A letter to you child, before you sit for those 'board exams'.I asked myself several times if I should pen this to you before I decided I should. Hope you spare a moment to read...
Ten years down the line, no one is going to remember your 'score'.
It is important, I wont tell you otherwise. But, those numbers are not going to 'irrefutably' determine the course of who you finally evolve into. Remember, it is diversity that makes the Earth beautiful - we need the grass as much as we need the tall oaks. Else, Earth & its sentient beings would've been assembly line products, not part of an amazing evolutionary process! Don't let anyone convince you otherwise.
Give it your best and leave it at that is a great maxim to live by. You may have parents who understand that or you may have parents who pressurize, never mind. Ultimately, it is you who has been given the responsibility...the honour of taking care of 'You' - this unique combination of strengths and weaknesses.
Do not allow scathing remarks by the significant adults in your life undermine you. Of course, if you are not giving it your best, not using your strengths, then you definitely need some speaking to! But, if you are, then never mind the rest.
It is perfectly alright to feel overwhelmed at times. The best among us experiences it too. For, who ever promised life will be a boring straight line?
It is perfectly okay to feel sad at times. But, deliberately counter it with a beautiful moment or memory. It can be simple, just go and hug your equally tensed parent/significant adult (even if they are grouchy) or look up at the skies or go out and treat yourself to an ice cream, or just close your eyes- breathe deep-pat yourself and whisper, 'I'm there for you, no worries' ...just do something to let the 'moment' pass, be it anything! And, if you can't beat those blues by yourself, reach out to someone who will listen. If you need help, do not hesitate, ask! Tell your significant adult that your 'sadness' threatens to overwhelm and you need help. When faced with bare facts, people do help. I repeat, do not hesitate.
You might be the straight 'A+' scorer or you might score other grades, but whatever it is decide that you will be there for all your peers. Decide that apart from your significant adults and the higher education forms you fill, no one 'needs' to hear your percentile. If they don't know, they cant compare. Remember, in life very few people question because they really care. Plus, do you know what your parent/your head teacher scored in 1961 , who scored more and who scored less? Does it matter now?
Life gives you choices and chances, don't be convinced otherwise. Remember, it is perseverance that paid off in the 'Hare & Tortoise' race.
All the very best to you, my dear.
Wednesday, February 19, 2020
Tuesday, October 16, 2018
Together we stand...
Monsoons in Kerala are not always romantic. Not to a 17-year-old who is trekking that lonely stretch to reach the bus station. It is a 2-5 pm first year of college examination day and at 5.15, it is almost dark. There is a figure who keeps step with her and is incessantly mouthing obscenities. She hides the tremble from her voice and tells him off. It does not deter him. She runs the last lap, the blood pounding in her chest. It is Circa 1993.
A group of carefree friends happily trade stories as they saunter. A hand comes up stealthily from behind and paws her to hurt, terribly. The pain is sudden and excruciating that she screams. Heads poke out of the windows of a nearly full bus that passes by. A few male faces break out in a grin when they realize what must have happened. Filled with rage the group of friends chase the owner of the offending hand as he runs into a printing press in the vicinity. The girl angrily storms inside and demands they let him out. Voices deny and suddenly the guy rushes out on a bicycle through the back door and as she helplessly watches, vanishes...Circa 1996
First job with one of the biggest newspaper names in the country. She is only 22. And, for the first time alone in a big city. Her boss promises to put her on par with the rest of the team, if she performs. She puts heart and soul into her niche. He is a senior stringer reputed to bargain for favours in return for stories. And, this is where she unknowingly hurts him in her zest for work. Repercussions begins as subtle comments made in soft tones - sleazy hints that it is her femininity that was landing her stories. She is shocked but ignores. Then come the carefully manipulated manoeuvres at the least expected moments, those as if by accident, brushes against the body. This time she tells him off. He flings out his hands in 'helpless' innocence. She complains to her immediate superior, he looks taken aback. Does nothing. She thinks her time has come when she catches him red handed snitching a press invite in her name. She goes to the topmost guy in office with a complaint. The guy blatantly denies all. Absolutely nothing happens. It is a junior reporter who might leave for greener pastures Vs this old sod who has been here forever. Who gets priority is a no brainer! Circa 1998.
She has just gone into the washroom to freshen up. Some instinct makes her look up and she sees the tips of two hands gripping the air vent from the opposite side, as if to pull up. Shocked she yells, "who is that?". A sudden thud and feet that run away as she comes out as quickly as possible. She walks into the HR department armed with a complaint. She is confident of corrective action since the human resource manager is a woman too. Next day, a cardboard piece clumsily stuffed into the air vent is the 'stringent' action taken. Circa 2000
She works at the Chennai office. Her work entitles frequent email and telephonic co-ordination with a senior reporter in the Mumbai head office. Always soft spoken, helpful and polite, he builds up trust over two years. She resigns and joins elsewhere in due course.Then by chance, they meet in person while he is on a visit to the town. He returns and then the tone of his emails change. It comes as utter, complete shock and she severs contact, completely. Circa 2001
It is a busy day at work. Office is now a 15 minutes walk from where she stays, via a short cut. It is 8 pm and the lane is empty that night. She is not afraid since it is a familiar route. The orphanage she frequents during weekends to read stories to kids is just round the corner. A 'bullet' passes her with its huge chug chug noise. Lulled by the familiarity of the daily path and her thoughts she pays no heed when the bike reaches the end of the road and veers back. As it reaches her, the headlights dim and a hand suddenly explodes forward to whack her across the chest. She almost falls. The bike speeds away. Shock and pain give way to anger and then to fear. She suddenly remembers how the small children from the orphanage sometimes run out to play or on small errands. She imagines them in her place against the man on the bike. She dares her way to the nearest police station. The era of citizen friendly policing is still not on and there isn't a single woman in uniform or otherwise at the station. She lodges a complaint. It is nearly 9pm. For two evenings thence, the green, anti eve teasing squad jeep remains parked near the lane. Then it disappears. A month later, she hears the same chug chug...Circa 2002
Her nineteen year old domestic help is almost in tears. The girl is the sole bread-winner in her family of three. Her single mother suffers depressive episodes and her brother is too young. In between tears, the girl reveals how someone from where she worked as domestic help before, is constantly tormenting her over the phone.She answers the call this time and from courage that stems out of anger says, "If you call once more or do anything at all to this child, I will be at your doorstep with the cops. I promise you that. I dare you to try it just once more". To this day, she does not know how it worked but maybe it was the tone, the filmy style...but, the guy never called her again. Circa 2007.
Years have passed. The stories stay. There are many more. Some said, many left unsaid. Some acted upon, many left as is, in sheer helplessness.These stories are mine. I relive them, again, because today I had to tell off yet another person who bombarded me with derogatory messages about the women who share their #metoo stories.
Of late it is less anger and more a feeling of let down when yet another 'evolved/educated' soul mouths privilege talk. Not everyone with #metoo stories have kept quiet. Some of us have complained ourselves hoarse, several times, to no avail. Do you know what courage it takes for a vulnerable, young girl to stand up for herself, again and again, and yet not be taken seriously? Do you know the fear that comes when you realize that your unaddressed complaints make your oppressor more brazen? Do you know what gall it takes to stand alone in an alien city with no godfathers?
And, do you even realise that some women, most women, don't even have the choice to just walk away from it all, like you and me.
What makes it so difficult for anyone to understand that 'choice' is a luxury not available to a wide majority. And, if you have it, know that it is a privilege. It is not a pedestal for you to stand up on and gloat.
PS: My better half who reads this account as I finish, suddenly pipes up, "What about those young children. The ones who perhaps are abused by their very own. Do these people say that these little children too had the choice to just walk out of the situation? He is so right!
Respect and peace to every survivor out there #Metoo
A group of carefree friends happily trade stories as they saunter. A hand comes up stealthily from behind and paws her to hurt, terribly. The pain is sudden and excruciating that she screams. Heads poke out of the windows of a nearly full bus that passes by. A few male faces break out in a grin when they realize what must have happened. Filled with rage the group of friends chase the owner of the offending hand as he runs into a printing press in the vicinity. The girl angrily storms inside and demands they let him out. Voices deny and suddenly the guy rushes out on a bicycle through the back door and as she helplessly watches, vanishes...Circa 1996
First job with one of the biggest newspaper names in the country. She is only 22. And, for the first time alone in a big city. Her boss promises to put her on par with the rest of the team, if she performs. She puts heart and soul into her niche. He is a senior stringer reputed to bargain for favours in return for stories. And, this is where she unknowingly hurts him in her zest for work. Repercussions begins as subtle comments made in soft tones - sleazy hints that it is her femininity that was landing her stories. She is shocked but ignores. Then come the carefully manipulated manoeuvres at the least expected moments, those as if by accident, brushes against the body. This time she tells him off. He flings out his hands in 'helpless' innocence. She complains to her immediate superior, he looks taken aback. Does nothing. She thinks her time has come when she catches him red handed snitching a press invite in her name. She goes to the topmost guy in office with a complaint. The guy blatantly denies all. Absolutely nothing happens. It is a junior reporter who might leave for greener pastures Vs this old sod who has been here forever. Who gets priority is a no brainer! Circa 1998.
She has just gone into the washroom to freshen up. Some instinct makes her look up and she sees the tips of two hands gripping the air vent from the opposite side, as if to pull up. Shocked she yells, "who is that?". A sudden thud and feet that run away as she comes out as quickly as possible. She walks into the HR department armed with a complaint. She is confident of corrective action since the human resource manager is a woman too. Next day, a cardboard piece clumsily stuffed into the air vent is the 'stringent' action taken. Circa 2000
She works at the Chennai office. Her work entitles frequent email and telephonic co-ordination with a senior reporter in the Mumbai head office. Always soft spoken, helpful and polite, he builds up trust over two years. She resigns and joins elsewhere in due course.Then by chance, they meet in person while he is on a visit to the town. He returns and then the tone of his emails change. It comes as utter, complete shock and she severs contact, completely. Circa 2001
It is a busy day at work. Office is now a 15 minutes walk from where she stays, via a short cut. It is 8 pm and the lane is empty that night. She is not afraid since it is a familiar route. The orphanage she frequents during weekends to read stories to kids is just round the corner. A 'bullet' passes her with its huge chug chug noise. Lulled by the familiarity of the daily path and her thoughts she pays no heed when the bike reaches the end of the road and veers back. As it reaches her, the headlights dim and a hand suddenly explodes forward to whack her across the chest. She almost falls. The bike speeds away. Shock and pain give way to anger and then to fear. She suddenly remembers how the small children from the orphanage sometimes run out to play or on small errands. She imagines them in her place against the man on the bike. She dares her way to the nearest police station. The era of citizen friendly policing is still not on and there isn't a single woman in uniform or otherwise at the station. She lodges a complaint. It is nearly 9pm. For two evenings thence, the green, anti eve teasing squad jeep remains parked near the lane. Then it disappears. A month later, she hears the same chug chug...Circa 2002
Her nineteen year old domestic help is almost in tears. The girl is the sole bread-winner in her family of three. Her single mother suffers depressive episodes and her brother is too young. In between tears, the girl reveals how someone from where she worked as domestic help before, is constantly tormenting her over the phone.She answers the call this time and from courage that stems out of anger says, "If you call once more or do anything at all to this child, I will be at your doorstep with the cops. I promise you that. I dare you to try it just once more". To this day, she does not know how it worked but maybe it was the tone, the filmy style...but, the guy never called her again. Circa 2007.
Years have passed. The stories stay. There are many more. Some said, many left unsaid. Some acted upon, many left as is, in sheer helplessness.These stories are mine. I relive them, again, because today I had to tell off yet another person who bombarded me with derogatory messages about the women who share their #metoo stories.
Of late it is less anger and more a feeling of let down when yet another 'evolved/educated' soul mouths privilege talk. Not everyone with #metoo stories have kept quiet. Some of us have complained ourselves hoarse, several times, to no avail. Do you know what courage it takes for a vulnerable, young girl to stand up for herself, again and again, and yet not be taken seriously? Do you know the fear that comes when you realize that your unaddressed complaints make your oppressor more brazen? Do you know what gall it takes to stand alone in an alien city with no godfathers?
And, do you even realise that some women, most women, don't even have the choice to just walk away from it all, like you and me.
What makes it so difficult for anyone to understand that 'choice' is a luxury not available to a wide majority. And, if you have it, know that it is a privilege. It is not a pedestal for you to stand up on and gloat.
PS: My better half who reads this account as I finish, suddenly pipes up, "What about those young children. The ones who perhaps are abused by their very own. Do these people say that these little children too had the choice to just walk out of the situation? He is so right!
Respect and peace to every survivor out there #Metoo
Friday, September 28, 2018
Why my Feminism and the Sabarimala ruling mismatch!
My
paternal grandmother was a formidable, Nair matriarch. She ruled her
terrain with an iron will. She had 6 boys, my dad being the youngest.
One of my earliest childhood memories is of the huge family get
togethers we had at her place during Onam and Vishu, the huge
sumptuous sadyas (traditional feasts). The pecking order at her place
was set - the children first, the menfolk and then the women. As the
youngest in the huge brood of cousins, this did not really strike me
until once, when somehow a few more of us turned up for lunch and she
ordered that the boys be given priority over girls in seating for
lunch. I vividly remember 6 - 7 year old me marching upto her and
saying, " Ammoomma, unless you seat us kids altogether, I refuse
to eat your lunch. The boys are no better than us". She was
taken aback for an instant, then smiled. We got to eat together and
then on many other occasions she told me, as a compliment, I'm like
her. This also meant I got an extra two rupee note as Vishu
Kaineettam (cash given as traditional gift to younger ones on Vishu).
I
tell you this story to say I'm not anti-feminist. I do not hold onto
archaic values just in the name of tradition. People who know me
brand me as outspoken and persistent on gender parity. But, I oppose
the current Supreme Court order on women entering Sabarimala.
Before
you raise those cudgels, let me also tell you, I do not buy those
stories of Lord Ayyappa being a brahmachari and hence averse to
women. Neither, do I believe that a woman entering the temple will
invoke divine wrath and an apocalypse. I will not simplify or
downgrade an entity I believe in as part of my faith, into a
vengeful, threatening monster.
I
oppose this because it is part of a belief system close to my heart.
The same as the one that makes me light an oil lamp at sunset, the
same as the one that makes me put my palms together as token of
repect when I say my prayers, the same as the one that invokes
spirituality when I smell the fragrance of camphor, incense sticks
and jasmine flowers. I oppose this because I do not in anyway see it
as something that either harms my rights as a woman or improves my
status as a human.
It
definitely is not the same as the caste system that divided humanity
into sects and deemed some as untouchables. It does not dehumanise
me, it does not marginalise me. It is definitely not the same as the
Sati or the dowry system. And, definitely not like the landmark
legislation set rolling by the Channar Lahala. It does not empower
me.
I
oppose this because I see the whole episode as a drama orchestrated
by people who understand none of the sentiments/emotions associated
with the belief system. If they did, then they would've completed a
pilgrimage of Vaishnodevi and all the other temples before they
zeroed in on Sabarimala. They would've been aware of the existence of
'Attukaal' and participated in the annual festival that exclusively
celebrates womanhood. They would've been aware of the Chengannur
Mahadeva temple with its celebrations revolving round the Devi idol
that menstruates, visited the Khamakhya devi temple. It is the same
as the system that calls upon the Muslim to namaz five times in a
day. The same as the one that calls Christian women to
become celibates and dedicate their lives in service as
nuns. It is part of my belief system.
And,
for any worthwhile "social change", as the SC order
supposes to be a harbinger of, to hold water, it should be a cause of
celebration for atleast a considerable percentile of the population
it proposes to save. As I see it, this ruling neither improves my
condition as a woman nor does it address the more burning
misogynistic attitudes that sideline my existence. It does not make
me feel any more safe or empowered at my own hearth, my workplace or
in the society I live in. All it does is sideline, shove, cajole the
public eye from what really matters!
Thursday, July 12, 2018
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!
'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!
Wednesday, June 7, 2017
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.
"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.
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
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.
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.
Sunday, May 17, 2015
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!
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!
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