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.
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
22 April, 2014
07 March, 2013
A day to celebrate books and reading
World Book Day is celebrated in the UK and Ireland on the first Thurday in March, which would make it today, 7th March 2013. Internationally, it is celebrated on 23rd April as World Book and Copyright Day, declared by the UNESCO to promote reading, publishing and copyright.
I was introduced to the wonderful idea of having a day set aside for books when we were in the UK all of 9 years ago. (That long ago, hmm? Feels like yesterday sometimes, when I remember all the lovely times A and I had there together.)
A went to a montesssori there, and one day, we received an envelope addressed to us in her school bag. It contained a book token for one pound, and a list of age appropriate books that we could choose from to buy through the school. We could choose one book from the list to buy with our book token. Not only that, we could choose more books from the list at a discount, as the school had a tie-up with the local indie bookstore. We would then receive our treasure package on World Book Day.
I was charmed by the whole thing. Every school child in the country would be extended this privilege. That, in the UK, would mean almost every child above school going age, unless one is living under a rock. Schooling for children there is subsidized after 3 years of age; even free in certain schools. World Book Day, then, served as a wonderful means to introduced a child to the pleasures of actually owning a book. This is different in many ways from actually being introduced to books - possible for any child as County Council run libraries are free and usually well stocked. And there were libraries everywhere. At least until a few years back when many faced closure due to lack of state funding. Lack of funding for these libraries due to budget cuts coupled with negative attitudes like Terry Deary's would further deplete this wonderful resource if things do not change. Sad.
Which brings me to India. Our country. We are far far away from a utopia where we have such an extensive network of free libraries, let alone book tokens for an affordable amount. There are some people doing some good in this field, though. Pratham Books, with their Read India Movement, aim to put a book in every child's hand. This is what they say in their mission statement:
This vision has had them creating books like these, wonderful books for throwaway prices. For example, this exquisite book, my favourite from the Pratham stable, has loads of stuff to see, read about, talk about, and so many possibilities for activities. At Rs 35 for an English edition and Rs 25 for an Indian language one, it is a steal. Pratham books also are available in most Indian languages, and there are books that feature the everyday life of ordinary people. They are also more rooted in reality than those of other publishers whose book are for a similar demographic. As a result, any and every child can identify with these stories, and can be encouraged to pick up these books. The low cost, local language, and quality reading values make these books ideal for 'putting a book in each child's hands'.
Let me tell you of an experience - I volunteer at a school for special children. Among other things, I also read stories aloud. (On an aside, yesterday, 6th March 2013, was World Read Aloud Day. Another way to spread the joy of books to those who can read, as well as those who cannot.) Many of these children have difficulty in imagining much beyond reality, and fantasy, mythology, fairy tales, etc., are a big no-no. I often find myself pulling out a Pratham books publication to read to them, which they enjoy thoroughly as they can easily visualize things that commonly happen at home, in schools, or in any other 'real' setting. I find myself struggling to hold their attention with the books of many other publishers, unless that book matches these criteria. This makes these books so much more inclusive.
There are many other players who are doing good work in this kind of an initiative. It would make for a separate post altogether, which is a positive thing - the fact that these activities can provide more fodder means that there are good people out there. I would like to dwell on a recent such initiative before I sign off.
Bookalore, in Bangalore, is founded by a group of writers working with children's books. They describe themselves as Bangalore's Big Little Book Club.
They share wonderful book and reading related links on their Facebook page, and these links would make me a fan even if I wasn't in Bangalore. Their sessions are free and open to anyone, though they do require you to register the child's name with a parent's email for a session.
As the area of publishing for children in India opens up more, grows, and matures, hopefully, so will the outreach of books and reading to all our children. For every child needs to have their own books to love. Or at least a library at which books can be accessed.
I was introduced to the wonderful idea of having a day set aside for books when we were in the UK all of 9 years ago. (That long ago, hmm? Feels like yesterday sometimes, when I remember all the lovely times A and I had there together.)
A went to a montesssori there, and one day, we received an envelope addressed to us in her school bag. It contained a book token for one pound, and a list of age appropriate books that we could choose from to buy through the school. We could choose one book from the list to buy with our book token. Not only that, we could choose more books from the list at a discount, as the school had a tie-up with the local indie bookstore. We would then receive our treasure package on World Book Day.
I was charmed by the whole thing. Every school child in the country would be extended this privilege. That, in the UK, would mean almost every child above school going age, unless one is living under a rock. Schooling for children there is subsidized after 3 years of age; even free in certain schools. World Book Day, then, served as a wonderful means to introduced a child to the pleasures of actually owning a book. This is different in many ways from actually being introduced to books - possible for any child as County Council run libraries are free and usually well stocked. And there were libraries everywhere. At least until a few years back when many faced closure due to lack of state funding. Lack of funding for these libraries due to budget cuts coupled with negative attitudes like Terry Deary's would further deplete this wonderful resource if things do not change. Sad.
Which brings me to India. Our country. We are far far away from a utopia where we have such an extensive network of free libraries, let alone book tokens for an affordable amount. There are some people doing some good in this field, though. Pratham Books, with their Read India Movement, aim to put a book in every child's hand. This is what they say in their mission statement:
"At Pratham Books, we believe that every child has the right to enjoy good books. And we believe they should have stories set in surroundings familiar to them and in a language close to their culture. We believe that to make books accessible to every child, the price points have to be very low. Pratham Books is a brand of story books as Indian as the children who read them. As a not-for-profit publisher, our dream is to see a country where every child wants to read, is able to read, and has something good to read.
With a range of stories created to excite children with different likes and tastes, the books are illustrated by some of the most enthusiastic and talented illustrators. Our aim is to have something good for every child, in every part of the country, and in the process spread the joy of reading far and wide."
This vision has had them creating books like these, wonderful books for throwaway prices. For example, this exquisite book, my favourite from the Pratham stable, has loads of stuff to see, read about, talk about, and so many possibilities for activities. At Rs 35 for an English edition and Rs 25 for an Indian language one, it is a steal. Pratham books also are available in most Indian languages, and there are books that feature the everyday life of ordinary people. They are also more rooted in reality than those of other publishers whose book are for a similar demographic. As a result, any and every child can identify with these stories, and can be encouraged to pick up these books. The low cost, local language, and quality reading values make these books ideal for 'putting a book in each child's hands'.
Let me tell you of an experience - I volunteer at a school for special children. Among other things, I also read stories aloud. (On an aside, yesterday, 6th March 2013, was World Read Aloud Day. Another way to spread the joy of books to those who can read, as well as those who cannot.) Many of these children have difficulty in imagining much beyond reality, and fantasy, mythology, fairy tales, etc., are a big no-no. I often find myself pulling out a Pratham books publication to read to them, which they enjoy thoroughly as they can easily visualize things that commonly happen at home, in schools, or in any other 'real' setting. I find myself struggling to hold their attention with the books of many other publishers, unless that book matches these criteria. This makes these books so much more inclusive.
There are many other players who are doing good work in this kind of an initiative. It would make for a separate post altogether, which is a positive thing - the fact that these activities can provide more fodder means that there are good people out there. I would like to dwell on a recent such initiative before I sign off.
Bookalore, in Bangalore, is founded by a group of writers working with children's books. They describe themselves as Bangalore's Big Little Book Club.
"Bookalore is an independent group of children's writers, illustrators, editors, librarians, teachers and filmmakers. Its monthly fun-based events for children and young adults will be held across Bangalore at libraries, schools, bookshops, art galleries, museums, theatres and other public spaces."
They share wonderful book and reading related links on their Facebook page, and these links would make me a fan even if I wasn't in Bangalore. Their sessions are free and open to anyone, though they do require you to register the child's name with a parent's email for a session.
As the area of publishing for children in India opens up more, grows, and matures, hopefully, so will the outreach of books and reading to all our children. For every child needs to have their own books to love. Or at least a library at which books can be accessed.
04 January, 2013
Of cold hands and warm hearts
When I was a child, my parents' home had a large, old-style wooden swing that I loved to swing on. My enduring memories of that swing are of a close friend and I pretending it was a plane, in which we travelled to the fabled land of Kashmir. Once we were there, the swing would transform itself into a bus in which we travelled everywhere, or a boat on which we took a turn on the Dal lake, while someone played fabulous music on (I think it was) a harp! Our knowledge of Kashmir was from the things we heard of from a relative who had, indeed been there, and who had got a wonderfully embroidered woolen coat as a souvenir. In my childhood imagination, Kashmir was a land like the one Sindbad the sailor or Hatim Tai inhabited. A wondrous fantasy place, where fabulous riches and adventures abounded.
So when we planned a trip there this Christmas vacation, I was in a dichotomy of mind. One part was ecstatic, for I was going to soon find out if all I had imagined was true. Jammu & Kashmir has been in the news for all the wrong sort of and heart-wrenching reasons in for the past many years, but if anything, that had heightened my fascination with it. It was one of those 'must-visit destinations before you die' for me for the longest time. There was also the matter of the rich historical references, right from the Harappan times, the Mahabharata, to the Mughal era, which drew me to it.
Another part of me was worried. Worried because I have a low tolerance for cold and an acrophobia bordering on vertigo. A relative stays on the 26th floor and I am fine at her place as long as I do not have to step out onto the balcony or go too near the wide windows. I instinctively claw at whatever I can cling on to. How was I to handle a cold place in winter, with all that snow, and which had landscapes of (literally) Himalayan proportions?
The place was so breathtakingly beautiful, that all my worries flew out of the window, acrophobia be d****d!
I was left with images of a warm, caring and hospitable people. A people hurt by being caught in the cross-fire between two countries (OK, three, if one counts China). A people who just want to be able to live an ordinary life. A people forced to live under extraordinarily hostile conditions. Wherever one looked, there were the signs of a desperate poverty. No big stores, fine bungalows, fancy malls anywhere in Srinagar. We did not come across any beggars except for an old, bent woman outside the Hazaratbal shrine - a surprise observation in India. Instead, there were people desperate to be able do any little work that they could, to make some money. Hawking exquisite handicrafts off a sheet of plastic on freezing hilltops, walking many kilometers through treacherous paths guiding a horse with rider in snow, sleet and slush with the barest of warm protection, pulling toboggans up-slope with overweight tourists...the political situation obviously makes it a difficult and dangerous place for investors to take an interest in, and that reflects on the state's economy. I was somehow ashamed of being a priviledged consumer there.
Jammu was a bit different. For one, economically the conditions seemed better. There was a significant Sikh population. Although the only person we spoke to at length was the driver of our rented car, somehow they came across as more accepting of being a part of India. Though somehow not as warm as the people of Srinagar.
After coming back home, I read of the news of trouble in the very areas we had travelled to around Srinagar. It made me realise that I had indeed been priviledged to have been there, interacted with those people, and felt the warmth of their hospitality, no matter what the ground reality. It also brought home to me the fact of the bubble I had been in, as a tourist in a place that had most of its economy based on the tourism industry - and how vulnerable they really are. It made me sad to think of the suffering an unfortunate history and geography bestows on otherwise good people.
Let me leave you with the pictures. Although the Kashmir valley is at its verdant best in summer, the bareness of winter too, has its own beauty.
The craggy tops of the mighty Himalayas. The almost vertical stratifications are proof of their origins- originally under-sea, and pushed up into the skies by the movements of the earth's crust. Think of the powerful crashing of the subcontinent into mainland Asia.
Ski slopes at Gulmarg, accessed by gondolas, the cable cars.
The line-of-control at the highest point in Gulmarg, beyond which there is no-man's-land. The opposite hill has a Pak outpost just beyond the crest.
The gondolas that take you up there. This is sinister, treacherous, inhospitable territory, with snow so deep a man could sink inside.
Wild berries? No. These are rose hips on the wild rose bushes that run riot along mountain roads. One can only imagine the colours when in full bloom.
Chashme Shahi. Built by Shah Jahan for his beloved first son, Dara Shikoh. Where we could imagine bejewelled harem ladies strolling around at the peak of its Mughal patronage. See the snow-capped mountains in the background. It reminded me of our own Lalbaug, with old old trees of chinar and the willow standing around in majestic leafless winter glory, the thickly foliaged Magnolia grandifloras and evergreens interspersed as the perfect foil.
Pari Mahal. A multi-level terraced garden with a fabulous view of meadows and hills. Built by Dara Shikoh, eldest son of the Mughal emperor Shahjahan, a staunch believer of Sufism for his Sufi tutor, Mulla Shah Badakhshi. He, unfortunately, did not ascend the throne after his father, having being disposed off by his ambitious, fanatical younger brother. History might have been a bit different if this gentler, more tolerant and beauty loving prince had become emperor instead of Aurangzeb.
The iconic Dal lake with its shikaras. The water was close to freezing when we were there. Yesterday I read that the surface now has a thin top layer of ice. Everything was lovely- the unhurried pace of the boat gliding over the almost still, greenish hued water, the feeling of calm, the majestic mountains surrounding the lake. The only problem were the peddlers who kept sidling along trying to make us look at their wares. I completely understand and empathise with the desperation of these hardworking people to do anything productive to earn a living, but we would have liked to be left in peace while on the lake.
On the road in picturesque Sonamarg. This was an absolutely stunning place. All around us were snow-capped mountains, and the road followed a clear, gurgling and ice-cold Sindhu river. What the world knows as the mighty Indus, famed for the setting of the Indus Valley Civilisation more than 4000 years ago. This place is closer to the source, and the river is a frothy, playful child as compared to the vast, sedately flowing one that it undoubtedly is later on its journey to the Arabian sea.
The shopkeeper at the shop where we bought some souvenirs, in his phiran and with his kangri - the wicker basket that holds an urn of burning coals, kept close to protect from the cold. A true symbol of Kashmir, we bought one for ourselves as well. Without the coals, of course!
Pahalgam. The place which doubles up for Switzerland in many of our hindi movies for those who don't realize it isn't. The sights on the trek to this place were lovelier than the place itself, IMO.
This was the surprise item. After making visits to all the usual haunts of tourists, we had one extra day left. Our driver, who was a knowledgeable person, suggested this place called Yusmarg, near the revered Chrar-e-Sharif shrine. It a pretty sunny day when we started out. There were many apple orchards along the way. As we neared the place, it started becoming overcast, and it started to snow! It was so wonderful. Suddenly the bare ground began to be covered by fine white flakes. A was ecstatic, and we kept trying to catch the snowflakes on our tongues. It was an exhilarating experience.
On the last leg of our trip, in Jammu, we first went to a town Akhnoor, which is famous for this fort on the banks of the Chenab, built at a site where excavations have revealed the northernmost known remains of the Harappan civilisation. This place is known locally for the Sohni-Mahiwal legend too.
And a picturesque view from the ramparts of the fort overlooking the Chenab. Though in ruins, some parts are still standing up to the ravages of time. We searched for the ruins of the Harappan civilisation, but there was so much of undergrowth that I'm sure it was under all that. Our country needs to wake up in terms of protecting and showcasing our monuments too. There was no guard on duty here, no entry fee, nothing. Just the above notice proclaiming this is national property. Are they waiting for this pretty well preserved piece of history to fall into further ruins before taking some action?
See the wild undergrowth here. The excavated remains of the Harappan civilisation are probably hidden under all that.
Jammu is near one of the border posts where people can go and visit. A milestone just this side of the border says: Sialkot 11 kms, Lahore 141 kms. A member of our army takes you out through a gate bearing the Indian flag into no-man's-land. At the other end of a half-kilometer, one can see the opposite gate bearing the chand-tara of Pakistan. Halfway, is a barbed wire protected barrier, which is the extent of the distance one can go. See that pipal tree- Ficus religiosa? It stands proudly, half in India, half in Pakistan.
We finished our trip with a pilgrimage to Vaishno Devi. A 12 km trek uphill. I feel proud of the fact that my daughter walked up all the way. No pictures, as we chose not to take anything with us. We aren't allowed anything except our faith and the clothes on us into the shrine. So no pictures, but it is a beautiful place the goddess resides in. It drizzled incessantly, turning to snowing during the last few kilometers. It was certainly an experience of a lifetime.
The place was so breathtakingly beautiful, that all my worries flew out of the window, acrophobia be d****d!
I was left with images of a warm, caring and hospitable people. A people hurt by being caught in the cross-fire between two countries (OK, three, if one counts China). A people who just want to be able to live an ordinary life. A people forced to live under extraordinarily hostile conditions. Wherever one looked, there were the signs of a desperate poverty. No big stores, fine bungalows, fancy malls anywhere in Srinagar. We did not come across any beggars except for an old, bent woman outside the Hazaratbal shrine - a surprise observation in India. Instead, there were people desperate to be able do any little work that they could, to make some money. Hawking exquisite handicrafts off a sheet of plastic on freezing hilltops, walking many kilometers through treacherous paths guiding a horse with rider in snow, sleet and slush with the barest of warm protection, pulling toboggans up-slope with overweight tourists...the political situation obviously makes it a difficult and dangerous place for investors to take an interest in, and that reflects on the state's economy. I was somehow ashamed of being a priviledged consumer there.
Jammu was a bit different. For one, economically the conditions seemed better. There was a significant Sikh population. Although the only person we spoke to at length was the driver of our rented car, somehow they came across as more accepting of being a part of India. Though somehow not as warm as the people of Srinagar.
After coming back home, I read of the news of trouble in the very areas we had travelled to around Srinagar. It made me realise that I had indeed been priviledged to have been there, interacted with those people, and felt the warmth of their hospitality, no matter what the ground reality. It also brought home to me the fact of the bubble I had been in, as a tourist in a place that had most of its economy based on the tourism industry - and how vulnerable they really are. It made me sad to think of the suffering an unfortunate history and geography bestows on otherwise good people.
Let me leave you with the pictures. Although the Kashmir valley is at its verdant best in summer, the bareness of winter too, has its own beauty.
The craggy tops of the mighty Himalayas. The almost vertical stratifications are proof of their origins- originally under-sea, and pushed up into the skies by the movements of the earth's crust. Think of the powerful crashing of the subcontinent into mainland Asia.
The line-of-control at the highest point in Gulmarg, beyond which there is no-man's-land. The opposite hill has a Pak outpost just beyond the crest.
The gondolas that take you up there. This is sinister, treacherous, inhospitable territory, with snow so deep a man could sink inside.
Wild berries? No. These are rose hips on the wild rose bushes that run riot along mountain roads. One can only imagine the colours when in full bloom.
Chashme Shahi. Built by Shah Jahan for his beloved first son, Dara Shikoh. Where we could imagine bejewelled harem ladies strolling around at the peak of its Mughal patronage. See the snow-capped mountains in the background. It reminded me of our own Lalbaug, with old old trees of chinar and the willow standing around in majestic leafless winter glory, the thickly foliaged Magnolia grandifloras and evergreens interspersed as the perfect foil.
Pari Mahal. A multi-level terraced garden with a fabulous view of meadows and hills. Built by Dara Shikoh, eldest son of the Mughal emperor Shahjahan, a staunch believer of Sufism for his Sufi tutor, Mulla Shah Badakhshi. He, unfortunately, did not ascend the throne after his father, having being disposed off by his ambitious, fanatical younger brother. History might have been a bit different if this gentler, more tolerant and beauty loving prince had become emperor instead of Aurangzeb.
The iconic Dal lake with its shikaras. The water was close to freezing when we were there. Yesterday I read that the surface now has a thin top layer of ice. Everything was lovely- the unhurried pace of the boat gliding over the almost still, greenish hued water, the feeling of calm, the majestic mountains surrounding the lake. The only problem were the peddlers who kept sidling along trying to make us look at their wares. I completely understand and empathise with the desperation of these hardworking people to do anything productive to earn a living, but we would have liked to be left in peace while on the lake.
On the road in picturesque Sonamarg. This was an absolutely stunning place. All around us were snow-capped mountains, and the road followed a clear, gurgling and ice-cold Sindhu river. What the world knows as the mighty Indus, famed for the setting of the Indus Valley Civilisation more than 4000 years ago. This place is closer to the source, and the river is a frothy, playful child as compared to the vast, sedately flowing one that it undoubtedly is later on its journey to the Arabian sea.
The shopkeeper at the shop where we bought some souvenirs, in his phiran and with his kangri - the wicker basket that holds an urn of burning coals, kept close to protect from the cold. A true symbol of Kashmir, we bought one for ourselves as well. Without the coals, of course!
Pahalgam. The place which doubles up for Switzerland in many of our hindi movies for those who don't realize it isn't. The sights on the trek to this place were lovelier than the place itself, IMO.
This was the surprise item. After making visits to all the usual haunts of tourists, we had one extra day left. Our driver, who was a knowledgeable person, suggested this place called Yusmarg, near the revered Chrar-e-Sharif shrine. It a pretty sunny day when we started out. There were many apple orchards along the way. As we neared the place, it started becoming overcast, and it started to snow! It was so wonderful. Suddenly the bare ground began to be covered by fine white flakes. A was ecstatic, and we kept trying to catch the snowflakes on our tongues. It was an exhilarating experience.
On the last leg of our trip, in Jammu, we first went to a town Akhnoor, which is famous for this fort on the banks of the Chenab, built at a site where excavations have revealed the northernmost known remains of the Harappan civilisation. This place is known locally for the Sohni-Mahiwal legend too.
And a picturesque view from the ramparts of the fort overlooking the Chenab. Though in ruins, some parts are still standing up to the ravages of time. We searched for the ruins of the Harappan civilisation, but there was so much of undergrowth that I'm sure it was under all that. Our country needs to wake up in terms of protecting and showcasing our monuments too. There was no guard on duty here, no entry fee, nothing. Just the above notice proclaiming this is national property. Are they waiting for this pretty well preserved piece of history to fall into further ruins before taking some action?
See the wild undergrowth here. The excavated remains of the Harappan civilisation are probably hidden under all that.
We finished our trip with a pilgrimage to Vaishno Devi. A 12 km trek uphill. I feel proud of the fact that my daughter walked up all the way. No pictures, as we chose not to take anything with us. We aren't allowed anything except our faith and the clothes on us into the shrine. So no pictures, but it is a beautiful place the goddess resides in. It drizzled incessantly, turning to snowing during the last few kilometers. It was certainly an experience of a lifetime.
06 December, 2012
Of multicultural experiences and winnings
A few months ago, Pageturners had sent out a call for stories, essays, poetry, flash fiction, etc. for a cross-cultural anthology. I had submitted an essay for it. The editor, Robin Lord, had a lot of praise for the article, but there were a lot of entries, of which many were obviously better than mine. The anthology, The Traversal of Lines, is available at the store in Bangalore.
Here is my essay for your reading pleasure.
*****************************************************
Kipling has famously stated - Oh, East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet… this is so true. Until one imbibes the foreign culture and makes it one’s own .
I came to Bangalore around twenty years ago, before which I had lived all my life in Mumbai. Now, a person who is born and brought up in a place like Mumbai usually does not imagine that they would make a move to another city. Ask someone from New York or London, and they would be equally dismissive of the possibility of any move.
Life happened, though, and before I knew it, I was married and moving to a completely new place , with a completely different culture. At least, it was at the time. Coming from Maximum City, awake 24/7, Bangalore seemed like a sleepy little place ; where shops opened after 11 am, only to close for an afternoon siesta of 2-3 hours, whole markets closing up after sundown. Even prime business areas like M.G.Road, Brigade Road and Commercial Street were closed on Sundays- unimaginable now, I know! When and how the laid-back Bangaloreans did their shopping- even grocery shopping- was a mystery to me . People went home early, and the streets were usually deserted by 8 pm .
A place where shopkeepers took umbrage if I browsed through their ware without buying- if I didn't find anything good .
A place where the language was alien to me and people looked askance if I used Hindi or English.
A place with an almost non-existent public transport system: twenty years ago, the buses were erratic at best, almost impossible to get on, with all name plates in the local language. Autos were similarly mysterious to me – not knowing the language; I had no clue as to why a request to go somewhere would be met with a ‘No’. This never happens in Mumbai even now . The metro rail, of course, is a fairly recent addition.
A place that seemed to belong to a different era- however, it grew on me. Slowly, as I became acclimatized to the unhurried pace of life here, and Bangalore became Bengaluru, the happening city; we have managed to meet half-way . Now, of course, I cannot imagine travelling by the local trains of Mumbai- something I did every day as a matter of course- unless I absolutely have to on one of my visits to meet family.
Between then and now, I have been able to travel to places I had only read about in my beloved books. We were in the US for a year and a half. A few years later, we also stayed in the UK for a shorter period - 8 months, enough to scratch the surface of a culture. Fortunately, having read books from these places made them feel like a long-lost childhood friend.
On reaching the US, as soon as I had stepped outside the tarmac at the airport and got into a taxi, a wave of panic swept over me…because WE WERE TRAVELLING ON THE WRONG SIDE! It was a gut reaction that I could not help - despite knowing beforehand that the convention is different in the US; one of the many issues of cultural translation that I had to tackle during my time there. A loaf of bread for $1.40? Hang on, wasn't that a whopping Rs 55 for a meagre loaf? A pint of milk for $ 2 - Rs 90? I went on in this vein until I calmed down and told myself to stop converting everything into rupees. This was a piece of advice I gave myself again when in the UK, where the translations were worse.
Then there was the strange case of every person I crossed on the streets giving me a smile. I was at my xenophobic best until I realised that people said ‘Howdy!’ to friends and strangers alike. I met my match one day, though. A lady I got to speaking with at the local library was surprised by the fact that I spoke very good English. She was even more surprised when I disabused her of the belief that India was all jungles, half-naked fakirs, elephants and snakes. She was positively amazed when I came out with my knowledge of the US, its history and its literature!
We were in a comparatively arid area of the country, and the extremes of temperature were something I had not experienced before. Public transport, again, was non-existent. Everyone preferred to travel by their own car, and we had just the one which my husband drove to office in. I did venture out, though, on many days to a nearby supermarket on foot. It was quite close - not more than half a kilometre, or in US terms, under just half a mile , but I still remember the looks I got from cars passing by. Pedestrians were found only in the downtown area – that was off bounds to vehicular traffic.
It was some time before my Indian mind could get around the pounds, quarts, yards and miles, accustomed as I was to thinking in decimals; I never did get very comfortable with it. I did get to an understanding of the people and places, though. We travelled quite a lot during our stay there, driving all over the country, reaching Maine in the far north-east and San Diego in the south-west, and much of what lies in-between. We took quite a few walks in places like Yosemite, Natchez Trace Pathway, Grand Canyon and many other places. Bill Bryson's books resonated with us as never before.
We visited the UK a few years after our return from the US. It was the country of Enid Blyton- my first childhood love in books. Also of Agatha Christie, Wodehouse, James Herriot, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Beatrix Potter, Michael Morpurgo, J.K.Rowling…I could go on. It was all that I had imagined, and much more.
Many things were different now- the main one being that this time I had a daughter. This changed my experience of a new country in many ways. For one, I was happy that I was in a place with an excellent public transport system: it was a boon to be able to take my child out at will, to not be dependent on the one vehicle we could afford. I was also amazed at the patience of all the bus drivers (and passengers) who would wait peacefully for me to take my child out of her stroller, fold it, board the bus with it and the child, stow it in a corner, pay for my ticket, find a seat and sit down, before we could get moving again. There was one other thing that struck me- in India, friends and family would not think much of picking up my daughter. There, strangers would make place for me and my daughter in buses and trains, they would smile at her, even speak to her, but not once did anyone attempt to touch her.
It also helped that people in the UK were more aware of all things Indian: familiar food was more readily available than in the US Midwest. It matters more when you have a child who will not eat anything unfamiliar. We prefer vegetarian food, and on the US visit, a visit to a pizza takeaway put me off it for a while- we had ordered a plain cheese pizza, and the person who cut and boxed ours had just cut and boxed a pepperoni pizza in front of us, using the same cutter. The poor fellow could not understand why we trashed that pizza: it was perfectly vegetarian in his eyes!
Fortunately, we reached the country in time to see the last few days of snow and sleet, and could enjoy most of the spring, summer and fall, coming back to India just before the onset of winter. So, we travelled a lot, and went on quite the literary pilgrimage around the country. We also discovered the culture of walks and, much to our delight, a book on walks graded by difficulty levels. Whenever we could, wherever we could, with a 3 year old in tow, we indulged in exploring the country-side to our heart’s content. We did things that were unimaginable in India then - like visiting working farms, cheese farms, pick-your-own-fruit farms, animal petting farms - small pleasures that are still beyond the reach of the common person here. The frequent drizzles were like lawn-sprinklers, probably the secret of Britain’s verdant landscapes. Back here in Bangalore, the frequently overcast skies and rains in the evening remind me of our time there.
Then there have been the months we spent in Japan, but that is a story for another time.
Travel has changed me, in some aspects permanently and for the better. The places I have visited, the cultures I have seen and the people I have interacted with have done much to enrich my life. They have made my world-view what it is today, and I am thankful for all of it.
*******************************************
While on cross-cultural talk, PaperTigers, who are celebrating their 10th anniversary this year, had a fabulous giveaway, in which I was a winner of a surprise book, the fabulous PaperTigers multicultural poster and some lovely bookmarks. I received a copy of Where the Mountain Meets the Moon by Grace Lin and The Good Garden: How One Family Went From Hunger To Having Enough. The second book was promptly devoured by the child. Thank you Corinne, for the books. Thank you, too, for heeding my request for a book that my 11 year old could enjoy. Looking forward to reading both of them.
Also, while on giveaways, check out this lovely Dazzle of Books that are up for grabs over at Playing By The Book. They all sound lovely! Click through to check some amazing collective nouns. I love the play of words there, especially the 'snore of beds'! Just right, isn't it?
22 December, 2011
Book Review: Nanberry - Black brother White
 |
| Pic courtesy harpercollins.com.au |
Black Brother White
Written by Jackie French
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers, Australia
YA
It is the story of Nanberry, the 9yr old Eora (aborigine) boy whose life takes an unexpected turn when smallpox brought into Australia by the First Fleet carrying convicts wipes out almost his entire tribe. Surgeon John White, the fleet's surgeon, adopts him as a son, much to the chagrin of his housekeeper, who is surprised to realise that the 'native' is as much a human being as she is!
The rest of the book is a narrative told in the first person by the different characters.
John White, the surgeon of the First Fleet, and later at the newfound colony. A good man of strong convictions and a thirst for knowledge.
Rachel Turner, who survived a wrongly given death sentence and deportation to the convict colony. Who has rather genteel origins, and works as Surgeon White's housekeeper, and later becomes his emotional anchor and mother of his son, Andrew. Who later becomes one of the richest and well-loved women in Australia.
Nanberry himself- the black brother, who, blossoms under the love and care showered on him by his foster father Surgeon White, and Rachel, but is loath to relinquish his roots, and is unable to quite become the 'English gentleman' that his foster father wanted him to become. Especially after he finds himself a target of the other white people's prejudice.
Andrew White, the son, the white brother, who gets a privileged education in England, and becomes a hero in the battle against Napoleon.
Which, along with a handful more of characters, both English and Eora, makes for a kaleidoscope of emotions, motives, actions, stretching across a period of history from the first Bitish settlement in Australia in 1788 to after the Battle of Waterloo in 1815. A piece of history that is in many ways still taking a shape. We see the arrogance of the Europeans in their 'finders-keepers-owners' attitude which has shaped much of the history of colonisation. "Britain did not recognise the country as being inhabited as the natives did not cultivate the land, and were, therefore, 'uncivilized'. " We see the reasoning they used in their ruthless decimation of the original inhabitants of the Australian continent- the aborigines- and their relentless claiming of the land.
We see the utter bewilderment of the Eora who did not have the concept of individual ownership of land and resources- through the voice of Nanberry Buckenau. Who, although fostered by an exceptionally enlightened man for his times, keeps his roots, and returns to his people and their ways from time to time. Even as a child, he refuses to answer to the English name given to him by his foster father, and responds only to his rightful name, Nanberry.
A piece of history that we know really took place, as there are written records of it. All the characters really lived, even Nanberry about whom there are records researched and listed in the bibliography by the author, Jackie French, whose book for children 'Diary of a Wombat' has been reviewed by me earlier. She traces her mother-in-law's ancestry back to the family into which one of Andrew White's daughters married.
In an extensive afterword, she says, "All history books are detective stories, and history writers must track down information and put it together exactly as a detective does....The events in this book are as true as I can make them. The first decades of the colony were an extraordinary and fascinating time. But there comes a point where a historian and author has to say, 'I don't know'. "
"Neither the English nor the Eora understood each other. In most cases, perhaps, they didn't want to...To me, now, Nanberry (Nanbree / Nanbaree in the records found) and Andrew White seem to be the first modern Australians, triumphantly accepting both sides of their heritage."
I will be entering this review for the 2011 Global Reading Challenge under Australasia, and for the Reading the World Challenge 2011 over at Papertigers.
29 September, 2011
Violence against Women Awareness Month
Violence against Women. It has a universal ring to it- be it physical or emotional violence. It does not matter if the women are white, black, brown or yellow, rich or poor, young or old. The story is the same all over.
A group of women have decided to speak up against it, and October has been earmarked for an awareness campaign about Violence against Women.
The team is cognizant with the fact that the subject of violence against women is very huge and includes multiple aspects. To ensure that this awareness campaign is effective, the scope is limited to the following aspects….
1. Domestic violence – Physical violence against the woman by husband/partner and other family members
2. Violence against girl child including deprivation
3. Sexual violence - including marital rape, date rape
4. Emotional/psychological abuse
5. Dowry related violence including Bride Burning
6. Female Infanticide
7. Acid attacks
We would be delighted to have your support for VAWM Oct 2011. The plan is similar to CSA April 2011. We have a blog (http://www.vawawareness.wordpress.com/) on Violence Against Women where we invite guest posts, expert posts and anon survivor stories.
We also would urge bloggers to post on this topic on the blog all through October, first announcing the awareness campaign and second, posting on any aspect of this topic they feel strongly about.
We also have a twitter handle (@VAWMonth) which will tweet information about VAWA and invite experts, NGOs, counsellors, etc to take questions.
Do let us know if you would be interested in participating, and how would you like to participate. Also, if you have any leads to NGOs or organisations you think we should partner with do let us know.
The email to write in to is vawawareness@gmail.com.
Do post about this initiative on your blog, and use the above image to link to the VAWM blog. Also, if possible, do put the link up on your side bar. Help to spread the word.
I will, of course, be sticking to reviewing a few books that are related to the topic, some written by experts and some by survivors. Some may even be fiction.
I am painfully aware, of course, that for every survivor who has come out with her story, there will be thousands who are facing violence mutely every day, some of them with scars that last a lifetime, and many thousands for whom the violence proves fatal- either the way of homicide or suicide.
There may be millions more who may not be actively facing violence in its injurious form, but being discriminated against for the simple fact of being born a woman-- little, piffling things that can eat away at one's self-esteem, not having real choices, and being criminalised for the choices that they do make from the ones left to them. All of which can have debilitating repurcussions, preventing them from ever being able to tap their full potential. Something that is commonplace in most homes. Subliminal violence, I would call it. Insidious, and all the more dangerous for that.
I would like to share this, too. Yesterday, I was sitting in my usual place near the children's play area in my complex, reading a book that I mean to review. A lady from the complex, with whom I was on just a nodding aquaintance, came by and showed interest in the book I was reading. When I told her about this initiative, she came up with a surprising (actually not so surprising) question. According to her, the women who have any access at all to a blogpost were women with at least some priviledges. How does this 'armchair variety of awareness' help the common woman? Does it seriously have a trickle-down effect? Even if there is, isn't the change too slow to be of any significance? And for all the apparent awareness about these problems, aren't the papers everyday full of just such cases?
Any answers?
A group of women have decided to speak up against it, and October has been earmarked for an awareness campaign about Violence against Women.
 |
| Link to VAWM blog |
1. Domestic violence – Physical violence against the woman by husband/partner and other family members
2. Violence against girl child including deprivation
3. Sexual violence - including marital rape, date rape
4. Emotional/psychological abuse
5. Dowry related violence including Bride Burning
6. Female Infanticide
7. Acid attacks
We would be delighted to have your support for VAWM Oct 2011. The plan is similar to CSA April 2011. We have a blog (http://www.vawawareness.wordpress.com/) on Violence Against Women where we invite guest posts, expert posts and anon survivor stories.
We also would urge bloggers to post on this topic on the blog all through October, first announcing the awareness campaign and second, posting on any aspect of this topic they feel strongly about.
We also have a twitter handle (@VAWMonth) which will tweet information about VAWA and invite experts, NGOs, counsellors, etc to take questions.
Do let us know if you would be interested in participating, and how would you like to participate. Also, if you have any leads to NGOs or organisations you think we should partner with do let us know.
The email to write in to is vawawareness@gmail.com.
Do post about this initiative on your blog, and use the above image to link to the VAWM blog. Also, if possible, do put the link up on your side bar. Help to spread the word.
I will, of course, be sticking to reviewing a few books that are related to the topic, some written by experts and some by survivors. Some may even be fiction.
I am painfully aware, of course, that for every survivor who has come out with her story, there will be thousands who are facing violence mutely every day, some of them with scars that last a lifetime, and many thousands for whom the violence proves fatal- either the way of homicide or suicide.
There may be millions more who may not be actively facing violence in its injurious form, but being discriminated against for the simple fact of being born a woman-- little, piffling things that can eat away at one's self-esteem, not having real choices, and being criminalised for the choices that they do make from the ones left to them. All of which can have debilitating repurcussions, preventing them from ever being able to tap their full potential. Something that is commonplace in most homes. Subliminal violence, I would call it. Insidious, and all the more dangerous for that.
I would like to share this, too. Yesterday, I was sitting in my usual place near the children's play area in my complex, reading a book that I mean to review. A lady from the complex, with whom I was on just a nodding aquaintance, came by and showed interest in the book I was reading. When I told her about this initiative, she came up with a surprising (actually not so surprising) question. According to her, the women who have any access at all to a blogpost were women with at least some priviledges. How does this 'armchair variety of awareness' help the common woman? Does it seriously have a trickle-down effect? Even if there is, isn't the change too slow to be of any significance? And for all the apparent awareness about these problems, aren't the papers everyday full of just such cases?
Any answers?
09 September, 2011
The course of an epic
Found an interesting discussion on the Mahabharatha here. The participants are obviously students, not experts. They have given a link from where they have sourced their material, but that link does not open. The participants' being students can be gauged from some irreverent material that has been posted. We can also obviously see that they are Amar Chitra Katha and Bollywood fans.
The interesting parts are
1. A light on how the epic has been adapted to a completely different culture and religion, which nevertheless made it their own. Here- Java /Indonesia.
2. A detailed timeline of the Mahabharatha complete with dates, times, and ages of the key characters at key events. This seems to have been deduced from the lunar calendar dates and times mentioned in the original epic, and a historical perspective.
Was the epic history? I don't know. Maybe the key events really did happen, as this discussion shows (this one is by people who have really studied the epic), and have been embellished with a lot of poetical licence. After all, we do say 'a history called Jaya' when speaking of the Mahabharatha.
Let me quote a bit from the timeline here, but do click on this link for the rest of it. And let me know what you think of the life expectancy.
"3. Yudhisthira's Birth : Yudhisthira was born on Pajothpatti Ashwin Bright 5th day, in Jyeshta Star, in Sagittarius Lagna, at midday Abhijit Muhurta. That was just years. 127-5-25 prior to Kaliyug (roughly 3229-8-15 B.C)"
"45. The Great Mahabharat War started on Shubhakrit Margashirsha Bright 13/14th Day, Tuesday in Bharani Star. Yudhishthir was yrs. 91-2-9 days old. Just the previous day 11/12th Day, when armies were rehearsing Vyuhas, Arjuna fell into a gloom, occasioning Lord Krishna's famous BhagavadGeeta discourse with Arjuna."
"62. Pandavas started for their Final End after 0-6-11 days, that is, on Pramadi Ashwayuja Bright 12th Day. Yudhishthir was aged yrs. 128-0-6. Parik$hit, 36 years old, was coronated on the same day at Hastinapur.
63. Swargaarohanam is not clearly stated in the Epic. It may be 26 years afterwards. Sage Veda Vyas dictated the Great Epic to Ganapati only after Swargarohanam of the Pandavas, that is, after 26 years of Kaliyug.
64. Parikshit ruled for 60 years, coronated his 25 year old son Janamejaya, and died.
65. So, Bhagavatha was written by Sage Veda Vyas soon after Mahabharat was over, and before the 60th year of the Kaliyuga.
66. In Dwapara Yuga, human beings lived upto 400 years. There are four stages in life - Balya, Youvana, Koumara and Vriddhapyam. In Dwaparyug, Balya stage was upto 40 years, Youvana stage upto 120 years, and later Koumara and Vriddhapyam stages. But now in the Kaliyuga, Balya stage is upto 15 years, Youvana upto 45 years, Koumara upto 60 years and Vriddhapyam beyond 60 years."
The interesting parts are
1. A light on how the epic has been adapted to a completely different culture and religion, which nevertheless made it their own. Here- Java /Indonesia.
2. A detailed timeline of the Mahabharatha complete with dates, times, and ages of the key characters at key events. This seems to have been deduced from the lunar calendar dates and times mentioned in the original epic, and a historical perspective.
Was the epic history? I don't know. Maybe the key events really did happen, as this discussion shows (this one is by people who have really studied the epic), and have been embellished with a lot of poetical licence. After all, we do say 'a history called Jaya' when speaking of the Mahabharatha.
Let me quote a bit from the timeline here, but do click on this link for the rest of it. And let me know what you think of the life expectancy.
"3. Yudhisthira's Birth : Yudhisthira was born on Pajothpatti Ashwin Bright 5th day, in Jyeshta Star, in Sagittarius Lagna, at midday Abhijit Muhurta. That was just years. 127-5-25 prior to Kaliyug (roughly 3229-8-15 B.C)"
"45. The Great Mahabharat War started on Shubhakrit Margashirsha Bright 13/14th Day, Tuesday in Bharani Star. Yudhishthir was yrs. 91-2-9 days old. Just the previous day 11/12th Day, when armies were rehearsing Vyuhas, Arjuna fell into a gloom, occasioning Lord Krishna's famous BhagavadGeeta discourse with Arjuna."
"62. Pandavas started for their Final End after 0-6-11 days, that is, on Pramadi Ashwayuja Bright 12th Day. Yudhishthir was aged yrs. 128-0-6. Parik$hit, 36 years old, was coronated on the same day at Hastinapur.
63. Swargaarohanam is not clearly stated in the Epic. It may be 26 years afterwards. Sage Veda Vyas dictated the Great Epic to Ganapati only after Swargarohanam of the Pandavas, that is, after 26 years of Kaliyug.
64. Parikshit ruled for 60 years, coronated his 25 year old son Janamejaya, and died.
65. So, Bhagavatha was written by Sage Veda Vyas soon after Mahabharat was over, and before the 60th year of the Kaliyuga.
66. In Dwapara Yuga, human beings lived upto 400 years. There are four stages in life - Balya, Youvana, Koumara and Vriddhapyam. In Dwaparyug, Balya stage was upto 40 years, Youvana stage upto 120 years, and later Koumara and Vriddhapyam stages. But now in the Kaliyuga, Balya stage is upto 15 years, Youvana upto 45 years, Koumara upto 60 years and Vriddhapyam beyond 60 years."
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