Sounds cliched? But this is the most sincere heartfelt wish of all of us as we leave the wretched 2020 behind, is it not. Personally for me 2020 is a mixed bag. Life is giving me double promotion in 2020-21 that I hardly dreamt of. Mother Goddess knows the perfect timing. Who am I to decide on anything. And what a universal truth this is. 2020 was a time for reckoning for us humanity. To pause, take stock and rework our ways, hurting less nature & ecology – wildlife and forests and mountains and oceans and skies. A time to realize, we need not have to be materialistic always and lose sight of all that is truly intrinsically beautiful and omnipresent around us. Our parents and grandparents were no fools to put family first. I am seeing a lot of people tamed, humbled by 2020 that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise. Life overwhelms me as well. Priorities get rejigged, outlook changes and age mellows one and all. Those of us who have witnessed 2020 in our lifetimes will sense a definite impact throughout our lives and one day we will be narrating this story to our grand children and great grandchildren. Like the tsunami, pandemics are prone only once a century as we now learn. Hopefully and mercifully!
Looking forward to a fun-filled 2021 when we can recompense for the loss of 2020, with family and friends with much more merrymaking and living life to the fullest!
Like any faith, Hinduism is not 100% perfect. We have our ups and downs. Casteism is our gravest concern. A lot better than we were even a mere half a century ago, Hindu revivalism rests amply on how we take it from here. It is the responsibility of every single Hindu to ensure that none is left out and that our fold is inclusive of those in the fringes.
I shall explain quota reservation the way I have in my previous posts.
Carpark for the disabled is reserved in every corner of the globe – be in shopping malls or cinemas or stadiums or airports or theme parks or public places or wherever. The unreserved if they cannot find parking, can still drive around a block or two and walk a couple of streets to the mall. Something the physically challenged may find difficult to do. Reservation quota is such a small aid given to the underprivileged. You may claim some slots remain vacant, yet they don’t let you fill up because you can take care of yourself as you are fit as a fiddle. You will survive walking the extra 500 m or 1 km. Whatsoever, you will find your way to the mall and will not get lost. You need no direction or assistance. You cannot argue that you have been a fine driver all along and now you are forced to walk in hot sun, but the maimed or handicapped man enjoys the privilege of parking under cool shade even if he arrived late. You cannot argue it is you who is shopping maximum and adding value to economy, and the reserved carpark man in wheelchair shops for nothing and is merely window shopping. You cannot claim the reserved carpark allotted to him is going waste because he brings back nothing from the mall. You cannot lament, you have to carry the shopping bags two streets down to your parked car even if you are able-bodied enough to do it. May be the damaged man/woman was hit by your speeding car in the highway who knows. Hit for long that he cannot raise by himself or drive by himself. He needs a crutch to lean on and to take even a single step forward, while you have been enjoying riding your car at highspeed after a headstart and parking in forefront as long as one can remember…. And in case you deny reserved carpark for the disabled, isn’t there every chance he turns away from the mall disillusioned and disheartened.
At least this is how I see reservation. None in my family has benefited from any form of govt concession. But we enjoy the privilege of our sound birth which has put us ahead of millions in this country. Painfully I remain aware of this one differentiating fact.
Some of us fail to understand the basic lack of humanity in our society and the need to equalize chances for everyone. Which is why we have today ‘Black lives matter.’ If someone is gullible, it does not mean we can continue to take them, for a ride.
The animal abuse in Hindu temples is horrible, horrendous. No endearing kinship between a mahout and an elephant can justify such a blatant cruelty inflicted upon hapless voiceless five sensed gentle giant that belongs in the wild, in the name of God, in the abode of God. One has to be a sadist to do this to a living creature, especially something as beautiful and enchanting and magnificent as the Indian tusker. The spirit of the beast is snuffed in the name of God, the will broken in the house of God. How many know what it takes to ‘break an elephant.’ A sin like none other. Even thinking of this breaks my heart and brings tears to my eyes.
The greatest enemies of Hinduism are right here. If they shut their big mouth, world will be a far better place to live in. Anyway who gave these men and women the right to represent Hindu Dharma. Self-appointed custodians of Sanatana I suppose.
I have raised a lot of questions over conversion, yet I have to concede, none in India is forced into conversion kicking and screaming their way. They embrace the Abrahamic fold in freewill because when one’s dignity is at stake, nothing else matters really.
I have not seen worse passive aggressive lot like my fellow Hindus. I have lived among Malaysian/Arab muslims. Filipino christians. What we nurture that they don’t inherently have in them, is this ‘kallam, kabadam’ or ‘soodhu vaadhu’ – trademark birth character of all Hindus. And this ‘holier than thou’ attitude or this nauseating hypocrisy. Such a smug self-righteosness! What an insensitivity and lack of empathy.
Every single argument or post in mass media/social media these days is about castes or religion. Dear smartass Hindu, Lord Shiva cares really whether I go see him in menses or with a cigar dangling in my lips or after a peg of whisky. Whether I go see him in bikini or burqa. Or whether I had beef or panjamritham. This decorum is yours, NOT HIS! How senseless of you to reduce something so profound and infinite to mere rituality and your petty stupid dirty imagination! Whether He is Shiva, are you sure. Have you come back from Kailasha or what, you seem to know too much! Disgusting!
You are born no better than your neighbour by mere virtue of birth. Denying a fellow human his/her dignity is an unpardonable crime against humanity. Parasitic among us will find a 1000 reasons to counter social justice and equality.
Reservation can be phased out step by step, generation by generation. This nation will continue to produce first generation literates/graduates for another 100 years. A clear proof of deep driven schism in Hindu society in existence for millennia.
Animal abuse in places of worship to be treated as criminal offence punishable with a sentence. With none to argue their case, wildlife/domestic animals in India suffer trauma at the hands of the abusive.
Ajwain aids in digestion and Flax seeds are Plant Omega 3 rich. Ragi is glutten-free. Kasuri methi is rich in iron. I mostly use it for taste though. Curds help in fermentation and digestion. Adding garam masala or ginger-garlic paste is optional. As I go for hot and spicy gravies always with rotis, I prefer simple rotis.
Make a smooth chapathi dough of all the above ingredients and roll into rotis with the rolling pin and toast both sides in tawa, preferably with desi ghee. Little bit softer result because of ragi addition. Not too crispy. Makes for a filling lunch/dinner along with any subji (sidedish). Leave the dough to rest for at least 30 minutes before rolling into rotis for toasting.
I guess this is my improvisation. Little original. Most recipes I post are. Never the traditional, but altered and made unique with my signature. This is one such a recipe.
Tomato is selling 3 kgs at Rs. 50/-. An abundance called India! So I am making the best use of the rich, ripe tomatoes pumped with lycopene. Together with cholesterol controller soya, it can make for a yummy recipe.
Soya is believed to be a major GM food so those in fertile years please stay away. But don’t ask me how come Malaysian Chinese harbour no such problems. Soy to be avoided until you are into your 40s and your childbearing years are over.
Minimal consumption like once a month or so fine until one may reach middle-age when it comes to Soy. Or for that matter any food be it fruit or vegetable that you may suspect to be GM.
For this yum tomato gravy, I have used 1 kg tomatoes and a handful of soya chunks readily available in our supermarket shelves.
Tomato 1 kg
Soya chunks – a handful
Onion – 2 middle sized ones
Garlic – one whole
Gingely oil 2 tbsp
Madras sambhar powder – 2 to 3 tsp (this is 50% dry red chili powder and 50% dhania/coriander powder that I grind and keep stock always in my kitchen)
Garam Masala powder -1/2 tsp (optional) (this too I have homemade with roasting and powdering nutmeg-cloves, bayleaf, cinnamon, cardamom, fennel etc). In this recipe I have not added garam masala powder but sauteed with bayleaf and cinnamon stick and cloves instead.
Turmeric powder just a pinch so as to maintain the rich reddish hue of the curry.
Salt to taste
For tempering: mustard seeds, fennel seeds a tsp each. If you are to temper with bayleaf and cinnamon and fennel seeds, mustard seeds to be avoided as also garam masala powder.
Soak soya chunks in warm water for about 30 min and squeeze out water. Keep aside.
Peel and grate onion and grate tomatoes fine.
Peel and crush garlic.
Heat Oil in a cast iron kadai. When it reaches smoking point, temper with (i) mustard and fennel seeds or (ii) bayleaf, cinnamon stick and fennel seeds). Saute next onion to golden brown. Add crushed garlic and curry leaves next. Finally add the tomatoes. When the gravy is mushy, add the soya chunks whole or cut into half. Add a little water if so desire, I don’t. I let the soya chunks cook in the tomato juice. Add the madras sambhar powder and garam masala powder and turmeric powder(optional) Add salt proportionally keeping in mind the gravy will be thickening in consistency by the time you are done. Turn well and cook covered for about 20 min until the gravy thickens and the soya is well cooked. Season with cut and washed coriander leaves. Serve hot with rotis or rice. One of the yummiest curries especially in cold weather. Easiest to cook.
We eliminated sharebrokers when we went on digital platform and opened demat accounts to trade in stocks and mutual funds. Any retail investor mourned the loss of income to small investment brokerage firms?
What did we do to stop futures trading. Has it or has it not led to hoarding as feared. What are the effects of commodity futures on our national economy. (Me too know some economics ma).
We allow foreign retirement funds to invest in our stocks and take flight after zooming to extraordinary heights in unprecedented bull runs. They drop us like hot potatoes and make good with our invaluable investments leaving us high and dry. Have we even learned our lessons. After all we have allowed Bhopal.
We eliminated house brokers/real estate agents when we started browsing 99 Acres and Sulekha… Have those whose services are now redundant held protests.
We have IKEA-like assembly showrooms now, NO manufacturing units. Any enragement from woodworkers or carpenter class.
We have sedans and SUVs assembled in India, not made in India from scratch.
We ordered our Sardar Patel from China.
Our mobile phones and even air conditioner spares and laptops are made in China.
We blocked the chances of quota doctors who serviced the far-flung and most underdeveloped pockets of the Indian nation, mostly rural and unreachable and cut-off from civilization (kind of) when we ushered in NEET. Now we are waiting for corporates to open swanky hospitals in lieu of primary health centers in these tribal/backward districts. In another 20 years.
We gave a free rein to Bill Gates foundation whose diktat we obediently followed with our immunization programs. We trusted foreign organizations with the health and fertility of our future generations. Hindu population of India is done in. Our fertility rates have plummeted at rocket speed – can anyone deny this. An open challenge to our LIBERAL demographers to elaborate on this.
We permit foreign NGOs to convert Hindus and tribals to Christianity with bribes and rice bags. We have a 100 tv channels in Tamil language alone run by the church. Do we question them. Pseudo liberals please answer this question.
Do we audit madarasas, mosques, churches?
We cribbed about demonetization but lived through it.
We ranted and raved about GST but soon pieces fell into places. Seamless borders now pan India.
We even had issues with our Aadhar-PAN linking but we can’t think of a better fool-proof accounting and taxation method.
We cried foul over Sabarimala and Ayodhya. Ironically we also were up in arms against ban on Triple talak. How is this consistent???
Talking of Ayodhya, what happened to the 100 year church lease expiry in India. Almost all leases granted in British Raj days have expired. Liberals, can you take steps to handover the real estates to Govt of India. Every single christian missionary estate holding title needs a serious legal review.
We deplore caste system but we have no intellectual honesty to admit to victimization by islamic marauders and invaders. We justify Hindu genocides over centuries terming it the war dharma of the bygone eras, but is not by the same law of nature, restoring Ayodhya to Raam an evolutionary step in our history. So is Kashmir. History in the making. Survival of the fittest.
We forget our corner shop/kirana store with Amazon and Flipkart. Now these are fixed unchangeable ingredients of our lives. Living without them is unthinkable.
Is life without Swiggy and Zomato possible either.
PETA more important over local interests and native aspirations and customs and culture. Natives never hunted down any wildlife species to extinction dear liberals. White man did. Founding father of your darling PETA. Which native race hunts wild life for trophies.
India without PETA, Greenpeace, UNICEF, World Vision will be devoid of ‘foreign hands’ and ‘foreign agents.’
From chemical pesticides and fertilizers to GM seeds and GM cows and calves, we have to import semen for any kind of biological reproduction in India (how many of us are aware that there is no more natural conception of cattle in India/other Asian countries these days) because we are sold to the west in and out. Be it native flora or fauna nothing is ours anymore. IVF centers mushrooming is only the next inevitable step. 80% of urban Indian young couples today cannot conceive naturally without medical intervention. Just dare me.
So what is this Farmers agitation for. We are to succumb whatsoever. Corporates manipulate our lives and we dance to their tunes.
It started the day we picked up Pepsi and Coke smashing our Campacola and Thumsup bottles.
Not that we were better off before globalization. We have been controlled by one or other as we know from Shastri’s mysterious death in Russia.
Ignorance is bliss. Those who couldn’t care less are fortunate. Half-baked like me are the hardest hit. For we can guess what is coming.
Brazen church sponsor of Koodankulam and Sterlite protests have opened the eyes of the public. Media and leftists could have been the Biriyani packet dealership agents. Modi is busy only eliminating these agents!!!
By the way middlemen and agents have been systematically rendered redundant – this is a collateral damage to achieve larger growth. Draftsmen etc., were sacrificed in civil engineering work. Even chemotheraphy is now possible with pills. We outgrow many old practices in course of time. We switched from VHS tapes to CDs and now we have microchips. Is it not a way forward. Do we lament the closure of video libraries very popular in the 80s.
As the world mechanizes further and further, a lot more skills and jobs will be rendered waste. But the world population is bound to leapfrog by billions every decade. Expect economic downturns, pandemics and chaos and civil wars in every corner of the globe from here on. Not a doomsday pundit, but it is clear this is where presently the world is headed.
We are surviving right this moment a pandemic. It could have been worse. When virtual classrooms and WFH (work from home) can become the new normal, we are open for any improvisation in future. You can’t blame Adani and Ambani for even the corona. Adaption is key to survival. This too shall pass.
We gain some, we lose some. Elimination of Mandis does sound ominous. Effects of having a MS/MD inexperienced at 28 years will be felt like aftershocks some 20 years later. Service quota is not without a reason. Present Farmer Bill effects will be observable in a short period. Along with that couple the NEP (New Education Policy). Meanwhile hawala funds remain untraceable and keep pouring in, and conversion mafia is unstoppable in India. Add, multiply and square and cube all these omg…. India spinning, spinning, spinning out of control….
It so happens that today I received my CC certificate from TM International. Means, I am a certified Competent Communicator. (Must be the first 50+ housewife to crack it hahaha)! The problem is, I have not always seen a correlation between the levels or certifications and the degree of proficiency that has been demanded of the hierarchy as you climb up the ladder of Toastmasters. Sorry, I had to wait for this date to pour here my frank opinion on TM. I have enjoyed the journey no doubt about it, but I am kind of wary of the phoniness sometimes. For me, each and everyone of us must truly DESERVE being there, merit every single step we take forward to becoming DTM or whatever…. If I hadn’t believed so, I would have been a CC in 6 months. I took long pauses because I thought I needed to honestly grow up to the level I would move to. I felt I should truly belong there. I am a grammar police as well and I can’t stand rambling or nonsense substance sugar-coated in glamour. I believe in stuff. Worthy stuff. But I don’t deny having listened to some well crafted beautiful, moving speeches on the other hand in these last 5 years I have been into speeches. These rare ones are true life stories sans exaggerations. In any case, public speaking is not my forte, my passion is for the pen.
Not that i am a voracious reader or writer, yet writing to me is cathartic, therapeutic. That’s why I pour down my words into blog posts. Started with my Malaysian days to fill in long lonely days after leading an extremely busy (working mother) life until then. That was upto 1998.
Words give a definition to raging thoughts that swirl into phrases proper and then settle into short and long sentences and finally amass into sensible neat paragraphs. What a work of art this is. A lot of editing and re-editing follow but that’s the ecstasy, with words tangoing one over another into unorganized piles and hence the resorting and rephrasing and re-paraphrasing. The net output may be entirely estranged from what originally was the germinated idea that led to the torrential outpour of your imagination. We swerve, we reconnoiter, we evolve and then we emerge! That’s how at least my posts flipflop and make it to publishing point! May be had I honed this skill I would have ended up least as a sleazy reporter in a yellow magazine! But then I need no audience, no reviews – and had it been not for stats in the blog I wouldn’t have even bothered to check who is reading from where. Earlier I used to be wary of uninvited visitors, now I have come to accept the inevitable reality that there is no privacy online. That you are fully exposed. So even for me there needs to be a kind of restraint now, i try to not divulge too much personal details but it happens otherway around. Because, when you write from heart, you write real life stories which is not really a figment of your imagination…. I need no window dressing, I need no commissioning. It’s just plain me all the way…! So when you are that direct, what is there left to conceal….
Whatever, nowadays reading amateur authors whose simple prose is to only relate a hearty story sans frills, with no intention to impress readers with the clout of their English language proficiency, I am smothered by this feel-good factor, because I see a potential amateur secret writer-publisher in me hahaha! This is how you write from heart I suppose! Two hoots to these good samaritans! I am not for the icing in the cake always, i would better take a big chunky bite of the cake first!
Writing even if as an amateur, naturally made me wonder about delivering speech on stage, the next logical step. This is how I got into trying out my luck with speeches. My personal speech journey has not been good at all! The gratification I derive out of writing from my heart goes missing when I have to act out in front of a select set of audience. It is somehow too very cosmetic but then I didn’t want to leave it untried. The tailor-made speeches to score a point with a bunch of speakers who are on the same boat as you hardly made me feel good about myself. But what it did manage to do was bolster my self-confidence. I became much more outgoing from being a little awkward much more vocal (than already!) and more conscious of the use of conjunctions, pauses etc. I learnt the knack of continuity mostly.
The plus with a short speech is that, you can keep your audience engrossed without the risk of boring them with a long speech. Attention span is better and you are 100% received.
But then after listening to India’s political speakers who are so mic-savvy, I knew a good speaker is born, never molded or made. We are pros here in India, we have naturals who need no brushing up or memorizing. Who transcend all borders and who colour their elocution with such awesome quotes that you know you cannot afford to miss a single word when they are on the dais. These men and women set the stage on fire with their matchless oratory skills and histrionics. Inspiring speeches that shake you and leave you in a sweet mess!
I guess only democracy spawns this breed of bold courageous outgoing speakers who resonate and ring like the very thunder! Do they really script their speeches?
Descending to the lesser world of officeroom kind, speech drapes a different outfit in such organized settings. It is mild, inoffensive and peppered with civil greetings.
Speech to me still remains a sore point. We speak to impress audience and that somehow hits at the base of my need to find fulfillment in expression. When we address a crowd, we cater to their whims and fancies, we limit our natural rhythm and flow, we become unnatural. We set ourselves boundaries. We are not to touch taboo topics, we have to play upto the arena and we cannot infringe upon many a sensitive territory. I have tried to master the art of delivering a truly good speech but have failed miserably I must say. Reason is chiefly this. Animation without substance beats me. Substance without emotion trips me. Emotion that is faked again stumbles me. I am unable to walk out of this trap and hence I can hardly make a decent eloquent entertaining and more than all a CONVINCING speaker.
Allow me the vast uninterrupted online space to fill a 100 pages, I can do it no time. I can make a mincemeat of anyone and everything shedding my inhibitions, shredding their false shrouds to smithereens in no time. I am a self-certified keyboard warrior over a certified CC really.
Today I was talking to Vimala maami who was our neighbour in Mylapore when I was preteen. Vimala maami, Seetha maami and Vasantha maami were my mother’s peers and mothers of my childhood friends. Our relationship continues until today albeit via electronic channels.
Seetha maami and Vimala maami moved adjacent to each other in a distant suburb, to live lifelong together. They are closest until today. Vimala maami is 72, Seetha maami over 75.
Seetha maami is struck with breast cancer at this age and Vimala maami is taking care of her. I started weeping quietly when I heard of this in phone today. Maami suffering is too much to handle as I discovered, surprising myself with the reaction.
Vimala maami started narrating to me one incident from my childhood that I was not aware of.
Vimala maami’s mother-in-law died of breast cancer. That I knew of. That day I still remember but I was not even 10 then.
Maami said, one day my grandfather asked my grandmother to go with him to Ramanaashram in Tiruvannamalai. For that, my patti told my thatha, ‘why should I go to Ramanaashram? Ramanaashram is right here in Mylapore. Come with me, i will take you to Vimala’s house. How Vimala the daughter-in-law and the son, her husband, are rendering physical service to the aged mother, you must see. I am seeing this everyday. Then tell me if I should go to Ramanaashram with you.’
My patti led my thatha to Maami’s house. There my thatha was impressed to see what a yeoman service the young husband and wife with two toddler children, were still rendering to bedridden cancer patient, mother of Maama (Maami’s husband). Then it seems my grandpa told my granny in everyone’s presence, ‘no need for us to go to Ramanaashram because Ramanaashram is indeed here.’
This Maami told me when I told her my mother-in-law is with me always whenever I am in India. Of the four daughters-in-law, the last and unwanted ugly duckling me is surprisingly always her first trusting choice with who she feels most comfortable. Maami told me what a blessing it is to have the elderly wanting to be with you. She then related to me this very simple real life incident that she says she can never forget. It also gives a great insight into what kind of couple my paatti and thatha were. The kind of conversations they had had… We miss noticing these small cute things about our elders when they are around… In my case, I hardly got the chance really…
This is how I grew up. This is how we were in those days. Sometimes we want to become utter selfish and just be by ourselves. After talking to maami I feel a lot better now. Sometimes it does anger me that why it must be only me always. And after the way I have been treated over years.
But then the heart remembers, the stomach remembers. The tongue can be harsh but the heart forever is loving and can never turn down anyone. So that’s the reason.
For last Diwali I was with my mother-in-law in hostpital (for about 10 days). On the day before discharge, my MIL called me to her bedside and holding my hands she told me, ‘you and my son and my grandson will always be only happy. My blessings will always stay with you.’ I thought since I could not do anything for my own parents, God was giving me a second chance to take care of my MIL. I did nothing much really. Just someone being there can make a monumental difference especially when one is incapacitated.
Despite all this sometimes the devil in us pops out. After all we are human. We hold on to bad memories and push back the good ones. But after hearing from Vimala maami about my paatti and thaatha and Ramanaashram, I feel ashamed for talking behind my MIL’s back and at times sulking for being saddled with her. Hereafter I would try to mend my ways. How long will someone have the cheek to ask me, not to go out without wearing dupatta (even in this age ada rama)! After her who will even bother.
I want to visit both Seetha maami and Vimala maami soon.
All that marriage talk rekindles in me a very interesting and intriguing childhood memory.
My neighbours until my 10th year were a marathi family. Two brothers Amar and Suren who were older to me by 4 and 2 years respectively were my first ever friends in life. Both our mothers also attended the same school as kids, and worked as teachers. They even went by the same name. Our families were bound by such intimate ties that now I can’t believe that after being too close for over half a century, the two have forever drifted apart. One reason is that, their family begot two sons and ours two daughters. These differences were substantial in late 70s and early 80s to drive in a wedge between common friends.
I literally grew up in Amar’s house and they even had ‘thooli’ a cloth cradle specially hung for me it seems when I was a newborn. Their family had a resident cook who we called ‘maami.’Most of the time ate in their house. Caste was never an issue. After I would fall asleep in their home, my father would carry me back home it seems on his shoulder.
I was closest to Amar. Looked up to him with total awe. He always told me what to do and when to do. Like he daily marked my attendance in his house in an attendance register when i was hardly 5 or 6 years old i remember hahaha. He had a register with the names of all neighbourhood kids. The brothers also did mock puja, mock cooking etc., conducted sports day (!) everything. Used to skip ropes with Suren 100, 200, 300 at a time. Butterfly stroke, backstroke, you name it i had done it a 1000 times! Played tennikoit with the brothers, pondi, gilli, goli mainly. Between my house and Amar’s house in the dirt patch, we played goli and also gilli at times. All this before I turned 10 only. Believe me, I was a killadi goli specialist hahaha!
Mylapore was such a fun place to grow up in. No traffic at all. Only my grandfather owned one Bajaj scooter. No one else owned a vehicle in my street, not even a bicycle!
We were a dozen kids in same age bracket in our street, boys and girls. We staged dramas, held temple functions at home, played current, gilli, goli, cricket, pondi everything and did skipping all in our street. We also played cards, daya kattai, pallankuzhi, 7 kal everything. We flew kites from our terraces. One thing we did not have was tv. We came from all backgrounds and castes. Never was there any difference in our midst. All mothers were our common mothers. All families and homes had their doors open to each and every one of us.
Upto class 5, I studied at Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan. Needless to say, when in KG, i used to cry and run to Amar’s class. I would lose all my pencils and borrow his. Mostly upto class 1 or 2, i used to rush to him and sit with him in his class! Like i was his pet lapdog, i used to toe Amar always.
When in class 4, Amar family shifted to a different residence but within Mylapore. Until then, annually we used to stage a drama for all parents in summer. Amar’s initiative again. In that young age, he selected stories, scripted them and made us get our roles by heart and staged plays for the entire street. He would even hire costumes and take the whole setting to a new level. Very late in life, I appreciate these original ideas and artistic efforts mooted by a little boy in those days. And the spirit of getting all the kids together under one banner. I even have a group photo in black & white somewhere.
Mostly we did dramas from puranas. Some socials too. The last one we did – I don’t remember the title. All I remember is that, I was the heroine of the drama! And my name was Kaaththaaayi!!!
Suren was my husband in that drama. The younger brother. We rehearsed for this play for many days. Nearly my 10th year, I too felt a bit strange viewing my childhood friend Suren as my husband in that Tamil drama! Until then I had been perhaps a tomboy. I guess I must have been growing aware of the gender difference for the very first time in my life.
We staged the drama successfully in the brothers’ new home a few streets away from ours. My parents were also invitees as usual.
After the drama i think my parents felt uncomfortable. Not even in the drama, they liked me being cast as wife to someone outside my community, I gathered, listening to their discussions back home. They disapproved of the wife role and feared it might be planting ideas in my head (as well as Suren’s). All this, within closed doors. To Amar’s family, they were cordial as ever. But my family felt a need to restrain me I guess after this. They wanted to discourage the brothers from visiting us. My family was very protective about me as any family is about their daughters. Sometimes I can’t believe, such parents left me in a hurry to be so alone forever in this world.
In that drama, my parents, whether they liked it or not, whether they approved it or not, saw me as a married woman Kaaththaayi, even if clumsily draped in a sari, for the one and only time of their lives , serving lunch to my husband Suren, looking after my children (i forgot who played the kids roles) etc. One thing I remember clear is Suren calling out musically ‘kaathaayi, kaathaayi’ when coming home!!! I had to run answering, ‘ennanga!’
For my childhood friend Suren too, it was the only marriage for life, whether real or drama. He never married. That was the only married life in childhood play he had. Only wife, only children, only wedded family.
Within a couple of years of my playing Kaaththaayi, my mother passed away. My father followed later. Amar and Suren too lost their parents. After my mother, I totally lost touch with the brothers’ family. My family did not entertain me mixing with boys in that vulnerable age. Especially as a motherless girl my condition had become rather too precarious. My family acted vigilant overtime.
New friends arrived. Our Mylapore gang extended. But the connection with Amar and Suren was severed for me for good.
Years later once when my son was a kid, after returning from Malaysia, I saw Suren in Kapali temple in close quarters. What a sweet surprise. He was a handsome man in his prime, naturally. His gaze moved to my son. His eyes hinted at untold pain. I was aware he was doing good professionally. I waited for him to make the first move. Had he spoken even one word, i would have reciprocated. I just needed him to break the ice. But he hesitated and the moment passed.
Kaaththaayi was such an irony really. She made Suren, a lifelong bachelor now, a much married man with family, kids…. She showed my parents, who never lived long enough to see their first born darling daughter in a sari or get married or have a family – that’me, draped in a sari for the one and only time of their lives, as a married woman running after kids, running a family…
Sometimes I wonder if Kaaththaayi was any divine coincidence/intervention. She revealed to my parents and Suren what was not to be for them. What was to be denied to them. Was this meant to be. We will never know. It is at moments like these I truly believe, there is a Maker above us. God’s hand is in everything. There is a subtle message in anything and everything happening around us as well. The perceptive among us can pick up the signal.
Minutes after I finished this post, I made the word ‘accuse’ in Wordscraper game (the scrabble), an app in Facebook, believe me or not, on another window from a speech I was hearing, the speaker was lecturing “…… accused the ….” exactly the very same moment omg !!! I typed the word ‘accuse’ the same time the speaker uttered the word ‘accused!’ The next moment I realized what had happened! This makes my day. I think God just said Amen to the last stanza I wrote in my blog post today about Divine interventions. Divine coincidences. People mock at me if I ever talk like this. Because this is the not first time I have seen ‘signs’ – I do all the time but I keep this to myself otherwise they may ACCUSE me of hallucinating!
Ardent devotee of Shakthi. She is my Mother ever since my biological one left me high and dry and at the mercy of others. She is with me all the time, echoes my thoughts or denounces with a thud should She disapprove!
Watching the show on and off for years now in NDTV Good Times. Seem to like this fashion designer Sabyasaachi even if fashionakkum enakkum romba dhooram:D He could be a groom himself hahaha. Looks like Virat Kohli’s older bro hahaha. I like the respect Sabyasaachi accords to the aged parents of the brides (very touching), the way he lavishes praises on would-be brides making them feel important, and how he pampers and spoils the girls with his exuberant riches. He seems genuinely happy for them and goes out of the way to make them feel comfortable (at times overtly amicable and pleasing that I doubt if its plastic). I particularly liked the Poppat (Dangal) girl quite naturally but I adored all of his picks frankly. We get an idea of how the designer makes a choice among the sea of applicants. In my guess, he goes for character and charisma in equal measure. His brides are well accomplished, confident and are independent women, the face of the Indian nari (current generation). In someway the participants seem to have broken over a threshold or so here and there.
After years finally, happened to get a glimpse of Sabyasaachi’s palatial home in Kolkata that he seemingly designed by himself. Looks like, his chef etc., are mostly male. Loved his canines! For the kind of luxurious life he seems to be living, he comes across as a down-to-earth humble guy. He sounds warm and sincere. May be a business tactic as well! Must be a tough job to narrow down the list of aspirants and cherrypick the real deserving/meritorious girls to feature in his production. Simply too many may qualify. I can’t recollect individual cases much. Perhaps I can remember faces even if i cannot retain names. I reckon that the chosen brides are truly worthy of their much cherished appointment. Starry eyed, they all look so ever grateful to Sabyasaachi and can’t wait to start their wedding life in style! Honeymoon package is the icing on the cake!
Yet somehow I happen to think that, this is not the way it must be (in general). One thing I strongly disapprove of is Sabyasaachi getting mangalsutra for all the brides which may earn him punya but will depriv the groom’s parents off once-in-a-lifetime parental obligation or responsibility. Certain things, we must never give up in life. Others just can’t take over our lives just like that. In that way, I abhor him taking over the weddings completely and branding them as his house’s. Weddings are such personal affairs that you do not even need to let others know of necessarily. Or you can have an intimate, close gathering making the occasion very private, taking it away from prying eyes. I personally prefer closed weddings which are now becoming vogue thanks to the corona pandemic scare. Even if it is for glamour and free gifts and advertisement and page 3 opp, how can the brides let a third party gain such a predominant access into the most special moments/event of their lives. I just can’t get it. Not everything can be for sale.
Sabyasaachi’s girls are themselves like fashionistas – at least most of them. They are a style statement on their own. His work gets a lot easier that way. After watching the north Indian crowd living outside India as an NRI, i get it perfectly now. Sorry, most of us south Indians just do not accord this kind of priority to grooming. Not even the creamiest and most fashionable among us. May be I missed out on south bound stories, but mostly I saw only the snazziest prettiest ladies swooning over Sabyasaachi.
A visit to dermatologist, not just anyone but No.1 always, to the dentist, to the hairstylist, to the jeweler, to the fashion designer (the producer himself), to the cosmetologist omg… I have mentioned in my previous blog posts, first time I stepped into a beauty salon was in my 36th year, after a previous one-off visit just before my wedding reception. I really don’t get it why such a superficial grooming is attached this kind of hyper attention these days. Finally does it really matter! I guess, to carry well the Sabyasaachi creation, one needs to be groomed to this degree otherwise it could be a disaster. If you ask me, my vote is always for a Kanjivaram. Not many brides however have opted for Kanchi silks in the show. Mostly Benarasi lehengas are the hot favourites among the girls. One more thing: covering the head is for widows in the south. Probably the north Indian Hindus got influenced by the islamist invaders. Such a head covering pallu for a bride is unthinkable in any south Indian Hindu wedding. Lehengas too. Only a full sari – an unstitched robe, can be a wedding dress. We call it Koorai Pudavai – in which you get married. Different families have different parampara when it comes to Koorai pudavai. For example, in my family it used to be 8 yard but now 6 yard deep maroon silk or cotton with tiniest yellow checks. For some of my friends it is 9 yard of the same. Andhrites have it in yellow – with white sari dipped in turmeric to make it yellow. For Keralites it is cream Kasavu. We just cannot have any colourful costume for wedding muhurat in south. We follow age old traditions and customs without altering them a bit to suit our fancy. Similarly only a white dhoti, again an unstitched robe can be the wedding dress for Hindu men irrespective of caste or social status. In north, they seem to be wearing stitched lehengas (brides) and kurtas (grooms) for weddings. In south, this is permissible only for wedding receptions, never for muhurtham or muhurat.
By the way, I am sure, even North Indian brides originally were marrying only in desi sari, the unstitched robe, with the grooms in dhotis being unstitched garment of the grooms. The very same old Bollywood films bear witness. Why and how have the lehengas substituted the saris and since when? This is not good. Glamour replacing customs and traditions. Hopefully those who live north of the Vindhyas return to our roots and stop wearing lehengas for weddings. The lehengas can be worn for the following reception.
(I must say after all the visits and appointments with the designers and dressers, many brides ended up garish at least in my frank opinion hahaha! They looked much better in their natural setting before all this decking up started! The lehengas too not all were stunning. Some were overdone and gaudy.)
So Sabyasaachi falls flat in our estimation. I mean, of not much relevance. Today’s girls from my place may choose lehengas for reception perhaps. This is also a very recent development only. If you choose a kanjivaram, it is lifetime keep. If you choose a designer lehenga it is use and throw one-time wear.
I got stung by one episode of Band baajaa recently that I was watching offhandedly doing some chores in my kitchen. The girl featured was a bit obese and dusky – like regular south Indian dusky. What is there to be ashamed of or bullied for for your skin colour. It is outright demeaning. May be there was more to the story. I will have to catch up with the episode in You tube before I can come clear. If a dusky girl must feel low and find it difficult to get married in India, then 90% girls in the south will be spinsters even now, which is not the case. I guess, a lot more rethinking has to be done by the producers before shooting such hurtful sequences. It is downright insulting. Bodyshaming is horrible. Girls admitting to feeling depressed for physical reasons is revolting. What kind of girls are these. Such a weak mind. Upset being obese, dusky? You may wish to look better, but you must feel beautiful the way you are. At least that’s how I see myself!
What a run-up to the actual wedding! Already these vulgar pre-wedding shoots I find very crass and disgusting, and can’t imagine the educated youth wanting to make a fool of themselves singing and dancing around trees to show off to the world, how intimate they are as couples!
Such ostentatious shows and extravagant weddings to me are total fake. I have enjoyed the Sangeeths and Mehendis of friends’ kids but personally I am never for this bullshit. First of all, these are considered frivolous and have had no place in south Indian weddings. Of late our guys are brainlessly adapting whatever is glamorous and glitzy by Bollywood standards. In this melee, the true sense of a marriage is lost. Having fun and frolic is fine but losing the perspective of having a Vedic wedding as per Hindu rites which is so sacred and puritanical is shocking and unbelievable with the ceremonies minimized after all the useless paraphernalia extra fittings that tire everyone especially the marrying couple, before the Muhurath. The young couple must be sharing some very special, auspicious and hearty moments in the glow of the ritual fire (homa) in Hindu weddings. Saath Pheras or the Sapta Padhi – how a bride may feel at heart taking every single step towards her bright, happy and prosperous future. Should it all be in front of tv cameras. Emotional moment for the couple exchanging vows, chanting mantras or tying the knot. Very special private moments of one’s life. To be blessed by your near and dear ones. To have the closest and most caring loving people surrounding you. Having strange unconnected people around you at this time can be unthinkable. Everything is commercialized and for photoshoot and media-sharing these days. Nothing is now personal, private and just for the family. I am surprised Sabyasaachi stops with the sangeeth, wedding muhurat and reception and not venturing into the nuptial bed with his designer gown! Why can’t he just stop with designing the lehengas and jewelry. Why should he or his team partake in the wedding ritual? Is it part and parcel of the package.
I think Sabyasaachi must have a reunion with his brides after 20 years and check how well they are doing. I do want them all to be happy. Still, I would want a reconfirmation.
Because, i am a believer in marriages, not weddings. I married with 2k in bank balance and with no parents. That forever has influenced my take on marriages. Recently had my only son have a registered wedding (unplanned) of course. I am fine with that. Do feel a slight ache at times – even I would have wanted a handful of nearest and dearest guests – family and friends for the occasion…. anyway corona weddings are also the new normal! In a way I reflect, perhaps my Mother Goddess gave me what I have always appreciated and prayed for sincerely at heart.
I do view at expensive/theme weddings in positive light for the job opportunities they may create. But I am increasingly getting an impression that the workmen down the line get only peanuts whereas the event managers take the biggest slice of the pie. Besides I am put off by the event management girls welcoming us guests and asking us whether we have had the buffet. How much more estranged can you get with your friend or relative at the family wedding.
Grand weddings are fine if you belong to such a strata of society but using weddings to parade one’s social status is abhorrent. It is much more important to receive our guests personally at our family weddings, after inviting them respectfully and graciously, usher them warmly to the dining hall, seek their blessings sincerely for our children. Very few opt for such simple and nice weddings these days. Prefer the typical Hindu wedding rituals we have in the south followed by a reception for friends and guests.
I invite Sabyasaachi to attend real Kerala temple weddings to know how a wedding can be just a 20 min affair with 2 hr wedding reception followed by a 60 year blissful married life. I love the simplistic Mallu weddings. My Nair friend tells me, even the Mangalsutra is only a recent addition for them borrowed from other state Hindu practices. Earlier, if the bride was given a cotton Kasavu sari (typical kerala off white sari) by the groom’s family and the girl’s family received it with her, it meant the marriage between the boy and the girl just got over. Just like that! Feast on banana leaves with three kheers – one of sweet ripe mangoes, one of coconut pulp, and one of dal. Even in Tamil Nadu, wedding feasts are always served in banana leaves only. You may be a king yet you can have a buffet dinner in crystals for your wedding reception, but for the wedding muhurat feast, it is always the humblest banana leaf only that is like our silver dining ware and cutlery. I hope we never compromise on that for the cheap china.
I have attended simplest but heart warming Kerala weddings and have always thought of them to be the best – not the gulf-money marriages.
Sabyasaachi, I like your show. I am transported to another world weekly one hour thanks to you but I strongly denounce this kind of fakeness surrounding your weddings, i am sorry to say. But the show is enjoyable! I do love looking at the jewelry and the clothes even if I can never come to agree with them. May be every other woman loves you Sabyasaachi and may be I am the only one to underwrite you…
Is it a paid content Sabyasaachi???
Cakes in weddings: cakes made with eggs are nowadays cut on wedding days. To my knowledge, even in non-vegetarian families, they stop eating meat from before Pandakkal and resume meat eating 10 to 15 days after the wedding muhurat. Similarly in no Hindu caste is garam masala used in traditional wedding feasts normally. But now we have naan and panneer and cutlets served on banana leaf along with traditional wedding recipes. I agree there can be no hard and fast rules, yet reasons followed for sticking to satwik menu for our weddings need no elaboration. Only paal sadham (milk rice) for the wedding night dinner for the newly married and Paal-pazham (banana fruit and milk) immediately after the wedding muhurat. Much married now, I can understand the significance of these practices handed down to us through generations. Introduction of masala and meat is reserved for a special occasion much later after weddings in non veg families. Now even liquor serving is becoming the norm in upper middle class receptions. I am the last person not to welcome change and modernity but when it comes to traditional weddings and religious/solemn occasions, I would rather respectfully stick to our age old/ancient customs and practices followed and advised by our ancestors. There is a time and place for everything.
There is no greater God than the sense of empathy. If you don’t have it, there is no use going to temple or doing the puja. Some are born with this empathy. Some are raised in a way that they cultivate empathy. For some, the learning process is ingrained when they live as minority in an alien land. It is then you realise, your God does not matter, your language does not matter, your culture does not matter, your clothes don’t matter, your way of life doesn’t matter. These are different contexts that do no involve you at any level. It is a moment to reckon with and if you do not grow up still, believe me you will have to take multiple thousand janams to get this onto you.
Last week I attended the housewarming ceremony of my longserving household help. She came to me in her early 20s. Now she is hitting 40s. Such a moving occasion for both of us who have become kind of sisters in the last 16-17 years we have been together. She has become like a family member to me. She has built a mini bungalow in her own words – but it is truly a 371 sq ft simple terraced house with a small living, bedroom, bath attached and kitchen plus a partially open top terrace with a room, bath and balcony. To the poorest families having a kitchen sink with 2 taps for running water, a tiled bathroom and upstair bedroom and open terrace is like 7 star hotel luxury. Why is this grihapravesham even more important? I am copy-pasting my old write-up from 2015:
Lights On: Original date of the blogpost: March 10, 2015
The evening before leaving for Doha I had a mini function to attend. Its the coming of age of my maid’s 12 year old daughter. In their community, its a small happy occasion worth celebrating . I have been trying to discourage my girl right from the start emphasizing this is an outdated ritual. In olden days perhaps this custom prevailed because it served as an announcement to interested parties/families who were looking for a (child) bride. There was a necessity to advertise that a girl was ready for marriage. Now we are in the 21st century, so why can’t we do away with this medieval and somewhat humiliating ceremony (the girls are embarrassed visibly). But coming from village, my maid still attaches importance to rural practices. She was in no mood to listen and anyway its not my business how they spend their money or lead their lives. Some of the things I say, she wholly adopts without question and from some areas, I am politely shut out. I take it in good spirit. We don’t own people who work for us.
I was invited the very first day to their humble house (if it can be called that) to give the girl a ritual head shower using the strainer (the atta sieve we use in our kitchens). As a sumangli, she gave me that respect. My MIL was around and she forbade me from going to the girl’s thatched hut that served as their home. I could not overrule her. For the 5th day sunday, she had booked a mini hall in a nearby hotel, very much beyond her means. Even I was weary of the unnecessary expenses. But then I thought what is there otherwise to celebrate in the lives of these poor folks.
Overruling my MIL’s words this time, I attended the function. Normally little girls get gifts like new dresses or bangles or cosmetics for this ceremony. Besides being plied with a variety of eatables/goodies like fruits and nuts. Since my maid has been with me for over 10 years now and since she is like a younger sister to me really, I got her daughter a pair of gold studs for the occasion – the designer kind that the girl can wear to college or work. Sylish and branded.
Reason is I have no daughter. My maid has a daughter but no money. How ironic our situation is. I referred to the ‘panchangam’ and verified that the date and time of the coming of age (in the school wherefrom she was sent back home by her teacher) was a good muhurat. Even the sunday ‘nalangu’ time was fixed by me besides the ‘punyajanam’ hour in the morning. I noted down the thidhi, nakshatram (star) of the days and handed her over the slip. It might come useful when arranging for the little girl’s wedding in future. Because along the birth time of the girl in our horoscope/kundali, I have seen this first menstrual date & muhurat mentioned in bold letters and a little calculation done on that as well (!) So somewhat understand the significance our society places on womanhood.
The hotel was close to my place but going there was the difficult part. I took my regular auto man and told him to park somewhere nearer. When I gave missed call, he had to come and pick me up. I did not intend staying over 30 minutes maximum.
Poorest people have the largest hearts really. I was surprised to see over 200 guests from my maid’s native village and their entire street turn up at the rundown hotel. My first time there. I hesitated frankly at the entrance. Within a minute I was surrounded by her mother and her husband (who works as a casual labourer – mostly house painter).They took me to the little girl in the open terrace up the stairs. A big colourful ‘shamiana’ was pitched from one parapet to another and kids were running around playing and dashing on anyone and everyone seated in plastic folded chairs. Such an air of gaiety and festivity! Food in banana leaves was served at the restaurant in ground level.
I was clearly out of place. I had under-dressed for the occasion still I stood out among the women. But I knew I had to show that much respect to my girl who is working for me for over 11 years now; – to her I trust my home, my son and my old MIL; with her I feel safe; to her I owe a lot I cannot put in words. From taking care of me if I am sick (I get severe stomach cramps on monthly basis that sometimes renders me to bed for 2-3 days), from cooking for me, for caring for my home/house as if its her own.
Money cannot equal everything. But money is a good mediator, agreed. I could see how my presence silenced everyone for a minute (for which I felt like an intruder) and at the same time how proud it made my girl. She wanted to show me off to one and all I think. She paraded me through her folks introducing names left and right. Some I could recall from our conversations over years, some I could not. It felt so strange. I felt all the love but found that I could not reciprocate in same measure – OMG what a prissy I am!
They offered me a hot cup of coffee. Couldn’t refuse but atleast it gave me a reason to forego food. Moreover my MIL had strictly warned me against eating in their place. I felt bad. I thought how disrespectful that could be – wanted to atleast eat the sweets and have the icecream if nothing more. Now even when my heart wanted to, my mind said ‘no’ looking at the crowd. It was such a mass of lower-middle class. The gaudy silks and the blaring cine songs playing in the stereos revolted me. The men had their hair oiled and combed, the women wearing cheap scent and flowers. I felt ashamed of myself. For all the social justice we talk about, how many of us can really mix with simple folks in the lowest strata of our society or partake in their homely celebrations. I couldn’t believe my reactions myself. There was suddenly the urge to run away from the scene.
Easy to preach the world. Difficult to practise in life. Our noble f*****g principles. Such a shame. I hang my head in total disgust for my mental block and apathy towards the lesser fortunate, the poor wretched rural/urban folks of India.
There was the ‘nalangu’ ceremony. First one ever for a girl in her life. Nalangu is essentially the haldi-kumkum ritual. We sumangali women have to annoint the girl with haldi-kumkum one by one that’s all. Then we have to sprinkle some ákshata’ (rice mixed with kumkum and haldi marking fertility) on the girl’s head and finally there will be áarthi.’
I couldn’t stay long until the aarthi so I was allowed graciously to finish my turn of nalangu first and leave with the ;thamboolam.’ Many pictures were clicked in those few seconds.
In some 15-20 minutes I was there, I noticed that my maid’s mother from her native village had got some 21 ‘seer’ plates (gift plates) for her granddaughter – one tray of bananas, one of jack fruits, one of dates, one of almonds, one of sugar, one of apples, one of biscuits, one of chocolates, one of bangles, one of silk clothes, one of little silverware (anklets), one of gold (in her capacity she had got the girl a gold chain) etc.
Such a poor woman you know. A farmhand turned dishwasher in a local highway restaurant as the crops dried out and the lands grew infertile.
My eyes were beginning to water. With a great effort, I controlled myself. She took me by hands and showed me the ‘seer’ beaming with such a pride. A hardworking woman’s life savings lay in front of me – with such a love for her daughter’s daughter.
There were other gifts arranged in corner of the terrace. Coconuts, trays of fruits and fresh flowers.
Over 200 people ate at the feast that night I believe. I left quick handing over my gift and 3 plates of fruits and flowers I had gotten the girl. I did send for her each of the 5 days something I cooked in my kitchen.
Next day after the function, I had very little time to talk to my maid. I had a flight to catch that night. I learned she had spent some 29,000/- bucks on the event. I was a bit angered. Given her economic condition, I was not happy to learn about the expenses. She said, her brother who worked as mechanic gave her daughter 1 sovereign of gold. One more brother also gave the girl the same gift. Her parents and in-laws too gave precious gifts and also the neighbours and relative circle. In all, the little girl had received over 12 sets of salwar kameez, lots of health drinks, fruits, cash gifts etc.
Not a single well-to-do member from my kind of society was spotted (naturally). We move in 2 different societies that did not overlap. I was the only one who ever dared from mine to attend my maid’s house function. When my maid said she paid off the entire expenses for food and hotel with the gift money, I got stumped. So I needn’t have worried. The poor took care of each other.
What an affectionate circle of friends and relatives. The 5 days her rural parents stayed with her in her cramped house lavishing the young matured girl with such a love and a variety of eatables. The generosity of the poor people is something that we cannot see in the miserly upper middle-class.
Aren’t we all busy looking for where others live, what cars they drive, how they shop.
My mind went back to my granny – I never had such a ceremony because my mom was a teacher and was against this kind of needless publicity of a girl’s attaining puberty. But my grandmother did lavish a lot of care and affection on me. I have forgotten so much of my younger days. In our families this is a hushed up affair. I went back to school in fact in 3 days.
My maid made her girl take 10 days leave from school. I was moved when she asked me how to use a sanitary napkin for the first time. I volunteered to get it for her but she said, ‘Akka, I am very poor but there are a few things I want to do for my children by myself. Like getting my daughter her first napkin packet. You are doing so much for us already, but please allow me to buy the basics for my daughter as a mother.’
Saying that, she started to cry.
What has poverty got to do with a mother’s love and affection for her daughter. Poor people also have pride and honour and priorities. How can we take them for granted about anything.
She got the packet from the corner shop and I took out one pad and demonstrated to her how to go about it. She herself never uses one. Saves every penny for her family.
‘Your daughter would have been taught in school anyway’ I told her and she said yes. Because even in our days we had visits from Johnson & Johnson and that was decades back.
How the illiterate village girl willingly learned from me and went on to help her daughter to use the sanitary napkin touched my heart. I told her about the importance of hygiene and disposal of used pads and every single word of mine she listened to with rapt attention. Every evening she came back and told me their trials and triumphs. Mother and daughter were having a different kind of experience. Daughter is smart and is a quick learner.
And what a pride in my maid’s face. She felt like she had passed on to the next stage of her life. Her darling daughter was no more a little girl – but a budding young woman.
But I kept warning her, ‘don’t pamper your daughter too much. we are all women and in this monthly menstrual condition we girls go to school, college, write exams, play in school grounds, catch bus, go to work and do everything; your daughter has to soon return to her routine normal school life.’
And I added, ‘don’t let the girl think she is a heroine either. this isn’t a picture we are watching. she is a princess to you, but let her get it this is nothing unusual; if you are born a woman, this is your life; let her not be distracted but return to books the quickest.’
And my maid said something she had told me a 1000 times earlier: how her mother made her walk 7 km to their ‘kazhani’ (agri holding) to work as farm hand the 2nd day she matured as a girl. She was barely 13 and had been a child labourer since the age of 7. She was not spared from taxing manual labour of 5-8 hours per day even during her periods as a little girl. ‘My legs would hurt and stomach would groan and thighs shiver but my mother wouldn’t spare me; and then there wouldn’t be enough food to eat’ she would recount her sorry tale.The moment she came home from farms, she had to pitch in with her share of kitchen duties and domestic chores like fetching water, doing the dishes, washing clothes etc. Whereas her 3 brothers who rested all day went to school or learned trades like a/c repair, car mechanical work etc.
Yes there are daughters of India who suffer a lot. Whose entire lives end up as tragedy.
‘Marriage was a relief’ said the girl, ‘because at last I could be at home when I had my periods. It was a luxury. Akka, which is why I want my daughter to get all the rest on earth minimum this first time.’
I had no words to that. I wished I could go back in time and extricate my girl from all her hardship and punishing childhood. She did not send her daughter to school for 9 days I guess (i left before the girl returned to school).
My mother never allowed me more than 3 days of rest either. She was teaching 8th class herself where many a day a hearing & speech impaired girl attained puberty – sometimes right in the class hours. ‘When those helpless girls can manage, why can’t you?’ was what she told me casually, ”don’t be a sissy.’ My mother suffered from a serious health issue as well – so it was not something that we gave much attention to. Part & parcel of growing up. I think this is what education can do to us.
Rural, poor India has to change a lot. I don’t see a reform in the short run.
Soon I left for Doha but I am talking to my maid everyday almost. She is cooking for my son (against my MIL’s wishes). I have forbidden my MIL from going near the gas stove (she is 78). I feel better if she is around my house.
My part-time maid lives off my street. Hers is a dead-end. No hutment is seen within the city limits these days (except in north Madras extension areas which is a fishing colony) but since this is a fag end of the street with no traffic, the civic authorities have spared it. Coming from a dirt poor family, it is also true that my girl’s home stands out like a sore thumb in the otherwise cement and concrete lower middle-class neighbourhood of hers. Most constructions there are unauthorized. But regularized as our corporation routinely ratifies illegal tenements/housing. Is there any other way to provide shelter to the poorest of poor in our city. Displacing them is unthinkable.
Lets call my girl ‘S.’ She lives in a single room thatched hut – the walls are exposed brick work (and not actually muddy). She shares the meager living space with her husband and 2 grown-up children. Her In-laws occupy the adjoining room. She says there is a 4 feet verandah running in the sides where she has built a rudimentary toilet. Now that the government has installed for her a free hand pump, her water woes are solved. Earlier she used to run after the water tanker to fetch water. That went on for years. She suffered greatly with pained hips and excess bleeding in those times. The handpump is a blessing to her.
Similarly she was using wood/coal for cooking. I booked an LPG connection for her and got her the first gas cylinder. I did not know then how much it saved her money and energy.
A day in my maid’s life dawns at about 4 am. She cooks and cleans for her family, packs lunch, leaves food for in-laws (rich or poor it is a must in most families in India to take care of husband’s elderly parents; and parents prefer staying over at their son’s over their daughter’s). Later she comes to work for me. Returns to her home to do the dishes and wash clothes. Goes to sleep with the lights on by 10 pm. Her husband is the chief earning member. Daily he brings home 200 bucks which is big amount for them.
During monsoons, her husband who works as a house painter mostly and labourer of any kind in lean season, is out of job for over a month or perhaps longer. That is when the family suffers the most.
Husband and wife are hard and sincere workers. Whether standing in queue for hours to get their rations supply from the govt PDS shops or taking care of their children and aged parents, they discharge their familiar duties without a murmur. Beach and cinema happen once an year during vacations. Holiday means a 2-day bus trip to Tirupathi Balaji temple, a bi-annual pilgrimage.
Even if poor they celebrate all our festivals and are very religious. My maid fasts many more times than me, and her kind of unadulterated piety always impresses me. When I chant the Lalitha Sahasranama, she would adjust her work near my pooja so she hears me. She comes to work after showering, so makes fresh flowers into garlands for my Mother Goddess. She is always my temple companion. I tell her, Shakthi will be more delighted with her than me – because it is her devotion that is matchless. Mother sees what we the mortals cannot see. Mother notes what we the earthlings miss.
Even as she is steeped in such an abject poverty, my girl’s cheer and zest for life always bowls me over. There is so much to complain if she has to. But she never does that. And no gossip either. Virtues you find nowhere these days.
The family though suffers from a strange but severe stress:
They sleep with their single tubelight on during the nights – as otherwise they have to deal with rodent menace. Once their boy’s toe was bitten by a furry rat and he had to get a shot to overrule any viral/bacterial infection. Ever since the family does not dare switching off the light when its bedtime.
‘How do you manage to even get a wink of sleep’ I ask my girl and she says as a matter of fact, ‘now I can’t go to sleep with lights off!’
Sleeping with the lights on…
I have no tears left in my eyes to shed for my girl. The single factor that she and family sleep with the lights on was on my conscience for days when I learned of it the first time.
Monsoon times leave her place with damp walls, wet floors, drains overflowing. I try to help by giving out blankets, food etc. Whatever we do is simply not enough I know.
My heart goes out to millions in this country who jostle up in dungeon-like quarters for shelter that they call ‘home.’ My girl is a lot luckier – she has someplace to call ‘home’ and she owns her small plot of 600 sq ft which is still a good bet in a city like Chennai. Think about the homeless.
‘Kettaalum maen makkal maen makkale,
Sangu suttaalum venmai tharum’
So said the ancient Sangam Tamil Poetess Avvaiyar who lived in the BC. Avvaiyar is stated to have lived over 1000-2000 years before the birth of Christ and her Tamil compositions are still well read. There is no Thamizh literature without Avvai.
The couplet translates as,
‘Even if the well-bred (people with character) are doing poor, they won’t stoop to lower levels.
Even if you heat/burn the conch, it will retain its original white colour.’
I am always reminded of the Avvaiyar verses when it comes to ‘S.’ Even in dismal conditions the girl conducts herself with such a dignity …. refusing overtly help from others (including me), managing with what they (she and her husband) make … What a decent people compared to some other shameless creatures we encounter in public life.
Before leaving for Doha I asked ‘S’ whether her daughter was alright and back to normal. She looked tired the monday morning after the celebrations of sunday night.
‘She is still bed wetting!’ said she.
Her 12 year daughter, was in the habit of wetting the bed during sleep. I keep asking ‘S’ to refer to a doc but she says, she had had such an anxiety problem herself. Now combined with her menarche, the problem has worsened for the little girl. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I asked her totally perplexed. The girl’s bed-wetting had totally slipped my mind. I could see the agitation in my maid’s face. I gave her a bunch of blankets. ‘Throw away the soiled ones. Use fresh ones, how much ever you want, ask me’ I said.
‘Akka my hands are aching washing the sheets day in and day out!’ she said, ‘our little house stinks and everytime my daughter has to change her napkin, we all have to troop out of the hut. Even if its midnight.’
How many ever bedrooms and bathrooms and wardrobes we have, we want more. How much ever clothes and jewels we own, we want new. Is ours the latest car? Cell? Well now, welcome to poor and miserable India. Come meet my girl ‘S.‘
We all come across so many, many stories in daily life, media and internet, but nothing moves me like this girl’s. I would get her a washing machine but its not advisable given the nature of their muddy damp walls. Besides there is not a square inch to spare. As such they live like cattle in cattle shed.The single room-hut serves as my maid’s family’s bedroom, kitchen and living. There is a tv, a steel bureau and a cooking counter. There is barely any moving space and they sleep in the floor in a row. Any guests means, they have to squeeze them in that cramped hole they call home. They don’t even use a ceiling fan – only a pedestal is possible in the low-roof.
My heart goes out to the little girl who has just blossomed into a young woman. Where is the privacy she desperately needs in this hour. The girl is upset and crying because she knows her condition and she is ashamed about it. She has no control over her bladder having slept with the lights on since the day she was born. And now onset of the menstrual cycle complicated matters for her. She is still a child – of a mere 12 years.
Surrounded by alcoholic grandfather and quarrelsome grandmother and an impoverished neighbourhood, the little girl seems to suffer from some suppressed emotions.
I remember my doc’s warnings to me when my son was an infant and I was a working mom. That was a long, long time back. His first advice was to strictly keep the lights switched off after 9 pm so the baby learns the difference between day and night. My son stopped bedwetting in night hours by 6-7 months. He started sleeping the whole night around the same time, not keeping awake, giving me complete rest and full night’s sleep that I badly needed in those days.
I said the girl would be alright with time. My maid who endured the same problem got okay only with her marriage. She was bed-wetting until her 18th year that is. Sudden thrust into married life must have done something to her psychologically. She says with her wedding night, she lost the bothersome habit unaware. I did not tell her, the reason was perhaps marriage freed her from her miserable existence easing her anxieties and giving her a sense of security. She needed no more to toil for hours in hot sun in farm lands and walk back the long distance home to slog the rest of the waking hours until she went to sleep. Urban life was easy neither but comparably less daunting.
On my advice and on doctor’s the mother tried many remedial measures with the little girl. Like not giving her liquid food from the evening hours. From rousing her from sleep to take her to toilet every 1-2 hours. Still nothing works.
I said may be her daughter’s problem is heredity. ‘Did you tell the doctor about sleeping with the lights on?’ I asked her. She said no, she never thought that could be a reason. I said perhaps that is the main reason. My maid is too scared and shy to approach any doctor or psychologist any longer on the issue. She feels her daughter has grown too old for that. She is concerned about what her neighbours might think,. whether it would later on affect her daughter’s married life. Howmuchever I try to convince her to come with me to a specialist, she refuses. She believes her daughter will be fine some day as she herself grew out of the habit over time …
I shall be the happiest if that happens… Or may be she is right, we must try to ignore the problem. And the girl who is self-conscious up until now about the bedwetting would get alright on her own…
The mother and the girl – and their dreams and trials and tribulations… Its a moving story. I am ashamed of my nation, my society, of the class divide, of the insecurity of the masses, of the injustice they suffer from and more than all by the way they meekly surrender without a fight. They know they have lost it. What it is to be really poor and at receiving end in India – I am seeing before my eyes every single day.
The little girl’s menstruation coupled with the bedwetting habit totally funks me. Sleeping with the lights on…
Once I get back to Chennai, I have to take it up with my maid again. We cannot let it wait any longer. The girl is attending an English school. The silver lining in the cloud is that hopefully one day in the future she will become a graduate – the first woman to earn a degree in her entire clan. So its high time her medical or psychological disorder is dealt with with the seriousness it deserves. More than anything, hygiene is important. If a qualified expert says all will be well without treatment, I am willing to consider that. Or whether the girl should wait until she marries as her mother says… Is it alright to meddle in others’ life. These are the questions I ask myself now.
What are the long term effects on health of individuals who are deprived for years, fitful night sleep. Is it normal to be in light all 24 hours a day – in sunlight during the day and electric light by the night hours. What are the psychological side effects. Very disturbing thoughts.
I keep calling my maid from here. Looks like the little girl has adjusted back nicely to the school routine. She has gotten her 2nd month’s periods. But the bed-wetting continues… The young mother sounded tired and hopelessly sad. The men in the family – her husband and son are suffering in a way too. The little girl’s habit has now multiplied many times over. And then there are the grandparents to consider … ‘We all are keeping awake the whole nights for 5 days now’ said ‘S.’ Never have i felt more sick.
How many of us even bother to spare a moment to think of the lives of our house helps or drivers or cooks. Many times I think about helping the family with their housing needs but I decide, helping with the children’s education is more important. The family as I said, is very proud even if poor. Any extra help you may want to give them, they shy away with shame cursing their own helplessness. They are the kind of rural folks who can be easily wounded. They don’t want help – beyond a certain point. I am actually happy with that. How much they value self-respect, honour and dignity even in their desolate living conditions unwilling to compromise. What a difference from our politicians. ‘Akka when my son starts working, he will raise a loan and build us a proper home’ says my maid.
There are things money can never buy.
I have tried to sleep with the lights on – never succeeded.
The only times I had the lights on during the entire night were when my parents passed away and my FIL died. Unless it is exam times for my son, lights on in the night always brings back tragic memories to me.
India’s issues are very complex, complicated. Poverty and gender discrimination and illiteracy compound to our woes. Those of us who are lucky are so very insensitive to care for those on who we tread over. Our greed snatches away the poors’ just share. Every 2nd or 3rd flat or house we buy, we are pushing the unfortunate into a further cramped dark corner. Their petty world is bleak and hopeless. The day my maid told me she washed as many soiled sheets and mats of her daughter in their dirty bathroom after the night bed-wetting by her daughter on her getting her 1st periods, I could not sleep in my comfortably bed. I tossed and turned for hours thinking of the girl, the family sitting or lying with the lights on, and mother and daughter making numerous trips to their dingy bathroom… the whole night… If I don’t feel guilty after this, I am not human.
Modi government, please think twice before land acquisition. This is my hearty, earnest request to you. We can beat the mute and the invisible black and blue and they can take it, but it breaks my heart to see this happen to them. Industrialization, urbanization is necessary, but please do it without trampling upon our poor and squashing them into pathetic pieces. There is nobody to take their sides, nobody to argue their cases, they will give up easy – but think of the spirit we crush, the hopes we dash, the lives we crumple… I am certain my government will have some humanitarian considerations… If you have to uproot anyone at all, relocate them favourably. Ambanis can have 27 storied palatial houses. The poor of India are not clamouring after big bungalows. All they want is to be left alone and not disturbed.
Quote Unquote :
Life gives the poor very few concessions – and one among them is their ability to celebrate the smaller joys. Something most of us are incapable of.
If I ever get to go on date with Shri Narendra Modiji (!), for even 5-10 minutes, this is the real and only life story I want to tell him. I think I will cover everything I may want to tell him with that.
My heart feels so heavy you know… ? I thought I must share this story.
PS: It’s over 5 years since I wrote the original story. Finally my maid family had a hearty housewarming this Nov 26th and the family have moved into their little heaven of a home. A beautiful warm nest. Yes, this time I did not hesitate to visit them on their D day. My maid sent me special breakfast and lunch and dinner ordered from a restaurant because she wanted to give me back something that day. Even my mother-in-law was moved. My maid’s neighbours surrounded me. I asked her the next day whether she slept fitfully in the new house. She said, ‘yes akka, for the first time in all these years, with the tubelight switched off but sleep is somewhat eluding, because sleeping with lights on is 20 year habit!’
The family is super excited about their new home with running water and taps and tiled bathroom and open terrace built with their savings of a lifetime and a little loan. Ever since, they are trying hard to sleep in pitch dark with the lights switched off which is new to them!
The little girl is now in college but attending classes online because of corona pandemic. Hopefully she grows out of the menacing habit soon in this newfound peace and harmony of their lives.