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.

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.

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.

How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways...

I first encountered you many, many years ago.
So long ago, that I do not even remember that first meeting now.
What I do remember, is that not a day would go by that I could be separated from you.
I would have you with me at all times; yes, even in my dreams.
When forced to be separated from you in the mundane drudgery of everyday living, I would sometimes pause at whatever I was doing, and remember the feel of you, the smell of you, the way I lost myself in your worlds, the way you transported me above everything I knew.
Everyone, but everyone knew of our love.
You were the one I was recognised by.
You became my reason for living.
I waited for those brief periods in which I could have you with me.
I learnt so much more from you than by any other means.
You gave me my joy, my laughter, my tears, my anger, my thoughts, my dreams, my very way of life.
Often, you would disappoint me, not measuring up to your promise, but I never give up hope, seeking you in newer forms.
Some people count their life in years, some by their friends.
I count my life by your presence in it.
My love for you has brought me my riches in the form of my friends...
If I could not have you around, life as I know it will no longer be the same.
I reach out to you first thing in morning, keep you close through the day, and often fall asleep with your reassuring presence near me.
My home is a temple to you; everywhere I look, you are there, in forms more numerous than I can count.
You are the one I shall have near me forever, through sickness and health, till death do us part.
You, and my love for you, will be my legacy to my daughter.
To hold close and carry forward.
Forever.

Image courtesy the net.

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Today is also International Book Giving Day. Give away those books that you can, to those who might want to read them. Spread the love.

Give to friends, family, schools, libraries. Or just set books out into the wild. Leave a book at a park, shop, clubhouse, doctor's or dentist's or any other waiting room, in the hope that it finds a good home.

Give them to NGOs that work for those in need...not just of shelter, food and love, but also of an education, a reason to smile and dream.

Share a book. Read aloud. Tell stories.

I'm doing it. Are you?

Happy Birthday, A !

She'll be 11 today.

When I see her, I remember the first time I saw her. Just a small speck going 'twinkle-twinkle' on the ultrasound screen, and I fell in love with her. At that point, I did not even know if it was a she or a he. All I knew, was that she was my miracle, one that had come to me after whole 7 years of marriage. I was overjoyed, yet worried. It was a tough world that I was going to get her into. I almost lost her along the way, and it was again a miracle when I had her in my arms, whole and healthy, after an excruciating 9 months.

She is today 11, emerging slowly onto the cusp of womanhood. My daughter, I am dedicating this poem by Sarah McMane, (one that I read at this post by Peggy Orenstein) to you today. My wish for you.


For My Daughter

Never play the princess when you can
be the queen:
rule the kingdom, swing a scepter,
wear a crown of gold.
Don’t dance in glass slippers,
crystal carving up your toes—
be a barefoot Amazon instead,
for those shoes will surely shatter on your feet.


Never wear only pink
when you can strut in crimson red,
sweat in heather grey, and
shimmer in sky blue,
claim the golden sun upon your hair.
Colors are for everyone,
boys and girls, men and women—
be a verdant garden, the landscape of Versailles,
not a pale primrose blindly pushed aside.


Chase green dragons and one-eyed zombies,
fierce and fiery toothy monsters,
not merely lazy butterflies,
sweet and slow on summer days.
For you can tame the most brutish beasts
with your wily wits and charm,
and lizard scales feel just as smooth
as gossamer insect wings.


Tramp muddy through the house in
a purple tutu and cowboy boots.
Have a tea party in your overalls.
Build a fort of birch branches,
a zoo of Legos, a rocketship of
Queen Anne chairs and coverlets,
first stop on the moon.


Dream of dinosaurs and baby dolls,
bold brontosaurus and bookish Belle,
not Barbie on the runway or
Disney damsels in distress—
you are much too strong to play
the simpering waif.


Don a baseball cap, dance with Daddy,
paint your toenails, climb a cottonwood.
Learn to speak with both your mind and heart.
For the ground beneath will hold you, dear—
know that you are free.
And never grow a wishbone, daughter,
where your backbone ought to be.

Life is tough, my lovely A, yet it can be so beautiful. My hope and wish for you is to find your own happiness, in your own special way.

Happy Birthday!


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


My thanks to Ms McMane for graciously permitting me to reproduce her poem here.

Rhymes- by a mother for her son

Pic courtesy flipkart.com

Rhymes for Ranga
Written by Freda Bedi
Illustrated by Anna Bhushan
Published by Random House India
Ages: 6+

Remember Winnie-the Pooh? That bear who was a result of the wonderful tales A.A.Milne spun for his son Christopher Robin around his toy bear? Which parent has not told a bedtime story of their own making to a child who wanted to be told a story with elements and characters familiar to it? We all do it as parents sometimes. These stories may be loved by the child long after outgrowing them.

Freda Bedi, the writer of the book Rhymes for Ranga, did something similar. She was a British woman married to an Indian. When her first son Ranga was a baby, she realised that she did not know any rhymes for him which incorporated the surroundings familiar to him, activities and festivals. So she simply set about writing her own for him. This was in the pre-independence era- around the 1930s-40s, and these remained as a collection within the family. They were recently published by her second son, the actor Kabir Bedi, and here they are for everyone to enjoy. A mother's labour of love.

This is what she has to say in a letter to her son, which is published at the end of the book. "These rhymes grew up with you, Ranga, and they grew out of you, because it was sometimes the little words you said, and the nonsense songs you sang, that quickened something in me and gave them birth."

The rhymes are very simple, and speak of the family, the land, the familiar birds, animals and trees around, and common festivals like Diwali and Eid. They show how completely she had made this country and its people her own. She had joined in the freedom movement against the British, a fact that is reflected in her rhymes about Gandhiji, freedom and the tricolour. Towards the end of her life, she had embraced Buddhism and renounced everything to become a nun, and these leanings too are seen in some rhymes.

The dated feel of the rhymes adds to their appeal, for the India of the 1940s that they depict is very different from the India of today, yet very familiar- not very far from how rural India is even today.

The book is beautifully illustrated by Anna Bhushan, a multiple award winning UK based illustrator of Indian lineage. Very charming watercolours, in full colour, sometimes full page.

Here is one of the rhymes that will give a foretaste of the book.

One is a peasant, working with the plough.
Two is the milkman, milking a cow.
Three is a shopkeeper, selling his eggs.
Four is a gentleman, crossing his legs.
Five is a driver, his hands on the wheel.
Six is a housewife, cooking a meal.
Seven is a teacher, stern and tall.
Eight is a merchant, fat as a ball.
Nine is a dhobi, with a bundle on his head.
Ten is a thin man, with his wife well fed.

Can you imagine the figures?

Crossposted at Saffrontree.

I am entering this book for the Reading the World Challenge 2011 over at Papertigers.

A tale of two friendships

Sometimes, some friendships take a life of their own, don't they?

A had a 'best friend' at school in the early primary years, and the two girls were inseparable, though as different as chalk and cheese in temperament, interests and disposition. They were in the same class for 3 years, and we had innumerable playdates together. Sometimes I would just drop A off at her place on a weekend to spend the day. AM, the friend, has pet rabbits and lovebirds, and A, starved for a pet of her own, (sorry, baby, this is one thing that you will have to grow up and have for yourself.) would have a lovely time. Sometimes AM's mother would drop her off at our place. Sometimes I would take the two girls with me for some outing- a visit to our library being among the most enjoyed- followed by lunch at whichever place the girls wanted.

AM has a twin who is a special child. A lovely boy, he became someone very special for A. Every time we met, A would spend some time holding his hand, talking to him, and he, too, would always have a smile for her.

AM's mother S and I have become close friends. We have a lot in common - a similar educational background, and we are also both SAHMs inspite of it, and a lot of mutual affection.  S is a woman I really admire. She has had a lot on her plate, but her enthusiasm for life is to be seen to be believed. Of course there is sorrow in her life, but as she puts it, she has been blessed to be chosen as the mother of this soul.

Last year, the two girls were in different classes. Somehow the trajecteries of their friendships and interests have skewed away from each other. AM has become a part of the in-crowd, and A has gone further along the route to be labelled a 'nerdy' child.

There have been many instances where I have had to comfort a bewildered and hurt A, who could not understand what had happened to her 'best friend' AM. Where had she gone? Obviously the girls were both growing up, losing bit-by-bit that innocence of childhood. Making different choices. It saddened me to see it happening.

We did, however, continue to make trips out together with the girls, and at these times, we could see the original friendship still there beneath all the problems that they were having.

A, in the meantime, had another friend, someone so well suited to her- their temperaments and interests coincided. They are both book-mad. Their mothers, too, both gelled. Again, they had a lot in common, books featuring at the top of the list. Both pairs of friends got on like a house on fire. I could see that this was going to be a friendship for life. But...

Yes, there is a but. This friend, too, moved away. Not mentally, like AM, but physically, to another school. A was heart-broken. Everyday, she would speak about this friend. Every time she read something she loved, she would want to talk to her. We do manage occasional meetings, but somehow it is never enough.

The two different pairs of mothers, though, still remain friends. Their bond, too, I hope, is for a lifetime.

Yesterday, we had planned a trip to a kitchen gardening workshop, Oota from your Thota. A wanted to ask AM if she could come, so we called. That is when we came to know that her twin had been seriously ill for a few days, and was still in hospital, though fortunately recovering.

That was it. We put our plans for the day aside, as A wanted to go and meet her friend and her twin, as did I. So we went.

I hope SOMEONE UP THERE is aware of my little one's golden heart, and will not let it be hurt so often.

Mommy is guilty as charged

Ranjani had tagged me some time back. Sorry, Ranjani, for not doing the tag for such a long time. I have no excuse but my laziness.

Yesterday, however, I went out with a friend and her one-and-a-half year old son, who adores A and will keep asking for her by his pronounciation of her name every time he sees me, expecting her to be somewhere around me all the time.

We did many things (like browsing in a bookshop and picking up some books) that I know A would have loved to do with us. I kept thinking of her all the time, and was wishing it was a holiday, so that she could have accompanied us. Maybe I will take her out on the next school holiday.

Mommy feeling guilty? You bet!

According to the tag, I have to

1. Write about 2 instances where you have put yourself before your child/ children... been a wee bit selfish.
2. How did you feel? Did you feel a pang of guilt or were you comfortable?
3. Tag 2 more moms

I have always had A along with me since she was born. Since we do not stay with extended family, it was only us all the time. I never had anyone to help with her. I have,  of course, my house-help who comes in everyday for housework, but taking care of A and cooking is something I never liked to nor wanted to delegate.

The first time I spent some time alone without A around was when she joined school. Even there, I would say it was I who had a bad case of separation anxiety - A was ready for mixing socially, and so settled down there quite soon.

Over the years, I have grown to like the 'me time' I get when I am by myself. I find that it is essential for me to have this time for myself, to do as I please, without worrying about the kid's or the husband's schedules. Reading, morning walks, blogging, working on something interesting, browsing in bookshops, going shopping or catching a movie/theatre programme with friends or by myself, eating out sometimes. When A was younger, I also caught up on the listening to music other than nursery rhymes and other children's songs when she was elsewhere. All the things a stay-at-home-mom may do after all her chores are done!

Of course, I love the times we can spend together on days when she has a holiday. Some of the best times we have spent together are sitting together, each with her book in her hands. Yes, I have a little reader at home, and I'm glad it's so.

So I would have to really think for doing this tag. Let me see-

1. Harry Potter. A is as much into the series as I am. Only difference being, that I discovered the series in 2004, when she was just three, and she began reading them in 2009, two years after book 7 was published. True to my belief that she should read the books before she watches the movies, she has watched them all only on TV. Except for Deathly Hallows 1 & 2. She began with book 7 much after DH 1 had gone from theatres, and we are still waiting for the movie to come on TV, or for us to pick up the DVD, which we will probably do only after all the movies come on DVD, and we can buy the boxed set. Of course we finished reading book 7 at super speed in time for her to watch the last movie on the big screen. Went to watch it with Choxbox, her FB and another friend from school and her mother, all big on Harry Potter.

So I would go to watch all the earlier HP movies on big screen without her, even when I knew that she would have loved to watch them with me on big screen. That would be Order of the Phoenix, Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows 1. If I count the fact that most of her friends went to these movies without reading the books, that would include Goblet of Fire, too.

2. A has never been one of those kids who pester their parents to buy something, anything, everytime they make a visit to a shop. Except when we are in a bookshop. Woe betide me if I take her to a bookshop and do not buy something that she will enjoy. So I do not plan a bookshop visit with her if I have not budgeted for at least one book for her to choose and buy. There are also all those books that are interesting enough to pick up, small enough to be read quickly, but too expensive to pick up, and sometimes for a younger age group. Think of all those fabulous picture books we have not yet got our hands on! So we take advantage of bookshops' policies which allow the customers to make themselves comfortable and read away if they may.

Considering her love of books, and of browsing in bookshops, there have been many occasions when I have gone for it alone- when I have to go to a book sale which it might not be possible to go for on the week-end, which might be in a far-off location, or if I just up and go plonk myself in my favourite book shop on a day when I need some retail therapy. Do I feel guilty? Yes, I do, indeed. As Choxbox will be able to testify, I often pick up a whole lot of books, then realising that they would be way beyond my budget, put away most of those that are for myself, and end up buying those that I know A will enjoy!

To A's credit, she has never consciously made me feel guilty about these things, taking it as gospel that the book has to be read first, and she is overjoyed when I get her something on my book-shopping trips. Yes, she makes me feel guilty about that, too. Contrarily, I would not have felt as bad if she had gotten upset about it.

That was my rather wordy take on the tag. I would like to tag Choxbox and Sangi. Both are ladies I admire immensely for their out-of-the-box thinking and from whom I learn so much. There are some more out there whom I would have loved to tag, but the rules say I have to tag two. So anyone else who wants to take it up is welcome to do so. Let us hear your mommy-guilt secrets, ladies!

Our Great Mumbai Holiday plus

So the kid is off to school, and as Starry so succintly puts it: the chains are off! First time in 2 months that I have managed to sit down in front of my laptop without someone wanting my attention.

So what did we do in the holidays? Quite a list.

Attended a super Carpentry workshop at Hippocampus, our library, run by a dear friend. We have a working model of a sun-dial, and a toy aeroplane to show for it. Thoroughly enjoyed by A.

Went to Mumbai after a very long 2 years, visiting parents and in-laws.

Sisters-in-law (2 of them) and I carted the kids (4 boys aged 12-17 years and A) over to the over 200 year old Shree Siddhivinayak temple  in Prabhadevi, which is believed to grant wishes to devotees. It is a favoured place to visit for those who revere Ganesha/ Ganapati- the elephant headed god of learning, who is also believed to remove obstacles from one's life, and is invoked as 'Shree' before undertaking anything of importance.

Also visited the Mahalakshmi temple in Worli, which is built right next to the sea, with the waves breaking on its walls at high tide. The sea fascinated A more than anything else, as the last time we saw the sea was the North sea off Scotland when she was just 3, and she doesn't have any memory of it.

Went shopping with the entire gang (ladies and kids only) to Crawford Market built by the British in 1869 after travelling by the mumbai local trains. A was horrified by the crowd, the rush, and the chaos of both, but enjoyed the outing with her cousins.

Also checked out the extremely high end and absolutely unaffordable Palladium mall and the adjacent High Street Phoenix mall at the place where the famed Phoenix mills- cotton mills- were situated. The only place there that we could even think of buying something was the absolutely enormous Landmark, which had such a wide range of books that I could not do justice in terms of browsing. Picked up a few titles there- but of course. It was literally like getting into Alladin's cave for both A and I, and I plan to make a visit to just that one store on a later visit to Mumbai.

Made a family trip to the absolutely wonderful Tikuji-ni-wadi with brother and his family- A now had two cousins, my nephew aged 11 and niece aged 5 with her. It is very near the city, a few kilometers from my parents' house, but it is like stepping into another time zone. Of course there are the rides and the water parks that were fun for the kids, but the part I enjoyed most were that there was a sprawling chickoo orchard, with village style cots scattered around on which we could relax after a morning of activity and just chill. Which the sister-in-law and I did, as the brother took the kids off for rides. The food is very ordinary, though, just routine noodles-pizza-sandwich-chelpuri-other chaats stuff, not very inspiring. I was hoping for a homestyle gujju spread, and was much disappointed.

Immersed myself in many things marathi-

Typical food cooked by my mother- pithla bhakri, ambadichi bhaji, puraN poLi, kadhigoLe, waTli daL, waraNphaL, shrikand (home made) puri, and most of all, alphonso mango in many avataars. I even picked up aambawadi (a burfi like preparation from mango pulp), aambapoLi (alphonso pulp put out on plates and sundried), phaNaspoLi (made from jackfruit pulp), aambyacha satha (just a lump of dehydrated alphonso pulp).

I also picked up the all important Goda Masaala which is an important and indispensible ingredient of maharashtrian cuisine, and which is unfortunately not available anywhere. At least I have never found it. It is a difficult masaala to make at home, as it has many ingredients and is quite labour intensive. Something I have been too lazy to make at home, as my mother and grandmother always did.

pic courtesy lokvani.com

Took A to many Marathi theatre performances for children. The most notable of which was Durga Zali Gauri, a dance drama, which moves forward only in song and dance. A loved it, and we heard nothing but those songs for a few days. It is comparable to Agatha Christie's play "Mousetrap", in that it has been running to a full house for the last 29 years, and its popularity shows no sign of abating. Unfortunately, it has still not been released on DVD, but I picked up an audio CD at the time of the performance. Something I would recommend to any theatre lover visiting Mumbai during the summer vacations. Performances are only then, as the children acting in it are free at the time. I spoke to Arun Kakade, the person behind it all, about having shows in Bangalore. He was interested, and told me that he had spoken to some people here about it, but that the logistics of transporting a 50+ troupe of dancers, housing them, almost all children, was daunting. Our loss!

I went for a few Marathi theatre performances too- two of which were written by the noted playwright, Sai Paranjpye, better known outside of Maharashtra for her sensitively made movies like Katha, Chashhme Baddoor and Sparsh. Also saw a few Marathi movies- some on DVD and one in theatres- the newly released Bal Gandharva which is a biographical film based on the life of one of Marathi's greatest and pioneering singers, and actor Narayan Shripad Rajhans, better known by his alter-ego : Bal Gandharva.

On DVD, saw quite a few. Am convinced that regional movies have a lot more to offer on realistic and well made movies- of an extremely high calibre as compared to the staple bollywood fare. I can probably count those bollywood films that impressed me in the last five years on the fingers of my hand. I do not really know much about regional films in other Indian languages, but going by those that are aired on LokSabha channel, there are quite a few world-class movies being made. When will bollywood wake up and smell the celluloid?

Anyway, the ones I saw this time-

Rita, based on the book of the same name by renowned marathi writer Shanta Gokhale- it is the story of Rita Welingkar, the eldest of three daughters, who starts working at an early age when her no-good father loses his job, and pretty much becomes the parent for her sisters, inspite of having both her parents alive. On the way she gets into a relationship with her much older and much-married-with-kids boss. The movie captures very well Rita's struggle to make things more meaningful in her life- wonderfully played by Pallavi Joshi.

Mee Sindhutai Sapkal (I, Sindhutai Sakpal) based on her autobiography named Mee Vanvasi (I, the exiled), is the story of a poor woman born in rural Maharashtra- pulled out of school and married off at age 12 to a man more than twice her age, and her struggle for a life of dignity. She is thrown out by her husband, pregnant, near term, with her third child, on a false charge of infidelity. This is the story of how she stands up in dignity, not just for herself, but for the rights of many more of the downtrodden, establishing 5 orphanages in the process, and travelling to the US on invitation to raise funds. Sindhutai, or Mai as she is known, is a living legend, doing her work even today. Wonderful performances by the actors, the movie may be seen just for the underplayed performance of Tejaswini Pandit, who plays the protagonist in her youth, her real life mother, Jyoti Chandorkar playing the elderly Mai.

Went to a few book exihibitions exclusively for Marathi books. Found out that many of our favourite Tulika books are been published by Jyotsna Prakashan, a well known publishing house of Marathi children's books, at a fraction of the price, with full credits to Tulika's copyright.. Was thrilled on finding them. Picked up a lot of Marathi books for A and for myself. Now that she knows the Devanagari script, common to both Marathi and Hindi, A can read simple books on her own. Am really thrilled about it.

It goes without saying that both A and I read a lot of books including Harry Potter 6, which we will be finishing in a day or two. To be followed by book 7, so that we will be all set for the last movie due in mid-July.

Ate at a lot of interesting restaurants many times with family and friends, too many too enumerate. The high point was a small place where we ate home-style Malwani food. Yum!

Met a lot of my old friends after a loooooonnnngggg time.

Also met a new friend, Ugich Konitari, a wonderful blogger whose posts I love for the clear headed analysis of so many different things, done with a wry sense of humour. She has written a whole post here about our meeting. We met midway between our houses, and had lunch together at a mall where we even had icy cold gola for dessert. She was exactly as I had visualised her, and much more. It was lovely meeting you, Ugich.

Chilled out totally over our trip, and was back home with a few weeks to spare before school re-opened. Soon after we were back, A had her birthday party.

And we made mango pickle at home- A helped in lot in the process.

We also had a long awaited meet of Saffrontree members from Bangalore at Artnavy's lovely home.

Then there were the usual round of dentist, doctor, etc., shopping for school, and here we are. School has started!

It is never too late for mommy to learn

Sangi has tagged me with this very interesting tag. I need to pick out 5 things that being a mother has taught me. Hmmm...let's see.

1. Are you there, God?
I grew up in a household which put a lot of premium by God, prayers, going to temples, rituals, etc., but I was never convinced of the existence of the said almighty. If anything, I actively rebelled against all of what seemed to me to be a lot of foaming at the mouth over something that was not proven to be existing anyway.

Oh, I knew all the scriptures I was expected to know as a child- the mythology, the epics, the prayers, what could/could not be done- the works. I have to thank my grandmother for much of that.  Not complaining! It has definitely enriched me.

I was, however, entirely confused by a ritualistic approach to God- an insistance on the paraphernelia of religion- that one must have red flowers/ white flowers/ leaves of a particular plant/ coconuts, etc. for a God that seemed to me too petty to have wanted all that JUST SO. My belief thus bordered on atheism, but, as I feel sometimes, I threw the baby out with the bathwater. Pun not intended.

Having A was a miracle of sorts. I had her quite late, also having complications during pregnancy, a difficult labour and finally, an emergency C-section. The anxiety and heartache I went through during all this, and finally having her, healthy and whole, in my arms made feel that yes, there must be a God.

So did I finally get religion? Not quite. I cannot still abide by rituals. The occasional pooja I do, on festive days, is more to introduce this part of her culture to A, rather than for its own sake. I do not pray everyday, for then, I feel, it will become a meaningless ritual; or go that extra mile to get those red flowers/ white flowers, etc. I do pray the day I feel like praying, for, on that day, I know that my prayer is true and heart-felt, and it will certainly reach God. And A knows all the prayers, songs and stories that are part of her inheritance, her birthright as my grandmother's great-grand-daughter.

At times, I even feel close enough to God to quarrel or fight, if need be. When I feel the presense of the divine, my eyes close of their own accord and I bow my head. Spiritual yearnings? Maybe.

2. A smile in my heart.
"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new." Osho Rajneesh.

When I see the affection A has for younger children, the raptures she goes into over any baby, see the affinity younger children have for her, I think back to myself as a child- heck, myself as a grown-up and wonder over how different she is from me in this aspect. As an adult, I loved babies, still do, and am a natural in handling the extremely fragile lovelies. But I normally cannot have easy coversations with older kids, unless they share my interest in books. I was never what you would consider 'mother material'. I never fantasised over having babies as she does, never wanted to get the little kids in the neighbourhood together to raise rabble. I was fine with my book in my corner, inhabiting my imaginary world, thank you very much!

When I saw the two purple stripes, and later A's heart going 'twinkle, twinkle' at an impossible rate on the screen at an ultrasound, I realised how much I wanted my baby. Connecting with her when in utero was an out-of-this-world experience, and I was absolutely smitten by her once I had her in my arms.

Please bear with me over the next paragraph.

The day she was born was an extremely hot day even by Mumbai standards. Since all AC rooms were occupied at the time, I was moved to a non-AC room temporarily, just for one day's time. A could not yet suckle, and as a result she got dehydrated. She was taken away by the nursing staff on duty for some time (the nursing home believed in rooming in; babies were NOT taken away to the nurseries like in most hospitals those days. AND the obstetrician was a dear friend, who had hand-held me through my extremely difficult pregnancy, with me going ballistic over things that could go wrong- a distinct disadvantage of being in the know in medicine) on the doctor's orders, so that she could be given some glucose water orally to tide over till she could suckle. The panic I went into over that was unimaginable. This was my baby. Where were they taking her? Why? So what if these were doctor's orders? Couldn't they do whatever they needed to do right there, in front of me? Blah, blah, blah, blah...you fill it in.

Love is here to stay. Always, in my heart. No matter what, no matter when, no matter how.

3. They are not always right, nor always wrong.
As a child, I often thought my parents were always right in everything, until came a time when I thought just the reverse. Now they could do nothing right. And one's peers also thought the same of their parents at the same time. So I often ended up blaming my parents for things that I did not do right.

While some of it may be true, (see, I have a long way to go yet!) I realise now as hands-on mom that my parents always did that which they thought was right at the time, and what was humanly possible for them. The realisation has gone a long way in making my peace with them over issues we didn't see eye-to-eye.

Something I hope my daughter also realises over a period of time- that her mother is just human, and that I do the best I can do, the best I believe I should do. I hope to God that it is the right thing.

4. Just a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down!
Coming from a background where my mother was the rulebook, and considering that I rebelled against it wholeheartedly, sometimes even to my detriment, I always thought that with my child I would be different. I would not do this, or that, that I would always talk to my child, explain things, do things right. I am not saying that I had bad parents, just that they were very conservative, old-fashioned, and pretty much followed the norms of the times they lived in.

I was living in a fool's paradise. No, not till she came along, but till she learnt to stand up to me and say NO! WON'T! pretty early in her toddlerhood. A true-blue Taurean, she knew very well how to dig her heels in and...err...so did I.

I had to go great lengths to unlearn all that I had absorbed. As always, I took the help of books. It was a lot of trial, and much more of error. Still is sometimes. I learnt that logic works more wonders with A than putting my foot down. I need to back off and calm down, be less authoritarian. I who needs to get my act together if I am to make any headway with teaching this lovely but stubborn as a mule child of mine the right things. Blogs by friends who are wonderful parents, like Starry,  Choxbox  and  Sangi help. Their views and extremely clear headed analysis of so many little things often show me the light.

5. It is never too late to get an education.
Having a daughter taught me so many things.
*That one cannot learn everything from books.
*That I cannot bear it when she is in pain, but have to be strong enough for both of us to make it bearable.
*Everything that is humanly possible is certainly achievable, especially if your child needs it of you.
*The human body is amazing- and this doesn't include just what they teach you at medical school. One can survive on the barest minimum of sleep, oxytocin and lots of TLC.
*That much more can be achieved by being patient and explaining things instead of laying down the law.
*That sometimes one is only human and wishes one does not have to explain things so much but can lay down the law!:)
*That one can have conversations with an extra-chattery child where one can switch off and yet make satisfactory rejoinders.
*That even though one loves the child so much, one can wish that someone takes her away for the day, on the stipulation that she is returned in the evening safe and sound. Sending her off to school is the best option.
*That the best part of the day is when A comes home with a smile and a hug for mommy, followed closely by the time in the morning when everybody, including the husband, are out and one can finally rest one's errr...backside with a hot, steaming cup of tea.
*That children can ask the darnedest questions. And one never has an answer for them when they are asked in company.
*That one has absymal / long forgotten / outdated knowledge about the things children learn as early as in middle grade. And that one has to read up a lot to be able to keep up.
*That it is a lot of fun to do things together, and it does not always have to cost a bomb.
*That the best times we have spent together are when we have sat together on the bean-bags near the wide open windows, reading aloud to her in the light streaming in from a book I have loved and wanted to share with her.
*That one has to exercise tough love at times and settle for being the bad cop- mommies often are, as they are the ones usually around. That certainly goes for SAHM mothers like me, as also for working moms, though that bit is slowly changing.
*That there is no single rule about how things should be done, although a large portion of love, faith, hope, belief in oneself and patience is required on our plate.

I have to tag five others as part of the rules. I would like to tag Starry, Utbtkids, Ranjani, Crazy mum and Arundhati.  Let us know what you think, ladies. 

Sidney Poitier - Life Beyond Measure



Pic courtesy teachwithmovies.org

The first I heard of Sidney Poitier was quite by accident, and without a realisation about the phenomenon that he is. This was way back in 1997, when we were in the US, and I picked up an interesting sounding movie at my library. It was about a young couple in love, and the girl gets the boy home to meet her parents. The boy is an extraordinarily well-educated person, with a responsible job in the UN, and by all accounts, a dream suitor for anyone's daughter. Reminded me of the Elizabeth Taylor classic- Father of the Bride, now re-made with Steve Martin and Diane Keaton as the parents.

Ordinary stuff, one would think. Except that it wasn't. The girl in question is a Caucasian, and the boy an African-American. What followed was extraordinary stuff indeed, considering that the movie was made in 1967, at a time when an inter-racial marriage was a punishable offence in at least 19 states in the US.

A wonderful movie. The parents are played by two of my favourites, Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn, a real-life couple, and the protagonist, John Prentiss, played by Sidney Poitier, all three Academy award winners, assisted ably by the newcomer who plays Joanna, the daughter. This was also the last movie in which Spencer Tracy acted, and he passed away a mere 17 days after filming ended.

Instead of telling you how the movie unfolds, I'll ask you to click on this link for a look at the movie trailer. Go on, click on it. It's a wonderful trailer, and if you've never watched the movie, it is worth your time.

I was fascinated by Sidney Poitier, bowled over, infact, (had quite a crush on him, if that word may be used!)and I proceeded to search out and watch all movies in which he has acted, all that I could lay my hands on. There was To Sir, with Love, based upon an autobiographical book of the same name by E. R. Braithwaite. There was A Patch of Blue, about a black man befriending a visually inpaired white girl, In the Heat of the Night, a crime thriller. There was Lilies of the Field, for which Poitier received an Oscar in 1963, becoming the first African American to receive the award for the Best Actor, male. He was all of 37. (He has also since received an Academy Honorary Award, "for his extraordinary performances and unique presence on the screen and for representing the industry with dignity, style and intelligence")

In every movie, one is struck with Sidney Poitier's persona and screen presence, and I was convinced that he was probably one of the priviledged few at the time among African Americans, who had had a wonderful opportunity at education. We are speaking, of course, of the 40s, 50s and 60s, at a time when the Civil rights movement had yet to give the wonderful results that have given us people like the present President of the US.

So when I came across two books penned by Sidney Poitier, his autobiography- The Measure of a Man, (which I have yet to read) and Life Beyond Measure, which is a collection of letters he has written for his great-grand-daughter, for her to read and know about the living history of her people when she is grown-up, I was amazed by what I read.

LIFE BEYOND MEASURE

Letters to my great-grand-daughter

Written by Sidney Poitier

Published by Simon & Schuster

Poitier undertook the writing of this book as a series of letters written to his great grand daughter, born around the time he was in his 70s.

He tells her of his humble beginnings, born as the youngest of a brood of poor farming parents. They lived on the Cat islands, in the Carribean, and it was just chance that Sidney was born on American soil. His parents had come to sell some produce in Florida- a simple thing to do at a time when there were no visa restrictions.

He had next to no schooling, and could not read or write very well when he was sent to America to make his fortune at the ripe young age of 16. Working in New York as a dish-washer, he chanced upon an advertisement for actors at a local theatre, but was rejected on account of his poor command on 'good' English.

Here was a turning point. A lesser person may have just not bothered bettering himself, and continued with his ordinary life. Not Sidney. He took it up as a challenge, and with the help of an elderly waiter, tutored himself, and presented himself to the same theatre group a year later. And the rest is history.

Poitier's letters tell us about his take on life, opportunities, faith, religion, family, love, commitments, marriage, fear, work, scientific advancements, war, health, and yes, about death, too. He does not dwell much on the films he has made, except when he needed to make a point. We also learn a lot about African-American history along the way. All in an easy conversational style reminiscent of a fable.

A legacy from a great-great-grandfather to his great-great-grandfather.

Crossposted at Bookreviews.

Have entered this review in the 2011 Global Reading Challenge in North America.

Their need is greater than mine!

Not quite in my usual format. Too short for that But this is something I wanted to share.

Today A and I had gone out for a visit to the library and shoe-shopping. She had grown out of her play shoes, and so there we were, out on the road, walking to the shop from the library.

"Aai, I want to eat something." A.

"Do you want to eat your sandwich?" Me.

"No, something else." A suggestive look and a big grin. She knew that I had two 5-stars in my bag. For when we wanted a quick something.

"OK. You can eat one now." I took it out and gave it to her. Just then we happened to walk past a beggar woman sitting on the pavement with a small child, probably 2 yrs old. Thin, emaciated, in rags. Knowing A, I silently handed her a 2-rupee coin, which she put in front of the woman.

"Aai, why is the baby crying so much?" A.

"Maybe it is hungry." Me.

"So why doesn't it's mother give it something to eat?" A.

"She might not have anything to give it, A." Me.

"Then she should get it some food from the money we gave her."

"I'm not sure she will get anything for 2 rupees, A. Maybe she will collect some more money and then get food." Me.

A thoughtful silence for some time. "Aai, can I go back and give the baby my chocolate?"

We walked back. A gave the chocolate to the child, who forgot to cry and clutched at it.

"Good girl. Do you want the other chocolate?"

"OK!" Big smile as we walked away and I rummaged in my bag for the other 5-star. Just as I found it, we passed a man selling balloons, a 5-6 yr old girl with him. A stopped near them.

"A, if you want a balloon, I'll buy it after we finish with getting the shoes." Me.

"No Aai, I just wanted to give this chocolate to this girl. Even she looks hungry."

Big smiles on both our faces as we walked away, the girl looking at the chocolate in her hand.

I must give her a big treat. Many hugs already given. God bless you, A!