I wonder why …………….. V

Perplexing questions I have sometimes wondered about……on Sundays and holidays only, of course!  In a series to appear on these pages as and when I give them voice!!  Or keys on the keyboard!!!!

Why, o why was staying at home on the weekend a sure sign of nerdiness ?

Why, o why was it cool …………… to insist on going out every Friday night because it was the done thing to do ?

Why, o why was it cool …………… to be “seen” on the town as often as possible ?

Why, o why did people co-ordinate outfits when they were out “partying” ?

Why, o why was it cool …………… to get disgustingly drunk every weekend without fail ?

Why, o why was it chic not to understand “difficult” words in Marathi and insist on an explanation in English ?

Why, o why was it “cool” to be more familiar with cities outside India than with major cities in the country ?

Why, o why was it more “hep” to have cousins visiting from “phoren” than from places far nearer ?

How we have changed as years have gone by !  This is what my grand-mother called “growing up”, I think !

In the name of decorum ………….. part 2

Just a few of the things we are all forced to do in our lives ……………… in the name of decorum!

Festivities

1.  Wade through masses of “sms” messages received from unknown numbers showering the Season’s best wishes on your person!

2.  Listen attentively as neighbours elaborate their plans for consipicuous spending.

3.  Wince repeatedly as the brats infesting your neighborhood burn up more money than you earn bursting crackers as their parents wax eloquent about the damaged environment !

4.  Munch your way through masses of bought out Diwali “pharal” as you remember the chaklis various “maushis” spoilt you with down the years!

5.  Endure hordes of hungry, starved people at Roopali at 7 a m just because the “Diwali Pahat” shindig finished at 6.50 a m somewhere in the Deccan area.

I wonder why ……………………………….. IV

Perplexing questions I have sometimes wondered about ……on Sundays and holidays only, of course!  In a series to appear on these pages as and when I give them voice!! Or keys on the keyboard!!!!

This afternoon I participated in a ceremony that is as old as human civilisation, or almost!  I was part of a group of people that sat a friend down and gave her a piece (or several) of our mind!  We were not pleased with her actions of late, we self-righteously proclaimed, and it was high time she “listened to us” and “made repairs”!

Which is all very well, right?  But did we, as thinking, sentient (and sensitive, for the most part) individuals, have the absolute right to voice our opinions thus ?  Did we have any authority to tell her how she should be behaving as she approaches her mid-forties ?  Did we have any justification for the rumours we had heard from wagging tongues during her crisis ?  Were we not trampling some portion of her inaleinable rights underfoot as we prescribed modes of behavior with benefit of authority arising from the fact that we had thought of these modes ?

Tough questions, all with no definite right / wrong, black / white sort of clear answer!

We care deeply for her, yes!

We are concerned for her well-being, certainly!

We want to see her flourish and be happy, without a shadow of a doubt!

We would hate to see her hurt in any way, of course!

We are her friends!  Damn right we are!!!

And that is what gave us the momentary power, the absolute unquestionable might to lend her our counsel, wise, unwise or indifferent as it may prove to be! 

And that is where our authority stems from, from the bonds of friendship and the deep commitment they bring!

And that is why we were relentless, we hounded her until she listened, wide-eyed, to our pronouncements and suggestions / ordinances!

Our friendship gave us the right to be a mite cruel, perhaps, but our intentions were honorable!

And it is that very same friendship that compelled her to listen, consider, and, we hope, change her ways!

In the name of decorum

Just a few of the things we are all forced to do in our lives ……………… in the name of decorum!

Love and marriage

1.  Listen to career and family details of a bride or groom someone in your circle has finally found.

2.  Look interested when the upcoming nuptials are described in glorious elaboration that seems to last three days (as will the ceremonies!)!

3.  Show up at weddings where the only person you know, of the 1000 plus people present, is the one getting married!

4.  Wade through pages of photos on Facebook / Picasa because you were sent the link “for your comments.”

5.  Show up with a bouquet of flowers because you were not really sure if the couple expected gifts but you did not have the guts to show up emptry-handed.

Social life

1.  Agree to try out a new restaurant when dining out with friends because they say “so-and-so said it is good” although you do not trust that particular so-and-so’s culinary choices.

2.  Sit through monologues while a friend describes to his wife the “exotic” ingredients in each “main course” listed under “Continental” in a multi-cuisine restaurant.

3.  Accept sharing dishes you know you don’t fancy simply to get the drawn-out “order-placing” ceremony over and done with.

4.  Nod understandingly as an older relative recounts some disastrous experience in fine dining for the “n”th time: he is 82 after all!

5.  Persevere as boisterous and no-mannered offspring of other diners find that the 15-feet radius around your table is the ideal place in the entire room to play while their shameless parents enjoy their own meals in peace and quiet at the other end of the restaurant.

Death and Dying

1.  Not go to work the day an aged relative passes away.

2.  Show up at the funeral of a neighbour one barely knew when he was alive.

3.  Have a shocked expression on your face when you hear of someone you did not care about “passing on”!

4.  Remember the death anniversaries of a lot of people you do not remember.

5.  Change any part of your routine during the fifteen days of “pitru-pandhavda” because you want your ancestors to be at peace …..wherever they might be.

More of these and other anti-social thoughts as and when they happen !

Et alors?

Lors d’une conversation téléphonique il y a quelques jours seulement, une amie a expliqué que puisque ses parents ne la comprenaient plus depuis quelques jours, elle voulait sérieusement déménager de la maison paternelle et se trouver un appartement en ville.
Et alors ? vous me direz !
Mais, voyez-vous, ce projet, aussi « normal », anodin et banal que soit pour la France, va faire fureur en Inde !
Oui, parce que cette fille, elle habite en Inde, et la maison où elle ne veut plus vivre, c’est la maison de son père ! Et, comble d’audace : elle n’est pas mariée ! Ce n’est pas avec un mari dûment épousé dans une cérémonie extravagante qu’elle voudrait partir, mais seule ! Je ne vous dis pas !
Cette question épineuse de l’individualité face aux situations familiales difficiles a toujours posé problème en Inde. Normalement, dans les familles dites « ouvertes » aux idées Occidentales, et dont les enfants sont souvent partis se former à l’étranger, les perspectives familiales ne sont pas les mêmes, elles sont par définition plus relaxes, plus détendues. Ces familles respectent l’individu, la personne unique avec sa personnalité à elle, ses opinions, ses réactions, son état d’âme ! Bref, cette personne en tant que personne, quoi ! Bien différente, bien à part des autres de la même famille !
Cependant, puisque les traditions indiennes n’autorisent jamais une prise de conscience individuelle à l’Occidentale, chaque individu est figé dans un réseau complexe de relations et de responsabilités ! Ce réseau, aussi invisible (et aussi tenace) que le lien familial qui conjugue l’individu à plusieurs autres individus, exerce sa maîtrise totale et absolue sur la liberté individuelle. Pour une fille, il est donc interdit de penser à oser refuser le mariage à l’âge voulu par les parents (et aussi pour un garçon, quoique les garçons aient plus de liberté et de choix). Sans argument, sans piper mot, de milliers de jeunes filles acceptent le mariage et ainsi leurs souhaits, leurs rêves, leurs avenirs sont coupés courts par l’union matrimoniale !
Dire que dans un pays qui existe dans deux, trois, voire quatre siècles en même temps, étant donné les situations de la société vis-à-vis des domaines différents, il est difficile de gérer, quand on est fille, les envols de son imagination qui risquent de la pousser à l’encontre de l’opinion parentale !
Ce qui compte, pour une fille, après tout, c’est de faire son devoir de fille dévouée, obéissante et modèle ! Oui, elle a deux diplômes universitaires (ce que voulait son père); oui, elle sait faire la cuisine (grâce à sa mère) ; oui, elle est pleine de qualités (encouragée par ses cousins) ; oui, elle est très habile avec ses doigts (ça, c’est de sa grand-mère), et elle a tout le nécessaire pour se tailler une belle carrière en affaires (là, c’est l’auto-développement !)!
En affaires, vous dites ?
Ben, non ! Pas question !
Elle n’a qu’à écouter ses parents une fois de plus et d’accepter le parti le plus prestigieux qui se présente cette année !

I wonder why ……………………………….. II

Perplexing questions I have sometimes wondered about ……on Sundays and holidays only, of course! In a series to appear on these pages as and when I give them voice!! Or keys on the keyboard!!!!

At breakfast this morning, I was stunned to hear that a lawyer friend, who rarely has time to meet friends of long date, has acquired software to make his workday short and his output large! His new gizmo listens to him speak and “types” the text into a .doc file! He has asked me to go his office and witness this technological marvel for myself! I shall, one day, soon!

But I could not help shudder in disgust at the thought of such an invention! I agree that the computer keyboard has already replaced the entire range of writing instruments I have grown up knowing, coveting (my sister’s Parker ’71, for instance) , and loving upon acquisition (the same Parker pen after my sister’s marriage in 1974 but she does not know it yet !)! In school, fountain pens and their distinctly down-market cousins, the ball-point pen, were objects of lust, envy, greed, and sheer sensuous pleasure!

Every June, I remember, new fountain pens were always part of the arsenal we acquired to be able to persevere through the academic year, along with reams of brown paper to cover note-books, labels with exotic designs to proudly identify oneself as the owner of all the latest additons to the scholarly arsenal, and other paraphernalia which made the long school day bearable and even fun! Students today will never know the pleasure of dipping the very end of the fine nib into a bottle of Quink ink and trying out its distinctive penmanship on a pristine white sheet of paper! You had to move it this way and that to find the “groove” into which the pen would later settle, much like an old, comfortable pair of slippers one wears around the house and refuses to give up inspite of their age and decrepit condition! Then, with tongue slightly sticking out at a slant from the corner of one’s mouth, head cocked like an inquisitive bird’s to ensure perfect alignment of letters on the page, one looked at the accompanying adult to nod confirmation : this, one seemed to say, is the instrument of choice to overcome the academic year’s challenges!

Of course, the enthusiasm for one’s new fountain pen could be short-lived! Generally, enthusiasm did not wane for a moment the length of a term! But the Christmas break usually intervened, and well-meaning aunts or uncles unwittingly tolled the death knell of the pen so proudly acquired in June! Colourfully packed packages yielded newer, brighter, shinier, softer writing instruments which were then carefully put through their paces before being drafted into the scholarly battery tucked away in Camlin compass boxes! Older fighters from the ranks, even those of recent June vintage, were put out to pasture, exchanged with unsuspecting younger siblings or considerate parents and grand-parents!

Maybe somewhere there is a graveyard for old fountain pens that either outlived their performing years or were discarded on a whim! Maybe they were replaced in childish affections by newer objects! Maybe the downmarket ball-point pens took over the world before themselves being stamped out by the ubiquitous keyboard!

Generations hence, the keyboard too shall join the ranks of writing instruments once revered and then left behind during our long march towards what we are told, is progress!

Preparation for a homecoming

A friend who has enjoyed her NRI status for many years just asked on Facebook : “Why do people who work at the Embassy of India treat Indians like crap?” Quick as always, with my rapier wit at the ready, I responded : “Whether at the Embassy or at LHR, the premise is you are homeward-bound perhaps and this is their helpful way of getting you used to being treated like crap ! Sort of a "breaking in gently" to all you spoilt people who are used to politeness! HAH ! A little rudeness never hurt anybody !!!!!”

The caustic, yet tongue-in-cheek humor of my riposte (or re-post, heh heh heh!) may be lost on those of our fellow-citizens who live on the far side of the pond, since they are simply used to being treated politely all over the place (“May I help you” asked as a gratiuitous question when they step up to a desk that clearly says “information,” for example!). Those on the near side are used to be asked politely, I am told, whether they want ice with their Scotch on the rocks (personal experience on the Scottish border) or if they are being served (check BBC listings for rerun times!)

Every flight alighting in the country restores a few hundred of Mother India’s long-lost children to the maternal bosom every night at several airports all over the country. These lost lambs represent the finest flowering of India that has chosen to excel in all possible fields and then some! That such excellence tends to flourish miles away from the homeland is a sad commentary on the State of the Union (Indian, I mean, of course, but who is this poor blogger to dwell upon such Obamesque themes?) but this “mere trifle” (bagatelle) need not deter us here.

It is a now well-accepted fact that the gratin (top layer) of Indian achievers find their moment (or 15 such moments, if you want to believe everything that Andy Warhol supposedly said!) in the sun under horizons far from our own. Indeed, modern (read 21^st century) histories will recount in admirable detail the achievements of Indians in the diaspora (hereinafter referred to as the “d-word”!)¹ And so, on all five continents, there are Indians who excel. Let us not labor the point any further!

They blend in seamlessly with the local populations of every ethnic origin, and each continent has their stereotypes which have also found their way into public discourse! Thus, every village in the deepest recesses of Africa has seen a Patel set up shop, prosper beyond reasonable imagination and finally set off for the USA or Canada! Just as the French, those insular snobs of Europe, are getting used to the idea that IT is best left in Indian hands, be it for programming or for hunting down and eliminating the “bougs” in the système!

And yet, those eager hordes of long-lost lambs standing in patient lines at any international airport at ungodly hours of the night will turn into crass, rude, and boorish denizens who seem not to have seen the finer things in life (museums, art galleries) or heard the finer sentences of the English language (refer to paragraph about Scotch on the rocks above)! The will push, jostle, and thus rub shoulders with thebest of the best on suburban trains at rush hour in Mumbai or mob swanky movie screens in multiplexes! The need to be “there first” is visceral, and thus cuts down our national population by a few hundred during every festive season by way of stampedes and the like.

Why do the urbane, sophisticated, savvy NRIs lose their sheen within hours of landing in the country ? Why can they not “show the way” to those less fortunate than themselves by being role models for accepted behavior in civilised societies? Why must they sprawl all over the mattresses laid down for listeners at classical music concerts and then expect not to be pulled up (physically, if it were possible)?

Years ago, an El Al ground hostess asked me why passengers on an Air India 747 departing JFK every night jostled, pushed and pulled like mad to board the aircraft when they each clutched a boarding card and thus had an assured seat on the flight (the overbooked unfortunates were still arguing with unprofessional AI staff back at the check-in counters!). She had witnessed this same scene every night, she said, as she, barely 30 minutes later, helped a 747-full of orderly souls board an El Al flight to Tel Aviv. As a mere Third World student studying in the USA, I hung my head, said nothing, and drew imperceptible designs on the tiled floor of the terminal at JFK!

I did not know then, but I do now! It is all so simple ………… elementary even!

It all began with the “people who work at the Embassy of India” who gave these recent and not-so-recent US passport-holders their visas to go home!

Notes : ¹ Not to be confused with the "D company", a corporation that is single-handedly responsible for fighting unemployment, chronic poverty, and fosters sales of illegal arms, currency notes, and passports all over the, well, diaspora!

Of illusions and magic

Over dinner this evening, a friend waxed eloquent about illusionists who perform on TV and the sheer “magic” of their performances. This friend is an erudite, almost-50 year old who has recently stepped out of the commercial rat-race after holding important, key positions in it for years! And hence, this friend is by no stretch of the imagination either naïve or credulous!
But as he spoke of how he never misses a single episode of this show or that and then breathlessly recounted an entire episode or two, complete with grand gestures and impromptu vocal sound effects designed to impress, he appeared to have moved rapidly back in time and had clearly morphed into a 6 year-old with wide eyes and all the wonderment of innocence of that tender age!

I watched, transfixed! Not because I was swept up by the sudden enthusiasm my friend showed for what I consider “childish” entertainment, but I was impressed by the guileless eyes, the over-eager breathlessness, the need to convince that he displayed for those brief minutes! Yes, here was a child telling me about something that fascinated him, about something he desperately wanted to share with someone!

In my mind flashed the recent status messages of the more World Cup-crazed of my friends: how they instantaneously flashed their reactions to a game taking place in real time on another continent! Thus, while Sonali from Mumbai was grandiloquent in her lofty pronouncements, with all the elegance of language one associates with one of her training and breeding, others (Bhavesh from London, for example) were more pithy and down-to-earth, with a lot of “f**k” and whatnot thrown about like coriander and grated coconut on sabudana khichadi ! The linguistic analysis (and culinary comparisons) apart, those status messages, too, were the hasty, breathless, sharings of individuals who, for the duration of the World Cup tournament, have morphed into creatures who live, breathe, and exude football and the intricacies of the game! Although I know full well that they are otherwise normal, sentient contributors to the society they live in! Just like my friend went into a seizure over illusionists this evening!

What seems to get into these people? Is it the wonderment that something can be so wonderfully enjoyable, so invigorating, so fascinating? Is it that that “something” overpowers all other emotions and drives them to share, share, and share in an outburst of passion? That it morphs them into kids who look at our world wide-eyed as an illusionist makes doves appear out of thin air, or into fans who cannot believe that a ball kicked viciously in yet another attempt at a goal has nonchalantly sailed over the net?
I am not quite sure, really, but it all makes life magical, just the same!

I wonder why ……………………………….. I

Perplexing questions I have sometimes wondered about .............. on Sundays and holidays only, of course! In a series to appear on these pages as and when I give them voice!! Or keys on the keyboard!!!!

I

People who take themselves and their work far too seriously have been the object of my interest from an early age : I remember a neighbor who believed (very, very wrongly) that his adolescent son was God’s gift to Mankind and to his better half as well! Nothing the brat ever did, acquired, made, studied, managed or won was wrong / bad / fair to middling! No, it just had to be “first-class”! Spoken in Marathi, these two words attained a sonorous status their plebian English counterparts could hardly imagine! So, as we all plodded through life taking it one day at a time, Sudhir (the brat’s moniker) breezed through all life’s activities with only one label for all results : “first class”!

This meant that Sudhir’s academics were covered with a patina of Oxon-worthiness, for back in the days of yore, a “first class” (over 60%) in standards 8, 9, 10, and 11 (yes Portia, they did have 11 classes back then for the school to extract it’s legitimate pound of flesh!)! was a sure-fire indicator for even greater academic excellence to come! He was destined for Higher Things, we were told breathlessly by his doting Paterfamilias.

Everything rolled along swimmingly well, on all four motors, so to speak! Sudhir worked for his S.S.C. examinations like an Olympian athlete would to take part in a school 100 mts. trot! He oozed self-confidence and declared he had finished revising “several times over before the Christmas holidays”! His notes, scribblings and random jottings were prized by duffers in the class whose anxious parents ingratiated themselves to Sudhir père by all means possible! Several weeks before the dreaded examinations dawned, it was all but over, or so it seemed, for this prize student of Jangli Maharaj Road! He, I am sure, could taste success long before the examination papers had been set, misspelt and printed!

Nature, she who had generously poured of Her best into the mould that was strictly single-use, decided to play a trick on Her own creation! The day before the examinations (it was a Sunday, for all self-respecting academic institutions started exams on a Monday so they finished properly on the weekend) Sudhir woke up scratching several pustules on his confident countenance and ram-rod back! Chickenpox, was the verdict delivered with serious concern by a doctor who was hastily summoned to treat his famous patient! And then the cruel axe fell like the guillotine used to in Paris : no examinations for Sudhir that year for fear of infecting the other, not-so-bright particles of the working classes!

Rarely has so much pain been inflicted by one single individual on an entire neighbourhood! Single-handedly, Sudhir’s father recounted the sorry state of affairs to anyone who happened to be within a mile of the quarantined residence! He raved, he ranted, he cursed family dieties and their entire entourages with impunity, such was his rage at being cheated out of “first-class” success, vicarious as it may be!

And from that day to this, I have asked myself the following question : “In the grand scheme of things, in the Lord’s creation, wherein the Music of the Spheres gave so much pleasure to our ancestors, did Sudhir’s performance (or non-performance that unfortunate year of the Chickenpox) at the S.S.C. exam really matter that much?”

Half a century for'ard!

50 ! Half a century and what do I show for it ?

For about the last five months, a slow but sure "menopausal" feeling has crept over me in those daily, private moments between wakefulness and sleep. I ask myself the question with trepidation: “At 50 years of age, what do I have to show for this time spent on the planet?” And I admit that I have lain awake for several minutes longer whenever this question hovers over me, menancingly, it seems!

Fifty is probably one of those shared milestones which goad people into self-examination, self-doubt and self-castigation!

That has been my experience, certainly!

A casual examination of my current status in the light of “accepted” norms shows the extent to which I am a non-starter! First, where is the “wife and kids” unit that is supposed to complete the individual? In my case, it does not exist! Second, where are the obvious trappings of success that are taken for granted by “People Like Us”? Where is the car, for example, or the farmhouse? The zillion-inch LCD flat-screen TV? Where are the memberships to tony clubs? Alas, my poor old Activa is the only means of transportation I possess, and the messy bedroom the only haven into which I duck for succour in my more angst-ridden moments! For the club memberships, I have never thought of plunking down lakhs of rupees to be able to swill low cost whiskey and pretend to use the gym! Besides, considerate friends always invite me to such places when required!

Well, then, for all practical points of view, this case is doomed from the start!

Or is it?

I think not!

Agreed, I may not be saddled by the trappings of what constitutes “success” to others! But I am successful in my own way. I have overcome chronic diffidence and the fear of the unknown. I have been able to gulp hard and face adversity in a variety of forms: poverty and the attendant hunger and deprivation; uncertainty and the accompanying nervousness; nail-biting tension and stress; and in recent times, stress on the job!

Yes, I was able to overcome. I persisted and achieved. I vanquished and attained. I persevered and suffered fools gladly!

I was able to do my job the best way I could : with enjoyment and love, with care and affection. 26 years spent in a profession that allows me to remain connected to youngsters who, while they shake their heads with amazement at my “old-fashioned” ways, are quick to bring me to speed in their fast-paced world.

I was able to connect with kindred spirits who dedicate their lives to bringing the light of knowledge to our future generations. I was able to observe Masters at work, weaving their particular brand of magic in a classroom, juggling difficult points of grammar with dexterity. I have seen language pundits draw students into poetry, dazzle the audience with verbal pyrotechnics! And I have watched philosophers philosophise on the essential human condition. From each, I know, I have gleaned pinpricks of illumination that light my path and the ones my own students will tread.

And that, I believe, is where my brand of success truly lies!

On y va ! / Here goes !

Quelques petits mots pour commencer ………………

Ceci n’est pas un blog strictement parlant.

Ceci n’est qu’un espace créateur où je pense afficher, de temps à autre, quelques lignes griffonnées au clavier.

Ceci n’est pas de la littérature, bien évidemment, mais tout simplement un partage, un souffle de ce qui me trotte dans la tête. Et que je ne peux plus ignorer comme je le faisais depuis quelques deux décennies déjà !

Me voici donc, venu à la rencontre de ceux et de celles qui feront une petite pause sur cette page.

Que vos moments passés ici soient agréables, et que vous repartiez tous et toutes avec un brin de compréhension de ce monde satané où nous vivons !

A few words to begin ………………..

This is not strictly just a blog.

This is just a creative space where I plan to put up, from time to time, a little of what comes into my head. Things I “jot” down on my keyboard.

Of course, none of this is literature. It is just a sharing, a breath of all that comes to mind. Things I can no longer ignore the way I have now done for a few decades already!

So here I am, to meet all those who will tarry awhile on these pages.

May your time here be well spent, and may you continue on your voyage refreshed, with a little more understanding of the cruel world we inhabit!

Quelques petits mots pour commencer / A few words to begin

Quelques petits mots pour commencer ………………

Ceci n’est pas un blog strictement parlant.

Ceci n’est qu’une espace créatrice où je pense afficher, de temps à autre, quelques lignes griffonnées au clavier.

Ceci n’est pas de la littérature, bien évidemment, mais tout simplement un partage, un souffle de ce qui me trotte dans la tête. Et que je ne peux plus ignorer comme je le faisais depuis quelques deux décennies déjà !

Me voici donc, venu à la rencontre de ceux et de celles qui feront une petite pause sur cette page.

Que vos moments passés ici soient agréables, et que vous repartiez tous et toutes avec un brin de compréhension de ce monde satané où nous vivons !

A few words to begin ………………..

This is not strictly just a blog.

This is just a creative space where I plan to put up, from time to time, a little of what comes into my head. Things I “jot” down on my keyboard.

Of course, none of this is literature. It is just a sharing, a breath of all that comes to mind. Things I can no longer ignore the way I have now done for a few decades already!

So here I am, to meet all those who will tarry awhile on these pages.

May your time here be well spent, and may you continue on your voyage refreshed, with a little more understanding of the cruel world we inhabit!