Sona-Mina-Tina

My grandmother was a vivacious character for her time and age. The mother of nine children, each with their own character like the Navagraha gods - it must have been a humongous task holding the family together. Add to the mix, my grand-father, and you have a gripping sitcom that could run for decades.

My grand-parents lived in the village with their brood. It fell on my grand-mother's shoulders to procure provisions, feed the family, feed anybody who comes begging and feed the constant barrage of visitors (my grandfather was known for his generosity, and many a mendicant has eaten my grandma's cooking). Monthly once, she and her friends would undertake the journey to the city and buy provisions for the month ahead. Inventory management and reorder levels were second nature to these maami's.

Meenakshi Maami, Visalam Maami (my grandmother) and some other maami. (My father regales these stories to us, and I forgot the name of the third maami.) It can't be too difficult to guess - we South Indians like to think complexity stems from length and scoff at variety and modernity. So, you can pick Lakshmi maami or Jayam maami - both are equally probable. Let's pick Jayam Maami for the purpose of this story.

These maamis had all the zest and fervour that three hip girls in any bar of today would display. But, they carefully concealed it behind 9 yards of saree each. I can readily imagine the horror of equating my paati to a hip girl in a bar - but, I mean it in a very positive way.

Which other mother of nine would hurriedly finish her monthly purchases in a blurry hour or so, and go charging towards the Sona-Mina-Tina theatre complex for a back-to-back 3 movie marathon movie-watching adventure?! (Note: No movie was considered worth the money if it was shorter than 3 hours and 15 minutes!)
"Ayyo, Visalam, puli vaanganum" (We must buy tamarind)

"Parava illai Jayam - ennutta irukku, naan tharaen. Padam aarambichuduvan" (Oh come on Jayam, I'll give you some, the movie is going to start!)

Once in the theatre, they would watch a movie per theatre. An MGR movie in Sona followed by a Gemini movie in Mina and a Jaishankar movie in Tina.

The trio would then trump home with all the purchases where the kids would be waiting with their hearts a-flutter! You see, they would get to hear the stories from the three adventurous dames, who escaped into their fantasy world for all of a day! After lunch, the kids from Meenakshi Maami, Visalam Maami & Jayam Maami would gather around their mothers. I would like to imagine a setting like a village school sans desks and chairs. All the children looking up eagerly to hear the story.

Apparently, my grand-mother's brood being the largest, she got the honour of primary narrative lead. In loose translation, it would go like this:
Visalam: blah..blah..MGR came and he was just rescuing Saroja Devi, when that nasty fellow came!

Meenakshi: Oh .. that fellow! One day, I would like to capture him - what a rowdy element he is!

*The kids knew the choice adjectives must all refer to the most preferred villain of Tamil Cinema at the time - M.N.Nambiar*

Visalam: And then, MGR ran with his sword just before that horrible fellow touched Saroja Devi and started fighting him. He pushed him to the floor and ...

Jayam: Ayyo Visalam - he runs with the sword in the Gemini movie with K.R.Vijaya tied to the tree illayo? In this one, they fight over the upturned drums right?

Visalam, after a moment's contemplation, may or may not agree with Jayam maami's point, and proceed. Nambiar must have been the villain in all the three movies, and it must have been rather hard remembering the one in which he fought fist-to-fist, and the one where he put up a valiant sword-fight.

The resulting story essentially had all three movies tied haphazardly with various elements of drama and villainy suffused to form a murky liquid! Any director would have killed for the script - an entirely new movie would have arisen from the effort.

Yet, it was M.N.Nambiar who tied all these narrations together. The quintessential villain in over 1000 Tamil movies - he must have had a thousand curses directed at him every time he stepped onto the screen. It was hard imagining this man, who was the object of every maami's source of apprehension in those movies, was the pious Aiyappa devotee that all the Maami's approved off in real life.

A tribute to M.N.Nambiar - Tamilians would hardly have savoured the movie experience the same way without this personality!

The Tale of Three Fabrics

** To be read in the context of Indian reverence of the Silk (Pattu) **

Cotton looked decidedly dull in his lumpy lack-lustre attire. He yearned for his moments of fame. In one of Cotton's more thwarted moments, he had defined fame as being photo-worthy at South Indian weddings for himself.

Cotton had learned from the moment he had sprouted that his life was to be plain. Cotton tried to take on vibrant colours and shocking patterns while weaving. Time passed- things changed and fashion trends favoured Cotton - cotton was fashionable! However, the more people wanted to wear Cotton in the hot plains of India, the more Cotton's obsession grew - he wanted to be accepted as wedding attire in South Indian Tamilian weddings.

Cotton cursed Silk and swore at it, to no avail.

He tried various angles of argument:

"I come from crop"

"I look brilliant"

"I make you as comfortable as it is possible to be when you are sitting in front of a huge fire in the 90 degree heat!" he wailed. But, he was dragged out - left to lament and comfort himself in the 90 degree heat.

Wool, meanwhile was definitely more revered in the colder regions, but could not match up to Silk either. "Very useful", everybody conceded, even the freshly fleeced sheep shiveringly acknowledged that wool was a fine material. T'was the age of the dawning cinema - Tinsel town had started shooting all the garish songs in the colder reaches of the mountainside. Suddenly, film crews floated to the coldest regions to shoot for songs featuring men and women dancing around trees. Wool looked on with yearning - his moment was fame was just there, he thought. The Bollywood film stars flocked to the cold wrapped in the best woollen with a hot cuppa tea in their hands. Every single strand in the sweaters of Hema Malini and Sharmila Tagore preened themselves when the camera cried - "One two & three!".

What should happen?! Oh the cruelty - the disdain of being discarded just before prancing in front of the camera in silk was too much for the woollen to bear.

"I am not going to keep you warm when you come running back and put me on again", thought the sweaters grumpily. A representation is what is needed wool decided. The Wool Positive Publicity Committee was set up and spent years trying to get people to see the sense behind seeing film stars dancing in front of mounds of snow with nothing but a thin silk saree. Things changed - soon, actresses did start appearing with warmer clothes, but they cut straight through wool, and went to trendy leather jackets.

And so, you can still hear wool whimpering about unfair treatment when you pass by. Wool's hidden desire was to attain fame through the camera. But its wishes were sadly ignored. Another grumpy fabric.

Silk meanwhile apparently had everything going for him. He had roads built for his comfort and transport. Royalty flocked to him. Not a single function - big or small went by without silk it seemed. Yet, silk was the unhappiest of all. All he yearned for, ever, was to be left alone.
There were those who had few silk clothes and brandished them for every function. The old silks would lie wanting nothing more to be left alone - right next to the crisp enthusiastic cotton or the woollen waiting for a glimpse of the outer world. But no, the humans would unfailingly parade the same silks around everytime. It mattered not that every memory of themselves would be in one of the same silks - it was silk and that was all. One could practically see the silk fibre yawning in the photographs.

So, it was that Silk remained unhappy too.

One day, the three unhappy fabrics opened up and talked in the almirah - a mix may change the mindset they said.

And that is the story behind the Cotton Silks & Cotton wool and the Silk wools! Every fabric had a little bit of their urge satisfied. People ventured to appear in Photographs with fabric other than silk for once.

John McCain won!

It was a well fought race - both players had positives and negatives that were objectively weighed by the voter turn-out and the decision was clear. In the hot presidential election between John McCain Vs Obama, John Mc Cain won!

I don't know what the headlines are telling you these days - but this is the verdict.

Pink post-it notes belonged to Obama and yellow post-it notes belonged to McCain. The electoral base were the 3-4 year olds in my daughter's classroom (where else?!) They were being taught the process of voting and it served as an exercise in counting too. I asked my daughter who she voted for - she launched into a recap of the decisions behind her friends' choice of colours. They had evidently not taught them about ballot secrecy!

My daughter's friend chose pink because she was wearing a pink jacket. Most of the boys shied away from pink because they thought it was a girl's colour (Poor Obama - he might have been prepared to take on the tax laws and the health care system, but he didn't know that was coming!)

Finally, they all got to count and decide the winner. Fourteen had chosen yellow and ten had chosen pink. So, it was decided that John Mc Cain won the presidential race.

Looking forward to a good tenure under Obama's leadership,

Yours truly.

A tribute to Michael Crichton

I feel saddened by the death of Michael Crichton. Is it the selfish thought that I would not see another well-researched book intertwined with his fine imagination again? (well, after the one scheduled for release in May 09). It may well be the case.

Nevertheless, here is my tribute to a fertile mind - thank you for all those hours you transported me to another world - a high-paced, adventure filled world in which I would never belong , but one to which I can escape in the confines of my mind.

Happy Diwali

Diwali is a time to be happy with friends and family. I am delighted to say that I had a fantastic Diwali. We spent the week-end in the refreshing company of friends who have come to mean family, and children whose innocence and love is like having a pick-me-up tonic (when the day starts at least!).

I am glad to inform my readers that I did not make any sweets or for that matter any savoury. In fact, we had a lovely lunch with rasam and koottu (And no - no payasam either). It is not that I do not like sweets or "karam" - I like them. I just cannot see the rationale behind sweating for days on end standing in front of the stove, with aching legs to boot.

So far, everybody without an exception has wished me a Happy Diwali, and asked me what I made. The pressure to "make" something for Diwali is beginning to show on my tired brow. I did what my family likes best on Diwali - I had our friends over, and we had a fantastic dinner. We had my daughter's friends over and enjoyed the company of the kids, dancing and playing with them. It just did not involve sweets.

But I learnt an important lesson this Diwali - "I did not make any sweets at home" is not a satisfactory answer. After every call, I hung up with the implied disappointment voiced over my lack of "motherliness/domesticity" for not producing a sweet factory. It is the right thing to do, even if one particularly does not enjoy it. It is the right thing to do even if it means undoing your loved ones efforts at the gym over the past few weeks.

I am glad to say this though: I made us all some memories that would bring a smile any day.
Here is wishing you all a very Happy Diwali!

Economic Upheavals

The economic climate has been bad. Inflation is up and things are not looking good on the sensex fronts. When such trends play out for longer intervals in time, everybody feels the pressure.

Droning on about Economic ratios and sensex points means nothing to drive the point home. We (my sister and I) have explained the economic upheaval using the effects it has had on the life of my 12 year old nephew living in Dubai. Granted, he is not one of the impoverished, malnourished lads - but he has problems too.

Case 1 :Canteen money for breakfast

Once in a while, when he is a good boy and the moon rises in the morning, he gets 'canteen money'. This means he gets Dhs 5 to buy his breakfast from his school canteen instead of home food. He is usually very excited on these days. Till last year, he said, this would give him

2 mini pizzas - Dhs 2 @ 1 each

1 cutlet - Dhs 1

I juice- Dhs 1

Savings - Dhs 1

Then the juice became Dhs 1.50 , the cutlet became Dhs 1.50 and the savings were gone. He was upset but he could live with that. Recently, when he got the fiver, he started to wail ."Oh please increase my allowance. I can't eat with Dhs 5. The mini pizzas are Dhs 1.50 each and the school has reduced the cheese on it." Apparently, he has to either let go of the juice or the cutlet! He had Physical Education in the morning-so he would be "hungry and thirsty"!

Such opportunities present themselves merely to satisfy the sermonic yearnings every parent harbours. The parent can talk on about their pasts, and how handling money is a privilege that one must thank the Almighty for. Reminiscing is also allowed - one could talk about the number of "Priya" sweets a 10 paise fetched earlier, and talk fondly of the coin, now missing from circulation.

Once the preaching/pretending-to-listen ceremony was wrapped up with, a decision was reached to increase his canteen money to a princely sum of Dhs 7.

Case 2 : Birthday presents

Said nephew wanted to buy his best friend a birthday present - a Parker Pen. He window shopped, shortlisted the pen , noted the price- Dhs 20. That is 2 months worth of pocket money. So he saved up for 2 months , put his Dhs 20 in the wallet and asked to be escorted to the shop. And voila, the pen was now Dhs 24!! The poor guy was flabbergasted and said 'Amma - I can't buy the pen. The price went up and his birthday is next week. What to do? ".

Which God grants two admirable opportunities in a week to a parent?! The sermon was modified, delivered and wrapped up with the ceremonial extraction of promises for ongoing good behaviour.

He was given Dhs 4 for the pen.

Line Leaders & Gate Holders

We had a parent teacher conference this morning. I learnt a bit more about their day than the information I pieced together based on her stories.

Reading between the lines, the class spends half their time moving between various places in the campus. The most often visited spot being the restroom. Apparently, they form a line to go from the class to the restroom and back. There are restroom breaks before and after the following activities:
1) Play time (twice a day)
2) Nap time (once a day)
3) Snack time (twice a day)

I try not to work out the number of minutes wasted in getting all brats lined up to go over the entire exercise, but cannot help admiring the teachers.

Now, all this talk about restrooms and forming lines leads somewhere - like as I would to bore you with the bowel movements of 3-4 year olds, the line-forming itself has an interesting story that I hear everyday.

Apparently, there are two coveted positions within the class:
1) Line Leader
2) Gate Holder

Line Leaders:
The Line Leader is assigned the task of standing in front of the line, and gets to "lead" the children to the restroom or playground. The days my daughter is conferred the honour is an important day in her life, and she regales her experiences with zest. I found out that the line leader is the first to follow the teachers wherever they go. The line leaders are decided on round robin policy.

Gate Holders:
There is a gate separating the playground and the remaining classrooms. The gate holder is the person entrusted with standing with their backs against the open gate to make sure the gate does not swing on anybody else. This post too is determined using the round robin policy.

I like the way these positions make children feel valued and treat their responsibility earnestly. Soon, she would grow up, and there would be competition for any sort of leadership position. Before that happens, I want to cherish this sweet wisdom of round-robin policies to give everyone a chance to lead.

Security & Me

I appreciate security. I appreciate the notion that I can go about my business dealings in a secure, risk-free manner.

Nobody can access my Pre-tax savings. I have been accumulating reserves paycheck to paycheck. I sit like a mother hen and imagine it grow. Considering imagination is the only course of action open to me now, it is a pretty good occupation to indulge in. Nobody can access my Pre-tax savings, not even myself.

I have been slacking with reimbursements and claims. As I groggily started my day, I decided to attack all of the 'Pending' items on my to-do list. Transit claims, expense claims - the works.
I enter the site with determination. The site believes in security and so do I. It prompts me for a user id and password. Determination slowly turns to trepidation: This is where the trouble usually begins - each one asks for a different userid/password combination. I try to keep the passwords along the same lines, since there are atleast 8 different systems in the company I work in, dealing with different aspects of my life. The problem comes when each system requires me to change my passwords at varied intervals.

System 1 determines changing passwords once every 3 months is good enough, while system 3 wants it to be on a monthly basis. System 2, on the other hand, does not really care whether I change my password or not, as long as it is 32 characters long and has atleast 2 numerals irregularly spaced every 13 characters, and has atleast one special character to boot along with a rather simple requirement that the letters used cannot all be lower-case or upper-case. And it really only asks that you don't start the password with a capital letter.

I finally hit upon something - I appeased all the password Gods and dutifully complied with all the rules. I saved the passwords cryptically in my drafts folder. And for somebody to get to my drafts, they had to plunge into the very depths of my brain, and and use advanced data mining techniques for connections and links to mundane details in my life, before they could find the password.

I had the system under control. Till it was determined that keeping one's email for too long is risky business too, and implemented a 30 day rolling deletion policy on email. One fine day, my drafts which contained the goldmine of information was deleted, without a trace of retrieval!

So, here I am enjoying a perfect day mailing random system administrators about my imperfect memory, and requesting system resets. They comply and remind me: I must only remember not to use any of the last 8 passwords I have ever used on the site. Given that I don't remember any of the passwords, is there a way to tell me which are the 8 I previously used, I ask innocently.

The Birthday Chart

The year 2001: I stood in the tiny telephone booth - I felt like a performing musician. I had one hand acting like a earplug to zone out the background noise. Only it wasn't the orchestra I was blocking out, it was the street noise. I must also mention that my "audience" comprised of one bored tea delivery boy waiting for the telephone booth owner to noisily slurp the last few drops of the steaming tea. I was palpably excited about making an overseas call to my fiance to wish him a Happy Birthday. I may have been a "very successful software engineer" in my parents eyes, but I was still a dutiful daughter to parents who shouted into the phone. I suppose in their minds, a louder tone somehow speeded up the conversation.

The call connected, and my heart raced, just a trifle slower than the meter. I wished my fiance a Happy Birthday, and asked him eagerly whether he wore the shirt and tie I had picked out for his birthday. I visualized a suavely dressed engineer with a smart creased shirt, and tie in sunny California. He semi-truthfully lied that he did. (He said he didn't wear the tie, but crumpled the shirt enough for it to pass off as less than formal. ) Years later, I found out that the shirt I had lovingly picked out for him was in a colour he did not particularly admire, and I also found out that the only time he will sport a tie is at our wedding! My loving-husband-gift-giving story had started off with a bang.

Year 2002: I did not yet have a car of my own. So, I hitch-hiked with my cousin and furtively bought a gift and kept it hidden for several weeks before springing it to him. I watched the gift gather dust on the leftmost corner of our closet well above the average human-bring's reach. I hadn't yet wisened up to "returning" something meant as a gift. But Time will take care of that.

Year 2003: This time, I decided to use my father's most trite advice. (The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.) Just a gift wouldn't do, a hand-made cake is what is needed I decided. So, I made a cake, and called our close friends and cut the cake. I was smart this time, and got him to return the gift I bought.

Year 2004: I managed to successfully glean any attention away from his birthday by being wholly pregnant and having my baby shower/seemandham etc the next day. He will be cutting a cake along with me for the baby shower wouldn't he?

Year 2005: By now, nobody has any expectations to either impress each other with gifts or home-made cakes or store bought cakes for that matter.

Year 2006: Health conscious was the word. No sweets we decided, and we had the birthday cake replaced with a brownie. (My daughter really wanted to eat brownies)

Year 2007: Here is a post linking his 'birthday celebration'. In short, we did everything but celebrate HIS birthday and landed up spending the afternoon with my daughter's classroom having decided to celebrate her birthday in class instead. Ah...sweet practicality! AS for the gift, it another story!

Year 2008: We mutually agreed that I would take him along and buy him something he likes. Mr. Practicality came swinging by, and while I took my little one to a class, he went and bought something on his own around the time of his birthday. I suppose the Gajjar Halwa from last week-end doesn't really count.

I don't like the idea of this post. If I were to graph it out, I'd probably be snorting in his general direction somewhere down the line. Ah well.... Hubby, you will always know the sounds emanate with love!

Happy Birthday Dear Husband!

I'd love an encore

Yesterday we attended a Tamil Light Music concert by S.P.Balasubramanian and his troupe. Lead singers were SPB, Chitra, Sailaja and an emerging talent, Srikrishnan. I had multiple sound tracks going on within the auditorium. My daughter said she too knows how to sing, and sang - "I am a Kangaroo, and I don't live in the zoo..." to a backdrop of K.S.Chitra's national award winning rendition of "Paadariyen, Padippariyean". Luckily, I got my daughter's musical genius to stop manifesting itself too much. She stopped singing early enough to avoid an unceremonious armed bodyguard escort out of the auditorium of her disgraced parents cheered on by piqued fans. I hushed her into silence by promising her a complete concert dedicated to no musician but herself the moment we get home!

Chitra stole the show, in my opinion with her genius. Her unassuming self was so evident, and yet she swayed the whole audience with every single one of her performances. At some pitches, I felt my ears vibrating with joy, and she smiled through them all - she did not even seem to be straining herself. There was one person who loved her career - one could see it in her passion to sing. Her "Ovoru pookalumae solgiradhae" song which won her another national award, evokes an array of emotions in me every time, and this time too, I was left yearning for an encore of the number.

A new talent emerging in the South, Srikrishnan also performed last night. If ever there was an award for an image/voice disconnect, I would recommend Srikrishnan. Somewhere in the baggy suit that walked onto the stage was a nervous thin lad. He kept falling at people's feet asking for their blessings, and bending over forwards in deep bows. I sometimes felt a suspension thread from the ceiling was needed to pull him backwards just to remind him of the equilibrium involved in standing upright. And then, he sang.

He had a fantastic voice, and delivered difficult songs with great ease. His Tamil diction was pardonable, even likeable because of his voice. The only song where I could not bear it was "Kaalangalil aval vasantham".

When Chitra and Srikrishnan sang a medley starting off with Chitra calling for "Lord Krishna", her musical cries reached an all-time high and the auditorium watched awed. Krishna, Krishna Krishna - she called with devotion and piety dripping from her voice. It was sort of ironical to watch the puny Srikrishnan standing trembling beside her.

SPB as usual stunned the audience with his persona, his voice, his humour and his involvement of the crowd. His sister performed too, and though my friends did not seem to like her, I thought she was quite good too.

My husband likened it the concert to a good cup of coffee - you are left thirsting for just a little bit more, and the taste lingers on as you yearn. Though I am not much of a coffee lover myself, I agreed.

My Leave Saga

The context : I need to take time off for my brother's wedding.

Not that I am jealous of others who have a lot of leave at their disposal (specifically my siblings who both seem to have picked countries where leave is abundant!), but here is my leave saga. Patience is a virtue. Though people who have been witness to my outbursts of anger scarcely believe this when I say it, patience is a skill I have acquired, and use it rather sparingly. I lay waiting like the Ibex hunters in the snowy Himalayan ranges. Apparently, in the snowy stretches of the Himalayas, over 18000 feet above sea level, the sure footed Ibex graze. Slaying an Ibex requires more patience than skill. It was this strategy I used. One wrong foot, and my entire wedding presence could be in jeopardy.

You see, for the past week, my mind has been in a restless uproar. How do I get leave to attend this wedding? Even if, for a moment, we don't delve into the depressing depths of leave disparities between the developed nations of the world, I was walking tight rope here. I had tight deliverables and low leave balance.

I also think this a right spot to cite statistics regarding leave, just to make you people realise how tough life is(Source: a friend's blog whose source is an article she read in Via magazine)
Japanese have an average of 17.5 days per year. The French who gave us the word 'Leisure' - get 36 days and take 94 percent of them. In England one gets 24 days vacation time. Dubai gets 30 days with a paid ticket to their exotic destinations, and food coupons to dine in, and resort packages to stay in while on vacation. (Okay, I exaggerate, but I am allowed to do that!) US get 10-15 days off, and what's more, on average people only take 11 days of that.

So I am justifiably piqued (in my opinion of course!) I digress. Let me get back to the saga of my leave. Like a child promised a candy for good behaviour, I did my best with a smiling face, and my entire being worked tirelessly towards the service of the organization. I ignored slights, and brushed off the hard times I had to endure. I delivered projects ahead of time, I waited for my boss to be in a good mood before springing the request on him. I was rewarded - aah, sweet manna of heaven! I got oral approval for leave. When I commence the New Year, it would be to a new beginning with zero leave balance. (But one does not dwell on the depressing, they dwell on the happy thought that there is a vacation to look forward to!)

And with that, I would like to give the signal to all concerned to go ahead with your plans. May the wedding preparations begin!

Education for Life

I read an article in the Times comparing the number of school days for children in the USA against the number of school days in other countries such as Korea, Japan, china, India, Australia etc. No surprises there - US ranks amongst the lowest in the world. Now thanks to the fuel escalation problems, a few schools are contemplating the move of reducing the week to have more hours per school day for 4 days, and reduce the totals number of school days from 5 to 4 per week. I am not sure I could stop with just outlining a few problems with this approach, but I'll try not to ramble on...

1) Regardless of the number of hours spent in school, children are still left with one whole day apart from the week-end twiddling their thumbs and thinking of "recreational activities". I have my serious doubts whether the studious teenagers would dedicate their unsupervised time and energy to finishing up their homework or additional research.

Holiday Homework
Every vacation, we left school with the familiar brown coloured sheets detailing our holiday homework. The holidays would start, and the holiday homework would find itself buried in my room and mind. In my mind, it would raise its head every now and then reminding me about the unfinished work as the holidays went slipping by. My intentions were good, but there was just not enough time! I had to pick berries, gather materials for our toy-house construction, cycle all over campus, read Enid Blytons and cook up adventures in my mind to solve. Before you knew it, it was the last week, and I was scrambling to complete my holiday homework. Countries may be different, but I am guessing children universally would dilly-dally till the last moment to do any work. I very much doubt that children would spend Friday toiling over their schoolwork while their parents are at work. My guess is it would still be done only on Sunday night afer giving considerable strain to parental nerves!

2) The parents would have to arrange for care for the children on this day. Companies are not giving us 4 day work weeks, they would still expect employees to be present on Fridays.

3) This point is the most jarring one. In a separate study comparing vacation times among US, Britain, Australia, France and Japan, US ranked the lowest. The number of Paid time off in the USA seems to be close to the lowest in the developed world!

I am uncomfortable with this. I thought Education and schooling was meant to prepare you for life! This model teaches children to expect a lackadaisical 4 day work week, and then when they start working - BAM! We strap them to their jobs and whip without a vacation!

I found this amusing piece of news today:

http://www.the-leaky-cauldron.org/2008/8/27/wb-files-suit-over-hari-puttar-film-title-in-india

A Bollywood movie titled "Hari Puttar" is scheduled for release. Puttar, as in 'Son' in Punjabi, and Hari - the usual Hari. Guess what Warner Bros is suing about? It sounds like Harry Potter!

Heights of CP

I sat back and watched with a supreme sense of satisfaction. It seems like just talking about the lack of medals for India was enough to get us not one, but three medals!

I know the perfect solution to more Olympic medals. We need to talk more - ha ha!
PS: CP means Cheap Publicity!
PS1: I am very sad that the Olympics is coming to an end. It seems like 2 weeks of a treat flew past. Two weeks where we marvelled the endurance and performance of athletes regardless of their origin. Two weeks of human beings at their competitive best.

Next week, things will be back to normal again. The memory of the Games fading from our midst like a smudged water-color painting. The once firm contours blending into each other - still beautiful, but not as striking when we think back about the Olympics and smile.

Anand's Comment on the Olympic post warranted a separate blog entry by itself. So, I've posted his comment as an article.

Anand says:

Let us take swimming for instance. You need great swimming pools, researchers who understand fluid dynamics, companies that excel in fluid dynamics and continuously push their R&D to develop better swim suits, private companies that are willing to fund swimmers during their training and great universities that are willing to hire such swimmers into their program and nurture them so when they are in their mid 20s - they have a post swimming career in place.This is a heady concoction - which is available may be in the G7 countries of the world. Of course, I was surprised to see Coventry is Zimbabwean [of course she spent her last 6 years in Auburn.Cavic is Serbian only for olympics. He is a thoroughbred Californian. The other great swimmers from the non G7 countries seem to have gone to Ann-Arbor or Cal.Basically at this level of competition where the difference between #1 and #10 is less than half a second - infrastructure is EVERYTHING. I can extend this argument to Track and Field as well. San Jose Mercury News carried a story about why Jamaicans rule in Track and Field - it went back nearly 40 years to SJSU. Their athletic program took nearly 30 years to start yielding results. Of course a lot of the research support I mention is now available to those athletes too, who also train a lot in the US.If anything, I am totally convinced that to be anywhere near the top in any of these competitions, you better have the entire infrastructure to support you. When would India grow enough to create such support? Not anytime soon I think. If someone spent $200m to build a fantastic T&F center or a swim center - imagine the ruckus it would create right now. Only when the basic needs of the common man are met, can and will India think of esoteric acts such as excelling in sports come into being.Yes, there are random acts of individual brilliance that bring medals to much smaller countries - which will happen in India too. But as a system that generates medal winning athletes olympics after olympics - I would be very surprised if I saw it happen in our lifetime.

Anand further pointed us to an article written by Amit Verma

http://indiauncut.com/iublog/article/india-doesnt-need-olympic-pride/

The silence of the Moon

It was a long day. There were a number of interesting events today, but I'm here to report none of that. I sat in the car, in silence. I knew the lack of conversation was all my daughter needed to fall asleep. She had had a tiring day too, and had been extra active for the past 6 hours. I glanced across at my husband holding the steering wheel, and then looked out the window. It was either the full moon, or close to the full moon.

I felt strange, sitting there watching the trees go by, the cars whiz past. The clouds moved - dark gray clouds, but it wasn't supposed to rain. How much one relies on the weather forecast, I thought idly. It was beautiful to watch the moon peer in and out of the gray clouds. Just as I thought some clouds were moving fast enough to eclipse the whole moon, the moon would slip out again. I watched the moon looking for a smile when it emerged. But all I saw was the bright moon with the same dark spots. I wondered about how we overload our thoughts and yearn for other things to change. Just because I wanted to find a smile is not going to change the moon's contours to be a smile. The moon is the moon - reflecting sunlight, moving around the earth and awarding a peaceful moment to anyone willing the take the time to notice it.

I just sat and watched the moon slip in and out of the clouds the whole way home. I am trying to find the word for my feeling - but then I realise I cannot describe it. I couldn't remember the last time I spent time just looking at the moon. Is peaceful the word? I am not sure, but it felt good. I watched as my husband stopped at the traffic signal - my daughter had slept.

I loved the for 7.2 miles in the silence of the moon.

A Leap Yearly Affair

It happens every leap year without fail. There is a sinking feeling, a feeling of great shame. As the second most populous nation in the world marches into the Olympic arena along with every other countries (some hitherto unheard of), the Indian in me cowers. I know of the feeble attempt we will manage, and feel terribly sorry to see the tiny contingent who has made it to the Games.

What do we lack?

Political will for sure. The making of Sports as an industry for another. Sports have to be made enticing enough to want to make people pursue them as a career. The prime-time in the life of an athlete is a short span, and if the industry surrounding this spurt does not sustain such talented individuals, few people would make the choice. There have to be careers for those who excel - as trainers, as team co-ordinators, as people who can be given the responsility to contributing to decisions in ways that touch not just their lives, but those of others who have the honor of representing the country. Cricket has achieved that, and I think it should be the same for other arenas too.

My husband and I were chatting about this, and one viable option would be to have a roadmap to win 5 medals in the next Olympics, and then make a career path for aspiring athletes. Make the infrastructure ready and available, hone skills and inspire people to succeed.

It is not difficult to achieve once the commitment is made, just difficult to overcome the reluctance to commit.

Aah ... Camping

We had been camping last week-end - a bunch of moms from Kee's class thought of it, and all-in-all eight families went camping. IT was only for a night, but it was enough to have me reeling for days. I am just recovering!

The camp grounds were far enough from civilization but close enough to the wilderness for us to get a sense of rugged adventure. From the top, we could actually see the city lights glittering at night, and I must say it made a melancholy sight to be sitting there in the tent peering out at the city lights down below. The tent itself is a masterpiece - a small package, that, when erected properly rooms a family of three or four with ease and relative comfort. We had the foresight of 'selecting' our tent site on a slope that had a 11.3 degree inclination and I must say we enjoyed the night slipping down the grade and getting back up grumpily and hauling ourselves back up again - sleeping bag, pillow, torch, night light, cell-phone, Kee and all. And try all of this on a full stomach and aching limbs, and I've sketched out comfort for you. Oh yeah - it was great fun - I spent half the night giggling as we picked ourselves up and 'moved north'.

I see some eyebrows raised when they read 'full stomach!' - you see, we were a bunch of Indian families. While we may have forgotten some things like nightlamps and flash lights, do you think we forgot food? We had food fit for a king and his army - ordered from a fancy restaurant and brought to the summit with heating trays and candles. A complete Indian meal with Shrikand for dessert. If we couldn't do justice to it, it was because we had too much tea, cookies and brownies for snacks! And of course, we had a HEARTY breakfast the next day - samosas with bread, butter croissants - all in the name of feeding our kids.

Speaking of the kids, they had a blast - running around, hiking (three year old kids actually did 1.5 mile round trip hikes, can you believe it?), 'rock climbing' and of course falling and getting hurt. Our campsite was on a gradient as previously mentioned, and every second minute a child was toppling over. I found it quite amusing to note the varying reactions to a fall. Girls generally seemed to summon folks from neighbouring camps with first -aid kits for all their din, while most boys brushed themselves off and just toppled over again with no second thoughts! There was a tap at the site, and every once in a while a harried parent would be seen shaking their heads in disbelief, wringing their hands and pulling an unwilling child from the tap.

The highlight of the trip were the racoons - they are food lovers, and come scanvenging for food near campsites. They don't have fear of any kind towards humans, and quite a few times the whole populace was grimacing with wild gestures, only to see the racoon get more and more convinced that this was the place for a wholesome meal! (I actually have a pic of everybody shooing the racoons, and it really looks comical )

Eight kids and their families on a hillside with a raccoon to boot - that's what I call a fun vacation!

The Cine's got them all!

All things Strange and Wonderful

All things Wise and Foolish

All things Bright and Beautiful

The Cine's got them all!

I went to a cinema theatre last week. Those who know me know that it is an event worth blogging about. Somehow, the cinema theatre has never appealed to me. I have always left the theatre with a headache (Dolby/fantastic sound systems, too many speakers) and blurry eyes with the humongous images that always seem too close for my liking! The Indian theatres had the added disadvantage of letting a tiny bit of urine smell 'waft' in through the opened doors after intervals. All in all, never enjoyed the theatre as much as curling up at home and watching the scenes I like and skipping the ones I don't. I have the dubious reputation of watching whole 3 hour feature films in less than 15 minutes ( I hate violent scenes, I don't like fights, I don't care too much for most of the songs, and would rather fast forward an unnecessarily maudlin scene - That leaves the titles, which I don't watch anyway!)

Anyway, we made an event out of the movie outing, and made sure my daughter did not take a nap in the afternoon, so she would fall asleep soon, and set out after an early dinner. As we were walking towards the theatre explaining the many virtues of popcorn to my daughter so she gets excited about the experience, what should happen, but she tripped and fell. Luckily, she hardly got hurt.

My daughter is a sweet-heart but a fall just jolts her! She cried and exercised her vocal chords considerably. I went and asked the theatre manager (TM) for ice and a band-aid. Guess what?

She donned one of those falsely sweet tones - "You know...I really would like to give you one, but, yeah, we aren't allowed to do that"

Me aghast: Why? It's just some ice and band-aid!

TM: Yeah, I know, but we aren't allowed to do that.

Me: May I know why?

TM: Yeah....for the risk of being sued

Me: *Laughing inwardly* Believe me, I have neither the time nor the inclination to sue over some band-aid and few blocks of ice!

TM: Yeah - I know, but I really can't

Me: Yeah...okay (What?! "Yeah" does get to you after a while!)

Anyway! I spent the first half an hour of the movie trying to soothe her, and put her to sleep. Well - no points for guessing what happened next. Turns out, only the first half hour of the movie was supposed to be watch-able by even less stringent standards than my watchability guidelines outlined above. So, I came home with a child who had body pain because of the fall, a bad head-ache and blurry eyes to boot. Not to mention a hoarse throat with the rather vehement criticism on the way back!

Sigh - I remember why I don't like theatres!

In memory of Raga

In every child's life, there are few teachers who make a true, lasting impression. In my life, the person who tops the list is Raga (Mr.G.Raghavan) Raga was one of the few teachers who could make children love a relatively tough subject like Mathematics! Weekly once, 1 half of one class would be dedicated to story-telling. He would take a story, and elongate it over weeks, while having children wait eagerly in pin-drop silence for the next point in the story. He had mastered what took ages for television to figure out. He would stop the story at a critical juncture, and have the class waiting for the remaining part of the story the whole week! What better method to have a child wait for Maths classes? He had such compelling story-telling abilities that entire generations of students were spell-bound with his stories.

It takes special ability to teach children, and most of all make every child feel important and valued. He was gentle, kind and no matter how good or bad you were at the subject, you never felt unwanted in his class. That is what separates a good teacher from a stellar one. At a boarding school, a teacher metamorphs into a surrogate parent, and as housemaster and Prep School head, he was the father figure to hundreds of children as they struggled to settle in to boarding school for the first time.

Raghavan uncle and my father started life at Lawrence School, Lovedale as bachelors sharing a single bedroom apartment. Over the span of three decades, life moved on, they had children, and we all grew up together. Monsoon vacations in the pouring rain, playing board games and listening to the whooshing sound of the rain, and of course my father and him rattling on in the back-ground. Vacations, school years, leaving with a glistening teardrop as they dropped children off in college, marrying them off, and finally both of them retired as grand-parents from the school.

I visited him a few months ago. The image was shocking. I had never known Raga to fall ill - 'Sunny' is the word that best describes him. He had survived one bout of cancer, and he looked pale and thin. He started talking, and I could hear the same old Raghavan uncle again. As he carried my toddler daughter, he said - "My god! This is Kutti Saumya, Mr Balasubramanian - I feel like I am in my thirties again carrying her as a toddler."

I still remember one incident - I was all of seven years old. I had come to write the Entrance exam for Lawrence. There was a column for my father's name, and I had confidently filled out - "Mr.K.Balasubramanian (Late)".

Mr. Raghavan was supervising the test. He called me aside, and asked me why I had written "(Late)" near my father's name. I explained to him that everytime one wrote their father's name, one must write '(Late)' (Both my maternal and paternal grand-fathers were no more then, and everytime I saw my parents write their father's name, they had always added '(Late)'!) He then laughed heartily, and explained that you append '(Late)' to a person's name only when they are no more. My father and he had their laughs about this incident for years. Decades later, I still laugh everytime I recollect this incident.

Yesterday, Mr.G.Raghavan lost a battle to cancer. It is with the heaviest of hearts that I append "(Late)" to Mr.G. Raghavan's name. This time, I am doing it correctly, just as he lovingly explained to me all those years ago - but it doesn't feel right. He lives on in the hearts of thousands of children, and will never really die.