Of Santas and gifting joys

When I was small, I had a personal Santa. Well, mine did not come   just at X'mas. Neither owned a reindeer sledge  nor sported a huge paunch, white beard, and the red gear. And, my Santa was
 'she':-D. She was the one who initiated my transfer from picture/comic books to regular books (8 O'clock Tales by Enid Blyton, I remember), got me my very first, own perfume bottle (a roll on Yardley lavendar), introduced me to moisturising lotions other than Pond's Cold Cream - the staple at home, got me my first offbeat, trendy coloured Pattu Pavadai ( a pista green) etc etc. She was also the first woman I admired for her easy and elegant style, that inspired respect not attention. She was also the first person who absolutely refused to give 10 year old, fat me (I was as plump as a cushion and a huge foodie) my 4th dosa and woke me up at dawn to 'learn skipping' and trim down ( I tricked her by going upto the terrace and making big stomping noises instead of skipping). She was also the only adult relative who thought of sitting me down and advising me to 'save' when I got my first job at 22 (Well, I thought I had a long way to go, missed acting on the advice and here I am, still the same).
As an adult, somewhere down the line, I too got the hang of giving surprise gifts to people. Sometimes, just because I thought they needed cheering up but most often, just because it gave me the "Giver's high". Now, I've slowly started tapering down this habit because I began to realise it only gave rise to a sense of entitlement, atleast in some people.
Very recently, just out of the blue it struck me that the one person I've never gifted anything to was my Santa! It also made me realise that in a way, I too had taken it for granted that it was always the Santa's responsibility to gift. But, why!!!
Time relocated my Santa to Canada way back in 2002. We dont meet often these days. But still, when I close my eyes and think of the handful of people who really mean something to me, she features on the list, quite prominently. And, it felt wonderful to return the happiness and send my Santa a gift for her 61st (or is it 62nd) birthday. She just received it and the joy is all mine. Advance Happy Birthday, dearest Uma athai!

On the internet, it must be true. Click fwd and let the world know clever me!

"Drink 2 glasses of water mixed with 2 tablespoons of white vinegar (acetic acid) and watch that fat melt away miraculously. No exercise, eat what you want." (Aside: If nothing else melts, atleast your stomach lining will).

"Cure is found for XYZ. Contact +1234XXX5678, Dr.Anaivasal in Dindigul district. Spread the word". (Aside: It does not matter if you send a sick, desperate, gullible person on a wild goose chase to nowhere.)

 "This week is equinox. Make the Sun your whatsapp profile picture or ultraviolet rays will target your smart phone and burn your ear drum.Share, save a life." (Aside: 2 seconds to rewind back to school and remember what equinox is. But, why bother.)

 "Watch video of caste xxx boy being beaten up by caste yyy goon. Watch and share among your friends. Let everyone know the truth." (Aside: err...how did I know it was X vs Y? ...I know, the friend who shared told me. Look carefully, can't you tell by looking at them?)

 "See actress XYZ's social gaffe, dupatta slips over head to reveal ear! Share to see full video." (Aside: Woah! treat for the day!)

 "This is the dung beetle. Look at this image carefully. You can see how closely he resembles the elephant. In fact, the dung beetle evolved from the mammoth, the ancestor of modern elephant. So, you can refer to it as mini-elephant too. Both same same." (Aside: Likeapedia told me...so now, tada.)

 "This is the year of the Kubera.Share this among 10 of your friends and invite Kubera into your home.Become wealthy in 10 days."(Aside: Too bad if you think I'm spamming you. I can't miss out on Luck.)

 "Use brown sugar. Now, what is brown sugar? Take white sugar, with big granules, add a teaspoon of jaggery in it. Mix mix mix. This is brown sugar." (Aside: How dare you you contradict my knowledge. I know all about it. My grocerywallah told me.)

 ...welcome to the age of know alls. 

Happiness is in the small things...again :-)

Searched FB and found the lady who was my very first true motivation to never give up. Thanks to my parents' medical career with a hospital group that flung them to all corners of Kerala (fag end of 70's and the 80's), my schooling was 'nomadic' style. By the time I'd gone half way through my 2nd grade (at a vernacular school that thought Aa for Aana on slate was the height of aspiration), my parents got transferred yet again. This time, they decided I needed something more stable and packed me off to live with my maternal grandparents in Salem (the best decision they ever took and the golden period in my childhood). With a little bit of string pulling (via my mom's old teachers who belonged to the same congregation that ran the school), I got admitted into Cluny Convent, the best in town then. It was all too much for little me to handle. This, apart from the separation throes with my parents. To make matters worse, my peers seemed to be erudite scholars in comparison to me :-D. I knew no English,could speak a little Tamil, and the few Malayalam alphabets that I knew to write, were of no use. But, I tried. With lots of help from my paatti (grandma), her friend and retired teacher Dawson aunty, my class teacher Miss. Sushma and, my ever smiling Tamil teacher,Miss. Hilda. Our principal was a soft spoken yet very assertive nun, Sister Maria Theresa. She seldom raised her voice but something in her made you want to put forth only your best behaviour. As the final exams got over, my mom came down to review my status. She met up with Sister to discuss my progress. She had emotionally prepared me in advance to accept it if the school decided to retain me in Class 2 itself. But she came back elated. She told me what Sister had said. " I have been keenly observing the child. She is one of the most hard working little girls I've ever seen. To detain her at this point would be demotivating her. I've discussed with her class teacher and we feel she should be given a chance. She will be promoted to Class 3". (Remember, this was not the era when the Central Board of education deemed no child is to be failed till Grade 9 and then, leave it God and fortune). I can still remember the pride those words of confidence instilled in me ;-)
PS: I found Sister on FB but have not sent her a friend request. I'm sure she must have forgotten me. My parents took me back to Kerala for High School. The Nomad was again on the run.

Happy 70th Birthday, Appa

Let me count the smiles and, some more memories pick...

I remember our boxing (rather butting) sessions. Little me rearing back and charging ahead, head lowered and targetted at your tummy...ouch! I did that even into adoloscence, I know I know...

I remember the trips to the cinema so vividly. Amma riding pillion and me standing before you and holding the Vijay Super scooter's handles. I used to concentrate and push at the handles honestly believing that I was helping you ride the scooter.I thought if I eased pressure the vehicle would lose speed and eventually stop :-D

I remember our very own customised water park :-D The well at Ochira. Tiny me squatting with all the eagerness of a puppy waiting for you to draw up those buckets of cool, clear water and sending it cascading down my head!

I dont clearly remember when and who started me on reading but I think I owe that to you (later on,several others helped hone the habit). I do remember clutching eagerly at the copies of 'Muthassi','Poombatta', 'Balarama'and all those vernacular children's literature of yore you bought for me. When at 6, I left to stay with paatti at Salem, the books followed me there too via post.Thank you! I am yet to outgrow the excitement :-)

I remember our solo journey to seek admission in a new high school back in Kerala. Amma was still mourning paatti.You used the opportunity to remind me how we we should take extra care of amma now that both her parents were no more around.In the euphoria of coming back to stay with my own mom and dad I admit I din't quite grasp the seriousness of what you were telling me right then.As an adult, I realise how kind you really were.

I remember the Sarkkara payasams and unniyappams you made for me. Nothing to beat those in taste, yet! I also remember it was you who taught me how to take a swag of Kingfisher or Kalyani...lol!

In a region that vastly expected women, especially wives, to be secondary citizens who were at the beck and call of the men in their lives, you sowed the seeds of self respect in tiny me by the equation you shared with amma. "You are a professional and an independent adult, why do you even ask me whatever it is you wish to do", is something I've overheard from my parent's conversation and picked upto be stored in my own memory box.

I remember a lot more things...but my biggest grouse with you is how you vamooshed away from my life, with no warning, no good bye! Happy 70th Birthday to you, my dearest Appa. Yesterday marked the end of my eighth year without you around.Even now, whenever a major struggle tries to pull me down I wish so hard you were here to say, " Don't worry! Everything will be alright". When physical pain overwhelmes me I think you would've found a remedy if only you were around! I miss you so!

"Happy" Women's Day

Finally watched the 'banned' documentary, a day ago. Had avoided initially simply because I was worried it would trigger depression once again. The way it did 2 years ago along with a few other incidents including the 5 year old's brutalization( at Delhi again, took place almost simultaneously, was ignored by mainstream media).

A part of me was glad it was banned. Wait! don't bring out the brickbats yet! India losing image or politicians losing face had absolutely nothing to do with my thought. I think we've carried that Ostrich syndrome long enough and more. The bodh gaya incident involving the japanese girl, the swiss cyclist gang rape in Delhi, the Russian woman assault by a rick guy etcetera etcetera ...we lost face a long while ago. The UK government foreign travel site warns its women to exercise caution while travelling to India because of "increasing assaults on women", Thomas reuters placed us at the 4th most dangerous country in the world for women eons ago. bah! what face are we trying to save in the outside world.Banning a documentary is going to do no good, at all. What worried me was the fact that enough and more emphasis was given on the views regarding women held by the rapist and their defence counsel. Counter it or not, those views are shared by en number of male and female dorkheads out there. And, I worried that a few "more" morons would find "extra" endorsement in the statements and decide to act it out too.

Plus, I also felt the documentary tried to score a few brownie points for the perpetrators. Example: interviewing the wife and child of an accused and airing her desperate, " My husband won't do such things. If he is given capital punsihment, how will I live? I will also die and also kill my toddler" (not verbatim) etc etc. Plus those shots on how the pathetic living standards and childhood deprivation could've played a part in grooming their personalities. Arre behanji, rapists in India transcend class, creed, and lifestyles. For us, it is more a patriarchal society's way of asserting superiority on what it deligently believes is an inferior creation. Don't we have oh! so many movies that show how the taming of the shrew hapens when the macho gives her a tight slap...lo behold! she becomes 'exemplary woman'! This, I felt, took the onus away from the men and put it elsewhere.

This being said, I'm glad that a foreign journalist decided to make this documentary and the bbc aired it. Why? That dorkhead of a defence counsel made his statement regarding setting fire to his recalcitrant daughter/sister two years ago. The only difference is that this time it made a lot of us sit up, listen closely, and retaliate. Also saw a newsreport that said the Bar council too 'finally' decided to issue atleast a show cause or face the music notice to these guys. I also hope the freshly raked up furore will instigate our politicians and lawmakers to do something even if it just to save face amidst the western world.

I saw a few comments floating around saying how we were over emphasising this one case of rape while thousands of others get neglected. My take is, if atleast one makes us raise arms against a common cause, makes the ones weilding power sit up, take notice, and try bring about something that would benefit us all, why are you complaining?

PS: It was heartwarming to listen to Jyoti's parents views on the girl child, heart wrenching to see their pain. I bow to their quiet stoicism. RIP Jyoti. I hope we learn to treat our women as living beings capable of physical/emotional pain. Devi, daughter, wife, sister, etc etc jaaye baad main. Living breathing human being, bas woh kaafi hain.

A tangy slice from childhood

The once in a year 'exhibition (fair)' that came to Salem town was the annual highlight of my childhood right from age 5 to 11. New age kids living in the current era of fairs and exhibitions almost every month, and theme parks and fun rides at every nook and corner will never be able to comprehend the magic that an almost rustic, annual event held for me.

Giant wheel rides that made the stomach go woo wooh woosh; fluffy and oh! so pink cotton candy right out of the churning machine that seemed almost like magic; dinner plate sized 'appalam' (rice pappad) with a sprinkling of red chilli powder; 50 paisa worth bubble solutions; miniature kitchen sets that were tiny replicas of steel pots, tavas, and pans; little boats that propelled on water fuelled by the oil and wick lamps placed inside; magic shows; and yes, the 'new frock' bought from the one of the stalls at the fair.
Nothing to beat that boundless joy and unadulterated fun those simple days held.

The view from my window

I woke to warm fingers caressing my face. Someone had opened the blinds and let the early morning rays peek in and onto my face.

The morning, as seen through my bedroom window, was a resplendent medley of colours.The huge Jacaranda tree was abuzz with life. Every branch seemed to be flaunting its profusion of lilac & violet flowers. A cool gentle breeze gently cajoled a few flowers to float down from their high perches. A natural carpet was slowly being woven on the ground below.MAARIE, the milkman was returning home with his bevy of bovine beauties.

Every day, at dawn, Maarie arrives with his herd in tow and milks his cows as his 'clients' - the neighbourhood restaurateurs & chai shop walahs, watch on. “It’s for the benefit of all those new generation non-believers who think I give them diluted milk”, he says in disgust. Maarie belongs to an indeterminate time in history and no one really knew how old he was.

Grandpa has already started his morning round of poojas. He has his private conversations with Aditya, the sun god, every day.I am so glad spring’s here and I am even more pleased that I woke up in time to watch the world in celebration.