Help Me...I Am Wonder Woman

India is a land of wonder women – women born with the sound of their mothers whispering into their ears about the nobleness of sacrifice and compromise, of forgetting one’s own comfort and living for one’s husband, children, in-laws relatives, family and society. The Indian woman grows up thinking she exists for the very convenience of those around her. My Indian sisters who disagree with me are either painfully naïve or are part of the uppermost echelons of society that miraculously believe in equality of the sexes. For those on the lower rungs of the ladder, equality is a luxury they can’t afford.

At the lowest rung of this ladder made up of miserable women, are the ‘manual scavengers’, their very classification a testimony to the detestable prejudice of the caste system that they are victims of. Women forced to collect human excreta from dry latrines in order to earn a few rupees which will buy their children food.

Mahatma Gandhi, that revered man who has posthumously progressed to the greatness of a god, called them the ‘harijans’ – people of ‘hari’ or god. What he called them showed what he really thought of them – untouchables. ‘Achooth’ – a word that, perhaps, has its roots in the very upper caste Mahatma’s own prejudices. Yet, I am only speculating.

He, and many others after him, stressed on better brooms, gloves, and baskets for these people, but no one spoke of letting them move into another profession. Nobody spoke about doing away with this horror, and making people responsible for their own mess. That, anyway, is a trait that seems hard to find in most human beings nowadays.

For the wonder woman, as I prefer to call her, all this discussion is just a stale stench of political hot air strategically performed before the elections. She will always have toilets to clean and money to earn.

15 years after the government banned manual scavenging [Employment of Manual Scavengers and Construction of Dry Latrines (Prohibition) Act No. 46, 1993], these wonder women, found mostly in small towns and rural areas, have not seen one paise of the government grants that were supposedly set aside for them. Although Rs. 473.80 crore was spent in the name of rehabilitation between 1992 and 1998, only 13.9% of identified workers were trained and only 29.7% rehabilitated.

When interviewed they have appalling stories to relate – how they do not have water to wash their hands in summer, how the rains are even worse because the waste is wet and gets all over their clothes, how they can barely look at food let alone eat it, how they grow thin and waste away due to lack of food, how their children pick up all kinds of diseases and they cannot afford the medical help. Alcoholism is rampant, understandably, because only hard core booze could render them numb enough to do this task. Their children do not go to school. Their girl children tag along with their mothers and eventually take over when their mothers fall prey to rape, death, or disease.

In recent years, though, some of these people are realizing that they do not have to stay this way. They seek help from organizations like the Navsarjan Trust, Janodayam in Chennai, Sulabh International, Garima Abhiyan of Jan Sahas in Madhya Pradhesh, and the Safai Karamchari Andholan in Andhra Pradhesh. According to the last mentioned organization, there are over 13 lakh safai karamcharis (another word for people who clean human waste) cleaning toilets all over India. Of them, 95% are dalits and 80% women. The Ministry of Social Justice and empowerment, though, officially announced in 2003 that there are ‘only’ 676,009 safai karamcharis in India. The rest simply slipped through the wide gaps between truth and politics.

These wonder women, fight against such hardships and have a lingering hope in their hearts that some day their life would be different. Atleast, some day the future of their children will be secure. They wonder if it will ever happen. Hope lies heavily on the actions of the organizations that have taken up their cause, and us who read this post and feel at least a tinge of guilt or sense of responsibility.

This is a long and sad post, but the life of the wonder woman cannot accommodate frivolity or fun. Her life is too long and sad. Maybe she is asking you and me, “Can you help me”?

_____________

This post is my entry to the July Write Away Contest over at Scribbit. Have a look here: http://scribbit.blogspot.com/2008/07/julys-write-away-contest.html

Facts and Figures taken from:

http://www.empowerpoor.com/programmereport.asp?report=574

http://www.nowpublic.com/world/indian-women-scavengers-hit-catwalk-un

http://www.hinduonnet.com/fline/fl2318/stories/20060922005601000.htm

Onion-theories!

I have a theory. Its like this. The high school wall flower always marries the most popular guy in high school! Even more shocking, that nerd in your class - gap-tooth and thick-as-a-wall glasses - will almost certainly date that pretty blond girl whom you always wanted to ask out but never got the vocal chords to cooperate. ( I hate long sentences!)

I am serious, really. This is not a joke. Go for your high school reunion and you'll understand what I'm talking about.

Look at any successful, handsome (remember, your idea of 'handsome' is not what it used to be in high school), confident businessman/doctor/scientist/professor, with a beautiful, smart wife. One look and you might think that he was what he is, since the day he was born. Ask him, and he will tell you differently.

He would have been too clever for his class, too geeky for his friends (if he had any), too weird in the eyes of his own parents, and described as too weak or sickly in the doctor's file.

One closer look, though, if anyone at all had bothered to indulge, would have shown greatness that could rock a high school kids idea of 'cool'.

He would invariably have possessed the right amount of sense ( a rare thing, indeed), skill, knowledge and street smart-ness to make it as a "successful, handsome. confident man with a beautiful and smart wife".

The wall flower, not to be outshone, would have bloomed into this gelled-hair,-swept back into a severe knot- smart as hell-top of the corporate/organizational ladder-men eating out of her hands-kind of business woman/teacher/stock broker/lawyer/doctor or any professional she chooses.

And she will attract a handsome, moderately smart, totally devoid of streetsmart-ness, ex-most-popular-guy-in-high school-guy who gets pushed around now in the big bad world where 'he ain't no high-school superstar no more' because he needs someone to tell him "he can do it". He will approach her because he mistakenly thinks that she was this beautiful and successful all her life. She will accept him, because she can't believe a handsome guy actually wants to be with her.

Sometimes, just sometimes, a geek-turned-successful professional and a wallflower-turned-successful professional will cross paths, eventually arrive at love (they never fall in love, they never 'fall'), and decide - with minds analyzing the pros and cons of such a decision, and trying to comprehend the unfamiliar emotions welling up - to stay together for a very long time. Such relationships have the potential for greatness, real greatness, maybe like the Curies.

Disclaimer: This is only a theory that has been partially researched using limited knowledge. the sample universe is a motley group of individuals that do not represent the human race in its entirety. The data is skewed and the results are highly debatable. Consequentially, the derivations are fallible and may be deconstructed to nothing, just like onions. People who were popular in high school are not to assume that it is directed at them. The not-so-popular others also need not take offense, although anyone fitting the favorable descriptions in the above post are encouraged to gloat, brag, and generally burst at the seams with pride while secretly laughing at those unfavorably portrayed. (Today is 'be mean day').

Sigh...today has been a day of long sentences.... I have a theory... long sentences usually stem out of suppressed feelings resulting from traumatic events experienced at high school... hmm, must research that.

Pride and Prejudice!

My computer crashed! How timely is that?! I mean, I have to submit my MPhil. thesis at the end of June, and here's my computer showing attitude! AAaaarrrgh! I took four days off, and got my husband to help out with Debbie and the chores while I worked on my thesis. He even did some of the typing work for me. And then, Sunday morning I open a blank file where Chapter 3 used to be.....!

I mean, I saved the file and everything. I think it's about time we got rid of that computer (It's as old as the hills!) My husband just won't do it...I don't know if it has emotional value for him (he just tried to throw out Debbie's favourite book last weekend because it was dogeared! I just don't know what makes these men tick...). Maybe, he has some distant hope in the computer's human-like will power to make one last Herculean effort. I tell you, the whole deal is as nonsensical as that last sentence. Anyway, that's my husband and his computer!

So yesterday we just gave the entire chapter to be typed at a DTP centre, where they will type your stuff out and save it for a minimal amount of money. That works for me, I tell you.

I don't have to deal with the typing work along with all the other stuff that's driving me crazy around here.

Debbie is beginning to stand without support for a few seconds nowadays. Her best yet is 10 seconds! She is really excited about it...but unfortunately has inherited the family trait of letting the excitement get out of control!

She now walks around the entire house (with support) and pulls down anything, and I mean anything she can reach. She pulled down on herself the entire pile of xeroxed secondary source material I had collected for my thesis! She managed to eat a few words too!

One day, I found her dutifully chewing her way through the headphones! That cost a lot of money and she was brunching on it!

Then there's the books, face cream tubes, underwear (my husband left the drawers open again!), stationary, TV remote, clothes (right off the hangers) etc., etc...

She is getting her fourth teeth and it's driving her crazy..She has recently developed a craving for my fingers. I would be sitting there, absorbed in my work, and she would sneak up to me, grab one of my fingers and dig her teeth right in! Gosh, I should probably introduce her to hotdogs, or maybe they have already been introduced and she just misses them!

When she cannot get at my fingers, she goes for my hair! Yep! That's what I said, my hair! She likes to pull really hard at one strand at a time and put me through excruciating pain while she claps her hands in absolute delight! Oh yeah, just for the record, she has learnt to clap her hands to music or when she is happy!

See what I mean? Here I was, narrating my unfortunate accidents and the torture I suffer at the hands of my 10 month old daughter. Yet, I can't resist bragging about her achievements. I guess that's what parents are like. So proud of their children. Makes me think of my own parents and the sacrifices they made for me. Every time I excelled in school or at art or music, they would be so full of pride and would talk about it to relatives and neighbours for so many days! Failure on my part, at the same time, would send them to the depths of disappointment that was worse than the sadness I felt at my failure. Parents practically live for us, and love us with a love so pure that it is only lesser than God's love for us.

I have wonderful parents, let me tell you. At the most unexpected of moments this fact hits me and I feel a rush of gratitude and my eyes fill up with tears. I regret to say that I rarely express this gratitude properly to my parents.

I guess that's why we have Father's Day and Mother's Day, a day on the calendar when the whole world is telling you "this is your day to go and tell you mom or dad that you love them, that they are special and that you are happy and successful and they had a large part to play in forming this success and happiness". Just tell them that you love them.

Happy Father's Day in Advance to all the fathers in the world!

Spicy Marthandam Fish Curry

Fish is almost the staple diet here in Marthandam. This used to be a fishing village at the southern most part of India, belonging to the Kanyakumari district. Remember tsunami?!

It's a booming town now, with the residents emigrating to all parts of the world from Ernakulam to Europe! However, in spite of all the cuisines that one gets to taste, sea food will always remain a delicacy, more because it reminds us of home and our mothers than its absolutely mouth-watering taste.

No lunch at Marthandam is complete without the spicy fish curry! So here's a simple recipe, Marthandam style...

Ingredients

1/2 kg fish (cleaned, washed and cut in to 2-3 inch length pieces)
1/2 cup grated coconut, grind with water till smooth
half an unripe mango, cut lengthwise into moderately thin slivers
one drumstick (the vegetable, please!) cut in to thumb-size pieces
one ripe tomato, cut length wise into thin slivers
1 1/2 tbsp coriander powder
1 1/2 tbsp red chilli powder
1/2 tsp turmeric powder
1/2 tbsp fenugreek powder
1/2 tbsp cumin powder
one small piece of really dark tamarind, dissolved in 2-3 tbsp of water (remove the stuff that doesn't dissolve)
curry leaves and coriander leaves (a handful, chopped)
2-3tbsp coconut oil
salt to taste

Method

Get yourself a well-burnt mud pot that's especially used for cooking fish. If you can't get your hands on one, a wok will do just fine. People from Marthandam will tell you, though, that cooking fish in a mud pot makes it all the more delicious. Don't know what's the science behind that, but I absolutely agree!

Throw in the coconut, the mango pieces, the drumstick pieces, the tomato, and all the powders. Pour in the tamarind water. Add salt and allow to simmer.

When the gravy is beginning to simmer, add water according to the quantity you want (2-3cups water, in this case) and add the fish pieces. Allow it to boil for 20 minutes or so. Make sure you do not cover the pot with a lid.

After 20 minutes, pick up a piece of fish and see if it has taken on the colour of the gravy. If it has, it's good to go. Now sprinkle the curry leaves and the coriander leaves. Check if the salt is sufficient. If not, now would be a good time to add some. If you have added salt, give it 2 more minutes,

Finally, pour the coconut oil in a circular direction all over the gravy, switch off the stove and close the pot with a lid. The coconut oil will hold in all the spices and give the fish curry a divine smell and taste!

This curry tastes great with rice!

The Lake House

I saw the movie The Lake House. Those who do not like a good, soppy, sobby, predictable romance.... stop reading. You might give your self a hemorrhage! Those who love the stuff just described, join the club!

Why am I like this ?I love soppy romances. As soon as I see the font of the Movie Title, the name of the lead characters and listen to the opening music, I can more or less predict that it is going to be a romance movie. Then, fifteen minutes into the movie, I can usually predict what's going to happen, how exactly the hero and the heroine are going to cross paths, and whether they are going to get along. Then, even worse, one hour in to the movie, I can usually predict how it is all going to end. The last one, I bet, is a no-brainer, because the ending of a romantic movie is always happy, right?! If it is sad, then they probably have another name for it in Hollywood! So, why do I actually sit through the whole movie, why don't I just go on to the news? That's totally unpredictable and shocking..or is it?!

Anyway, The Lake House was no different. I mean, it was predictable as ever. Also, I am no fan of Sandra Bullock. However, she stumped me in The Lake House. For starters, she was a doctor; then she drove safe and she spoke slowly. Moreover, she had the habit of writing letters. Even in 2006, who ever wrote letters??

Keanu Reeves I have always loved. He is the strong silent type in all his movies. You can call it a stereotype, but I call it consistency, and I like it.

So here's Keanu Reeves in 2004 and Sandra Bullock in 2006. They supposedly write each other letters and pop it into the mail box at the lake house where they both used to live. And then they finally meet up when Sandra Bullock manages to stop Keanu from meeting with an accident that happened two years ago and then, they finally manage to meet in the present. When the movie begins, actually, Keanu Reeves dies in the first ten minutes, even before the audience gets to know about him properly. I know!

Yet, I watched it. And cried during the end of the movie.

Why..why am I like this?

Why are we such suckers for romances and happy endings?

The same reason why we laugh at comedies and why we watch movies in general. Because it is not happening to us.

This kind of whirlwind romance, this crazy, unpredictable and absolutely swept-off-the-feet romance, flowers and white weddings does not happen to everyone. Yes, we are happy with what we have, but there is always the fantasy, the dream, the wish. And all these people who seem to be normal folks like us are getting it all. So instead of feeling envious about them, we pay money to be part of their lives for a few hours. What if the characters of The Lake House started living in real life. Would they last forever? I mean, she is a doctor who works long hours and has to run away from the hospital every time one of her patients dies. She cannot handle the stress of her work. He has a history of disappearing from a situation, too. And then there was the plan for a law firm he made with his brother that he backed out of. How many plans will he make with the girl and then back out of? Will they even manage to get married?

Who is going to pay for the renovation of the Lake House? Does the guy have a job? He did quit the previous one, right?

See what I mean? This is real life.

Still, when you watch that movie, you decide to forget all that, forget even the issues in your own life and then allow your self to believe the happiness, the bliss that these people offer you. That, in literature, is called 'willing suspension of disbelief'. Like when you allow your self to believe your husband when he says that he will remember your daughter's recital. Like when you allow yourself to believe your friend when he says he will return the loan in a week. Like when you allow your self to believe the claims of that fairness cream.

You know, happiness is what we make of it. Too much thinking about something destroys the thing itself. Try thinking about your ability to read, and you will suddenly forget how to read! Seriously, try it! Think about how you breathe and you will feel your lungs closing up on you!

I am almost done with this post and at the end of this, I just figured out that just as we should never take anything for granted, so also we should never take anything too seriously. Take success, failure, love, achievement, kids, your husband, your sense of humour and yourself as they come, and you will find that things are less complicated.

I think for now, I will look out for the next soppy romance. I'll watch The Wedding Singer...again..for the 100th time! And..cry at the ending...!

Thou Shalt Blog

It is truly despicable that a blogger should ignore her blog for a period of two months and finally come back with a cheeky post about how 'thou shalt blog'! But it's happening and I am the blogger in question.

And suddenly there was work. I think it's a good thing that I am suddenly in demand for a whole batch of technical writing tasks. My work is sought after, and I get paid for it. (am i making it sound like a great adventure, here?! It really isn't. It's just work that I am supposed to get done.)

But that left me with absolutely no quality time with my blog. I just stuck to plain technical writing. I do have a sense of achievement that I have finished one training manual, written an advertisement and a promotional letter to school principals, have written a post for the company blog and an article to be featured in a popular search engine news section. Still, I feel guilty that I forgot my AdLibitum, green layout and all. (The layout has been changed since then - my update on January, 2009). Sitemeter traffic is truly humbling. I plead guilty but acquit me in the name of all things creative and verbose.

Will try to do more justice from now on!

This was a really lame effort, but I'm saying this was atleast an effort, so ...

Next post, and all that...tomorrow.

On Looking Inside the Grecian Urn - A Preface

I envy people who travel. Life must be exciting to them, almost every single minute. I traveled from Coimbatore to Bangalore once, a day-and-a-half trip by train, just to visit to the local libraries. It was more work than pleasure. Yet, I could recount at least two interesting things that happened, which I would never have experienced inside Tamil Nadu. So I can imagine how people who travel often, especially for pleasure, would have so many tales to recount.

For people like me, rooted in the motherland, and no immediate change of address in sight, a book is the next best alternative to travel.

There are two types of reading that a person would do – one, reading for enjoyment; and two, reading for information. No, reading the newspaper does not fall into reading for information, because chronic newspaper readers, much as they would like to claim that they are reading for information, are actually addicted to the thing. Try denying them the morning edition one day and you will find out!

So, what would classify as reading for pleasure? Well, anything from your favorite author, favorite bed time story, favorite love letter (!) and …well…your favorite magazine that would give your mother a heart attack! Reading for information is a different story all together. You have to read it, or else! You simply have to read your Grammar text book in sixth grade, you have to read the road signs if you don’t want to get your car’s face relocated and you have to read melodramatic plays, maudlin fiction and ambiguous poetry if you are a student of literature. You also have to read critiques by men who did not find success as writers or poets. This is the final cut…

Incidentally, this last category is what I was up against for my Mphil. Exams that I talked about earlier! So you can imagine that reading up for my examination was no party at all. As every student assumes, I too thought that I was not really going to use, much less enjoy, every thing that I learn.

My reading of excerpts from Letters by John Keats changed all that. What started out as reading for information gradually transformed into reading for pleasure, as I discovered the greatness of the man called Keats. The world is quite familiar with ‘Junkets’, as he was fondly referred to by his friends, but for me it was a discovery of sorts.

Adequate justice is not done to his genius, in the study of the works of this great poet. Schools prescribe Shakespeare and Milton because every literarian, critic and teacher in the world claims that they are truly phenomenal poets. Keats, on the other hand, is read, not because he is a great poet, but because his poetry is beautiful, quaint or just plain familiar. My aim is not to undermine the worth of Shakespeare and the likes; only, to throw light on the thought that, in our bid to extol the greatness of poets already hailed for their greatness, we must not forget other lesser known poets who also possess true greatness, but were not around long enough to seep into the psyche of their society.

To truly enjoy his poetry to the fullest and know the heart that beat so fervently behind those verses, one needs to delve in to the life of this man called John Keats, the man who saw so much tragedy and loss and went through such mental and physical agony and yet produced some of the finest, most delightful poetry the world has ever seen.

In the following posts I would like to share with my readers the wonderful, breathtaking discoveries I have made for myself in the life and works of John Keats the poet and the sensitive soul.

Hope this endeavor will be as refreshing to you as it will be for me.

Exam Fever...running 103 degrees!

I never imagined that after being out of school for so long, I would get exam fever now!! The interesting thing is that I never had exam fever when I was in school... So you get the idea!

The reason for my fever? My Mphil. Examinations at the end of this week...and week after next! Hence, I declare myself officially a nervous wreck!

Oh! And did I tell you that I already flunked in the first round of tests?! Yes, that's what happened. So it makes it that much harder for me now, since I know that this is not going to be the cakewalk I thought it would. I know, I know, this is too much deliberating over a test.

Please understand - the last time I picked up a book to study was ... what ... four years ago! So, suffice to say, I have all but forgotten how to revise for an exam!

Therein lies my predicament. How many ever examinations I attempt, I doubt (Oh no, there's that word now) if I will do well. However, that's only a personal opinion. The examiner may decide otherwise, bless his heart!

I hope I clear the test this time around or Debbie might not decide to cooperate next time around.

For her, it's one big party. She gets to chew at all the paper, and destroy all the notes, she wants. She also throws in free 'time-eating' activities like a temper tantrum, an "I refuse to sleep as I want to scream and wail the night away" show, and the dreaded "I will let my bowels run wild today" routine. Maybe she is not completely in control of that last one, but I suspect it's more a kind of mind-over-matter thing...! well, it doesn't 'matter' now!

I've finally been able to go through the entire syllabus once, my confidence is really low (maybe because I went through the entire syllabus! Who knows...!)

Wish me luck and hope for the best for me!

This is...no, was, supposed to be a short post to tell you that I won't be posting until I'm done with my tests.

See you two weeks from now!

Kindred Souls!

This is just a poem I read in one of those devotional cum motivational books. I can absolutely relate to what this mother has to say. It has an uncanny resemblance to any day of mine, too! Read on... It's called:

A Mother's Dilemma

Baby's in the cookie jar,
Sister's in the glue,
Kitty's in the birdies cage
And I am in a stew!

Time for dad to come to lunch
Someone's spilled the roses
Breakfast dishes still undone
The twins have drippy noses.

Junior has the stove apart
Dinner guests at eight.
Neighbours' kids swoop in like flies
How can I concentrate?

Telephone keeps ringing wildly
Someone's in the hall
Fido's chewed the rug to bits
The preacher's come to call!

Would mothers like to chuck their load?
They couldn't stand the rap
Easy, mild existences
Would cause their nerves to snap!

*******

Thank God I have just one child... and no pets,... yet! Still, I guess life wouldn't be as beautiful without Debbie to make it interesting, joyful and, well, maddening! We enjoyed life before she came, but it's only after her arrival that we find real joy in life. As someone once said, "Babies are such a nice way to start people"!

She's sitting this one out!

Debbie, in her own, wobbly way, has learnt to stay upright when she is placed on her...well...'seat'. So, here she is, checking out the terrain from her vantage point!

The world must look truly amazing from such a 'great height', considering that she could only see it from ground level all this while. Notice the fascinated smile slowly unfolding across her face.

Of course she needs to hold herself up with her palms but she's getting there!

The You-Name-It Recipe

This is a simple, leave it on the stove and forget it, yet yummy recipe! Try it! This recipe is in small quantities as I usually just have to cook for two. However, you can go ahead and try a larger quantity. Just make sure you increase all the ingredients proportionately!

What you need is:

¼ kg chicken cut into manageable pieces

1 large potato, cut into bite-sized pieces

1 tablespoon coriander powder

1 tablespoon red chilli powder (or more, if you want it really spicy)

1 teaspoon turmeric powder

Salt to taste

Half cup water

For the garnish:

1 tablespoon oil

1 large onion cut in really thin slices

Ginger-garlic paste*

Green pepper (capsicum) cut into very thin slices. This is optional but I strongly recommend it!

Coriander leaves

*Make this paste beforehand by grinding equal quantities of ginger and garlic to a fine paste. I like to have a container of it stocked up in my fridge always so that I can use it now and then. It’s great for digestion and does something wonderful for the taste too! You can always get packed ones from the market, but that doesn’t taste as good.

Right! Now that’s done, the method is as simple as ever. Just get a non-stick pan that will hold all the chicken and potatoes. Put in the chicken, potato, water, coriander powder, red chilli powder, turmeric powder and the salt. Put the pan on the stove and close it with a lid. Leave it on simmer for a while. See I told you it was simple. After, maybe ten minutes, take a peep to see how it’s coming along. You may want to stir it a little.

Make sure you have a book to read or something else to do since this does not require you to stand guard throughout!

After some time, after quite a long time really, check to see if the chicken is well cooked and the water is almost gone. If the chicken is tender and juicy and has the flavor of all the spices, you know you have a winner! Easy as that!

The chicken, to all effect, is now done and you just have to garnish it. You may want to put your reading on hold for a few minutes here. Heat the oil in a wok. Drop in the onions and the ginger –garlic paste. Keep stirring and sautéing so that your onions get to a really dark-brown color because that’s when they taste really great. After this, add the green pepper and some salt and stir it till it is sautéed well.

Our chicken, forgotten for a while, can now take its place in a serving dish. Finally, just pour the sautéed onions and green peppers on the chicken. Garnish with coriander leaves. Voila! You can name it whatever you like. I’ll just call it the easiest and yummiest way to make chicken!

Prawns make a great alternative for chicken in this dish. Vegetarians, you can just make it with the potatoes or (you may not believe this!) brinjals. It tastes just as good!

The Driver by Any Other Name….!

I commute to work by auto – that three-wheeled, middle-class individual’s hot wheels for rent. Driver et al! My ‘driver’ arrives at my place at 8:30 sharp, come rain or sunshine. He drives us (that’s me and my daughter, 7 month old Debbie) to the day-care centre, where I leave Debbie. Then he dutifully drops me off at my work place, and leaves after I have instructed him to come back at 1 pm…or 1:30 or 2:00, or whenever. He is quite flexible in such things, you see.

The driver (whose name, by the way, is Subhash, read the ‘u’ as in ‘look’ and ‘a’ as in ‘far’ ) is back at 1pm as promised and he waits patiently at the gates of the big building where I work until I decide it’s time to leave. Then the usual routine of picking Debbie up at the day-care centre and back home by 2:30, give or take a few.

Each day the trip is made in absolute silence, except for the sirens of cars whizzing by and the wheeze of the giant government bus, huffing along with its cross(es)! We easily overtake the bus, but little else! Subhash is a careful driver, barely raising the accelerator beyond 30 km per hour, (quite frustrating if you’re late for work, but reassuring if you think of your child’s safety) and so we practically see the entire working community fly by before we get where we’re going. Hence, the half hour head start! Slow and steady may not win the race but at least we get there!

Subhash, bless his heart, follows orders to the tee. He never asks questions and never expects explanations. He never offers advice, his greatest redeeming feature, considering the favorite pastime of the majority of the populace of Nagercoil (look for us on the map of Tamil Nadu, please…better still, look up ‘tsunami’ on the Net, we’re there, on the map. http://www.mapsofindia.com/maps/tsunami-in-india/earthquake/kanniyakumari.html....! See, I told you! Pretty famous, huh!).

Well, anyway, I sorely digress. The point is, not that we got hit by tsunami, which historical event I missed, but that people of Nagercoil like to give advice (and ask personal questions!), free of cost, whether you want it or not. Everyone from the lady selling fish on your street to your ‘mother of two children-holding a plump government job-free most of the time-so-nosy as hell’ neighbor gives you advice. No points for telling me how that feels!

However, (the “Hallelujah” chorus rings in the background!) Subhash holds back the advice, questions and any other uncalled-for chatter that drives me mad with rage. He only speaks when spoken to, and that too sparingly. Lately, I have started to feel that ‘Subhash’ is synonymous with ‘auto’. I have even saved him as “Subhash Auto’ on my cell phone!

Now, before you fling a shoe at me, there’s a point here, in all this. The other day, Subhash almost banged his auto into an old lady (the lady’s fault entirely), missed her by an inch and applied a sudden break. The old lady slowly turned around, and I thought, ‘ok here comes the Great Fight’ and…the widest smile spread itself slowly and brightly across her lips. She called out animatedly in Tamil, Thambi, nalla irrukiyapaa? Amme epdi irukkue?Naalla veettuku vaaren, enna? Which translates, “Little brother (word commonly used to address any male younger than oneself), are you well? How is your mother? I will come home tomorrow, ok?” In response, my hitherto unanimated and waiting-to-disappear-into-the-woodwork driver smiled as broadly, said ‘hello’ and ‘ok’ to all her questions and kept driving. The smile, meant only for the old lady, disappeared seconds later.

It made me think all the way home. Here was a person with a family, friends, and a happy, or perhaps difficult, life. He, just like me, woke up to the rising sun every morning. He, just like me, had a hurried breakfast and rushed out to his business. He, just like me, had aches and pains of the heart and the body. He was a live human being, with feelings and thoughts……., just like me. And yet, I thought of him only as my driver. “Subhash Auto”, at the most.

I felt ashamed at never having realized that. I suddenly felt ashamed at having made him wait for more than 5 minutes on the odd Monday morning, when he had to go on other morning trips after dropping me. I felt guilty for all those times when I felt righteous anger at him when he was a few minutes late, at all those times when I generally forgot he existed.

And then I thought of how we often forget that the shop attendant, whom we were impatient with, is actually someone’s son or daughter; that the slow cyclist ahead of us in traffic, whom we yelled at this morning, is someone’s father; that the janitor, for whom we left some candy wrap on the office floor, is someone’s beloved friend.

We simply label them with the jobs they hold. This insensitivity is glaring in the Indian habit of hailing someone by the wares they sell. For instance, the spinach seller is hailed as “keera” (Tamil for spinach)! The auto driver is referred to as ‘auto’. The sweet seller’s name is whatever he is selling at the moment. The neighbor who teaches at a local school becomes ‘teacher’ to everyone, whether it is the 10 year old colony-brat or the 50-year old grandpa down the road! See, I am no exception to the condition! We also have this queer habit of addressing someone by their relationship with their children (I know!). So, in effect, I would be called ‘Debbie Amma’ translated as ‘Debbie’s mother’, as if I have no identity of my own, save for what I am to my child! I do have a name, you know.

That’s how we lose sight of the ‘person’ in people, how we put them into slots and compartments and label them as something or the other. Usually, they are more than, or nothing like, what we make them out to be. How easily we hold prejudices based on ill advised, preconceived notions that have been passed on to us down through the history of society! How we see the world with foggy glasses that never clear up, ever! Oh, how we act based on these prejudices and kill and plunder and destroy lives, reputation and nations based on what we ‘think’ someone is!

We will never stop being inconsiderate, prejudiced, all-knowing oafs if we do not open the shutters of our minds to let the objective breeze of tolerance and understanding enter in, fill every cobwebbed corner and clear away the musty, dinghy stench of narrow-minded doctrines and superstitions that have been festering there from time immemorial. When we cannot allow the winds of free thought and universal tolerance to ventilate our minds, we can never open our doors to true Progress and Growth that stand knocking, waiting to come in and make our minds home to Higher Thoughts and Successful Lives.

Tomorrow, maybe I will greet Mr. Subhash with a “hello, how do you do?”, and mean it. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.

Blogging ... Finally

Writing a blog takes courage...at least it does for me. I see what's available on the net, and I wonder. I wonder how people know what to write about; how they know that someone is going to want to read it; how they will not feel ashamed of what they have written.

Having said that, I think writers are the 'unpolled on' wonders of the world. Writers never cease to amaze me. Who is their muse? What inspires a writer to , well, write?! I must find out for myself. I sit down to write, and ...nothing happens. Then I wonder why I even want to do this. I could just go back to the report I had to write for my boss. That is just facts and it will be over and done with in the morning. Also, if the heavens are smiling on me, he may even approve of it.

Now, though, I have set out to write and, even in an empty room, I feel that accepting defeat would be an embarrassment. So, like little Hobbits trying to scale that mountain, one step at a time, I slog on.

To what?? I scratch my head, furtively write a sentence or two, afraid that I might despise myself as soon as the sentence is complete. Then I strike it off as a sentence that is not catchy enough. I write another and find I don't hate myself that much, after all, and I follow it up with another sentence. I continue in this way for a page or two and, the exhilaration is catching up. Now I feel like a skydiver, starting with a backward pull but increasing speed as I go. And then, suddenly, I find that you can't stop. My sentences spiral on, downward, twisting and turning out of control, they make contact with a few obstructions with a sickening thud and still drop heavily downward. The words get bigger and bigger and the sense fuzzier while the ideas are just whizzing past my head in a deafening scream....!!!.....

Then I stop, I hit rock bottom.... and absolute silence.

I don't know what I have written and why I have written it. Still, I survived the experience, and lived to tell the tale. Maybe, I will tell the tale! I finally have courage to write!