drop what’s in your hand, totally frustrated, you walk towards ur room, pull out a book and all you can see is images of that one sketch you wanted to make. And nothing goes in.
Oh…. How could I miss the mocks! Umpteem number of mock-tests…. Mock state and national rankings…. More mock tests.. more rankings…. Life!
10th standard! That’s like 14 or 15 yrs! A teenager…. An inquisitive mind…. Hot blood…. Curiosity to see the world.. do something new…. Challenge…. Pursue their passion…. And ofcourse, Experience the sheer joy of childhood !Isn’t that supposed to be happening?
What is this life full of care, when we have no time to stand and stare?
What happened to the happiness lies where the heart is? What are we pushing them towards in the name of developing a competitive spirit? 7th and 10th students committing suicide coz’ they got a math problem wrong? You call that healthy?
And don’t ever blame it on the child, saying he was sensitive – you made him so! The system made him so! A child, probably a Sachin of tomo was killed because you failed to see the talent in him? Because board exams don’t measure your other attributes? Or you are looking down on the child’s innate abilities and are after him to acquire something new and beat others in it when he could have topped in his area of expertise?
The Board just does that. No doubt, it instills the competitiveness and urge to fight. But, what are we fighting for? 1 mark? 2 marks? Have you seen kids line up infront of the teachers’ desks being at their persuasive best for a quarter mark because that quarter will make them top? Is this the kind of competition we teach? So, what do you think will happen to these kids? They’ll never enjoy the process. They al become so result-oriented and selfish, that they fail to think beyond.
“I play to win” sounds nice when you really enjoy the play and learn along. Learning is not always measured by marks. Learning is an all-round phenomena. What you learn becomes crucial at a later stage.
"It is sports day after all! Stay at home and revise for that test next week. Don’t sign up for any dance events." "It is Boards this time. Don’t this. Don’t that."
When Kapil Sibal talked of de-traumatising education, he meant this and much more which can never be put down in words. The psychology of the child is so inexplicable – you never know what you can do by foolish acts not to mention education systems gone haywire!
Grading system overcomes all this to some extent. It is revolutionary. It is a positive move – one that instills hope that not everything is so bad after all. An optional system is in no way going ot dilute the quality of education, trust me on this. Students are not going t be let away with whatever they do. There is a constant evaluation happening and hopefully one that takes into account the student’s overall performance. So, this kind of monitoring will keep the student on his toes – he has to constantly perform but the difference being – there is no pressure , so scope for optimal learning accompanied by performance. A cool example of competence and performance nourishment sans pressure. Infact chn will have a more rounded personality. Isn’t this the optimal environ for growth?
Young kids should not be considered as computer hard disk memory so that we keep on storing information in the name of imparting knowledge. Through education let us not make the effort to make some one learned but let us kindle the light of desire to know the unknown by themselves. Education always meant that, didn’t it?
Friday, August 21, 2009
Coz' words are all I have ....
"Smile, an everlasting smile.... ", the song runs through my head, repeatedly. I realize I have had this book infront of me for like 15 mins now but somehow don't recollect reading a single word of it. I feel funny. I feel guilty. I feel I have wronged someone. In short, I feel terrible.
R taps me on my shoulder - NR ( that's our terminology for no response). R shakes me and looks at me quizzically! "What are you dreaming about? Do you realize that I have been calling you like a dozen times now?", she asks, her eyeballs almost popping out in surprise that I, a super senior ( not self proclaimed, this time) can be so un-professional in a palce where I am supposed to show all the diligence, dedication and all good words starting with the letter d- . Little did she know why.
Actually, I myself don't know why. Am sure, we all have days when we wake up feeling a little funny and don't really look forward to the day. Am not referring to bad hair days or pimple-right-on-your-nose tip days but rather those days when the yesterday has left behind a not-so-pleasant feeling.
But what was it that made me feel so low? Song? Tuesday? Nah!
And then, I suddenly realized why. I saw her again. Yes! There she was, clutching onto her little rucksack and standing at the registration. I prayed to God that it was not what I thought would be. But alas! My fear turned out to be true.
"P, there is a case", I heard the call. P, is me ofcourse. Tiptoe-ing ( or is it tiptoing) as though my footsteps would wake a 1 year old child sleeping blissfully, I walked to the OPD room where the file was.
I saw the name on the file. "Girijamma", it read. (name changed for reasons of privacy and ethics). I was not surprised. Was she not the "Sarojamma" who came yesterday? And the "Savithri" who had come last week?
I walked out and called her name, "Girijammaaaa", looking at her, knowing very well that her name was not that. She looked at me and smiled. The warmth and the shine piercing my heart in a painful way. This smile was so different. I didn't feel happy looking at her smile. I felt guilty. I felt quite lost. Does she even realize what she is getting into? What will I tell her?
I smiled back at her. Perhaps, there was a long latent period thanks to the sudden influx of thoughts, she looked very reassured that I had actually smiled back at her. Knowing very well that I was repeating the protcol that wasn't necessary at all, I called her to the OPD room.
"So, Girijamma, what is your complaint this time?", I asked not able to look in her eye. "Illa doctoravva, Girijamma is my daughter", she said (in kannada ofcourse).
"your daughter?", I asked surprisingly. "Yes,my daughter is metally ill. She does not understand what I tell her. She cannot carry out her activities of dailing either", she said, fully thorough with what I would have asked her had she not told me anything.
"Where is she then?", I asked. She got up and brought her daughter inside. I looked at her daughter. A pretty girl hidden in a very ragged outfit sat in front of me. She seemed extremely disinterested in what was going on. Except for her attire, ( she looked like she was forced into wearing something that did not fit her or that meant to hide her beauty and grace), she looked fine. And yes, detached.
I caught her attention and said a hi. She looked into my eyes, and looked away. I felt funny again. I asked her if she had had her breakfast. She looked at me and nodded meekly. "What did you have, Girija?", I asked hoping I could hear her voice.
Her mother interrupted. "She can't speak. She can't understand. She is very disoriented, always. And foolish", she remarked. I felt my temper rising. "Please let her answer", I said as politely as I could, but knowing very well that I hadn't feigned the politeness-part very convincingly. The mother kept quiet.
"Girija, give me your hand", I said. She raised her hand a bit and as though she had committed a great sin, put it down and shuddered for what she had done. Ofcourse, I knew the reason. Her mother had pinched her thigh. Thank God for R who walked in to borrow something, that I regained my cool.
"You don't need to be scared of anything. I will help you", I tried to reassure her, afraid that the crack of my voice would give me away.
She smiled weakly. " Do you feel tired? Do you want to eat something? ", I asked, scared that I may scare her by questioning too much. She just shook her head.
I turned to her mother and wrote down teh complaints. The same list. No ADL. Her inability to follow instructions. h/o epileptic seizures. Total dependence. No conceptual skills intact. The list went on.
I hated diagnosing her. I knew she was well. I knew she could think like us. I knew she had wanted to talk too. I knew she was just another like me.
But deep down, I knew why she behaved that way.
Hadn't her mother come for a disability certificate that entitles them to a monthly allownce of 1000 per month and free train travel for the caretaker and the person with disability?
Yes, I suddenly knew why I had been upset. I had seen the lady who had brought her daughter coming for a certificate for herself saying she had other problems related to hearing. She had then brought another elderly man with her, who said that she was mentally challenged and could not speak. When they were told that such issues do not entitle the to receive a compensation and were explained what kind of a disability would fetch such a certificate, she had told me that she'd get her daughter who is "mentally ill" and that she would claim a certificate.
As I stood waiting for the supervisor to see Girijamma, I knew very well that she would get nothing that had come wishing for. And I really feared that.
I knew what was haunting me.
I looked at the lady. I saw the wrinkles and the dark circles. And the worry in her eyes. It touched me to know that a person can go the extent of calling her own daughter a person with "mental challenges" even when she was not. How much it must have pained her whenever she had to lie about her daughter!
Over my years here, my perception of a person who lies has changed.To call your own with harsh terms such as "handicapped" to meet ends meet makes me feel drained out at times. I won't pretend that am strong. I believe one needs to really see and experience these instances to grow as a person. It is just another example of learning outside classrooms and football fields.
The extent to which one's hardship makes lying inevitable is cruel. Gruelling.
And knowing all this and denying a person an allowance and to send them away empty handed, leaving them a few rupees poorer ( all that they spend on travelling and food) and all the physical exhaustion they endure ( umpteen check ups and departmental visits), all the mental fatigue ( they actually try to come up with various problems to try their luck in various departments) - trust me, is a hard hard job!
Knowing that th allowance is meant for persons with genuine disability and discharging your duties ethically is one thing. But then trying to justify this to your conscience that screams for attention is another. And somewhere, along, we concede; to what, is unanswerable.
I realized my file was on the table. And history would repeat itself. Like yesterday. Like the week before. And I had to see her sad face again. Whom would she bring the next time?
I wished for an answer. An appropriate one, not the evasive ones. I was thrown into the perpetual dilemna again. I hated helplessness. Experience doesn't always teach you to get used to things. Some things are meant to be the way they are.
I shied and looked at Girijamma sitting in ront of the supervisor. Detached. Her mother, joined her hands as mark of respect and sat on the chair, smiling as obediectly as she could; trying to be her best.
And I relived my fears once again.
R taps me on my shoulder - NR ( that's our terminology for no response). R shakes me and looks at me quizzically! "What are you dreaming about? Do you realize that I have been calling you like a dozen times now?", she asks, her eyeballs almost popping out in surprise that I, a super senior ( not self proclaimed, this time) can be so un-professional in a palce where I am supposed to show all the diligence, dedication and all good words starting with the letter d- . Little did she know why.
Actually, I myself don't know why. Am sure, we all have days when we wake up feeling a little funny and don't really look forward to the day. Am not referring to bad hair days or pimple-right-on-your-nose tip days but rather those days when the yesterday has left behind a not-so-pleasant feeling.
But what was it that made me feel so low? Song? Tuesday? Nah!
And then, I suddenly realized why. I saw her again. Yes! There she was, clutching onto her little rucksack and standing at the registration. I prayed to God that it was not what I thought would be. But alas! My fear turned out to be true.
"P, there is a case", I heard the call. P, is me ofcourse. Tiptoe-ing ( or is it tiptoing) as though my footsteps would wake a 1 year old child sleeping blissfully, I walked to the OPD room where the file was.
I saw the name on the file. "Girijamma", it read. (name changed for reasons of privacy and ethics). I was not surprised. Was she not the "Sarojamma" who came yesterday? And the "Savithri" who had come last week?
I walked out and called her name, "Girijammaaaa", looking at her, knowing very well that her name was not that. She looked at me and smiled. The warmth and the shine piercing my heart in a painful way. This smile was so different. I didn't feel happy looking at her smile. I felt guilty. I felt quite lost. Does she even realize what she is getting into? What will I tell her?
I smiled back at her. Perhaps, there was a long latent period thanks to the sudden influx of thoughts, she looked very reassured that I had actually smiled back at her. Knowing very well that I was repeating the protcol that wasn't necessary at all, I called her to the OPD room.
"So, Girijamma, what is your complaint this time?", I asked not able to look in her eye. "Illa doctoravva, Girijamma is my daughter", she said (in kannada ofcourse).
"your daughter?", I asked surprisingly. "Yes,my daughter is metally ill. She does not understand what I tell her. She cannot carry out her activities of dailing either", she said, fully thorough with what I would have asked her had she not told me anything.
"Where is she then?", I asked. She got up and brought her daughter inside. I looked at her daughter. A pretty girl hidden in a very ragged outfit sat in front of me. She seemed extremely disinterested in what was going on. Except for her attire, ( she looked like she was forced into wearing something that did not fit her or that meant to hide her beauty and grace), she looked fine. And yes, detached.
I caught her attention and said a hi. She looked into my eyes, and looked away. I felt funny again. I asked her if she had had her breakfast. She looked at me and nodded meekly. "What did you have, Girija?", I asked hoping I could hear her voice.
Her mother interrupted. "She can't speak. She can't understand. She is very disoriented, always. And foolish", she remarked. I felt my temper rising. "Please let her answer", I said as politely as I could, but knowing very well that I hadn't feigned the politeness-part very convincingly. The mother kept quiet.
"Girija, give me your hand", I said. She raised her hand a bit and as though she had committed a great sin, put it down and shuddered for what she had done. Ofcourse, I knew the reason. Her mother had pinched her thigh. Thank God for R who walked in to borrow something, that I regained my cool.
"You don't need to be scared of anything. I will help you", I tried to reassure her, afraid that the crack of my voice would give me away.
She smiled weakly. " Do you feel tired? Do you want to eat something? ", I asked, scared that I may scare her by questioning too much. She just shook her head.
I turned to her mother and wrote down teh complaints. The same list. No ADL. Her inability to follow instructions. h/o epileptic seizures. Total dependence. No conceptual skills intact. The list went on.
I hated diagnosing her. I knew she was well. I knew she could think like us. I knew she had wanted to talk too. I knew she was just another like me.
But deep down, I knew why she behaved that way.
Hadn't her mother come for a disability certificate that entitles them to a monthly allownce of 1000 per month and free train travel for the caretaker and the person with disability?
Yes, I suddenly knew why I had been upset. I had seen the lady who had brought her daughter coming for a certificate for herself saying she had other problems related to hearing. She had then brought another elderly man with her, who said that she was mentally challenged and could not speak. When they were told that such issues do not entitle the to receive a compensation and were explained what kind of a disability would fetch such a certificate, she had told me that she'd get her daughter who is "mentally ill" and that she would claim a certificate.
As I stood waiting for the supervisor to see Girijamma, I knew very well that she would get nothing that had come wishing for. And I really feared that.
I knew what was haunting me.
I looked at the lady. I saw the wrinkles and the dark circles. And the worry in her eyes. It touched me to know that a person can go the extent of calling her own daughter a person with "mental challenges" even when she was not. How much it must have pained her whenever she had to lie about her daughter!
Over my years here, my perception of a person who lies has changed.To call your own with harsh terms such as "handicapped" to meet ends meet makes me feel drained out at times. I won't pretend that am strong. I believe one needs to really see and experience these instances to grow as a person. It is just another example of learning outside classrooms and football fields.
The extent to which one's hardship makes lying inevitable is cruel. Gruelling.
And knowing all this and denying a person an allowance and to send them away empty handed, leaving them a few rupees poorer ( all that they spend on travelling and food) and all the physical exhaustion they endure ( umpteen check ups and departmental visits), all the mental fatigue ( they actually try to come up with various problems to try their luck in various departments) - trust me, is a hard hard job!
Knowing that th allowance is meant for persons with genuine disability and discharging your duties ethically is one thing. But then trying to justify this to your conscience that screams for attention is another. And somewhere, along, we concede; to what, is unanswerable.
I realized my file was on the table. And history would repeat itself. Like yesterday. Like the week before. And I had to see her sad face again. Whom would she bring the next time?
I wished for an answer. An appropriate one, not the evasive ones. I was thrown into the perpetual dilemna again. I hated helplessness. Experience doesn't always teach you to get used to things. Some things are meant to be the way they are.
I shied and looked at Girijamma sitting in ront of the supervisor. Detached. Her mother, joined her hands as mark of respect and sat on the chair, smiling as obediectly as she could; trying to be her best.
And I relived my fears once again.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
My name is Mahadevamma..
We had recently been to Talkad - my cousins, their parents, my family and ofcourse, the I :)
Talkad - hmm.. kind of brings up images of paths of sand, Alumelamma's curse, those small temples along the path that leads up to the Kaveri at which you will find yourself casting double and triple glances to make sure if that indeed is Kaveri. Dont't ask me why. The whole water body seemed to be covered in dirt. No matter how far I tried to look, I could see the typical dirt-green. Blech! And there are people everywhere. No, it is not the people I have a problem with, but their bathing, brushing and spitting acivities. They treat it like a shower. It really gets into you to see people getting soap and shampoos to Kaveri. Wasn't that supposed to be the "dip" that one had to take? I'd prefer the non-polluting version of water-play.
Talkad to me meant that. Atleast till our trip. Talkad to me was water and temples and sand. And that's when "Mahadevamma" happened.
We had hired a tempo traveller and once we reached Talkad, we got down at the entrance so that we could have a nice chettery walk and look at everything at our own pace ( nice walk in the sun is a little oxymoronic, eh?) anyways, after having gotten off, we began walking, reminding each other to take as many snaps as possible ( you see, with the present-day schedule of anyone, even my 7th standard-cousin, it is not often that you go on family trips and we were all excited).
After like around 20 steps, we stopped to look around. We saw a a huge rectangular shaped construction below us. It was hollow with nothign inside. Our divergent thinking paved way for various creatie answers and suddenly we heard a voice behind us - " that king take bathing there." We looked around to see who had said that and saw a quirky elderly woman, very lean but with bright eyes doing the most of communication. One of my aunts asked her as to who she was.
"My name is Mahadevamma", she said.
"wow! She speaks English", one of my younger Bishop cottons- cousins exclaimed.
"Yes! I know English. Butler english",she blushed.
Thinking that she was there for money, one of my "cautious" uncles asked her what she wanted. "We don't need a guide, please", he said.
" Waaaaa.. yaakang aaditra budhi? I only helping. You seeing",she said.
"How sweet", is not what I really felt but she surely had the courage to come up and be confident about whatever she knew and what she wanted to do.
Now, my dear mother just cannot stop herself from "interacting" with people.
" How do you know english?", she asked seriously.
"Oh, many people coming. I talking talking talking talking. Bidiyamma adenu dodda vishya ( leave it, what's so great about it?)", she replied.
No, my mother wouldn't stop at that.
" You know ABCD..?", she asked.
"Yes yes. I know", she said.
Can you recite it?", my mother asked. I wasn't surprised. She makes sure she knows them in and out and then gives them those "tests" to test the veracity of their claims. Moms are like that.
"oh.. thatuu very simple. Bidi", she said adding that she may have forgotten it as she doesn't get a chance to revise it.
By this time, I must have wandered off in amusement, towards the edges of the path when I heard her call out to me " chinnu.. hey, you chinnu.. orange. come this side.. follow me." I turned back so astonished and saw her lookign at me. " you only, chinnu.. orange chinnu", she said looking at my orange top.
Phew! I smiled at her and asked her if she works anywhere and her family. She told me that she had 2 sons, one in college and the other in 7th standard and she worked a few houses as a helper to make ends meet and on weekends she would go around with tourists.
"My name is Mahadevamma", she added after furnishing all the above details. "eh?", I wondered but later on realizd that she has the habit of adding " My name is Mahadevamma.. mm." The "mm" was always with an air of attitude that said " Am Mahadevamma. Don't mess with me" kinds.
Soon, she had a name for all of us. All my cousisn were guys and soon they all became Kannada actors. One became Sudeep, the other Darshan, Ganesh, Vishnuvardhan, Uppendra (Uppi, to be precise) and what not!
Even our boxer Rocky who was with us became Ravi ( Ravichandran, remember?) "Hey, Ravi! COme this side darling", she called out and I had a strong feeling, Rocky blushed though he did not really follow her.
"Going river, temple half hour", she sudenly shouted out of nowhere and I wondered if she was trying out a poem with rhyming effects ofcourse. Naa, she was only telling us that we are going to the river and that we can finish seeing the temple in half an hour. Atleast that's what her kannada translation meant.
Interesting, I thought!
Oh yes! She also let out strings like " Don't care, don't change", " ok, have a good day", at anyone she saw and we were so amused by her behaviour.
Finally, when she left us by the river, we felt so sad that she wouldn't accompany us for the rest of the journey.
Those few lines of English were her livelihood. Not just hers but quite a few people there who would show around foreign tourists. The foriegners would laugh everythime they heard a " come this side. Follow me", but little do they know that these peopel have learnt the language for reasons that go beyond communication - their food.
When Mahadevamma saw a few foriegn kids laugh at her English, she looked ta my mother and said- " avru chikkavaru. en gothilla. munde nan thara doddavaradaga avrige gothaguthe. avaga naguthara? ( they are small. Ehy don't understand anything. When they become as old as me in the future, they will unerstand. Then, will thay laugh at me like this?"
More than the river, the sand, the stories behind Talkad, Mahadevamma was the interesting find. I will never be abl to describe her in words. There was somethign abou her. Something beyond teh language she had learnt. Maybe the cofidence. Or maybe the rappport she instantaneously built wth us - a few of us.
My cousisn who she nicknamed "Ganesh" didn't really iek it , not after she told him that he is plump like Ganiesh :P
She signed off with, " Next time you come herre, you must come home. Just ask for " english mahadevamma's house" and they will tell you", she smiled an waved a quick english-bye before running of t oanother tempo traveller that had just arrived.
Talkad - hmm.. kind of brings up images of paths of sand, Alumelamma's curse, those small temples along the path that leads up to the Kaveri at which you will find yourself casting double and triple glances to make sure if that indeed is Kaveri. Dont't ask me why. The whole water body seemed to be covered in dirt. No matter how far I tried to look, I could see the typical dirt-green. Blech! And there are people everywhere. No, it is not the people I have a problem with, but their bathing, brushing and spitting acivities. They treat it like a shower. It really gets into you to see people getting soap and shampoos to Kaveri. Wasn't that supposed to be the "dip" that one had to take? I'd prefer the non-polluting version of water-play.
Talkad to me meant that. Atleast till our trip. Talkad to me was water and temples and sand. And that's when "Mahadevamma" happened.
We had hired a tempo traveller and once we reached Talkad, we got down at the entrance so that we could have a nice chettery walk and look at everything at our own pace ( nice walk in the sun is a little oxymoronic, eh?) anyways, after having gotten off, we began walking, reminding each other to take as many snaps as possible ( you see, with the present-day schedule of anyone, even my 7th standard-cousin, it is not often that you go on family trips and we were all excited).
After like around 20 steps, we stopped to look around. We saw a a huge rectangular shaped construction below us. It was hollow with nothign inside. Our divergent thinking paved way for various creatie answers and suddenly we heard a voice behind us - " that king take bathing there." We looked around to see who had said that and saw a quirky elderly woman, very lean but with bright eyes doing the most of communication. One of my aunts asked her as to who she was.
"My name is Mahadevamma", she said.
"wow! She speaks English", one of my younger Bishop cottons- cousins exclaimed.
"Yes! I know English. Butler english",she blushed.
Thinking that she was there for money, one of my "cautious" uncles asked her what she wanted. "We don't need a guide, please", he said.
" Waaaaa.. yaakang aaditra budhi? I only helping. You seeing",she said.
"How sweet", is not what I really felt but she surely had the courage to come up and be confident about whatever she knew and what she wanted to do.
Now, my dear mother just cannot stop herself from "interacting" with people.
" How do you know english?", she asked seriously.
"Oh, many people coming. I talking talking talking talking. Bidiyamma adenu dodda vishya ( leave it, what's so great about it?)", she replied.
No, my mother wouldn't stop at that.
" You know ABCD..?", she asked.
"Yes yes. I know", she said.
Can you recite it?", my mother asked. I wasn't surprised. She makes sure she knows them in and out and then gives them those "tests" to test the veracity of their claims. Moms are like that.
"oh.. thatuu very simple. Bidi", she said adding that she may have forgotten it as she doesn't get a chance to revise it.
By this time, I must have wandered off in amusement, towards the edges of the path when I heard her call out to me " chinnu.. hey, you chinnu.. orange. come this side.. follow me." I turned back so astonished and saw her lookign at me. " you only, chinnu.. orange chinnu", she said looking at my orange top.
Phew! I smiled at her and asked her if she works anywhere and her family. She told me that she had 2 sons, one in college and the other in 7th standard and she worked a few houses as a helper to make ends meet and on weekends she would go around with tourists.
"My name is Mahadevamma", she added after furnishing all the above details. "eh?", I wondered but later on realizd that she has the habit of adding " My name is Mahadevamma.. mm." The "mm" was always with an air of attitude that said " Am Mahadevamma. Don't mess with me" kinds.
Soon, she had a name for all of us. All my cousisn were guys and soon they all became Kannada actors. One became Sudeep, the other Darshan, Ganesh, Vishnuvardhan, Uppendra (Uppi, to be precise) and what not!
Even our boxer Rocky who was with us became Ravi ( Ravichandran, remember?) "Hey, Ravi! COme this side darling", she called out and I had a strong feeling, Rocky blushed though he did not really follow her.
"Going river, temple half hour", she sudenly shouted out of nowhere and I wondered if she was trying out a poem with rhyming effects ofcourse. Naa, she was only telling us that we are going to the river and that we can finish seeing the temple in half an hour. Atleast that's what her kannada translation meant.
Interesting, I thought!
Oh yes! She also let out strings like " Don't care, don't change", " ok, have a good day", at anyone she saw and we were so amused by her behaviour.
Finally, when she left us by the river, we felt so sad that she wouldn't accompany us for the rest of the journey.
Those few lines of English were her livelihood. Not just hers but quite a few people there who would show around foreign tourists. The foriegners would laugh everythime they heard a " come this side. Follow me", but little do they know that these peopel have learnt the language for reasons that go beyond communication - their food.
When Mahadevamma saw a few foriegn kids laugh at her English, she looked ta my mother and said- " avru chikkavaru. en gothilla. munde nan thara doddavaradaga avrige gothaguthe. avaga naguthara? ( they are small. Ehy don't understand anything. When they become as old as me in the future, they will unerstand. Then, will thay laugh at me like this?"
More than the river, the sand, the stories behind Talkad, Mahadevamma was the interesting find. I will never be abl to describe her in words. There was somethign abou her. Something beyond teh language she had learnt. Maybe the cofidence. Or maybe the rappport she instantaneously built wth us - a few of us.
My cousisn who she nicknamed "Ganesh" didn't really iek it , not after she told him that he is plump like Ganiesh :P
She signed off with, " Next time you come herre, you must come home. Just ask for " english mahadevamma's house" and they will tell you", she smiled an waved a quick english-bye before running of t oanother tempo traveller that had just arrived.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Surely unsure maybe..
( Don't ask me to explain the title - for reasons best known to the author. oh yes! The author still exists and wants to resurrect her blog. Like the last time,).
Corruption is the funniest phenomenon. Not the funnily funny, rather the “funny” funny.
Trust me, it gets so weird and shocking when you come across corruption in the weirdest and the unimaginable-st places and for further more unimaginable things. Like last week. The week beforet he last. Yesterday too. Never mind.
I think N will remember this debate competition we attended more than a year back as part of a literary event organized by one of the engineering colleges here.
The topic ran like this – “ Corruption should be accepted as normal state of affairs in any nation”
I won’t circumlocute on this. I spoke for the point. Not pulling my hair off as to how one can even suggest such a thing I wanted to be the cool-headed one ( atleast I’d like to believe so) I decided I would be for the motion. Not without stressing the much hyped and yet needed “limits of acceptance” ofcourse. And obviously, I wasn’t the only one who felt so ‘cause it was a competition and we had to go in twos with one speaking for the motion and the other against. I had ample people whom I proudly called my obligatory supporters.
What I spoke is another issue and probably another blog. For now, let us get to the purpose of this blog. The “debater”, I’d like to call him.
The “debater” who shook the podium, pushed it almost offstage, ate the mic, banged the poor podium (poor thingy!) and who used a neo-version of American sign language interwined with manual alphabet and ofcourse assisted by a few looks ( courtesy: WWF ; is it still called by that name?? ). The same “debater” who cried hoarse and scorned and laughed and jeered at how we could even think of such a thing as accepting corruption. “ Corruption!! Corruption, you say!! Ha ha!! Normal state of affairs?! My God! Corruption!! How could you? I mean.. how could you?”, he bellowed. It was then, that I appreciated the root word “belli” that gave rise to “belligerent”.
I was only relieved that he didn’t strangle the organizers for even thinking of such a topic for debate.
Some people were in total rapture and some even laughed. “ Please give him some water”, I heard myself say, much to the amusement of judges who were sitting close to me.
After 3 + 1 min + a few more seconds of agitation, commotion and all the – tion ending words that mean what I want to say, he left the poor podium and went back to his seat, his ears pink and fuming. I couldn’t help picturising the yahoo messenger emoticon for anger then.
But somewhere long, I felt happy. Atleast he is passionate about what he spoke, I thought. In his own way.
There was a break between and I left for home. On my way back, I saw that the traffic police were inspecting driving licenses near the traffic signal and as I stopped at the signal, I saw that the “debater” was there, saying something to the traffic policeman, handing over a 50 rupees note. Mellow and apologetic, it took me a while to confirm if it was him.
Ofcourse, I understood what must be happening.
The first emotion I felt was not shock. Rather, pretty much like any of you out there, I felt angry. And then, the huh- so much-fo-all-that-drama onstage.
It really pains me to think that people debate on issues to win that prize or tell the others that they have good “public – speaking” skills.
I don’t deny that everybody likes to win. To make their point. To be appreciated. But how is debate a debate, when the speaker himself doesn’t believe what he/she says? Why, fight for a cause, when you would probably withdraw from it, when you actually face a challenging situation? Why advocate something only to go against it minutes after you have spoken for the same? Why all this uncertainty?
Most of all, why name politicians as hypocrites when you yourself couldn’t make a small difference? If we aren’t truly passionate about what we say, how can we ever dream of a beautiful nation?
Like last week, I had this neighbour walk up proudly to my mom and talk proudly about how she flicked items meant to be given to poor women. This lady was a senior member of the Mahila samaj and you wouldn't want to know what all she "transported" to her own godown. If not for great honesty, certainly such acts can be avoided, can't they?
Our very own helper, who also works for an anganwadi surprised us, last week. She came to our place in teh afternoon unlike other days, after finishing her work at the Anganwadi. And guess what? she had the raw items of the mid-day meal in her hands - rice, dal and what not, all neatly tucked in 2 huge containers. And she came in coolly asking for water saying she was tired after carrying all the luggage. And when asked why she got what was not rightfully hers, pat came the reply " aa senior madam kotru. avru dina thogolthare",meaning that the senior madam there gave her that and she herself flicks the raw materials everyday.
That's pretty much how it starts. The story of the bad apple.
Sad, true but needs reforms bigtime!! And all that from us - the cliched "future leaders" ( Mr. K, I agree cliches are good :) )That would be another post, I guess and based on your responses, ofcourse :)
For now, I better pack those chocolates. Else, my little fellows at therapy will give me a tough time.
Bribe, for once, seems so endearing :)
Corruption is the funniest phenomenon. Not the funnily funny, rather the “funny” funny.
Trust me, it gets so weird and shocking when you come across corruption in the weirdest and the unimaginable-st places and for further more unimaginable things. Like last week. The week beforet he last. Yesterday too. Never mind.
I think N will remember this debate competition we attended more than a year back as part of a literary event organized by one of the engineering colleges here.
The topic ran like this – “ Corruption should be accepted as normal state of affairs in any nation”
I won’t circumlocute on this. I spoke for the point. Not pulling my hair off as to how one can even suggest such a thing I wanted to be the cool-headed one ( atleast I’d like to believe so) I decided I would be for the motion. Not without stressing the much hyped and yet needed “limits of acceptance” ofcourse. And obviously, I wasn’t the only one who felt so ‘cause it was a competition and we had to go in twos with one speaking for the motion and the other against. I had ample people whom I proudly called my obligatory supporters.
What I spoke is another issue and probably another blog. For now, let us get to the purpose of this blog. The “debater”, I’d like to call him.
The “debater” who shook the podium, pushed it almost offstage, ate the mic, banged the poor podium (poor thingy!) and who used a neo-version of American sign language interwined with manual alphabet and ofcourse assisted by a few looks ( courtesy: WWF ; is it still called by that name?? ). The same “debater” who cried hoarse and scorned and laughed and jeered at how we could even think of such a thing as accepting corruption. “ Corruption!! Corruption, you say!! Ha ha!! Normal state of affairs?! My God! Corruption!! How could you? I mean.. how could you?”, he bellowed. It was then, that I appreciated the root word “belli” that gave rise to “belligerent”.
I was only relieved that he didn’t strangle the organizers for even thinking of such a topic for debate.
Some people were in total rapture and some even laughed. “ Please give him some water”, I heard myself say, much to the amusement of judges who were sitting close to me.
After 3 + 1 min + a few more seconds of agitation, commotion and all the – tion ending words that mean what I want to say, he left the poor podium and went back to his seat, his ears pink and fuming. I couldn’t help picturising the yahoo messenger emoticon for anger then.
But somewhere long, I felt happy. Atleast he is passionate about what he spoke, I thought. In his own way.
There was a break between and I left for home. On my way back, I saw that the traffic police were inspecting driving licenses near the traffic signal and as I stopped at the signal, I saw that the “debater” was there, saying something to the traffic policeman, handing over a 50 rupees note. Mellow and apologetic, it took me a while to confirm if it was him.
Ofcourse, I understood what must be happening.
The first emotion I felt was not shock. Rather, pretty much like any of you out there, I felt angry. And then, the huh- so much-fo-all-that-drama onstage.
It really pains me to think that people debate on issues to win that prize or tell the others that they have good “public – speaking” skills.
I don’t deny that everybody likes to win. To make their point. To be appreciated. But how is debate a debate, when the speaker himself doesn’t believe what he/she says? Why, fight for a cause, when you would probably withdraw from it, when you actually face a challenging situation? Why advocate something only to go against it minutes after you have spoken for the same? Why all this uncertainty?
Most of all, why name politicians as hypocrites when you yourself couldn’t make a small difference? If we aren’t truly passionate about what we say, how can we ever dream of a beautiful nation?
Like last week, I had this neighbour walk up proudly to my mom and talk proudly about how she flicked items meant to be given to poor women. This lady was a senior member of the Mahila samaj and you wouldn't want to know what all she "transported" to her own godown. If not for great honesty, certainly such acts can be avoided, can't they?
Our very own helper, who also works for an anganwadi surprised us, last week. She came to our place in teh afternoon unlike other days, after finishing her work at the Anganwadi. And guess what? she had the raw items of the mid-day meal in her hands - rice, dal and what not, all neatly tucked in 2 huge containers. And she came in coolly asking for water saying she was tired after carrying all the luggage. And when asked why she got what was not rightfully hers, pat came the reply " aa senior madam kotru. avru dina thogolthare",meaning that the senior madam there gave her that and she herself flicks the raw materials everyday.
That's pretty much how it starts. The story of the bad apple.
Sad, true but needs reforms bigtime!! And all that from us - the cliched "future leaders" ( Mr. K, I agree cliches are good :) )That would be another post, I guess and based on your responses, ofcourse :)
For now, I better pack those chocolates. Else, my little fellows at therapy will give me a tough time.
Bribe, for once, seems so endearing :)
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Beautiful, she said
I never thought I understood. Not completely ofcourse. She was so far away from me. Yet, I loved her so much. We probably shared something, right from the day I was born.
I entered this world with a Wagon R -like head ( if you know what I mean) maybe due to the hard labour my maa had to endure. Family members and friends , am sure, must have wrinkled noses at me at the disfigured baby I was. Probably I looked more like a beat-up football player :P
Then, comments followed :P
"Arey, whom does she look like?"
"Certainly, she doesn't resemble either of her parents"
But not her. Paati , thought I was beautiful. Her eyes twinkled with happiness when she held her first grand-daughter.
She told me, a few years later over kodbales & sajjappams, how it was love at first sight. She didn't really use the same words though.
Summer vacations to me meant paati and paati
meant food :) Just the thought of going over to the beautiful home she lived in, would make me look forward to it. The thought of travelling in a rickety bus ( that too, there were just 3 buses that would travel everyday at 5 A.M. , 11:30 A.M. and 4.20 P.M.) and the discussion that we would have at home to choose the bus, was something that I found very exciting.
I still vividly recollect Paati standing at the doorstep waiting for our auto.. As soon as I hopped out, she would always say the same thing.. " enna. paati ippo gnapakatuku vandaala?" ( you remembered Paati now??) and I'd always say.. " Ille paaaaaati.. school.. exams" and the same stories..After feeding us some great lunch that always had appalam, she would ask me about school.. She was a great listener.. She would always ask me about school, Chintu's kindergarten and later on school and unlike many paatis would encourage me to experiement new things..I remember her telling me that women, these days, need to study a lot, be ahead of men and all the revolutionary talk :P for someone as old as my paati, this was a really unique thingy..
There was this vacation, when I had been to Paati's place and joined a summer camp.. I'd come home late at 8:30 with an aunt and paati used to always wait at the door for me, even though her favourite soap was on T.V.
oh yes! paati and T.V. soaps shared an undefinable bond. She always watched Hindi soaps, especially there was this "Shanti" on T.V. and then "Junoon" which she used to watch with so much interest. She loved "Surabhi" on DD. She'd finish her work quickly so that she could watch all her soaps.. I remember her laughing , crying, shouting in sync with the actors on T.V. She had a particular chair for her soaps, at 45 degree azymuth.. I still don't know why she wanted that place..maybe it would help her see and hear better..but, whenever I think of her, this is one image I always have of her in her resting chair, glued to the T.V set..
Cricket!! was her life, would be an understatement .. she used to watch all the matches, ball-to-ball, even the highlights of matches that India won. I remember her cursing the Pakistan players, South African players, her head almost inside the T.V. screen.. I remember her asking my aunts to make a sweet after India won a really good match..
Paati, went beyond bedtime stories and rangolis. There was something unique about her. Everytime I went behind her and closed her eyes.. Piyu, she'd say and laugh. Of the 9 daughters, 14 grandchildren who had assembled there for summer, she knew it was me and I always loved her more at that moment..
And then, she'd always give me her hand-fan, something that I used to be fascinated with and would go on fanning her and tell her about li'l nothings.
Her most priced possession towards the later years was the mosquito-hitter, the electronic one, which looks like a shuttle racquet and you just have to switch it on and go phat phat phat and presto!! all mosquitoes die due to shock. I found it amusing too and still do. I used to wait for her to lie down and watch her go phat phat phat all over the place..
I remember her being there for my moggina jede , for many Janmashtamis, Sankrantis, for a few of our b'days, for a prize distribution.. Every memory I have of her, has her smiling face, those twinkling eyes behind the brown-rimmed glasses.
There was something that kept her happy, always. Even the day before she left us, she asked for a potable T.V. in her ward and watched a cricket match.
That was my paati..
I was not there when she left us.. and that is a feeling, I will always carry with me, till my last. " paati had promised me that she'd visit us that winter.. probably her only unkept promise..
When I looked at her fast asleep, never to wake up again, the magnitude of whom I lost hit me like a storm. Whom would I tell school stories to? Whose eyes would I close stealthily, from behind?The thought that Paati won't see me graduate,will never be there for my wedding, will never see her great grand child, came flooding to me and I stood shocked, not able to shed even one tear. I'd never receive all those goodie packets she'd give me when I left for the next academic year..
I wanted to cry too.. but couldn't..
But when I took one long last look at her , I could only think of one thing to say..
"Paati, you look beautiful."
I entered this world with a Wagon R -like head ( if you know what I mean) maybe due to the hard labour my maa had to endure. Family members and friends , am sure, must have wrinkled noses at me at the disfigured baby I was. Probably I looked more like a beat-up football player :P
Then, comments followed :P
"Arey, whom does she look like?"
"Certainly, she doesn't resemble either of her parents"
But not her. Paati , thought I was beautiful. Her eyes twinkled with happiness when she held her first grand-daughter.
She told me, a few years later over kodbales & sajjappams, how it was love at first sight. She didn't really use the same words though.
Summer vacations to me meant paati and paati
meant food :) Just the thought of going over to the beautiful home she lived in, would make me look forward to it. The thought of travelling in a rickety bus ( that too, there were just 3 buses that would travel everyday at 5 A.M. , 11:30 A.M. and 4.20 P.M.) and the discussion that we would have at home to choose the bus, was something that I found very exciting.
I still vividly recollect Paati standing at the doorstep waiting for our auto.. As soon as I hopped out, she would always say the same thing.. " enna. paati ippo gnapakatuku vandaala?" ( you remembered Paati now??) and I'd always say.. " Ille paaaaaati.. school.. exams" and the same stories..After feeding us some great lunch that always had appalam, she would ask me about school.. She was a great listener.. She would always ask me about school, Chintu's kindergarten and later on school and unlike many paatis would encourage me to experiement new things..I remember her telling me that women, these days, need to study a lot, be ahead of men and all the revolutionary talk :P for someone as old as my paati, this was a really unique thingy..
There was this vacation, when I had been to Paati's place and joined a summer camp.. I'd come home late at 8:30 with an aunt and paati used to always wait at the door for me, even though her favourite soap was on T.V.
oh yes! paati and T.V. soaps shared an undefinable bond. She always watched Hindi soaps, especially there was this "Shanti" on T.V. and then "Junoon" which she used to watch with so much interest. She loved "Surabhi" on DD. She'd finish her work quickly so that she could watch all her soaps.. I remember her laughing , crying, shouting in sync with the actors on T.V. She had a particular chair for her soaps, at 45 degree azymuth.. I still don't know why she wanted that place..maybe it would help her see and hear better..but, whenever I think of her, this is one image I always have of her in her resting chair, glued to the T.V set..
Cricket!! was her life, would be an understatement .. she used to watch all the matches, ball-to-ball, even the highlights of matches that India won. I remember her cursing the Pakistan players, South African players, her head almost inside the T.V. screen.. I remember her asking my aunts to make a sweet after India won a really good match..
Paati, went beyond bedtime stories and rangolis. There was something unique about her. Everytime I went behind her and closed her eyes.. Piyu, she'd say and laugh. Of the 9 daughters, 14 grandchildren who had assembled there for summer, she knew it was me and I always loved her more at that moment..
And then, she'd always give me her hand-fan, something that I used to be fascinated with and would go on fanning her and tell her about li'l nothings.
Her most priced possession towards the later years was the mosquito-hitter, the electronic one, which looks like a shuttle racquet and you just have to switch it on and go phat phat phat and presto!! all mosquitoes die due to shock. I found it amusing too and still do. I used to wait for her to lie down and watch her go phat phat phat all over the place..
I remember her being there for my moggina jede , for many Janmashtamis, Sankrantis, for a few of our b'days, for a prize distribution.. Every memory I have of her, has her smiling face, those twinkling eyes behind the brown-rimmed glasses.
There was something that kept her happy, always. Even the day before she left us, she asked for a potable T.V. in her ward and watched a cricket match.
That was my paati..
I was not there when she left us.. and that is a feeling, I will always carry with me, till my last. " paati had promised me that she'd visit us that winter.. probably her only unkept promise..
When I looked at her fast asleep, never to wake up again, the magnitude of whom I lost hit me like a storm. Whom would I tell school stories to? Whose eyes would I close stealthily, from behind?The thought that Paati won't see me graduate,will never be there for my wedding, will never see her great grand child, came flooding to me and I stood shocked, not able to shed even one tear. I'd never receive all those goodie packets she'd give me when I left for the next academic year..
I wanted to cry too.. but couldn't..
But when I took one long last look at her , I could only think of one thing to say..
"Paati, you look beautiful."
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