आज सुबह माँ से बात हुई तो पता चला कि मेरी एक भतीजी की शादी तय हो गई है और दस दिन बाद उसकी गोद भराई की रस्म है। लड़का एक बहु राष्ट्रीय कंपनी में अफ़सर है। मेरे भाई एक डिग्री कालेज में रीडर हैं और मेरी भतीजी एम एस सी पास है। विवाह अगले नवंबर में होगा।
यहाँ तक तो खुशी की बात थी । पर इसके आगे की बात सुन कर मैं सोच में पड़ गई। गोद भराई की रस्म में दूसरे शहर से पच्चीस लोग आ रहे हैं, जिनके ठहरने, खाने-पीने, स्वागत सत्कार और विदाई के उपहार का ’डीसेंट’ इंतज़ाम करना है। यह भी आग्रह है कि लड़के को तनिष्क की ही हीरे की अंगूठी पहनाई जाए ("यदि आप इंतज़ाम न कर सकें तो हमें बता दें, हम साथ ले आएंगे, आप सिर्फ़ बिल चुका दीजिएगा")। गोद भराई की वेन्यू स्टैंडर्ड की होनी चाहिये नहीं तो उनके रिश्तेदार क्या कहेंगे? उनके घर के पहले लड़के की शादी है इसलिए पूरा परिवार लड़की से मिलना चाहता है, कोई नवंबर तक रुकने को तैयार नहीं, सो सबको लाना पड़ रहा है- यह सब जता दिया गया है।
मैं भाई के माथे पर पड़ती चिंता की रेखाओं की कल्पना कर रही हूँ। अध्यापक आदमी, वेतन ही कितना मिलता है। किसान पिता कुछ छोड कर नहीं गए थे सो मकान का इंतज़ाम, दो ब़च्चों की शिक्षा सब इसी नौकरी के भरोसे किया। खींच तान कर बेटी की शादी के लिए कुछ पैसे जोड़े थे, उसमें से आधे तो गोद भराई के समारोह में खर्च हो जाएंगे। शादी में क्या होगा? उस समय और चीज़ों के साथ कार की माँग भी है। बुढा़पे के लिए जो प्राविडेंट फ़ंड जोड़ा था, उसमें से निकालेंगे, काफ़ी कुछ उधार भी लेना पडे़गा। लड़की सत्ताइस साल की हो गई है, वह किसी भी कीमत पर हाथ आए रिश्ते को जाने नहीं दे सकते।
मुझे विवाह के विशाल आयोजन की रोज़ रोज़ बढ़ती इस प्रथा पर ही कोफ़्त होती है। पहले सिर्फ़ विवाह बड़ा समारोह होता था। सगाई और संगीत नितांत घरेलू मामले होते थे जिनमें गिने चुने मेहमानों को घर में ही बना चाय नाश्ता करा दिया जाता था। अब यह दोनों भी बडे़ समारोह बन गए हैं जिनके लिए हाल बुक करना होता है, सजावट होती है, डी जे बुलाया जाता है,केटरिंग कराई जाती है। पहले सोने के गहने काफ़ी होते थे, अब हीरों के सेट के बिना दहेज पूरा नहीं माना जाता। रोज़ रोज़ हमें बताया जो जा रहा है कि Diamonds are a girl's best friends. जीते जागते लोग नहीं, हीरे आपके सच्चे दोस्त हैं। शादी के नाम पर एक पूरी इंड्स्ट्री चालू हो गई है। पत्रिकाएं विवाह विशेषांक छापती हैं जिसमें पैसे खर्च करने के एक हज़ार तरीके सुझाए जाते हैं। जिनके पास पैसा है, वह शादी में बेतहाशा खर्च करना एक स्टेटस सिंबल समझते हैं। जिनके पास नहीं है, वह उनकी नकल में बूते से ज़्यादा खर्च करते हैं, चाहे इसके लिए उन्हें घर गिरवी रख कर कर्ज़ ही क्यों न लेना पडे़। शादी एक संस्कार न रह कर एक तमाशा बन कर रह गई है।
मुझे आज के युवा वर्ग पर आश्चर्य होता है, अफ़सोस भी। अच्छी शिक्षा व नौकरी होने के बावज़ूद लड़के को इस बेमतलब के खर्चे में कोई बुराई नहीं नज़र आ रही है। उसके बाप का पैसा थोड़े ही खर्च हो रहा है? यहाँ तो जिसके बाप का पैसा खर्च हो रहा है, उसे भी कोई परेशानी नहीं है। लड़की हज़ारों का लहँगा खरीद कर लाई है मौके के लिए। ब्यूटी पार्लर का पैकेज बुक किया है। वेन्यू की सजावट के लिए खर्चीला डेकोरेटर उसने पसंद किया है। उसकी गोद भराई क्या रोज़ रोज़ होगी? पिताजी का पैसा जाए तो जाए। आखिर बेटी पैदा करने की गलती की है, अब पैसा खर्च करने से क्यों घबरा रहे हैं?
मुझे खीझ होती है आज की शिक्षा प्रणाली पर जो लोगों को सही-गलत में अंतर करना नहीं सिखा पाती। जो नहीं सिखा पाई मेरे पी एच डी भाई को कि किसी की अनुचित माँग के आगे झुकना गलत है, कि उन्हें यह सारे पैसे खर्च करने ही थे तो अपनी बेटी की ऐसी शिक्षा दिलाने में खर्च करने चाहिए थे जो उसे स्वावलंबी बनाती, एक बोझ नहीं जिसे वह अपने कंधे से उतार कर किसी और के कंधे पर डाल रहे हैं। जो नहीं सिखा पाई मेरी एम ए, बी एड भाभी को कि अगर उनकी बिरादरी के लड़के बिना दहेज लिए उनकी सुंदर, शिक्षित बेटी से शादी करने के लिए तैयार नहीं हैं, तो वह उनकी बेटी के लायक नहीं हैं और उन्हें अपनी जात बिरादरी की ज़िद छोड़ कर ऐसे लड़के की तलाश करनी चाहिए थी जिसकी दॄष्टि में लड़की के गुणों का मूल्य होता। जो नहीं समझा पाई मेरी भतीजी को कि अगर शादी की टीम टाम और आडंबर की कीमत पिता को कर्ज़ में डुबाना है तो यह कीमत बहुत ज़्यादा है और चुकाने योग्य नहीं है। जो नहीं सिखा पाई उस लड़के को कि स्वाभिमान किस गुण का नाम है और यह कि दहेज में हीरे की अँगूठी और कार माँगने की बजाय उसे अपनी कमाई पर विश्वास होना चाहिए। नहीं सिखा पाई उसके माता पिता को कि बाहरी दिखावे के लिए आग्रह करके और दहेज माँग करके वह अपनी हैसियत एक याचक की बना ले रहे हैं।
इस विवाह में शामिल होना मेरे लिए ज़रूरी होगा, पर मुझे नहीं लगता कि इस नाटक के किसी भी पात्र की मैं कभी इज़्ज़त कर पाऊँगी।
A weekend in Udupi and Manipal
A few days ago Niranjan and I spent a weekend with our friends Lavanya and Madhav Shanbhag in Manipal. Both of them are ex- Indian Army and are at present, educationists. Lavanya is a Professor in the dept of Opthalmology in Manipal Medical College and Madhav is the Director of The Institute of Jewelery Design and Management. We spent an interesting two days with them in Manipal.
The nearest town to Manipal, six km away, is Udupi, which is the originating place for the numerous Udupi restaurants dotting the world map, famous for serving authentic South Indian food. Ironically, there is no Udupi restaurant in Udupi with a decent sitting area and ambience, where one can enjoy south Indian food at leisure. Most eating places of this town are barely functional. So we stuck to home food and enjoyed typical Mangalorean cousine on all our meals while we were there, cooked by a seemingly tireless Lavanya and served on banana leaves . Lavanya keeps a very busy schedule, but loves cooking and made sure that we sampled the best of dishes of that particular region.
The day we arrived in Manipal, Madhav and Lavanya took us around the old and famous temples of Udupi. Udupi is a well known temple town of south Karnataka, drawing a huge number of pilgrims from all over India. Its most famous temple, the Krishna temple has an interesting story attached to it. A couple of hundred years ago, a devotee , Kanaka Das, was denied entry in the temple on the ground of his low caste. He was very upset and disappointed at not being able to avail 'darshan' of Lord Krishna. He stood by the sidewall of temple and cried out to the Lord and made his distress on being denied entry in His house known to Him. As the folklore goes, a crack appeared in the side wall and a part of it fell off creating a window in it to enable Kanaka Das to see the Lord. And then the statue of the Lord Krishna moved and turned its face towards that window so that Kanakadas could see the front view of Lord's face. That position of the statue remains till date. The devotees who enter the temple from the main entrance get side view of Lord Krishna. For getting front view of the face, they have to go to the window on the side wall.
In Udipi temples, the 'Rath Yatra', in which the statue of the Lord is taken around in a Rath pulled by devotees to the accompaniment of drums and other musical instruments, is a frequent event and there are many Raths for the purpose. Besides the important festival days, the devotees can request for a Rath Yatra on their behalf by offering some money to the Lord. Depending upon the size of the offering, they are granted the privilege of a taking the God for a ride on a small (about 20 feet high), medium sized, big(about sixty feet high), silver or a golden Rath. The evening we went around the Udupi temples, we saw a Rath Yatra in progress. The well lighted and decorated Rath carrying the statue of the Lord was being pulled by men and women of all ages while some other people danced along its way, some were lighting up camphor on its path and some were beating the drums. It made a magnificent visual.
Manipal, though nearby, is away from the hustle and bustle of Udupi and is fairly self sufficient. It is an educational township with a University which constitutes twenty two educational institutes - most famous among them being the Kasturba Medical College and Hospital. Others are engineering college, law college, college of management, college of education, college of nursing, college of pharmacy, college of jewelery design etc. We spent an afternoon exploring Manipal institutes.
Manipal institutes are in modern, well maintained buildings and are excellently equipped with libraries and labs. The Medical college has a museum-something pretty unusual in any medical college of our country. It has a large collection of actual body parts, carved intricately so that one can see all the arteries, veins and nerves inside, preserved in formalin. One can look at the heart and see its auricles, ventricles, arteries, veins, valves etc. There were different sections devoted to different body parts- hands, feet, liver, brain, lungs, stomach etc. Seeing all these specimens made us wonder what a complex machine a human body is. A section was devoted to human fetuses of all ages, right from one week after conception to the time just before its birth. One week old fetus was about a quarter of an inch long lump. A five week old fetus was an inch long and had developed its limbs. Seeing step by step development of human life form was awe-inspiring.
Manipal has a beautiful beach- Malpe. We drove to it one evening to see the sunset. Walking on the wet sand along the wind swept beach was a pleasure indescribable in words. There were motor boats and sea-mobikes in the sea for the benefit of the tourists. Curiosity got better of us and we agreed to take a short ride on a sea-mobike there. Niranjan sat behind the driver clutching him and I sat behind Niranjan. As the sea mobike drove fast into the sea, it violently jumped over the waves every five seconds or so. I clutched Niranjan tight and concentrated on not falling off the contraption. It was fun nevertheless and got over too soon.
Next morning we left for Mangalore ,which is about sixty kilometers from Manipal by a bus. After seeing some city sights there we took a train to our present home town, Bangalore.
The nearest town to Manipal, six km away, is Udupi, which is the originating place for the numerous Udupi restaurants dotting the world map, famous for serving authentic South Indian food. Ironically, there is no Udupi restaurant in Udupi with a decent sitting area and ambience, where one can enjoy south Indian food at leisure. Most eating places of this town are barely functional. So we stuck to home food and enjoyed typical Mangalorean cousine on all our meals while we were there, cooked by a seemingly tireless Lavanya and served on banana leaves . Lavanya keeps a very busy schedule, but loves cooking and made sure that we sampled the best of dishes of that particular region.
The day we arrived in Manipal, Madhav and Lavanya took us around the old and famous temples of Udupi. Udupi is a well known temple town of south Karnataka, drawing a huge number of pilgrims from all over India. Its most famous temple, the Krishna temple has an interesting story attached to it. A couple of hundred years ago, a devotee , Kanaka Das, was denied entry in the temple on the ground of his low caste. He was very upset and disappointed at not being able to avail 'darshan' of Lord Krishna. He stood by the sidewall of temple and cried out to the Lord and made his distress on being denied entry in His house known to Him. As the folklore goes, a crack appeared in the side wall and a part of it fell off creating a window in it to enable Kanaka Das to see the Lord. And then the statue of the Lord Krishna moved and turned its face towards that window so that Kanakadas could see the front view of Lord's face. That position of the statue remains till date. The devotees who enter the temple from the main entrance get side view of Lord Krishna. For getting front view of the face, they have to go to the window on the side wall.
In Udipi temples, the 'Rath Yatra', in which the statue of the Lord is taken around in a Rath pulled by devotees to the accompaniment of drums and other musical instruments, is a frequent event and there are many Raths for the purpose. Besides the important festival days, the devotees can request for a Rath Yatra on their behalf by offering some money to the Lord. Depending upon the size of the offering, they are granted the privilege of a taking the God for a ride on a small (about 20 feet high), medium sized, big(about sixty feet high), silver or a golden Rath. The evening we went around the Udupi temples, we saw a Rath Yatra in progress. The well lighted and decorated Rath carrying the statue of the Lord was being pulled by men and women of all ages while some other people danced along its way, some were lighting up camphor on its path and some were beating the drums. It made a magnificent visual.
Manipal, though nearby, is away from the hustle and bustle of Udupi and is fairly self sufficient. It is an educational township with a University which constitutes twenty two educational institutes - most famous among them being the Kasturba Medical College and Hospital. Others are engineering college, law college, college of management, college of education, college of nursing, college of pharmacy, college of jewelery design etc. We spent an afternoon exploring Manipal institutes.
Manipal institutes are in modern, well maintained buildings and are excellently equipped with libraries and labs. The Medical college has a museum-something pretty unusual in any medical college of our country. It has a large collection of actual body parts, carved intricately so that one can see all the arteries, veins and nerves inside, preserved in formalin. One can look at the heart and see its auricles, ventricles, arteries, veins, valves etc. There were different sections devoted to different body parts- hands, feet, liver, brain, lungs, stomach etc. Seeing all these specimens made us wonder what a complex machine a human body is. A section was devoted to human fetuses of all ages, right from one week after conception to the time just before its birth. One week old fetus was about a quarter of an inch long lump. A five week old fetus was an inch long and had developed its limbs. Seeing step by step development of human life form was awe-inspiring.
Manipal has a beautiful beach- Malpe. We drove to it one evening to see the sunset. Walking on the wet sand along the wind swept beach was a pleasure indescribable in words. There were motor boats and sea-mobikes in the sea for the benefit of the tourists. Curiosity got better of us and we agreed to take a short ride on a sea-mobike there. Niranjan sat behind the driver clutching him and I sat behind Niranjan. As the sea mobike drove fast into the sea, it violently jumped over the waves every five seconds or so. I clutched Niranjan tight and concentrated on not falling off the contraption. It was fun nevertheless and got over too soon.
Next morning we left for Mangalore ,which is about sixty kilometers from Manipal by a bus. After seeing some city sights there we took a train to our present home town, Bangalore.
A bus trip to Mangalore
Last week at 9 pm one evening my husband Niranjan and I boarded a AC sleeper night bus in Bangalore to travel to Mangalore. The journey takes roughly ten hours and the bus was to reach Mangalore at 7 am next morning. As we got the bus, we stopped and stared around in amazement. It was not like any bus we had seen earlier. There was a passage along both sides of which there were berths in two tiers. On the right side of the passage, the berths were of the size that we get when we travel in three tier AC compartment of a train-about six feet long and two and a half feet wide. However, it was the size of the berths at the left side of the passage that startled us. There were supposed to be two berths there, but instead we found there a single queen size double bed- about six feet long and four and a half feet wide. It was a typical double bed alright, with a decent foam mattress, one plain bed sheet which had seen better days, two pillows and two blankets folded neatly at the foot. There wasn't even a token partition of a curtain or a pillow or a separation of some kind on the double bed. And yes, since the whole bus was two tiered, so there were some lower double beds and some upper double beds. There were curtains to shield all berths/double beds from prying eyes and to provide them complete privacy.
Niranjan and I sat on our bed wondering what would two strangers do for achieving privacy if all the single berths were booked already and they ever had the misfortune to get one of the left side berths (say-one half of the double bed). In case the person who had window side portion of the double bed needed to get off the bed, he would have to jump over his/her sleeping berth- mate. However, that was not the worst thing that could happen to him as we learnt later in the course of our journey.
Niranjan and I sat on our bed wondering what would two strangers do for achieving privacy if all the single berths were booked already and they ever had the misfortune to get one of the left side berths (say-one half of the double bed). In case the person who had window side portion of the double bed needed to get off the bed, he would have to jump over his/her sleeping berth- mate. However, that was not the worst thing that could happen to him as we learnt later in the course of our journey.
As the bus started, we both lay down on our double bed tried to relax and sleep. I had chosen the window side of berth. The bus reached the highway and it picked up speed. Then the unexpected fun began.
We had to negotiate some ghats(hilly areas) as we drove towards Mangalore. Every time the bus took a sharp right turn, Niranjan rolled and collided with me as I rolled towards the bus wall. The roll in the opposite direction happened every time the bus took a left turn and the only reason we did not fall off the bed in the passage was the metal ladder which was midway along the length of the bed for the use of the upper double bed users and which stopped our free fall. In between all these collisions all the examples that we had studied about the centrifugal force in our high school Physics text books came back to haunt us. After our first giggles at our predicament were over,we began envying the single berth owners who did not have so much rolling space and as a result were being thrown about by much less distances.
Since there was no partition between us, we could not help colliding with each other. I suppose the same thing was happening on all the double beds, more so on the ones on the upper story. As we found it impossible to sleep with all these jerks and collisions, we decided that our best option would be to hold each other tight and try to sleep. That way, there would be two advantages, Firstly, we would be saved from the collisions. Secondly, because of the increased mass of our combined body mass, the inertia would be much more and rolling of the two- body- bundle would be slower and the collision with the bus wall would be less forceful. And I am not even talking about the romantic connotations involved!
All the pieces of luggage stored under the beds and the footwear of all passengers followed the same laws of centrifugal force and were sliding with the turns of the bus on the winding road making us wonder how we would locate and untangle our respective possessions in that haphazard mass. To top it all this inconvenience the driver declared that we would be given just one fifteen minute break in our ten hour ordeal of a journey. He rode roughshod over the protests of the passengers saying that he has to get the passengers to Mangalore early in the morning as some of them have to attend offices that day.
In spite of the incessant tossing and turning we managed to get some broken bits of sleep and reached Mangalore in one piece each in reasonably good state of health. Still, I do not think I would ever dare to undertake another bus journey on this route aboard the sleeper night bus in a hurry. However, I will definitely advise it to couples who are encountering some cooling off in there relationship.....it just might help and rekindle the old passions!
We had to negotiate some ghats(hilly areas) as we drove towards Mangalore. Every time the bus took a sharp right turn, Niranjan rolled and collided with me as I rolled towards the bus wall. The roll in the opposite direction happened every time the bus took a left turn and the only reason we did not fall off the bed in the passage was the metal ladder which was midway along the length of the bed for the use of the upper double bed users and which stopped our free fall. In between all these collisions all the examples that we had studied about the centrifugal force in our high school Physics text books came back to haunt us. After our first giggles at our predicament were over,we began envying the single berth owners who did not have so much rolling space and as a result were being thrown about by much less distances.
Since there was no partition between us, we could not help colliding with each other. I suppose the same thing was happening on all the double beds, more so on the ones on the upper story. As we found it impossible to sleep with all these jerks and collisions, we decided that our best option would be to hold each other tight and try to sleep. That way, there would be two advantages, Firstly, we would be saved from the collisions. Secondly, because of the increased mass of our combined body mass, the inertia would be much more and rolling of the two- body- bundle would be slower and the collision with the bus wall would be less forceful. And I am not even talking about the romantic connotations involved!
All the pieces of luggage stored under the beds and the footwear of all passengers followed the same laws of centrifugal force and were sliding with the turns of the bus on the winding road making us wonder how we would locate and untangle our respective possessions in that haphazard mass. To top it all this inconvenience the driver declared that we would be given just one fifteen minute break in our ten hour ordeal of a journey. He rode roughshod over the protests of the passengers saying that he has to get the passengers to Mangalore early in the morning as some of them have to attend offices that day.
In spite of the incessant tossing and turning we managed to get some broken bits of sleep and reached Mangalore in one piece each in reasonably good state of health. Still, I do not think I would ever dare to undertake another bus journey on this route aboard the sleeper night bus in a hurry. However, I will definitely advise it to couples who are encountering some cooling off in there relationship.....it just might help and rekindle the old passions!
Asha Kiran
I remember my first day at Asha Kiran. Standing at the entrance of the single 12 'X 14' feet room, I looked inside with curiosity. There were fifty odd kids, aged between five to twelve years, sitting on plastic mats spread on the ground in a single large group. They had slates and chalk pieces in their hands and they were busily copying numbers written on the blackboard that was fixed on a wall. Their were three plastic chairs in three corners of the room, on each of which three teachers were sitting. Each of the teacher was surrounded by a cluster of children showing their slates to her to get them checked.
Nina, the teacher who was the teacher-in-charge, came to me smiling. As I introduced myself to her, she asked me, "Do you want to help?"
When I replied in affirmative, she briskly ordered a child to place a plastic chair on the fourth corner and led me to it. "You take charge of the children who are lagging behind. This is Tina, this is Pooja, this is Soni and this is Raza Ul. And yes, you can take Yogesh too. He has just come from his village in Bihar and is a bit lost around here. Children, this is your new teacher, her name is Vandana. Go to her with your slates." And she busily sauntered off to her own chair. I took me a few moments to adjust myself to the new setup. As I sat in my chair and looked at the little faces looking at me expectantly, I knew, I was at the right place.
When I took my chair, I found myself surrounded by a few other kids besides the ones specially assigned by Nina. They were an enthusiastic lot, each wanting to have something written on his or her slate which they could copy and show it for approval. As I sat among the kids the first day, I looked at their faces and tried to remember their names. Gradually, over a period of time, I got to know them and their individual traits. Some children just stood out of the crowd. Like little Feroza, who had a mind of her own and would do just what she wanted to do. If I tried to get her to learn to write the numbers on her slate when she wanted me to draw a sketch of a flower on it, she would look at me with disapproval, take her slate from my hands and saunter over to the farthest corner of the room to another teacher. She would agree to let me teach her anything, only if I taught her what she wished to learn on that particular day. If I did not agree to that, then I could go and sell my wares elsewhere! Then there was Tina, who adopted me as her favourite teacher and became highly possessive about me. She would sit on the mat as near to me as possible, almost clinging to my legs while she would do her work. She was so eager to please me that she would happily do double the work I would assign to a child usually, just to get my approval and a smile. Pooja was the shy one- after finishing her task, she would keep looking in my direction continuously till she caught my eye and till I called her to me by name to show me what she had written on her slate. Jitendra was the creative one. After completing his work, he would decorate it with flowers and patterns on the borders.
Asha Kiran, run by a local NGO, is a school for slum children. Most of the children who come here are from the lowest strata of the society. Some are offspring of house-maids and others' parents are migrant labourers from Bihar, Orrisa or UP, working on daily wages at various construction sites of the city. In search of livelihood people from the villages of these states come to the city. After reaching here, they organise a shelter in the shape of a jhuggi with the help of some bamboo poles, tarpuline sheets and jute rugs and then pick up whatever job they can lay their hands upon to feed and clothe themselves. Education is pretty low on their list of priorities. Asha Kiran caters to the children from such families.
I learnt later that in the initial days, it had been difficult to get these children into the school. Since the parents are mostly illiterate, they are not bothered about providing any education for their children. Food and shelter is all they can provide them. The school volunteers went around persuading them to send the children to school. They were explained that their children would be safer in school in the care of responsible adults rather than on the busy roads where they used to play all day. What is more, the children would be provided some nourishing refreshment in the school in the form of fruits, milk etc and they will also be taught to read and write and count. After considerable effort, the idea appealed to the parents and they started sending their children to school.
The education in the school is absolutely free as are the books, copies, stationery items, school uniforms and shoes. Because of the lack of space and resources, there are just two classes in school- the beginners and the seniors. The beginners are taught counting, Hindi and English alphabets and the seniors are taught addition, subtraction, forming words etc. Since the children are there for different amounts of time and are at different levels of competence, the teachers have to take into account the individual capabilities. One has to know that this particular child has count only up to fifty, while the other has learnt to subtract with borrowing. Since the teaching has to be so individualistic, volunteers are always welcome to help out. Besides the academics, the children are educated about health and hygiene, manners and moral values. They are taught crafts and music- something they really enjoyed.
As time passed, I came across many people who had come forward to help this fledgling school. There was this lady who used to come to Asha Kiran for an hour before proceeding to work full time in a bank, to train the amateur teachers in teaching of languages. And there was a beautician, who would periodically herd all the girls in the school to give them a decent and neat haircut. There was no dearth of people who contributed with goodies to entice the kids to stay on in the school-they would bring for the kids school uniforms, stationary, toys and eats.
The two years that I spent with Asha Kiran children before moving to another city on transfer, was a rewarding one. The sight of children smiling and greeting me as I entered the room in the mornings was a joy to behold. The hours that I spent there were the best part of my day. Over the couple of years, I saw the children grow and become more articulate in expressing their thoughts in words. Most of them, after they had spent about a year getting the informal education in Asha Kiran had been enrolled in local municipal schools for a formal one. Even after that they had continued to come to their old school to get some extra help with their studies.
Asha Kiran and its children have remained to this day, a precious memory to me.
A Solo Walk
The alarm on my cell phone rang. With sleepy eyes I searched for it on my side table, silenced it and buried my head in the pillow. A voice in my head kept saying repeatedly 'Wake up lazy bones, it is time to get some exercise'. Reminded me of the time long ago when my teen aged elder brother used to pester me incessantly day after day at the ungodly hour of 4 am to wake up, completely undeterred by my outraged protests. Just because he thought that he was at his productive best- study wise- in the wee hours of the morning and he hated to study alone and took my companionship on his study table for granted. God, what tortures elder brothers are capable of....
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The Revenge
This incident was narrated to me by my nephew-in-law Avinash, a Major in Indian Army. I am re-telling it in first person, as he told it to me. This is how the story goes...
"My mother is tyrannically opposed to hard drinks…she is a typical Gandhian in this matter. If she was around in pre-independence times, I am sure she would have been among those protesters, who picketed liquor shops. My father, though he does not share her passion for anti-liquor movement, has always been a teetotaler. I sometimes wonder how my mother would have reacted if he wasn’t one. One of them would have have to be converted, I think, to ensure peace in the house. However, the fact of his never taking drinks has only served to reinforce my mother’s passion against drinking. So in spite of my having been brought up in an Army environment where social drinking is a norm rather than an exception, drinks never entered our house. My younger brother and I were brought up steadily on ‘Only weak people drink’ kind of doctrine.
I grew up and entered medical college and began staying in a hostel. Drinking was common there in almost all functions and parties. At times I wished to taste the forbidden liquid at least to find out why it was so attractive to so many people and was so despised by my mother, but I kept away, not wanting to offend my mother's sensibilities.
I was 19, in the 2rd year of college and was spending my summer vacation at home in Delhi. My father, having retired from Army Medical corps by then, was working for one of the largest private hospitals of Delhi. An invitation for cocktails and dinner in a five star hotel came for my father for an annual event of the hospital. The invitation included his family too, so I naturally accompanied my parents for the party hoping to have some good fun and more importantly, good food like any typical youngster having a respectable appetite. Uncle Alok, my mother’s younger brother, also an Army doctor, was invited for the function too.
Well, like in most big parties in the Indian capital, liquor was flowing like water in this one too. I, however, like the ever obedient son of my mother, moved towards the soft drinks corner to get myself a drink. Suddenly, my uncle materialized by my side.
“Don’t tell me you are going to have a soft drink in a party like this. The best booze in the world is flowing here and it is all for free. Come, I will get you something truly exhilarating, ” he said taking a hold of my arm.
“Oh no, Uncle, I do not drink liquor, “ I refused in a polite manner.
“Oh, come on, I am not asking you to become a drunkard, am I? I just want you to taste something heavenly.” He was pulling me towards the forbidden corner now.
“Uncle, Ma will be upset, she hates to see even you drinking. She will kill me if she finds out” I pleaded.
“Don’t be such a sissy. You are a young man now and in another 2 years you will become a full fledged doctor. Do you think your Mom will make decisions for you all your life? And I am sure she won’t mind you taking a sip or two as you are afraid of. She knows that you are a grown up man now.” He was convincing.
“No uncle, I’ll try it some other time,” I protested, my resolve weakening somewhat. Uncle realized that I guess. He dragged me to the bar counter . My protest had become so weak by then that it was nearly non-existent and my curiosity about this new experience had taken over. After all, Uncle is my Mom’s brother, he would not ask me to drink if he knew she would get upset. Sooner than I realized there was a glass in my hand filled with a bubbly liquid. Feeling very grown up and mature, I took a sip and moved towards the group of my friends, savoring the experience contentedly.
Suddenly I had the curious sensation that everybody in the party was looking at me. Nervous, I looked side ways and to my horror, found my mother by my side with a stormy expression on her face. I wildly looked around for my uncle. He was there alright. He was standing by my mother’s side with a solemn expression on his face. Holding a glass of orange juice in his hand, he was shaking his head sadly. He said,
“Kids today! Look what the world has come to, Didi. All your life you have been campaigning against hard liquor. And no sooner than your own son stepped out of your house, he has taken to drinks. Children these days have no respect for their elders and their teachings.”
My mother nearly exploded. She was so furious that she forgot that we were in the middle of a gathering of elite people. And that I was a near-adult. She gave it to me right, left and centre, in full view of my friends and under the curious gaze of several guests. How could I do this to her, how could I let her down, how could I forget everything she had ever taught me, etc. was the mainstay of her diatribe. Ignoring my placating gestures and pleadings, she dragged me to the car and took me home. She did not speak to me for two full days after that. It was only after mediation by my father and my countless apologies to her that barely one day before my leave was to end, she forgave me grudgingly and began talking with me.
On last day of my vacation I went to meet my uncle and his family.
“Why?” I asked him stonily.
“Are you kidding? I have waited 19 years, ever since you were born, to do this. This is exactly what my uncle had done to me 22 years ago. I have got my revenge now,” he winked at me with a devilish grin on his face."
Koko's Dadi
As I grow older, in fact ever since I crossed the fortieth year of my life, I often wonder what I would be like as an old woman. Will I also become depressed, self-pitying, over-sensitive and complaining like many old people I know or will I be able to retain my optimism, sense of humour and fun and face life with a smile on my face. I look for role models among my acquaintances and almost always the one face that stands out among the crowd is of a dearly loved relation- Koko's Dadi
If we look at children, we will almost always find them full of life, laughter and fun- laughing at their friends, at themselves and at the world at large. Unfortunately, as we grow older, most of us tend to lose our sense of humour. We become sensitive, acquire a serious disposition , adopt moralistic and judgmental postures and needlessly carry a burden of worries on our shoulders. There are very few that retain their sense of humour into their old age. Koko’s dadi was one of such people.
Koko is my cousin, her mother being my father’s sister. Both our families spent considerable time during our childhood in our small native city together as Koko’s father, as well as mine, had their jobs there. Even though Koko and I were brought up in different homes, it was like growing up together, like siblings. We met very frequently and shared our relatives with each other…so Koko’s grandma was my grandma too. I too called her ‘Dadi’ like her.
I can picture Dadi as I had seen her during my childhood. She gracefully dressed in light colored cotton saris, draping it in a 'Seedha Palla' style, covering her head with her ‘aanchal’. She had a cheerful disposition, with a smile ready to appear at the tiniest of reasons. She was a perfect counterfoil to her husband ( whom we addressed as 'Baba') who was a serious–natured scholar. Both of them had an inclination towards literature. While Baba researched and wrote serious books for learned readers, Dadi wrote and told stories for children. She was a treasure trove of interesting and funny stories and I remember us, children of the family, surrounding her often begging her to tell us stories.
Dadi was a child at heart. She spent her free time playing dice games with children, and just like kids, she had this desire to win every game she played. At times, this led to curious situations. Once she was playing her favourite game 'Ludo' with my six year-old sister Guddan. There was this crucial moment when Dadi was about to win, when a chance throw of dice by Guddan put Dadi in a losing position. Taken aback, Dadi refused to allow it, arguing that her coins were at a different position and Guddan was mistaken in thinking that they were, where they actually were. Guddan got so offended by this show of unsporting(!) spirit by Dadi that she refused to play with her anymore. Dadi tried to entice her into replaying the game but Guddan refused. Dadi temporarily lost one of her playmates. Next week when Dadi visited our home, she told my mother regretfully,
“Guddan has become annoyed with me. Mistake was mine of course, I had actually been unfair in the game. Now she just refuses to play with me.”
Needless to say, after sometime Dadi managed to placate Guddan into forgiving her and becoming her play partner again.
Dadi had a great capability of playing practical jokes. We had heard of the story when she had filled up a skin shed by a snake with earth and placed it into a room used by Baba’s clients( he used to practice law) in all its glory with its head raised, seemingly ready to attack. When the clients entered the room, they were terrified to see the snake and ran out of the room. After a lot of commotion and discussion, it was decided to kill the snake. When a courageous person entered the room and hit at it with a stick, the ‘snake’ broke into three pieces. The man was at first stunned and then embarrassed.
“The children are very naughty in this household”, remarked the man, accusingly looking at the children.
“There is a person naughtier than the children in this household,” replied Baba who had taken no time to realize who in the family could have planned played such a prank.
Dadi did not believe in ghosts. If somebody told her that a ghost resides on such and such ‘peepal’ tree and appears only at midnight, she would make it a point to go to that haunted tree at midnight only in order to meet that ghost. She never got to meet one, however. Once it so happened that she was returning home from somewhere in the very early morning hours with a friend. They saw two cyclists at some distance who were coming towards them but seemed to be hesitating. Dadi immediately understood that because of their white saris, the cyclists are wondering whether they were ghosts who had come down from the haunted tree. She and her friend looked at each other conspiratorially and then charged towards the cyclists letting out ghostly screams. The cyclists panicked, dumped there cycles then and there and raced in the opposite direction and disappeared from sight in moments. Dadi and her friend came home laughing, certain that those cyclists would be telling people about their encounter with a couple of ‘chudails’(witches) for years to come.
There was a helper in the house, Jung Bahadur who was a little pompous. Dadi enjoyed taking a dig at him. Jung Bahadur did not take garlic and onion in his food and made quite a show of it. One day, while he was out for some work, Dadi took his shirt and under the collar of is shirt, stitched a row of garlic pods. Jung Bahadur put on his shirt the next day. All day he kept complaining about the stink of garlic, wondering why the stink was following him everywhere. It was only in the evening that he found out what was causing the continuous smell of garlic around him.
There was a pet goat in Dadi’s household. One day, when Jung Bahadur was to return from a leave Dadi took the trouble of threading the hardened droppings of the goat and creating a garland out of it. When Jung Bahadur arrived and touched her feet, giving him her blessings she put the garland on his neck while rest of the family members who were aware of the plan shook with suppressed laughter. Jung Bahadur took sometime to realize how exactly he had been honoured!
There are countless incidents like this which are treasured by the people who came in contact with her. Her liveliness, her laughter and her ability to look life in the face with cheerfulness under all circumstances touched our lives as did the unconditional love and affection that she gave to all around her. She was the person we ran to when we we were in some trouble and needed an adult on our side with full confidence that we would get full support from her side as well as a solution to our childlike problems.
Dadi also had a serious side to her that balanced her fun-loving nature. She taught her children and grand children the the sense of right and wrong, the importance of fairness, the importance of compassion, the idea that if there is a will there is always a way and that one's purpose in life had something to do with making a difference even if ever so small. She has always been and will remain a guiding light for us. We feel fortunate and blessed that we had the opportunity to grow up in her shadow.
Dadi passed away at a relatively young age, in her early sixties. She had retained her optimism till her end. Her death was a big loss to the younger members of the family- we had lost a close friend and confidant also a willing accomplice in our childish pranks. Life was just not the same without her. In nearly five decades of my life, I have not met anyone like Dadi. Every time I think of her, the image I see of her has a smile on her face with a twinkle in her eyes. It brings a smile to my face too and raises a hope in my heart- that some day, like her, I too may manage to be an old woman with a heart as young and joyful as a child.
-Vandana
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