This is now home

Born and brought up in Mumbai, I have been a Mumbaikar at heart, no matter where I went. Whenever I returned to Mumbai after a long time, I would breathe in the sea scented, yet inevitably polluted air of Mumbai, which would hit one like a blast furnace, and instantly feel at home. Mumbaikars usually cannot imagine going away from the city and settling elsewhere. I, too, never thought I would. Until my wedding was fixed.

My fiance, now my husband, was working in Bangalore, and had declared that he had no intentions of coming back to the crushing rush of Mumbai with its sauna like weather. So I moved to Bangalore as a newlywed, but my heart yearned for Mumbai. This was more than two decades ago. Bangalore was a pretty laid back place then, and I missed the energy of Mumbai. Slowly, though, it began to get under my skin and in my veins, and I began to put down roots here.

I learnt the language - I can speak well enough to communicate with my househelp, autowallahs and the greengrocer, though the kid and the husband still laugh at my Kannada. I made new friends, learnt to appreciate the nuances of Karnataka's cuisine - all of south cuisine, actually - and learnt a lot about the natural beauty, heritage sites and history of my adopted state.

Today, Bangalore, now officially in its new avatar as Bengaluru, is what I call home, though Mumbai will never be taken out of my heart.

Happy Karnataka Rajotsava Day!

Culture ...

We have a gentleman who has been taking care of paying our bills, paying property tax, etc., for the past 10+ years ... it is his business. He comes from a very poor background, is a genteel, soft-spoken, and extremely reliable person, who has come up in life through hard work. He now has diversified to running a canteen on weekends, where his wife and mother cook and sell traditional Tamilian food. I have great admiration for him.

He has a daughter, an only child, a couple of years younger than mine. He often speaks about the need to educate her, stating that he might not be able to accumulate any great wealth for her, but can certainly educate her to a place where she can climb out of the perpetual cycle of poverty and ignorance that his family has been in for many generations. Nothing can take that wealth away from her.

Since he has no problems with it, I have often handed over my daughter's old books, games, and the excess of crayons, sketch pens, other stationery, etc., that we invariably seem to collect. Yesterday when he had come over for something, he spoke again about his daughter's achievements in academics and sports at school. He was obviously proud of her. While handing over some things that I had kept aside for his daughter, I asked him if he would be OK with taking some of the kid's old clothes in excellent condition - denims and such, which have hardly any wear and tear.

"No ma'am," he said. "My daughter doesn't wear jeans and t-shirts. She is very cultured."

***************************************************

Just realised yesterday - my grandmother (the one I had blogged about) was exactly my age now, when I was born. I have photographs of a few month old me with her - she looks much older than I do now. Was it BECAUSE she already was a grandmother? Or did nearly a decade of being a widow in a more conservative society, one in which you had to stick to the traditional image of a widow, do that to you? Or is it just my imagination, because as a child, my memories of her were such?
 
Wondering.

The friend who I almost didn't make, thanks to my bookish ways!

I knew her in real life, but had no idea I did.

I discovered Sangitha Krishnamurthi's blog through another blogger friend, Choxbox. For many, many months, I would visit her blog, read, and be inspired. Here was a person who loved books, and wrote about so many interesting things - things I probably would not have mused on had it not been for my having read about them here. Special children. Adoption. Rights of the marginalized. And much more. I would read, but rarely comment. I didn't know enough of the things she spoke about. I didn't, also, know how my comments would be taken. I was fairly new to the blogworld, focusing more on my beloved books and the reviewing of them.

Now, she had a pup, Loopy, who had some health problems, and she wanted to find a good vet - her then vet not measuring up to expectations. I extended a very hesitant hand - I knew of a friend who had recently spoken of her dog's vet in glowing terms. What followed was a proper comedy of errors that is worth reading, one that has led to a lasting friendship.

But the best was yet to come. We decided to meet up at her place. 'We' were Choxbox, Starry (both of whom I knew well personally), Sangi, and myself. Plus all the kids. Choxbox had told me that Sangi's kids went to the same school as ours, but I could not for the life of me place her. Both she and I were super curious about each other's identity, and were really looking forward to meeting up. When I went there, I was stunned. This was a lady with whom I had stood outside the school all through the past few years, waiting for our kids. We had spoken a few times, but never really got into a conversation, mostly because I would be there with my nose in a book! She, too, had wondered about me. Since she had heard about me from Choxbox, she had narrowed down her conjectures to two of the school mothers - both of us, actually, already Choxbox's friends.

I am infinitely thankful for having her in my life. She is the most generous person I have ever known, giving generously of her time, energy, attention, presence, also of anything material. (Books!) She has kept me on my toes when I slip up, become lax about things, my writing included. I think of a karmayogi whenever I read the stuff she writes - do, without bothering about the returns. Be honest in your efforts. The rewards could come to in most unexpected ways.

She has always been with me since - celebrating all my ups with me, holding my hand through all my downs, standing by me whenever I needed, giving generously of her time and energy, caring about what happens in my life, but always showing me the mirror. Telling me as it is.

Which is what friendship is all about, I suppose.

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This is my entry for the Pay it Forward Blogathon on Women's Web.

An update, and a poem by the daughter

And slowly, the work at home is winding up. The carpenters, painters and plumbers are out, and the electricians are currently working on the fixtures. We're not doing any major changes, just replacing the tired old white tubelights with warm, yellow light. The builders have been much remiss in their wiring work, too, as we discovered on finding that many of the 'outlets' provided had no electric current, and that called for a major revamp. We've already had the cleaners in, who did an excellent job of cleaning up the major spills of glue / paint / polish, etc., that the workers had left behind. Now it is up to us to sort through all our stuff. The stuff collected over more than 20 years of marriage, and 12+ years as parents.

pic courtesy bookgivingday.com

And of course, the books - that is going to be a project in itself. It was International Book Giving Day on the 14th of February 2014. I have been putting books that we no longer need, to give away.

While all this has been happening in the background, there is much else on the writing front, though not of any great consequence. No, that book still has to wait.

Articles and book reviews on Women's Web.

Book reviews on Goodbooks. Two of my reviews feature on the current slider - do take a look.

Articles for The Alternative.

And someone really thought I would do as a panel member for a writing contest in which I shared space with published authors. A participated in the contest, making sure there she did not show me her entry until after the contest was judged, or even tell me anything about it, as she knew I was one of the judges, and shouldn't carry any bias. Here is her entry. Feeling very proud of her.

Here's her entry. Do go to the site for the judges' comments.

WHEN SANTA CAME HOME

He came in the dead of the night
When the blue of the sky was deep
He sailed so silently over our world
When every person was asleep

He floated through the starry sky
Past the gleaming moon
He must hurry, for he was running late
The sun would be rising soon

Ours was the last town he visited
And mine was the very last house
So he began climbing down the chimney,
Quickly, but as quietly as a mouse

After visiting so many children
And eating their cookies and cakes,
Santa was rather full, and hadn't realized
How much effort chimney climbing takes

He sucked in his belly as much as he could
And began to wriggle down
But he was stuck, well and truly jammed
Yes, that is what Santa found

But here is what Santa did not know –
Our house was enchanted
Our house was home to a number of elves
A number that cannot be counted

They found poor Santa in a soup
They told him he needn't worry
They set about their elfish work
And soon they ceased to scurry

They had dug the sides of the chimney
Till Santa Claus could go through
But where they went after that
Santa wished he knew

He climbed down; it was easy now
He soon reached the ground
He tip-toed towards my stocking
Without making a sound

He stuffed in the presents
Oh, and what presents they were
Then, he was finally done with his job
He exited through the front door

Those elves loved snow more than any else
But they could find none here
And our guests were just temporary,
For they stayed out of fear

Of the wicked, oh, so wicked
Froozotapplegadeese
Who would search for and feast on
Just such elves as these

Santa, of course, was grateful to them
He owed them a major debt
He knew that quick workers like these
Were difficult to get

So he sought out the elves and said to them,
"Come with me to the North Pole
You'll find plenty of snow there
For it is freezing, and that is mighty cold"

You will be safe and sound from the
Froozotapplegadeese
For, if he comes to look for you,
I can tell you for sure that he will freeze

I would like you to do me
Another tremendous favour
And in exchange for I will give you
Snow cream of any flavour

Could you help me with the presents –
Could you make them and then wrap them?
For I know that elfish craft
Is certainly a gem

The elves were delighted – this deal was great!
They all jumped into the sleigh
Santa was pleased, and he smiled and said,
"Up, up, and away!"

That is how Santa got his trusty elves
They make each and every toy
For Santa to give as gifts for Christmas
To every little girl and boy

I wonder what became of the
Froozotapplegadeese
Did he go looking for the elves?
Tell me, did he freeze?

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My reading, in the mean-time, is going along in spurts. Will post about a challenge I feel the need to participate in, soon.

Getting their own home, finally!

When we moved into our current home, my daughter was a wee baby, not yet sitting up. There was a lot of stuff that was unfinished. Not enough furnishing, for one. We lived out of two wardrobes and sundry suitcases. Slept on mattresses laid on the floor, rolled up during the day. Our television was kept on the floor. We had inherited the cane sofa set and dining table plus chairs - brought over from our earlier rented house. The only proper woodwork that we had done before moving in was the kitchen. That was essential, and the rest- we just thought we'd get it done by-and-by.

By-and-by didn't happen for 12 years. We just made do. There was too much happening. A baby growing up. Many ups and downs. A year outside the country. Frequent overseas trips for the husband, who wasn't around for a large enough chunk of time for all this work to be done. We were sure we didn't want to buy stuff ready-to-use from stores - it needed to be custom made. And in the meantime, our books collected by the sackful. They slowly took up most of our wardrobe space, spilled over onto every surface available, into every room, even the kitchen and the bathrooms. They took over the house much like the wilderness that took over the grounds of Manderlay in Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca. (This, I've taken from one of my FB status updates about the books)

My beloved books. They really needed to be housed more respectfully. We also needed to make a host of other furnishings. So, after so many years, we finally have the workers in the house. They are creating a library of bookshelves in a spare room we have, where I have always imagined myself settling down to read, surrounded by my books looking out at me, with the light streaming in through the three large windows. There will also be shelves in each of the rooms in the house, including a huge one on a 15 foot wall in the hall.

Looking forward to that.

It doesn't take much for a tragedy to occur

This Sunday, my parents, brother, sister-in-law and their two children had a close call. The house they stay in is more than 3 decades old, the home I grew up in, got married from, and where I go every summer vacation. Sunday, they had pest control done. There were termites, too, along with other pests, and the pest control people had sprinkled close to 4 litres of kerosene all over the house, along with everything else that they do. The house was kept sealed for the requisite period after treatment, so everyone had gone out for the day. 

Around evening, my brother came home alone, opened all windows - they could be kept open as there is mosquito netting on them - put on the exhaust fans, and went out again, to return with the rest of the family after an hour. The house was cleaned, dinner was cooked, and everyone went to bed around 10 p.m. after a long and exhausting day. My parents were in their room. Sis-in-law was in her room along with her younger daughter. My brother sat in the hall with his son for some time helping him with some school work, then they both decided to sleep on the sofa-cum-bed their, as they didn't want to disturb those sleeping inside.

Sometime in the middle of the night, my father, who cannot sleep deeply, woke up with a sense of unease. He got up to go to the bathroom, and what he saw there got him in a panic. The exhaust fan had remained on, and had burnt out. It, along with the mosquito netting on the window, was in flames. The flames were already spreading along the lines where kerosene had been sprinkled. He cannot move quickly, so he started banging on the bedroom door of my brother. My sis-in-law woke up, saw what was happening, and rushed to switch off the mains and the piped gas inlet. Once this was done, she and my father proceeded to throw large mugfuls of water on the flames. I know that this should not be done for electrical fires, but thankfully the mains were off, and who keeps sand or fire extinguishers in homes? 

By then the other adults were awake, and thankfully the fire was extinguished. The bathroom had a gas geyser just 2 feet away from the flames. Imagine what could have happened if my father hadn't slept fitfully.

Still shaken. We take so much for granted, don't we? And I wonder if sprinkling kerosene around the house is standard procedure?

CROCUS - it's sure to be a wonderful journey

It is time for the annual festival at Saffron Tree, the kidlit blog I review books for. It begins tomorrow, at the site.

Here's my post there that introduces our theme for this year - Migration and Exploration - and unveils our poster.

"Migration, exploration, moving in search of a better life, across histories, geographies, cultures, setting down roots in a new habitat - it is a all way of all life. Why not, then, look at stories of these migrations? Surely a movement across cultures would produce challenges that fiction and non-fiction would thrive on? Fiction, after all, reflects life to a large extent. We, at the Saffrontree family, have handled many such moves in our personal lives; some of us multiple times, even across continents. Even a move out of one's locality into the adjacent one means a lot of logistical changes. This is surely a theme that would resonate with our readers - so many of whom might have their own stories of migration. As we brainstormed on the idea, we came up with a multitude of children's books that deal with the topic. For every age group.

Join in this celebration. Enjoy the journey with us. Spread the word - let it go far and wide! As Anna Quindlen has said in her book, How Reading Changed My Life, "Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. They are the destination, and the journey. They are home."

Come, let's go home."

Here's a post by Sathish Ramakrishnan, one of our contributors, that muses on the concept of migration. 


"And finally, I had a personal epiphany - migration is not about politics or about movement of people from one place to another - migration is about an individual. The reason for migration are many - some do it for the riches, some do it to escape a world that they cannot tolerate any more, some do it to live in warmer climates. In spite of it all, the migration is about an individual. It is the story of an individual and his or her hope."

Here's a post, again by Sathish, that gives a round-up of some of the books already reviewed on Saffrontree on our theme. There will be another such roundup post-CROCUS.

So our schedule for CROCUS?

Oct 23rd, Day 1: Animal Migration

Oct 24th, Day 2: Nomadic/Tribal expressions
Oct 25th, Day 3: Forced/Voluntary migration
Oct 26th, Day 4: Exploration/Making it home

Do visit. It will be quite a journey.

And yes, let the word go far and wide. Blog about it, post on facebook, twitter, and anywhere else that might gather more eyeballs.

And do not forget our crossword on the first day - CROCUSWORD. 

Ranganna

pic courtesy tulikabooks.com

Ranganna
Written by Arthi Anand
Illustrations by Kavita Singh Kale

Ranganna is an endearing baby elephant who lives in a temple town with his mother, near a dhobi ghat. His world is full of myriad colours. The colours of the clothes washed by the dhobi (washer-man) and hung out to dry. The rich colours of the saris worn by the women, and the flowers they carry. The twinkling colours of a rainbow in its full, rain-washed glory.

So when he meets with his friends, Anushka and Aditi, he does not miss the lovely colours that adorns their nails. Of course, he has to have colours on his nails too! What happens next? Does he get paint for his nails? Read the book to find out.

When I first read this book, I was dazzled by the cornucopia of colours that were splashed across the pages. Kavita Singh Kale's illustrations are really richly hued, and hit you with their vividness. Ranganna, too, is exactly what one would imagine a baby elephant would be. The expressions he has on his face are priceless, and children are going to identify immediately with this mischievous and vivacious elephant.

Check out this review and interesting discussions with both the writer and illustrator on Saffrontree.

We've enjoyed many elephant themed book - here is a list I have compiled earlier - and Tulika Books' Ranganna would fit right in. Although my daughter has moved beyond the target age group of this book, she was reminded of an elephant bathing, petting and feeding session that she had enjoyed long ago, at the Dubare Elephant Camp when she was all of four years old.

A fun fact about elephants - they are known to have a limited sensitivity to colour vision - close to what human colour-blind deuteranopes can see. This means that they cannot really see the reds and greens, and would make lousy drivers. If only they could really see colours like Ranganna does. :)

Ranganna will be launched at the Bangalore Literature Festival, on Saturday, 28th of September, in a session with the author from 2-2.30pm. All are invited.


pic courtesy Bookalore and Arthi Anand

A mixed bag of science tricks

The Edinburgh Science Festival. It had been a long awaited event, and was happening for the first time in India, brought to Bangalore by the efforts of mycity4kids.

We went on Sunday, with some friends - a couple with two children. It was quite a long drive to Bhartiya City, which had rented out their extensive grounds. The directions were easy enough, and when we reached there around 11am, there was already a crowd, and a long line at the ticket counters. Fortunately we had booked tickets online the day before, so we had to stand in a much shorter line to get them. Fortunately, too, as the tickets were sold out just around noon, and many people had to be turned away despite having come long distances, if they had not booked in advance, online.

First, the good.

There were large tents around, which housed the different exhibits. These were arranged quite far apart, with plenty of open space, interspersed with pavilions that had small tables and plenty of chairs.

Drinking water and large garbage bins were placed at convenient places.

There was a food court at one end, with plenty of eating options, from pizza/ sandwiches/ burgers/ frankies, to dosas, biryani, parathas, fried chicken, some Chinese stuff (that didn't look too good), as also tea/ coffee/ fresh lime sodas/ ice cream. You don't have to carry any food or water at all.

The exhibits themselves were in three categories.

There were the shows that were put on every hour - two different shows that alternated throughout the day. These were on an open stage, with plenty of space to sit/ stand in the front. In the format of a play, many scientific principles were explained, and the children in the audience were encouraged to participate and interact with those on stage. This was easy for even 5-6 year-olds to understand.

Next, there were the exhibits which were in tents, but open to both the children and the adults. Many of these were presented by some wonderful people from Indian organisations like mylearnbuddy, Fun Lab, ScienceAdda, and ScienceUtsav, whom I discovered thanks to this festival. The presenters were very knowledgeable, and could satisfactorily answer any questions, and had a way with words that kept the children engaged. Since parents were at hand, even little kids were permitted inside, and yes, they, too, were encouraged to interact and ask questions.

Third, were those that were only for children. These were the most interesting, and the most in demand.

1. Forensic Science - Be a Spy, was presented by Indian Forensic Organisation. The children went in here immediately upon entering the campus, and thoroughly enjoyed solving a murder mystery.
2. Emergency Room. This was facilitated by Columbia Asia Hospitals. Children wore the disposable green gowns that most hospitals use these days and actually performed surgical procedures on life-size rubber dummies. Removing a cyst, removing gallstones using scissor forceps and a laparoscope, and cleaning and treating a realistic deep thigh wound were some of the things that A reported doing. The gowns were their souvenirs.
3. Splat -Tastic. What child does not enjoy playing with something that adults find slimy and yucky? This one was about physics and chemistry dealing with viscosity and stickiness of substances. The kids even created some of their own and came out with slimeballs in paper cups to take home.
4. Pongy Potions. The very name got A thinking of Harry Potter, Severus Snape, and Potions classes. Unlike those, though, these were great fun. This one is about scents and smells. Fragrant and stinky. The children had great fun messing around with them, and came out with fragrances that they had created using veg oil base, and an array of essential oils. What did A use? Lemongrass, vanilla, and patchouli. Why? She said she liked them the best.
5. Sound and Light shapes. This was very interesting - at least what the children described was. One of the things here was a row of flames that were connected to a recording of a piece of western classical music, and the flames danced in response to the decibel levels. Sounds interesting.

Next, the not-so-good.

The above-listed ones were what the adults had been looking forward to most, but we were disappointed to be kept out of all the fun. These also had the longest lines. After sending the kids in for Be a Spy, we adults had chilled out under one of the nearby pavilions with some cold drinks. That was our mistake. After a while, we realized that the lines at all the exhibits were beginning to grow like Hanuman's tail, and if we didn't do something about it, we would end up having a wasted day on our hands. So we decided to make full use of our mobiles, and stood in line in pairs. The husband and his friend together, and the friend's wife and I together. As soon as the children got out of one place, they were ushered in for the one where we were closer to the entrance. Lunch time meant that I went to stand in a very long queue at the frankie counter (the children's choice of meal) and got one for each one of them. A quick munch between two exhibits, and they were sent on to the next one. As soon as we were sure they would be able to enter The Emergency Room, that had the longest duration, of 40 mins, I went to stand in a food line again, this time for parathas for the adults. We had our picnic sitting on the grass near the tent when they went in to do their operations. Hot sun above, shamianas for shade for those standing in queues not yet put up at all places - it tired us out a lot. Between us, we consumed more than 10 litres of water (we bought the water bottles there, as the drinking water drums were set up sometime around 4pm, and I kept a count), probably the only reason we lasted out there under the blazing sun all day. We hadn't checked the festival site properly, and had not carried the requisite caps, etc.

Verdict.

We were there from 11am to around 6pm. The children thoroughly enjoyed themselves, no doubt about that. They learnt much of science in a fun way, as science should ideally be learnt.

There is stuff for younger kids as well as for older ones. Actually for most 6+ year olds. Some, like Be a Spy, are for 8+ kids.

Be ready to do the kid-sitting. No use trying to get into exhibits where adults were permitted if you do not have a person with you who is not really interested, and who will agree to stand in the queue while you go take a look. Or at least be prepared with a book, to take turns at queuing up and going to learn some science.

Take caps, hats, sun protection - we've come back with some really painful sunburns. Unless the weekend was about teething troubles and the shade-providing shamianas for queues are now up.

The shows, though very kid-oriented, can get kind of boring for adults. Be ready to sit through it with your children, or sit it out at a pavilion with a cold drink and a book/ some socializing, while the kids enjoy themselves.

Book your tickets in advance online. So that you don't reach there to find them sold out.

Weekends can get a bit crowded, but most exhibits can be covered in the whole day. A visit on the weekday may not really work if the venue is very far for you. The day is for schools exclusively, and the gates are open for families and the general public from  4,30pm to 8pm. That might not be enough time. Not unless you study the list of exhibits at the festival website, choose what interests you most, and target those in the time you have. Evenings can also mean rain, so although the exhibits are in covered, enclosed spaces, arm yourself for the rain while you sit it out at queues or having a drink.

The actual festival in Edinburgh is a much more extensive one, with more than 200 exhibits, with the whole town joining in joyfully. While the one in Bangalore is nowhere near that, it is at least a beginning.

I also wish more people were interested in this sort of thing. I expected more familiar faces. Among all those who attended on Sunday, the only other face I recognised was that of A's science teacher at school. While malls feature high on most people's lists of places to go to on a weekend, science should, but doesn't.

One thing that struck me was - if we develop a similar infrastructure, and if there is political will, we have our own wonderful scientific communities, who can put up something comparable. Now that's a thought worth mulling over.

The tie that binds...and is cherished

pic courtesy google images

Today is rakshabandhan. A day for celebrating the bond of brothers and sisters. The tradition is that a sister ties a sacred thread on the wrist of her brother, praying for his long life. In return, the brother promises to care for and protect the sister. 

Sexist, isn't it? I thought so, too, until quite recently. I would tie the rakhis to my brothers' and various cousins' wrists every year, and they would make snide (to my mind) jokes about 'protecting' me. I would get angry, upset, and just trouble myself. Despite being in a very traditional, patriarchal household, I was a closet feminist, and all this made me chafe.

Over the years, all these brothers and cousins have gone their various ways, the trajectories of each one's life different. Many ups and many downs. Circumstances change. People evolve. A person does not remain the same person that they were 20 years ago.

Today, I came across this wonderful article by Natasha Badhwar in Livemint. She has two brothers, and she, too, chafed under the connotations of this tradition. She says,

"I have value for tradition that binds. That underlines how we are equals despite differences. Not one that imposes roles and choices that feel blatantly false, that don’t fit the reality of our lives. I own my relationship with my brothers. It is the purest thing in my life. Underneath the obvious one, is a secret bond."

 

So true. I, too, have two brothers. We have spent the larger part of our lives away from each other. One in the US, one in Mumbai, and I here. Yet, our shared history means we can pick up seamlessly from where we had left, and rakshabandhan is just another bond that binds us closer. Despite all the fights we (still) have. These brothers have given me sisters-in-law who are more friends than relations by marriage. Isn't that relationship, too, a creation of the sibling bond?

So even as I chafe at the idea of 'protection of brothers', I revel in the tie of the rakhi - one that is for ever. The protection, as I have realized, goes both ways. And I encourage the same bond between my daughter and her boy-cousins. Wherever they are. Wherever they will be in the future.

 

Happy Rakshabandhan.

I couldn't let the day go by...

...without wishing Harry Potter and his creator, Joanne Kathleen Rowling, a very Happy Birthday.

When I think of the books, the movies, websites, games and other books that they have spawned, I am reminded of a couplet in Urdu:

Main akela hi chala tha janib-e-manzil magar 
Humsafar milte gaye aur kafila banta gaya
I had started alone on this journey
But people joined and it became a multitude

The best way to celebrate here at my blog would be to share with you a book that throws light on the literary influences on Rowling's iconic work.

Pic courtesy flipkart

Harry Potter's Bookshelf
The great books behind the Hogwarts adventures
Written by John Granger
Published by Berkley Publishing Group, Penguin.

As John Granger (no relation to Hermione Granger) says in his disclaimer, "This book is not authorized, prepared, approved, licensed, or endorsed by JK Rowling, Warner Bros., or any other individual or entity associated with the Harry Potter books or movies."

It is, however, an interesting treatise about the possible literary influences that clearly had their effect on Rowling's work. From classic mythology and folklore to Shakespeare, from Gothic romances to classics by Jane Austen, Dickens and their contemporaries, from detective fiction by the likes of Dorothy L Sayers, Agatha Christie, etc., to children's writers like Enid Blyton with her school stories and fairy tales, from the Christian scriptures to feminist writing, from war stories to the paranormal, there is all here. The author, John Granger, has gone genre by genre, explaining how the 7 books read in that particular genre, and how there are little things Rowling has taken from there, as well as the big picture.

This is a book to read if you are merely a lover of Harry Potter books, or only a literature buff. Or, preferable and happily, both. One understands the Potter stories from a completely different angle with each chapter, and is amazed at the range and depth of Rowling's knowledge and research.

Do read.

A new gadget...and a fabulous giveaway

...a new laptop, finally!

Before I begin on this, let me announce a humongous giveaway over at playingbythebook, hosted by my good friend Zoe. You just need to visit, and leave a comment to be entered into a draw for a set of 50 Ladybird books. Do visit. I promise you won't regret it!

OK, now to my laptop story.

My last one, that had lasted me 7 years, finally died on me. It had been giving me a lot of trouble over the past one year, frequently hanging, suddenly shutting down mid-sentence, heating up just after 15-20 mins of use, despite propping it up on 'legs' comprising two hefty books on two sides to ensure that it got aired underneath, refusing to switch on at times, taking forever to boot, the battery going for a toss - requiring it to be connected forever to the charger to even start. It had even crashed once a few months back - from which attack it had been revived, the system restore done, but all saved data wiped off...it had become a litany of complaints and inconveniences.

Until it finally gave up, and refused to be revived. This was in the last week of May. Since then, the husband had been travelling, so we did not have an opportunity to go shop for a new one. I didn't want to do a major purchase like this all on my own. Cost aside, I am a self-confessed technologically challenged bookworm, so I wouldn't have known what I needed to look for.

So this week-end, we decided that the deed HAD to be done, and here we are! We are proud owners of a brand new gadget! So now I really need stop being a dinosaur and proceed to polish my knowledge of how it works, how Windows 8 works, if I have to learn to navigate my way around.

And no, sometimes technology does the opposite of making you dumb, R's Mom! Thanks for checking on me when I had 'disappeared' from the blogosphere! :)

And RIP, my old, trusty laptop. I had a good innings with you.

12 years...

...is called a 'Tapa' in Sanskrit literature. My little one, not so little anymore, turned twelve on the 18th this month, and I cannot let the month go by just like that.

So. We're currently big time into cooking. A little different from assisting mamma in the kitchen. Though, of course, it has to be a food item that she likes that she takes charge of. That, and the current interest in the ongoing Masterchef US, meant that the theme for a party was already decided.

Taking the DIY idea forward, I let her take charge of everything except deciding on and planning the actual contest, so that she could participate as a contestant in all fairness. She decided on the return gifts and the prizes, who to call, and the format of the contest. There were 9 girls, including her, so we decided on having 3 teams of 3 each, decided by drawing lots. The winning team from among these would then go on to round two, so that we would have three dishes again. The winner among these would be the masterchef, and there would be one runner-up.

Prizes? The winner would be presented with an apron on which we had hand-painted the masterchef logo in red. As also a copy of The Usborne Little Book of Chocolate. Lots of history and customs about chocolate, fun facts, and easily do-able recipes, and plenty of yum looking pictures.

pic courtesy usborne.co.uk

Runner-up would get a copy of The Deadly Royal Recipe, written by Ranjit Lal, published by Duckbill books.

pic courtesy saffrontree.org

The rest of the participants were to get a copy of Subhadra Sen Gupta's book, The Secret Diary of the World's Worst Cook. Wonderful book- historical fiction on the background of the Mughal period.

pic courtesy penguinbooksindia.com

Now, I am not sure about the comfort levels of the invitees' parents while working with knives, fire, etc. So I decided to keep it fairly simple, with an adult assisting.

Round 1: The best and yummiest class of food that could be prepared with a bit of planning were the chaats. I made the imli chutney and the green chutney at home. Got the veggies chopped up in the morning - onions, tomatoes, boiled potatoes, fresh coriander. Bought a few packets of murmura(puffed rice), sev, farsan, paani-puri puris, khara puris, etc., and was all set. I also kept a few bottles of unrelated stuff like ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, chilli garlic sauce, etc. Of course, if they incorporated any of that in their recipe without messing it up, they could!

The judge was a neighbour, a friend who is a wonderful cook herself, and who is also wonderful with kids. Having a grandchild a little younger than A, she knows how they tick.

So there were the kids, having donned their aprons.  We told them the rules- about adult supervision, teamwork, and about cleaning up after getting their dish ready. And then the fun really began.

The winning chaat entry - tikki chaat. A's team made this, and went to the second round. The three children in the winning team went on to round two.

Second in the chaat round. Paani puri and sev puri.

Third in the chaat round. Bhel puri.

Round 2: The winning team went on to Round 2. Now they worked individually. The three of them had to put together three desserts from the ingredients given. There were sliced cakes, fruit of different kinds, ice-cream, waffle sticks and chips, sprinkles, jams, honey, dessert toppings, cooking chocolate, and then some.

The winning entry in the second, dessert round. I didn't get to taste this, but was told it was slices of cake topped with fruit, covered by strawberry ice-cream, and garnished with gems and chocolate sprinkles. Pic taken after all entries were judged, hence the messy, melted ice-cream.

A's entry for the dessert round. Two servings of banana split. Second place. Oh, and for those interested to know, since she already has a copy of The Deadly Royal Recipe by Duckbill books, we drew lots to give away the copy bought for the runner-up to one of the guest children!

Third place - Sponge cake slices stacked with layers of peanut butter, covered by chocolate icing, garnished with gems. coloured sprinkles and waffle sticks.

And the birthday cake. Red pumpkin cinnamon bundt cake baked by me, covered with vanilla icing by the kid!

Happy Birthday, my little one!

The argument about Blyton

Today is D.E.A.R. (Drop Everything And Read) day. Beverly Cleary's birthday. Here is a post I had written last year as a tribute. How opportune that I am writing the post that follows today.

A friend posted the link to this article on Enid Blyton. Obviously it is a piece written a while ago - The Harry Potter phenomenon was still new then, barely 4 years old, and the first few sentences of the article speculates about the actor who would possibly play the role that has now made Daniel Radcliffe a famous, instantly recognisable face.

This is how Kate Forsyth, the writer of the piece, brings in Blyton.

It should be no surprise that her books have proved as hugely popular with adults as they have with children. For decades the literary establishment has been blaming TV, video games, the Internet, MTV and Macdonald's for the demise of reading in the young and not-so-young. Few have wondered whether the reason reading has gone out of fashion is because the books published have simply not been what anyone wants to read.
To me, the Harry Potter books have all the verve and wit and excitement of the books I loved to read as a child – and still read today when I'm tired or sick or studying for exams, when I feel in need of sinking myself in the guilty, sensuous pleasure of reading for the pure joy of reading. And though Rowling has been compared with C.S. Lewis, Roald Dahl and Edith Nesbit, the author she reminds me of most is the author I loved most passionately as an eight year old. Enid Blyton.

Let me say AGAIN, for the nth time in my life, that I am an unashamed, whole-hearted Enid Blyton fan. If she were alive and if I could meet her, I would leave no stone unturned to meet her. I have had the good fortune to stay for a good nine months (significant, isn't it? that is equivalent to a gestation period.) in a village off the west of London, 10 mins from the place where she stayed when alive. A began her schooling at a Montessori school there, which was right in the village where she has placed Peterswood, of the Five Find-Outers fame. We had made a pilgrimage to Bekonscot, the miniature village that has a miniature model of the sprawling house 'Old Thatch', in which she had lived.

I agree whole-heartedly with the article writer. As a self-confessed Blyton fan, I agree with everything she says. Naysayers can go and scream till they are blue in the face, but these writers- Blyton, Rowling, Dahl, and the others have given their readers a wonderful gift. That of being able to read purely for the pleasure of reading.

So, Enid had a few issues. Who doesn't? Dahl himself was an obnoxious person, and had serious marital problems. Does that make him a lesser writer? I don't think so. Maybe Blyton's detracters should read a biographical work by Duncan McLaren- Looking for Enid. He speaks openly of her personal problems, her unsavoury behaviour, and also connects the various books to particular stages of her life. We get a 'why' about the books she wrote.

My collection of Enid Blyton books

I agree regarding the feminist bit too. George was an out-and-out tomboy, and Blyton herself says she has based her on herself, and that she is her favourite character. Blyton has also rooted for Elizabeth Allen, the hot-headed, but lovable and generous protagonist of 'The Naughtiest Girl' series. Much like Rowling's Hermione Granger. All strong female characters, all excellent role models for girls looking out for one. In fact, her school stories has strong girl characters like Darrell Rivers, Claudine, the O'Sullivan twins, Alica, Joan, Carlotta, Bill, Bobby, Janet, and many more. I could rattle off a list of them here if so desired. Anne, the girl from The Famous Five series on which the Blyton critics base their case of gender discrimination forget that it was the social structure at the time that reflects in her books, and there are plenty of strong girls despite it.  I can vouch for the fact that her school stories are as realistic as they come. Nothing that she has described in them doesn't happen in schools even today. Maybe the specifics might differ, but children still interact in exactly the same fashion as in Blyton's Whyteleafe school, Malory Towers or St Clares.

What short-sighted critics forget is that books have necessarily to be read in the context of the period in which they have been placed, and interpreted accordingly. we do our children a disservice by white-washing this stuff in the effort of making it politically correct. We also forget, that no matter how much we cry out against the 'problems' in Blyton's books, we give them a back-handed compliment by attempting to produce white-washed versions of them for today's children. for they are indeed classics that will always remain relevant.

As for the sunshiny milieu of her books, most of them were published at a time when Europe was either actively engaged in war, or reeling from the effects of war. Even in relatively safe Britain, children were separated from families, there was severe shortage of food, and I'm sure her stories gave them the much needed shot of positivity. One writer writes sunshiny stuff, while another like William Golding comes up with the seriously dystopic Lord of the Flies. It all is for the good.

Of courage in the face of death

Of late, I have been reading quite a few books on loss and grief. It all began with a brief from the editor of Women's Web for an article on 5 Books To Read When Dealing With Grief. There were a few books that I had read, but not many seemed to fit in with the aspect of healing after a loss. I looked around the blogs I usually read - approaching Indian Home Maker about the books that helped her to cope with the loss of her daughter, Tejaswee. I also asked a blogger friend, Vibha Sharma for her inputs. These were extremely helpful in deciding the books featured in the article.

Here is one of the books I came across in my search. Also cross-posted at Zealot Readers.

pic courtesy kobobooks.com.au

Mick...Send Me A Butterfly
Written by Lorraine Grennan
Revised edition published by Love of Books Self Publishing.

Death is always disturbing.  Even if the person has passed away peacefully after a long and productive life. Even when it is of someone one knows only slightly. Even if it is the death of a loved fictional character. Even if it is someone one has never heard of before. What makes us react this way to a death? Why are we touched by the finger of sorrow even if we have not directly suffered this loss? Isn't it the realisation of our own mortality?

The everyday news items about deaths in the newspaper disturb me - I make it a point never to read these pages early in my day, especially if it is the death of a child or a violent death that is featured.

So when it is a dear one whose death we are dealing with, it can be devastating. And when it is a parent who has to deal with a child's death, it becomes doubly so. Somehow we expect to die before our children. It is, we feel, the natural order of things. After all, life goes on in a forward direction. Children are born of our bodies, and are our hope for the future. A way for nature to ensure that we do not disappear into nothingness. A way to keep a part of us alive on this beautiful earth. In a strange way, we become immortal through our children, and our children's children, and so on. So, it is terrible indeed, when things go the other way. When a parent has to see the suffering of a child, and the relentless descent into the big void of death. Whether it comes suddenly or after a long and debilitating illness.

Lorraine Grennan's book, 'Mick...Send Me A Butterfly' is a memoir of her son Michael Stewart Grennan's fight with Chronic Myloid Leukaemia. He was diagnosed with the disease on 29th August 1981, and passed away on 23rd March 1983 at just 20 years of age - a period of one year and seven months of facing the monster. 23rd March 2013, was the 30th anniversary of his death, and this is a tribute to his fighting spirit. One that has surely touched many lives that came in contact with his courage and forbearance.

At 18, Mick was your regular teenager, having a girlfriend and a job at a gas station, plenty of friends and a loving family. He had his whole life in front of him, when the disease crept up on him unbeknownst. It was diagnosed after a series of tests for symptoms that seemed like arthritis. It was a punch in the solar plexus, to put it mildly. Ms Grennan writes about how they all coped with the reality of impending death in their own ways. It was devastating, and something that they never could come to terms with. At such a time, Mick showed a maturity beyond his years and became the source of his family's strength, preparing them for his death and the time after it, in unusually thoughtful ways that Ms Grennan has put down with complete honesty of emotion. It does not fail to move, and I had to put the book away at times to bring my own emotions to order. She recounts the shock, the denial, the coping with the treatment (with its own consequences) and the bewilderment of a layperson thrust into the unending medical visits. She speaks of her faith and that of her family and friends, that gave them the strength to cope with the inevitable - both before and after Mick's passing away.

Ms Grennan also writes very honestly about the feelings of loss, guilt, and helplessness that overcame her and the other members of her family after Mick passed away. How every person grieves in a different way, a way very personal to that person, the way they perceive their loss, the way they deal with it. The way that coping with grief does not have a timeline, and that even after we learn to let go, the grief is still very real for the bereaved person. And that healing does come, in its own way to each person.

After his passing away, Ms Grennan was introduced to The Compassionate Friends, a group started by similarly bereaved parents, and it helped her deal with her feelings of grief. Intense feelings that she often wondered about- if they were normal. Ms Grennan has since worked extensively as a volunteer in its chapter in her hometown in New South Wales, Australia. Her work since has helped thousands of bereaved people come to terms with their loss.

This memoir, which is written in almost a diary-like fashion, draws the reader into their lives. A peek into the extraordinary courage of ordinary people. It has been a privilege.