walk a-musing

Breast Cancer Campaign - Wear It Pink

2009-10-21T00:31:00.000-07:00

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People come up with such heart warming and interesting campaigns. October is Breast Cancer Campaign month. The campaign's mission is to raise funds for research into understanding breast cancer, so as to improve diagnosis and cure. There are various ways to support the charity and wearing pink is one of them.

V's school is participating in the campaign. It is a boys' school. Every boy who donates money to the cause will wear a pink item of clothing tomorrow - a shirt or tie or socks. V has obviously donated, but he could not get a pink shirt in any of the shops. Men do wear pink shirts here but I suppose few boys do. So yesterday we brought some baby pink dye and coloured an old white school shirt pink.

Wishing the campaign all success..............

Trick or Treatment

2009-10-12T00:46:00.001-07:00

I just finished reading Trick or treatment? by Edzard Ernst and Simon Singh. it is a book about alternative medicine 'put on trial'. Based on the results of various rigorous tests the authors show that practically every alternative medicine is hocus pocus. I thoroughly enjoyed reading the book.

Alternative medicine, particularly homeopathy, is of great interest to me - mainly because I have seen too many near and dear ones suffer because of a blind faith in it. Whenever there are discussions/arguments with friends about the subject, I bring in chemistry, Avogadro number, homeopathic superdilution, and insist that no active ingredient would be left in the so called medicine. Does not impress anyone. The argument is always, "I have personally seen it work". My counter argument that there is no evidence that the result was due to the medicine alone, it could be the placebo effect, or the body healing itself, and that I not only have seen it not work but have seen it actually cause harm because of delay in seeking conventional medicine, always falls on deaf ears. Now I can quote the huge body of evidence from this book and talk about evidence based medicine, randomised controlled trials and even Cochrane Collaboration (about which I only heard from this book) and see how it goes. I will pass the book to friends and ask them to read it.

I love coincidences. The day after reading the book I received an invitation to participate in just such a randomised controlled trial conducted by a nearby university. I immediately accepted it. If Barry Marshall could get himself infected to prove that stomach ulcers are caused by bacteria, the least I could do is participate in a trial to prove or disprove the efficacy of some treatment.

Tea by moon light

2009-10-08T02:38:00.001-07:00

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I get up at 5.30 every weekday morning. I make myself a cup of tea and sit reading a book, with Classic FM playing in the background. On some days I don't bother with the book, I just sit with my tea in the dark for about 15 minutes listening to the music before I start the day's work.

It has been raining the last few days so it is really dark at that time of the day. But today it seemed unusually bright outside. Perhaps there were no clouds, but the sun couldn't be up so early? I opened the curtains to see why. It turned out to be the bright moon in an otherwise clear sky, illuminating the garden! It was so beautiful! If it had not been cold, I could have gone out and sat on the patio. I was still quite content behind the glass, enjoying tea by moonlight!

Spring is here!

2009-04-01T02:08:00.000-07:00

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The surroundings can be so deliciously distracting while driving these days . All the dull grey-green of winter in the fields near our area have started to show splashes of yellow - mostly Daffodils but some Forsythia bushes as well, that seem like they are on fire. I have to be really determined to keep my eyes on the road.

Having lived in the area for a couple of years now I even look forward to certain flowers I know will appear for sure in someone else's garden. I find myself asking V, "Could you, on the way to school check if the white Magnolia tree has flowered in the T~ Pub? If so I should drive along that road some time".

Walks take longer too. I walk along peeping unashamedly into people's gardens. There is an elderly couple who live along the path I take. They maintain a small very pretty front garden. I have never seen them but there is a small board amongst the neatly trimmed Hydrangea shrubs that says "Granny and Grandpa live here". I keep a regular check on this garden.

Mine is beginning to show colour too. The bulbs I planted in Autumn have started to push their flowers out from behind other plants.

I can't wait for these tulips to show their faces!

Sour Grapes

2009-01-13T00:34:00.000-08:00

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Tried another small one:

Fox was hungry
Saw the grape
In a quandary
Could only gape

Stood on toes
Too high up
Jumped up and tried
Still high up

Fox turned around
Nose in air
"Too sour for me,
I don't care!"

The Blue Jackal

2008-12-23T01:09:00.000-08:00

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'Beastly Tales' of Vikram Seth inspired me to write a well known Beastly Tale in my own verse. This is my very first attempt and comments are welcome.

Just outside a village
Beyond its very edge
Roamed a Jackal smart
Very clever in the art
Of sneaking into the village and out
When no one was about
Someone saw only later
That they now had one hen lesser.

As the Jackal got older
The sneaky one got bolder
One dark night the fellow
Decided he should follow
A path that took him deeper
Into the village center.

What he knew not
Was the small fact
That around the village center
A few dogs did loiter
This area they felt was theirs
And guarded it in pairs
They kept watch for ever
Lest someone else takeover
If they did spot a stranger
Then he better take cover

Walked the Jackal into this zone
And having observed no one
Ventured at once to inspect
If there were any hens to select
The dogs, they were alert so
Were at once on the go
They gave their warning with barks
And went in for the attack like sharks

Ran the Jackal for dear life
To avoid at any cost the strife
Ran he helter skelter
Looking for some shelter
Further and further he fled
But the dogs only hounded

Atlast saw the Jackal right ahead
Just as he thought he was dead
A yard with many clothes hanging
In the breeze gently swaying.
Lying about were many kegs and tubs
In between various shrubs

Jumped the Jackal into one
Giving thoughts none
As to what the tub held
As long as it provided a shield

Hearing the great commotion
The man of the house woke with great emotion
Through the window he gave a hoot
And told the dogs to just scoot
The dogs had to leave the kegs
With their tails between their legs

When all was calm and quiet
The jackal slowly slunk into the night
And finding a safe road to the forest
Lay down for a well deserved rest

He awoke soon at sunrise
And found to his surprise
Animals gathered all round him
And watching with faces grim
The moment they saw him awake
He saw a step backward they take

It was only then that he saw
Why they were watching him with awe
His coat no longer had its original hue
It was now coloured a deep blue
The Jackal now inferred
In what he had interred
The previous night he had hidden
At the village dyer's unbidden

The wily Jackal's mind whirred
The seed of an idea stirred
And up he stood majestically
And announced unequivocally
"I am your King sent by God Almighty
To look into your worries weighty
For don't you need someone wise
To solve problems life holds otherwise?"

The animals oh so gullible
Believed this evil dribble
And fell one upon the other
To please this intruder

From then lived the Jackal in luxury
For his subjects went to any misery
To gain favour with their king
Who found all this to his extreme liking
They brought him rats and rabbits
Juicy fruit and tidbits
They fed him crispy nuts and sweet corn
And cared for him till they were worn
If this continued, the Jackal saw
All his life he never had to lift a paw

But Alas there came an evening
When our friend was dozing
He was awakened by a sound
Which had an effect profound
The sound was the call loud and clear
Made by a leash of foxes somewhere near
The yearning he felt was indescribable
And in he joined with his own, fully audible

There was then a stunned silence all around
The beasts for a minute stood rooted to the ground
As it dawned on each hapless creature
That this was a jackal and no God's messenger
Thereupon with an anger limitless
Rushed towards the Jackal pitiless
The clever Jackal in a flash caught sight
Of the only route for him to take flight
He was off in a bound
Before the others could turn around

The Jackal, it was very clear
In those parts would not be seen again ever
But one thing was plain
And that was, that wisdom surely the animals did gain

The pleasure of reading to kids

2008-12-14T11:33:00.000-08:00

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Last week I bought a book "The Voyage of the Arctic Tern" to read to V. Yes, V is now twelve and definitely beyond the age to be read to regularly. But I still try to steal the pleasure occasionally.
V and I started enjoying books together when he was still really small. A book in front of him would make any food go in without a fuss. So books who were always my great friends became my best friends. We also had the help of the lovely Karadi tales. Three year old V and I followed the pictures in the book while Nasiruddin Shah narrated the tales of Kala and Karupi and the Monkey and the Crocodile. Perhaps that is how V picked up some English though he only knew to speak Kannada.
Once V actually learned to read, we read to each other just so we could enjoy a story together. But it was a very short time before he could read to himself much faster than I could read aloud. So when the story was new and interesting he did not have the patience to listen to me. But he still liked me to read as he had his breakfast or dinner because he hadn't learned the trick of managing a book in one hand while eating with the other.
Since he had already become a voracious reader and had taken control of what books he read, I took this opportunity to read to him the books I thought were good but which he did not think were exciting enough. He didn't mind the book as long as I read to him.
Then came poetry. We have enjoyed reading Roald Dahl's 'Dirty Beasts' and 'Revolting rhymes' any number of times. I think Poetry should be read aloud anyway and if someone enjoys listening, nothing better. It had been a long time since then but recently I discovered Vikram Seth's 'Beastly Tales', a very enjoyable collection of stories written in the form of poems, and I was quite pleased to find that V still enjoys listening to me read. So I have brought home this big book which is a long adventure story written in verse which I hope to share with V. I wonder if it is ambitious. Perhaps. But try I will.

Jigsaws - Inspired by Rajk

2008-11-24T10:00:00.000-08:00

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Rajk's jigsaw puzzle brought back lovely memories. I too have always loved jigsaws though I don't remember having any when I was a kid. Later on I am sure I enjoyed my nieces' and nephews' puzzles as much as they did. One delightful memory is of racing my nephew as we both worked on two different but same numbered jigsaws.

Then there is the memory of "Shakku". My dear niece visited me in Singapore in 2003. We had a delightful two weeks of sightseeing, shopping, eating out and so on. And then there was the outbreak of SARS. Holidays were declared, schools were shut and we were advised not to go out too much. So we were stuck at home. V received daily home work from school on the net. causing Shru and V both turning whole heartedly against modern technology for a while. I had recently bought a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle. It was the painting of a pretty Chinese maiden in ancient dress standing in a forest surrounded by deer, hares, birds and even a couple of monkeys. Someone commented that it was the Chinese Shakuntala. Soon she was affectionately being called "Shakku". You could hear "I will start assembling Shakku, will you join me?" Apart from the small worry of SARS, the three of us spent some relaxing and enjoyable three or four days piecing together Shakku.

Of course H, having just returned from Hong Kong will also vividly remember sleeping in the drawing room for a week on self imposed quarantine.

Book shop is closing

2008-11-22T08:38:00.000-08:00

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Our charity book shop is closing down next month. We came to know about it only two days ago. Naturally I am feeling really bad about it. We had not been making much profit these days, many regular volunteers had moved on and we had trouble finding new ones. But the shop meant a lot to many of us, both volunteers and regular customers.
For the last six months or so, whenever I was working, I was there really early in the morning, after dropping V off at school. I loved the sight of the shop as soon as I unlocked the front door. The rough wooden floor, the book lined walls, the smell of old books and the silence, the peace. I usually checked the mail, the rota, sent off a request for help to fill any gap in the rota, read the message book and then with an hour to spare before the other volunteer turned up and we opened the shop, I went upstairs, made myself a cup of tea and settled down to browse through any new books that had arrived. I will miss all this enormously.
I will miss the companionship of fellow volunteers. I will miss all the friendly customers. The elderly gentleman who always bought books on mathematics and philosophy. The lady who looked for good books for her grandchild. The University employee who came in at his break time. The Pakistani mother always looking for educational books for her kids. I will miss seeing the joy on a customer's face when I located in the store upstairs the book she had been searching for a long time.
Of course the shop was not run for the sake of volunteers or customers, but to make money for a cause. Since that was not being done to the desired extent, it had to go. But some of us will miss it sorely.

Last Leaf On The Tree

2008-11-17T02:16:00.000-08:00

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Autumn is in. Has been for some time now. I am trying desperately to keep away the leaves from the huge oak tree in one of the neighbour's garden from invading my house. Every time I open the front door a few leaves step in uninvited. I have also been watching the leaves fall from the tree in my back garden. Yesterday morning when I was having my breakfast in the kitchen and watched the tree, I saw there were only three leaves and then soon there were just two and then finally, one. I rushed my son to photograph the tree.

Because it reminded me of something I had read a very long time ago.

I have a feeling a couple of others will know what it is, and they will write here and if they don't I will. Does it remind anyone else of anything?

Dormant blog gets award

2008-10-17T00:30:00.000-07:00

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Long live friends who never give up on you! Rajk has awarded me the Brilliante weblog award. For a blog that is somewhat dormant, a blog that has set its clock to snooze and wakes up only to offer a few lines so that the alarm bells stop, atleast for the time being. And she has written such nice things about me. And as always gently admonishing me that I don't write often.

Thank you Rajk. As I keep saying, I am an optimist. I still feel I will soon blog regularly. And with people like you encouraging me, I definitely should.

You will understand that I cannot really pass this on. All the blogs I like seem to have received it at sometime or the other! So, Cheers! Till a new award comes along that I happen to receive before most others.

Down Recipe Lane

2008-09-19T03:13:00.000-07:00

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I recently bought an old book "Eastern vegetarian cooking" by Madhur Jaffrey, in our charity book shop. It has vegetarian recipes from many Southeast Asian countries where, as is well known, it is extremely difficult to find vegetarian food.

What I found really cute about the book were the names of some of the recipes: Kamal's SWEET TOMATO CHUTNEY, Alun's CACIK (Cold Yoghurt Soup in Turkish Style), Mrs Wawo-Runtu's NASI KUNING, Yien-Koo's SPINACH WITH FERMENTED BEAN CURD. Obviously these are the people who taught her those recipes, and she has acknowledged their help in the correct place. It delighted me all the more because I do exactly the same in my recipe book at home.

My beloved sister V who knew about my culinary abilities, set about writing a recipe book for me when I decided to get married and leave home. She bought a 400(!) page book which she divided into many sections - soups, rotis, roti accompaniments, rice preparations, rice accompaniments, sweets,and so on and started to fill them with old family recipes as well as new favourites in her neat handwriting. After the wedding she presented the book to me and advised me to add any new ones I learned along the way.

And I did. Now my book is somewhat worn and contains hundreds of recipes and more importantly, many memories from my culinary journey. The ones in my handwriting have names like Chikkamma's Hitakavare, Prabhu's Kootu, Vijaya Athe's Mavinakayi Chitranna, Anupama's Sindhi khadi, Album Aunty's Bagara Baingan, and so on. When I read the names I am transported back to the time when I first tasted that dish, and where we were sitting as this friend or relative told me how to make it. Sometimes it is the memory of making the dish the first time. Like when I made the Suji Halwa for visiting friends and the milk curdled so that I had to run to the shop to get more. Or when I made the cabbage Pulav for guests and it turned out to be so lumpy. Or when I made the sweet Pongal and my aunt - famous for her absolutely delicious cooking - tasted it and turned to the others and said "After all she is my niece!"

There are some recipes in other hand writings too. Shubha telling me how to make the perfect Methi Thepla, Veena teaching me to make a special Stuffed Bhindi. There is one recipe for a Tomato Chutney in my niece's childish handwriting written as my sister B dictated, which always makes me giggle. My ever mischievous sister has given me minute instructions such as to throw the skin of the tomato into the dustbin and not leave it lying around.

They say perfumes bring back memories. Music does. Photos definitely do. For me, in addition to all these, there is my recipe book.

A tag: Favourite characters from fiction

2008-06-18T03:29:00.000-07:00

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Ok Shru, here it is, my list of favourite characters from fiction.

Mahabharata is my favourite epic story, and Karna is one of my most favourite and memorable characters of all time. Many books have been written about him and his character analysed. He was one of the most loyal and capable men but the most wronged - by his mother, teacher, and the Gods themselves. I cannot even now read about him without this insatiable urge to set things right for him.

Madame Wu from "Pavilion of women" by Pearl Buck. I was under her spell a long time. Intelligent, beautiful, graceful, extremely efficient and dutiful wife and virtual head of a complex chinese household in the first half of the 20th century who decides to (but is unable to) retire from family life at the ripe old age of 40(!) in order to pursue her intellectual interests.

Atticus Finch is one of my all time favourites and he is on your list and many others' as well so I won't write anything about him.

Elizabeth Bennet (and not Mr.Darcy!) Intelligent, loving, witty, beautiful and from my point of view, just the right sense of how much to care about what others think of what you say and do.

I don't know if you can include "Modesty Blaise" under literature. So what if you cant. Let me include her. Her adventures serialised in 3" * 6" comic strips in the daily newspaper was my favourite when I was growing up and the first thing I read in the paper before moving to the headlines after a brief stopver with "Phantom - the ghost who walks". Created by Peter O'Donnell, she is a great character with unusual fighting techniques and weapons and a sidekick called Willie Garvin. Their companionship, mutual understanding and perfect rapport during a fight was the stuff of dreams.

There maybe many others I will remember if I spend more time on this, and many other characters from favourite books are (un:))fortunately not fictional

There. I have done it.

Gardening 2: Winter Pinks

2008-02-28T02:59:00.001-08:00

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I only knew of Water Hyacinths that spread on Kukkarahalli tank in Mysore and the struggle to keep it at bay. But this is the Hyacinth that brought beauty to my kitchen window in winter when the view of the garden was really bleak.

I had chosen my shrubs with care so that atleast some of them kept their leaves in winter. But being a new garden none of them were big enough to cover up the bare skeletons of the others. The vegetable patch was ofcourse a sad sight. So I covered the window sill with a lot of indoor plants. But my special favourite was the Hyacinth.

I followed instructions from the book and filled the container with water and placed the bulb in the bowl at the top and kept it in the dark garage for about a week. As the holy books of gardening promised, there were roots and a small shoot within a week. Once the shoot was about an inch tall I placed the container in the window. Within a couple of weeks, the flowers appeared and the beautiful scent filled the room. The best part was that once the flower dried up I placed another bulb which had been resting in a bag and in a few weeks enjoyed another bloom!

Classic FM Radio

2008-02-19T04:55:00.000-08:00

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Of late I have started to enjoy western classical music. A little. My mind still switches off sometimes when I am listening, but as it gets more familiar I am able to appreciate it more. One of the reasons why I am getting more familiar with it is of course because V learns it, but also thanks to Classic FM radio . Whenever we are driving anywhere, V keeps the radio on, and tells me what he knows about the piece that is being played, and tests me the next time anything similar is on air.

Naturally, while listening, I dream of an Indian classical music channel. Imagine - those of you who love Indian classical music as much as I do - a channel that played classical gems all through the day! A channel that relayed entire concerts during the December season from Chennai or the Tansen festival from Gwalior or the Tyagaraja festival from Thiruvaiyaru. A channel that dug up recordings of old masters and played it for you. A channel to which you could text a request for your favourite composition or raga or a favourite artist and listen to it as you drive, take a walk or work on your computer. In a situation where one has to search everywhere for the schedule of Akashavani Sangeeth sammelan like this a classical music channel with a well run website that gives the detailed schedules would be such a blessing!

What catches my attention on Classic FM is the number of children who call up and ask for their favourites. obviously a lot of children listen and enjoy classical music. How lovely!

Now is there a channel like this already in India that I am not aware of?

A Tribute To Chip

2008-02-08T09:52:00.000-08:00

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A year and two months ago we brought home Chip and Dale. After asking for a dog, and considering a cat and hoping for a rabbit, V had finally settled for a pair of male Chinese hamsters. We got a proper cage, complete with a small house inside it and bedding, water bottle, a tray for food and an exercise wheel and a couple of toys and housed the two eight week olds in it.

From the very beginning, Chip, the light grey one was extremely spirited. In fact the very first night in the new home, he tried his best to bite his way out. We found him hanging upside down on the metal grill on the roof of the cage and furiously chewing on it. But he settled down soon enough. Though he ran and hid himself if we tried to touch or hold him, he always popped his head out of his house the moment we opened the cage to add some food or check on the water. As soon as we closed the lid, he scurried out to grab his favourite bits. Dale, the dark one, waited till we were out of the room to saunter up and do the same.

Chip soon got quite friendly, and learned to eat peanuts out of our hands whereas Dale took his time. Chip was very active on the exercise wheel too and was visibly slimmer than Dale. I enjoyed watching Chip stand on his hind legs to look curiously at the world sorrounding his cage, scurry about exploring any new toys we placed in the cage, and loved holding him in my palm while I fed him peanuts or hamster chocolates.

Things were peaceful for a year. But one day we found Chip and Dale fighting. We banged on the cage and stopped the fight and assumed that Chip had grabbed all the juicy bits from the food bowl and Dale was fighting over it. But after a while it became obvious that Dale was chasing Chip out of the small house and did not allow him to sleep inside. The fights became quite frequent and we once found Chip with a little blood on his forehead. After some research V decided that they needed seperate places to sleep. We brought in a small new house to place within the cage and put in some bedding and hoped that one of them would settle there. But if Chip slept there, Dale soon went in and chased him away. We placed a third shelter with the same result. It was obvious that Dale was the bully. The day I saw the little sunny, lively Chip curled up outside the houses and Dale who just happened to walk out of his house run up and attack him, I went to the pet shop and brought a new cage and seperated them.

This brought some peace of mind for us. But a couple of weeks ago V and I noticed that Chip was extemely restless. We brought him out so that he could run around to his heart's content and settle down. It worked, but the same happened the next day. Infact the moment I opened the cage and put my hand in he jumped on to my sleeve and clung to it. Again a few days later we found him on the exercise wheel a number of times during the middle of the day. Since the hamster's day starts late in the evening, this was indeed unusual. We wondered about this but were not too worried. But two mornings later little Chip was dead, lying on his side.

What made Chip's death so surprising was the spurt of extra energetic activities preceding it. The fact that he was such a spirited and lively little fellow made his quiet and sudden death all the more sad. Naturally I tried to think of all the possible reasons. I now think that the stress and trauma of Dale's terrorising was too much for the tiny hamster heart. I also read that some hamsters like company and some want to be left alone. Perhaps Chip was a social being and was extremely lonely in his own cage. Am I being anthropomorphic? Has anyone studied hamster psychology? I dont know. But one thing I know. I never thought I would grow so fond of a little hamster and miss him so much when he died. Chip is now buried in the most sunny part of our garden under the Californian Lilac bush.

The Maharaja's Well

2007-10-21T10:45:00.000-07:00

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Last week, while sorting out new donations at the charity book shop, I came across a small 12 page booklet titled "The Maharaja's well". There was a photograph on the front page of a mantap presumably with a well in the middle and the address below said 'Stoke Row, Henley on Thames, Oxfordshire'. Most curious! I couldnt help read through a few pages before I continued with my work.

Here is the story I gathered from the booklet and later, some quick web search. In 1850, the son of an English country squire while chatting with the Maharaja of Benaras told him the story of a small boy in the village of Stoke Row who was beaten by his mother for drinking up the last of the water in the house during a time of draught. The Maharaja was so moved that he commissioned the digging of a huge well in the village. Water from the well was to be free for the villagers like it is in Indian villages. Also, the well would have to be maintained from the money raised by fruits grown in the village (which I believe used to be the practice in India. I was not aware of that) . To this end he donated enough money to buy a few acres of land and grow cherries, and also maintain a well keeper, for whom a cottage was also built.
It was a huge feat of engineering because the well is 368ft deep (a little more than the height of St. Paul’s Cathedral). The main superstructure is about 23ft high and is topped by a gilded dome. There are many glass lenses fitted into the dome to allow light through to show the water line. Underneath is the winding machinery and a decorative elephant added some time later. A fw years later, a couple of other Rajas who did not want to be outdone commissioned more wells one of which is the drinking fountain in Hyde Park near the Marble Arch. There are more tidbits in the booklet about how the Maharaja insisted that the well be inaugurated, an approach road built to it, etc, to mark various celebrations in The British royal family. There are also details of the expenditure - around 350 pounds for the well and about 75pounds for the cottage. Though the village is no longer dependent on the well for its water supply, the well is being maintained and has a few visitors. Money for its maintenance is raised by the sale of booklets one of which had reached me in the shop.
A multitude of thoughts came up in my mind when I read all this. An Indian Maharaja financing the digging of wells in an English village during British rule? And insisting that the British royal family be honoured on the occasion! How well were the people of Benares looked after by their king during this time? Was the Maharaja just a puppet trying to please his puppeteers? Or should we just look at it as a gesture of goodwill by a rich Maharaja and leave it at that?
Stoke Row is not too far from where I live. Perhaps I will visit it one day.

Gardening. Part1: Way back

2007-10-10T01:31:00.000-07:00

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How I love my plants and the garden! I owe it entirely to mom.

Picture this. A quiet sleepy afternoon during the school summer vacation. All my friends have gone away to visit their grandparents and I am the only kid in the neighbourhood. I drag myself to my mother, slouch against the kitchen door, put on a long face and complain that I am utterly bored. My mother, busy preparing snacks for afternoon tea, dismisses me straightaway saying that with so many books in the house I should never ever complain of boredom.
Result: I become a book lover and an avid reader.
Thanks mom.

After hours of reading I want some change. I again go to her, put on a longer face and complain again. She has some time for me now and says, "Okay, come sit next to me."
I sit down eagerly. Will she tell me an interesting story? Or play some game perhaps?
"What is 7 times 9?" Oh no.
"12 times 6?"
"Recite the 13 tables" . It goes on.
And then the horror of horrors, "Have you learnt the 17 tables? Let me hear it".
But after a while she has to get back to her work and happens to say, "Why don't you go weed the garden".

I never complain of boredom again. Whenever I want a break from books I quietly pick up the tools and walk to the garden. When there are no more weeds to remove, I think up other projects in the garden. Anything to avoid more mathematical tables. I plant, I water and take pleasure in watching the plants grow.
Result: A gardener is born.
Thanks again mom.

I love maths too, but perhaps not thanks to mom. Reciting tables is not my idea of a fun summer holiday.

Another post

2007-10-05T02:49:00.000-07:00

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It has been more than a week since I announced that I was back and I have not put up a new post. I have been going around with thoughts popping into my head that I want to share on the blog but sitting down for long enough to type hasn't been easy. I have been doing some adding up to see what takes so much of my time. I have not taken up a new job or anything. But there is surely so much more to do since last year.
In addition to what I did before, I have joined an arts class. I have joined a book club. I have begun to particpiate in a few musical activities in the area. I have started to learn music from my sister (on skype!). But perhaps the most important difference is that I now live in my own house and more interestingly, I have my own garden. I am one of those who believes that the house exists for me and I dont exist for the house, meaning, I dont go about cleaning and polishing, tidying and arranging all the time. But in order that the house works for you, you have to work on the house a bit. One has to put up blinds, fix up shelves, change taps, buy furniture....the list is endless. And this being Britain, everything takes -phew!- a lot longer than elsewhere. Either you do everything yourself or when you have to get it done by someone, you start by taking three quotes from three places. And the garden? That is a whole different story and the subject of a series of posts. To add to all this the house is in a village a few miles from town so I spend more time in the car than before.
But you know how you feel when you stop exercising and start again? You just cant understand how or why you had stopped. That is the way I feel about blogging. I dont want to stop again.

I am back!

2007-09-27T13:23:00.000-07:00

Can't say what kicks you into starting, or in this case restarting, something, can you? Well, a series of little things did make me get back to blogging from which I had taken an unintentional break. I realised that the last I posted was in September 2006, and decided I just had to start again this September, so that I could pretend there was no gap at all!
Feels good to be back.

Angkor - Part 3

2006-09-15T23:40:00.000-07:00

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Next is the 'Ta Phrom' temple. This is the one which has been left to nature, trees growing all over it and around it.
Massive trees draping their fat roots down over the walls, reminiscent of pythons, crumbling walls and collapsed doorways. There weren’t too many people when we went. It was evening time, with long shadows, and quiet, and V wanted to get out of it as quickly as possible. Must have felt eerie. I would have liked to sit quietly and absorb the atmosphere, but no way. (Some of the photos which would have showed the atmosphere better, had us in their center, and hence I havn't posted them here.) A fantastic place. Again, I tried to imagine the first people who 'rediscovered' this place....how they might have felt.

There were many other temples, in various stages of ruin. One temple, with one part dedicated to Shiva, another part to Vishnu and another to ancestor worship.
There was one tiny temple with beautiful brick sculptures of Vishnu and Lakshmi.

There were a few hilltop temples which were wonderful at sunset.
There was one which was in the middle of a pond, except that there is no water now.

If history fascinates you and it is not clear, written, history and leaves room for a lot of speculation, WOW, this is a wonderful place. Who were these kings, why do they all have Indian names, how many were actually Indians, and how much of it was Indian influence on local people, why did they build such astounding temples and why did they finally abandon them? How could the people in the region have forgotten all about them within 200/300 years? (The first records talk of a king of Cambodia 'discovering' these temples in the 15th century, when the temples were built between 8th and 12th Century). All along history, people have been re-rediscovering them, but it took this French guy with influence among the British who finally got the world's attention on it. The books talk of 'Sanskrit' engraved on temple walls, but to us it didn’t look like Sanskrit. It looked like a combination of south Indian scripts and Sanskrit. What was this language? Perhaps there are known answers to many of these questions, but I still havnt found them. Most intriguing.

Other things about Cambodia: Naturally, the country side and vegetation reminds us much of India. And watching all the people, one wonders at the life in the same place 2 or 3 decades ago, during the Polpot era. You see very few old people. All taken care of by Polpot. The population is very young. All shops seem to be managed by really young girls.
Something that disgusted me: The trafficking. It is sickening. There are ads every where saying 'abuse children here, go to jail in your own' and such. There was a place selling tiny brass figures of Hindu gods, and among them were various obscene figures. It is really shocking.
Something that impressed me: The little children. They do most of the selling in the streets,: scarves, bangles, small artifacts... In spite of all the poverty, they seem to be so cheerful and happy. There was a little girl in one temple who brought a little paper to me and I thought she was trying to sell me something and I said I didn’t want it. She indicated that she wanted to give it to me and when I took it she smiled and ran away. She had drawn a flower and leaf on it! I felt so ashamed and also sad that I couldn’t give her anything in return.
Something that inspired me: I saw so many elderly people, many of them rickety, from all over the world come to see the temples . They braved the sun, the heat, and climbed hillocks to see a pretty sight. With walking sticks or someone for support they were walking all around the temples and admiring them. Really impressive.

Angkor - Part 2

2006-09-14T08:10:00.000-07:00

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for some reason, I can't upload more than five photos per post. Does anyone have any idea why this is? So I have to cut the posts really short in order to get the descripton and the related photo in the same post.
Continued ofcourse, from Part 1:

Apart from Angkor Wat, there is the enclosed city of Angkor Thom with the temple 'Bayon'.

This is the one with all the towers having the four faces of Avalokitheswara gazing down upon you.

This temple has some of the best bas reliefs, mostly depicting the kings and the battles they fought, and daily life of 'Angkorians'. These are truly faaantastic. (At its prime, the city of Angkor housed more than 80,000 people.)

This depicts the naval battle on the river Tomle Sap just south of Seam Reap, between the Khmers (the people of Angkor) and the Chams (their enemies from neighbouring Vietnam.)

(This is my favourite. Do you notice the corn on the cob, the food being cooked and served).

This temple and many others have confusing maze like structures. (books show neat symmetry, but we don’t see it). Some parts of the temple have fallen roofs and some parts are supported with wooden pillars to prevent fall, and dangerous to venture into. I can imagine how the first explorers must have felt when they first came across this temple and found all these faces looking down upon them. Pretty unsettling, I am sure.

Angkor - Part 1

2006-09-12T14:07:00.000-07:00

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Ever since we moved to Singapore in Dec 2000, H and I wanted to visit Angkor Wat in Cambodia. I kept putting it off because V was still very small and would certainly not enjoy being dragged around ancient temples for three or four days. When we decided to move from Singapore last year, we finally made a trip - in April, the hottest month of the year for Cambodia. Poor V. But I observed something curious. He felt hot, thirsty, and tired when we were in the shelter of trees or temples, but was most energetic and enthusiastic when there was tough climbing to do. Specially when he could prove that he was better at climbing than his parents!

This is the mail I wrote to my brother after the trip. I will post them in parts to accommodate the photos. The notes in italics were added for the blog.

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Dear A,
Here is the 'rave' about Angkor I had promised. We visited more than a dozen temples in about 200sq.km around the Siam Reap town. The most impressive being, of course, the Angkor Wat (Wat means temple).
It IS magnificent. Huge. Massive. Grand. First, a low level boundary wall. Then the moat inside it, about 150ft wide. A wide bridge across it. A gate and another enclosing wall with corridors and pillars. Enter that, and you see the beautiful symmetrical outline of the temple in the far distance!

(I just couldn't manage a photograph from this point without a number of tourists in the foreground)

Between you and the entrance to the actual temple, about 4 football fields(?) length. Two small ancient, empty, libraries on either side of the path and then you come to an intersection of roads, and walking further, two huge ponds on either side of the path. You remember the famous photographs of the temple and the reflection in the pond? There is only one pond now and it is dirty.

The temple is extremely well laid out, beautifully planned and symmetrical. There are courtyards inside courtyards and steps taking you up to four different levels. The stairways gets steeper and the steps narrower at each level. The fourth level requires you to climb on all fours! Reaching God is not meant to be easy you see!

There are very neat bas reliefs on the walls and pillars. What impressed me was that these are not rounded or projecting ones like in Belur. They are very thin, (according to some reading that I did on the net perhaps they are described as 'rilievo-stíacciato' -a Tuscan term. I am no sure.) and give a gentle soft appearance and feeling.

In fact, this is so in all the temples in the area. The subject of most of these bas reliefs being Hindu mythology, there is naturally a lovely familiarity for us and fondness. These people were particularly fond of the churning of the sea for Amrita.

In fact, entrance paths to many temples were lined with huge figures pulling the Naga. Added to this is the fact that most temples have a central sanctuary with high rise domes which strongly reminded me of Amma's sakkare acchu( The interesting figures of sugar made by pouring sugar syrup into moulds, during Sankranti). They are supposed to depict mount Meru. Angkor Wat is one of the most intact, best maintained temples in the area, with very little destruction.
.

Back!

2006-09-06T07:12:00.000-07:00

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Back again, in my favourite corner of the sofa, with my own laptop, aware of not having kept the promise I had made to myself before leaving, So much to share, not a clue where to start......
I had a great trip, though at times I did get a slight doubt that I was mad along with the rest of the world, moving from place to place, through impossible traffic just to spend a few minutes with people with whom I could have had much better conversations over the phone, and eat stuff which my stomach expressly ordered my mouth not to accept and which the mouth heartily disobeyed.....
Mysore was as usual wonderful. Such lovely weather! No need of sweaters, and no need of fans! One of the things I have been raving about is the restoration of Karanji tank by the zoo authority. I had not been there on my previous visits but this time I went for a long walk and came back thoroughly impressed. A neat path around the tank, many variety of trees with small boards telling their local and botanical names, Islands full of hundreds of birds and a viewing tower, a small island with flowering shrubs which attract numerous butterflies, well laid out seating areas.....a visit is a must! A walk here and the customary walks along the Kukkarahalli tank, a few music concerts, a play, good Indian food, company of loving family and friends....and I have come back fully restored!

Hibernation

2006-07-10T00:56:00.000-07:00

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At last! It is time for my annual summer - about six weeks - hibernation. (Does the wise Walrus hibernate?) And where else, but in Mysore! Ooh ha! (courtesy Al Pacino in 'Scent Of A Woman') But unlike the other unfortunate animals, I don’t work hard to stock up the larder during the previous weeks, I systematically empty it. Also, during hibernation, I eat much more than I eat during the rest of the year!! Slurp Slurp !! Let's not go into pulse rates and body temperatures.

This year there is something new to consider. My blogging. The family in India which gets all upset when I am not found online while I am here, gets even more upset if I am, while I am there. "You didn’t have to come all the way here to sit in front of the computer", they say. Unfair, you say? Oh, well, that's family for you! :)) But I don't want to miss blogging totally. So I have taken some measures.

The person who first suggested I blog wanted me to write about my travels, particularly to those parts of the world which are not high on the list of the Indian tourist, like Cambodia, northern Thailand (with a peep into Laos and a look through the binoculars at Burma, sorry Myanmar), Kyoto, Hiroshima, Nara and Nikko in Japan, plus a few places in Europe and Australia where we do bump into other Indians. But I never got down to writing about them on the blog. I had e-mailed my nieces and my brother after I returned from some of these places. I have uploaded them on to my blog along with some photos and I hope to do some quick editing before posting them when no one is looking.

I will also definitely visit my favourite spots on the blogosphere whenever I can. I am so afraid that I will be forgotten that I will even try to comment and remind you all about my presence, but please understand if it is only “hm…“, "wow!", 'huh!", "ptchah" and not my usual wise, well thought out,....alright, alright, I will stop.

More from India! Hurray!!!

Garage Sale And Japanese Efficiency

2006-07-02T13:05:00.000-07:00

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Now that summer is here, there are a number of garage sales and car boot sales in the neighbourhood during weekends. Tables laid out on the front lawn, unwanted flower vases and cycle pumps, candle stands and electric kettles, laid on the table haphazardly, some items lying in an open car boot nearby. A member of the family and perhaps a friend sitting on the chairs behind the tables sipping tea and chatting, an occasional customer stopping by to see if anything would interest him.....this is the usual scene. The sight of these sales brought back to memory another garage sale I happened to visit in Singapore.

There were eight apartments on our floor, the 16th in a building of about 30 floors. One morning as I was going about my work, I heard a buzz outside, of people talking. The sound of voices grew till I could ignore it no longer and had to open the door to see. There were a number of Chinese women standing on the landing, talking seriously in low voices. There were also a few Indonesian maids and a couple of small children. The thought occurred to me that a Chinese neighbour had died. I couldn't ask them of course, so I just closed the door and went in.
After about half an hour I stepped out to go to the gym. The number of people had increased and I found a familiar face.
I said "Hi! What’s going on?"
"Don’t you know? There is a garage sale which starts at 10 o'clock. The Japanese family is moving away"
I had seen a notice downstairs but had paid no attention.
"But people have assembled here since about an hour, and it is still 9.30!"
"Yes I know, the Japanese give away a lot of very good stuff when they move away" said my friend.
I invited her to come in and wait.
"No, this is a queue" she said. "They allow only six people at a time and I dont want to lose my place. The first ones to go in have a good choice"
I had no idea a garage sale was such serious business. But I had seen nothing yet!
When I got back from the gym after about an hour, I met a number of people emerging from the lift, carrying bags full of play things, a child’s chair, a bunch of hangers and a step ladder, and completely satisfied looks on their faces. My friend had moved close to the door but still had not gone in.
Another hour passed and I stepped out again, ready to go out on some errand. The queue had reduced, and I found another friend from a different building waiting to be let in. I stood talking to her for a minute when the door opened to allow the next batch in. I was overcome by curiosity and I walked in with my friend.
The scene that met my eyes really amazed me. Next to the door was a long table behind which two Japanese women stood. Behind them on the wall was a notice board with a number of small stickers in neat columns. One of the women offered the newcomers huge, neatly folded plastic carry bags to collect whatever they wanted to buy. As I watched, a lady walked over to the table, her bag overflowing with assorted objects. The Japanese women took the bag, emptied it, and removed a sticker from each of the objects, and stuck them in one column on the notice board, packed the bag again, counted the numbers written on the stickers, informed the total to the woman, collected the money, and sent her away with a smile.
I knew the lady of the house a little. When she saw me she smiled and welcomed me. She was walking around the house offering help to anyone who requested it. The two women behind the table were her friends. Everywhere around the house all the household objects sat tidily with neat stickers on them. Some had bold "Not for sale" stickers, others had tiny price tags. Books, toys, utensils, a few objects d'art, electronic instruments, cushions....After a survey, my curiosity was satisfied and I said bye to my friend and went my way. When I returned, it was around 2 in the afternoon. The place was quiet. There was a notice on the door which said "Special offer! 1pm to 2pm. All items 50c!"
Does a garage sale always involve such planning and organisation, I wondered. Now I feel it is just another example of Japanese efficiency.

W

2006-06-28T09:40:00.000-07:00

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I am doing an assignement. I am to write ten words starting with the letter W and mention what they mean to me.

This was one (1) Whippersnapper's idea of revenge.
I wrote a post explaining why I am not (2) Weird and tagged him to write why he is. Incidentally, he hasn't.
If I am anything, I am, ahem, ahem, (3) Wise.

My son made a mothers day card for me recently with the drawing of a (4) Witch on it, and I have been (5) Wondering ever since.
As the name of my blog indicates, (6) Walking is something I love to do.
The fact that I have a blog, and update it reguarly can mean only one thing. I enjoy (7) Writing.

The opinion is unanimous. This is whom the world thinks I resemble.

(8) Walrus

Beauty queen that I am, what I want most is........ (9) World peace!!

10. Wine. Need I say more?

You can comment on the post without worry. Ony if you are interested will I give you a letter to wr‪ite ten words with.

Ramble On Cooking

2006-06-21T13:44:00.000-07:00

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After reading the post on my weirdness, Bhargav wondered why cooking was not in the list of things I love to do in the 'woman’s domain'. Here is the reply.

The key word in that list was 'love'. I don't love cooking. I can't even say I like cooking.

I still clearly remember my mom's alarm when I declared this to her. In reality, I had never even tried cooking to know that I didn't like it. Since I was old enough to gather that in any household it was the woman who did most of the house work, I didn't want any of it. Consider this: Men and women could love reading, they could dislike gardening. They could both hate driving. Both could hate walking in the sun, and both were allowed to love teaching. But all women had to like cooking? Was there no choice at all for me with regard to liking or disliking cooking? Then I must hate it. As simple as that. And I did.

And then what changed everything was that, like most others in this world, I married. If you think i tried to impress my husband by cooking, no. I am not one of those who believes that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Since my husband had assured me that I had already entered his heart - by some mysterious route which I still haven't identified - I saw no reason to explore new ones. A second path could only be used for exit, specially if it involved my cooking. It is just that after getting married and setting up my own home, I discovered that the good, healthy, tasty food that I had taken for granted all my life was no longer available everyday. I loved my food and I liked it a certain way. It dawned on me rather slowly that if I wanted the kind of food I liked to eat, I better learn to cook it myself.

My husband can cook. With the hope that he won't read this, I confess that he can roll out the most perfectly round aloo parathas. The Andhra style vegetable fries he makes are some of the best I have eaten. (And I have been very careful not to learn to make them as well as him). But he had longer working hours and his workplace was further away from mine. Tell me, how do men manage to arrange this in most marriages? Anyway, if I wanted the kind of food my mother made, and anything else that I happened to eat somewhere and liked very much, I had to learn. And that is the reason I learnt cooking.

Once my son was born it was yet another story. I think it is George Mikes who says in the opening page of his autobiography that everyone's mother is the most beautiful in the world and everyone's mother is the best cook in the world. Except his. He thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world but certainly the worst cook. I didn’t want my son to write something like this in his autobiography. I couldn’t do anything about the beauty part, but being the best cook in the world for my son was perhaps in my hands. Also, once he grew up, and joined college he shouldn’t insist on staying in the hostel for the only reason that hostel food was better.

The net result of all this is that, I have turned out to be a pretty decent cook. My family is happy with home food, though we do eat out occasionally. I have even earned a name among friends and relatives for some of the tasty traditional food I make and a variety of other dishes new to us Indians, like the Italian pasta and risotto and the Mexican enchilada. But let me be clear, if anyone else is ready to make all this for me the way I want, when I want, I will have no hesitation to crown him/her 'super cook' and retire happily. That is the difference between the items on the list, and cooking. With the items on my list, the pleasure is in the doing, whereas in cooking, the pleasure is only and entirely in the result.

How many of you have come across men who point out smugly that though so many women cook, most of the best known chefs are men? There are umpteen reasons for that. But I have absolutely no doubt that by making cooking compulsory for women, the world has lost a few great and innovative chefs. Just consider how many novels you read as text books you still like.

One of my friends is expecting her second child. The other day when I met her she looked absolutely radiant. Her doctor had just told her that it was going to be a girl. She already had a son. She told me the reactions of the rest of the family. Her husband was very happy she said. He was already dreaming of the day when the little one would grow up and make his tea and serve it with love. I almost wished they had another son. I almost asked if the older son would make the pakoras. But I couldn't dampen my friend's happiness. I congratulated her and moved on. In all probability, this man will be a doting father to both his children and will do everything a father needs to do for his children. But he has already placed a subtle extra burden on his unborn daughter.

Since cooking is something we can't do away with, I wish families will teach both their sons and daughters the art of cooking, and in such a way that they both come to enjoy it to some extent, and also the burden is not placed heavily on the women. I am most definitely doing my bit here. My son proudly tells everyone, that he will be cooking as well as his mom by the time he is eighteen. "My mom has promised me that!"

How About An Apology?

2006-06-14T01:10:00.000-07:00

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On Saturday evening when we started to watch one the football matches of the FIFA world cup with friends, someone drew our attention to the words written on the center of the field. "Say No To Racism". A discussion ensued. Isn't it ironical that Germany, known for its holocaust, proclaims this today? Why does it feel compelled to do so? Does it want to prove to the world again and again that it is now different from the Germany we read about in history books? Or is it because of the rise of neonazis in the country that it feels it has to declare to the world that the country as a whole is against racism?

Someone else commented that Britain has never apologised for its Imperialism. Never. Why is there this difference? I feel it depends first of all on whether you demand an apology or not. Secondly how powerful the people who demand it are. When it came to Germany, the 'injured party' included the US and the UK. The two countries had suffered extensively during the war and they being two of the most powerful countries in the world, Germany had to beg forgiveness. Someone else pointed out that the Jews are a powerful lobby now. So everyone is careful not to hurt their feelings.

What about Great Britain and its history of colonialism then? Has it apologized to any country it colonised and plundered and to the people it uprooted (including about 1.5 million Indians) and scattered around the world to do its bidding? Has any country demanded an apology? Ofcourse many African countries have. They have demanded reparations and continue to do so with almost no result . Billions of billions will have to be paid as compensations by the US and UK for the slavery alone. What about India? Gandhiji wanted us to part as friends. That was his greatness. But doesn't Britain feel any remorse for all that it did?

Let me quote from "Empire", the recent book of Nial Ferguson who is "The most brilliant British historian of his generation", according to The Times.

"Under British rule, the village economy's share of total after-tax income actually rose from 45% to 54%. Since that sector represented around three quarters of the entire population, there can therefore be little doubt that British rule reduced inequality in India. And even if the British did not greatly increase Indian incomes, things might conceivably have been worse under a restored Mughal regime had the Mutiny succeeded. China did not prosper under Chinese rulers."

!! ....Oh is that why the British went forward and swamped that country with opium? Cool.
He continues. "The reality, then, was that Indian Nationalism was fuelled not by the impoverishment of the many but by the rejection of the privileged few."

According to him, the English educated Indian elite,

"who aspired to have some share in the government.... and were spurned in favour of the defunct maharajas"

were the ones who fuelled this nationalism. Sad. The rest of the Indian population was quite happy with British Rule.

There. They still discuss it and some even try to make it look good. We don’t talk about it much anymore, let alone demand an apology. Is it unfashionable to do so? We parted as friends, we are all adults now, so why rake up old issues? But I can’t stand and cheer when the same people who committed all those atrocities pose as moral policemen to the world. A voice in me will always ask, ”What about what you did in my country? Have you said sorry for that?" Every time Koizumi visits the Yasukuni shrine for Japanese war heroes, Korea demands an apology (Not that it stops him from visiting it next year). The Koreans are right. How can you let people forget?

Weird? Me?

2006-06-12T06:35:00.000-07:00

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Lalitha has tagged me! My very first tag! And what am I expected to do? Write 5 things weird about me and then pass the buck to 5 others.

Ok,....the weirdest thing about me is..... is.... hm...is... that I dont think there is a anything weird about me. Yeah......there ARE ofcourse a million little quirky things, but.....well.... isn't that normal?

There. My post is ready.

But wait. Here is Lalitha asking me to talk about myself, albeit about my weirdness. When was the last time anybody showed such interest in me and asked me to talk about myself? I dont even remember.....Oh yes, it was in fifth grade, I think. The English teacher asked me to stand up and tell the class, five good things about myself. And exactly the same thing happened. I had absolutely nothing to say. How can I just let go of this opportunity? No! I will write about myself, and it is going to be a bit of a ramble but atleast Lalitha will read ( I hope). Since I, personally dont think there is anything weird about me, let me write what others consider weird about me.

1.Those who stereotype women will find me weird because: I love and enjoy a number of things in the 'man's domain'. I like DIY, including carpentry(learnt in school, tried it even recently, ie, made a shoe rack and toy rack. Not from the assembling kit mind you, but with a saw, nails and hammer and soft wood. I have single handedly installed a ceiling fan. How many men can boast that? I have fixed curtain rods. Drill, bits, screw, the works. And I love vehicles, be it cycles, row boats, or cars, and love riding / rowing / driving them. As a young girl I had fantasised about being a tractor driver.

2. Those who think, "Oh, she should have actually been a man" will find me weird because: I enjoy and love a lot more things that are supposed to be a 'woman's domain'. I like sewing, embroidery, crochet, knitting, patch work, quilting..... I absolutely need knitting for guilt-free TV watching. Just see how much the sweater has progressed and you know how much TV I have been watching. See? This is one sure sign that I wasn't meant to be man. When I sit on front of the TV I dont exercise my fingers by endlessly switching channels. Oops, am I stereotyping men? If there are any men who dont do that, do let me know. Will be pleased to make your aquaintance!
(Come to think of it, they would call my mom weird, because she was the one who taught me to change the washer in the tap, fix the electric iron, and sew and embroider)

3. Car lovers will find me weird because: True, I do love cars and to drive, but I am not exactly what you would call discerning. Till I left India, I thought BMW was a dabba car (is that a kannada slang? well, it means crap, useless, cheap)

4.My nephews find me weird because, according to them, one of my eyebrows is higher than the other. I have showed them all the TV newsreaders in India and pointed out that all of them have an eyebrow higher than the other. I have tried to tell them that it is a sign of beauty. But no, they think I am weird and tease and laugh... :(

5.My parents (If they came to know) may think I am weird because: Inspite of all the loves listed in 1 and 2 plus those that are happily gender free, like reading, gardening, sports, music and so on, the past few months have found me spending most of my free time sitting with my laptop, staring at the screen like a zombie, deep in blogosphere. My son's sweater which I started in September will surely be ready by midsummer.

6. My husband thinks I am weird because: Oh.... only five?

Right!

Haha! Now to tag others. Here are the victims: hmm....in alphabetical order :)
1.Confused
2.Deppe
3.Pridera
4.Shruthi
5.Vikky
We can expect some interesting reading!

Kasturi Kannadada Nammooru

2006-06-04T06:29:00.000-07:00

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(Sachin wrote about Bombay in his blog and invited his readers to write about their cities and so.....)

"Kasturi kannadada nammooru" is a line from a song from an old Kannada movie. It refers to Mysore, the "home of Kannada", and Kannada itself is compared to the exquisite, aromatic (and rare?) Kasturi, or Musk. And Mysore is my home.

Chamundi hills as seen from across the kukkarahalli tank in Mysore

Having said that, the lines that really remind me of Mysore nowadays are those from the American serial of the 80s,'Cheers'.

"Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name
And they are always glad you came"

Because that is exactly what I feel when I go to Mysore. Mysore is not a town. It is and has been for a long time, a city. It was after all the capital of the princely state of the same name, the home of the Kings of Mysore, the home of the first University in what is now Karnataka, and the cultural capital of the state. But it has retained one characteristic of a small town: In Mysore, people know each other. Once when visiting Delhi, to prove the point to a friend, I had posted a letter with just my father's name and the pin code written on it and and it had reached him.

The moment I arrive on the railway platform in Bangalore central station I recognize a few Mysoreans. Throughout my stay, I meet people who have known me from childhood, and who make me feel as if seeing me was the best thing that happenend to them in recent days. The morning after I arrive, I go to the neighbouring Kukkarahalli tank for a walk. My parents warn me not to take too long, standing around talking to everyone I meet. And sure enough, I meet my old doctor, a friend's mother, my father's friend...., who greet me with 'Anu....! I knew it was you, even from that distance....when did you come..?" On the way back, I go to the Kannan shop on the next road, to be greeted with the warmest smile and "How are you, how is your son?" In the evening as I walk to a music concert the girl who sells flowers under the tree in the corner, calls out across the street "akka..chennaagideera?"(Sister, are you doing well?). In the concert hall, by the time the artists arrive, my jaws are aching due to all the smiles.

Early morning at kukkarahalli tank

I have a strong feeling that the Yellow pages have no use in Mysore. The paediatrician is your cousin. The dentist is the sweet and gentle young lady just round the corner. Have to get the compound repaired? Call your old friend, he got some work done just the other day and said they did an excellent job. Want to buy a new fridge? Another friend offers to take you to the new big showroom, her old student works there and will even get you a discount...... That is Mysore for you.

The interesting thing is that it was my anonymity in a new country that appealed to me most when I first went to live in Singapore. I could wear any weird dress and cut my hair any length. I could sit all alone in a cafe and sip my tea and read my book. I once walked from the mall to my house with my eyes closed and my six year old son leading me by the hand, just because he wanted to know how it worked. I would have felt rather awkward doing that in Mysore. Yet it is to bask in the warmth of familiarity that I wish to return to Mysore again and again.

Migratory birds on the island in the middle of the tank

I leave it to the tourist and the weekend visitor to describe the popular sights of the city. But when I close my eyes and think of Mysore what comes to mind is this: The smell of Jasmine and the peaceful summer evenings of my childhood; The sound of rain water on the coconut fronds and the "Oh why cant we bottle it?" smell of the earth; The lovely contrast of red gulmohars against the rain filled dark grey clouds; the most glorious colours of the sky as I walk towards the sunset from Kuvempunagar; the bright translucent yellow of the hundreds of fallen flowers on swimming pool road, as the rays of the setting sun streaks through them; The first glimpse of the Chamundi hills in the distance as the train approaches Mysore which brings a lump to my throat - well, that is my Mysore.

Smiley's People

2006-06-01T02:48:00.000-07:00

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I wrote a comment on a blog, adding a slightly serious angle to a light hearted post. When I read it again I had a doubt that it sounded too critical. Perhaps a bit harsh when I did not intend to be harsh? I quickly added a smiley at the end of the comment. It now looked ok. It actually sounded ok. I read it once again, and felt it said exactly what I wanted to say in the exact tone I intended. Satisfied, I hit the button 'publish'.

Then I wondered. What would I have done before the advent of Smileys? How would I have expressed this little bit of jocularity when writing something just a little serious? Have the Smileys added an extra dimension to our language and made it richer, or has our ability with words deteriorated so much that we need facial expressions as props to complete what we started out to say?

Here is something about the original Smiley's People

Scarecrow Trail

2006-05-29T09:27:00.000-07:00

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On Sunday afternoon I went for a long walk, a really long one. I walked along the Thames for about an hour, till I reached the Sonning village. I had heard that the village was very picturesque, and it sure is! The cottages are so very pretty, sorrounded by even prettier gardens. The names of the cottages seem to have jumped out of Agatha Christie's Miss Marple stories.

I found it surprising that one of the houses had a scarecrow on its roof. why is a scarecrow needed in the middle of a village? A few steps down the road, there was a huge stuffed pig and a stuffed dog peeping out of the upstairs window of a house. I assumed it was an inn decorated to attract passersby. A further few steps away, there was a life size doll of Mary Poppins hanging from her umbrella under a roof. Are all houses in this village adorned with stuffed dolls?

The Simpsons

And then I saw this board:

SONNING VILLAGE SCARECROW TRAIL SUN 28th & MON 29th MAY 06 from 11am - 5 pm. Over 70 Scarecrow characters to spot- from Postman Pat to Ali Gee ! 5 lovely Village Gardens Open. Church ’Fun’ Floral Display. All day refreshments. Plant Sale. Trail Map & Gardens ticket £3 per adult per day. FREE PARKING. Great Day Out for all ages.

The event was organised to raise money for a children's playground. The British seem to have very innovative ways to raise money for different causes!!

I can't help but appreciate that so many households have enthusiastically put up the scarecrows in their yards, or on the footpaths outside their house in aid of the community.

Message from a bottle

I wonder what the royals would say if they knew that the people had put them up as scarecrows!!

Prince Charles and his wife

I just had to return the next day to show the Harry Potter, Eliza Doolittle, Wizard of Oz scarecrows to my son. This time ofcourse there was no question of walking (According to Google Earth I had walked more than 12km to and from home the previous evening). I had to drive.

Had a good time walking around the village and eating 'Walls Magnum' with friends !

Let A Girl Overtake Me? No Way!!

2006-05-23T05:48:00.000-07:00

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When I was in college I had a bicycle (Yes, back then, college girls didnt zoom around on Kinetic Hondas :)). I loved my cycle. It was my proudest possession. My brother bought it for me soon after he got his first job and from the day it arrived, I was a willing messenger, letter 'poster', money 'withdrawer', shopper.....in general, a great errand girl for my parents. Our family friends, who lived five houses away joked that I took the cycle out even when I had to visit them. I just didnt understand what was so funny about it!

Once I hopped on to the cycle, I hated getting off till I reached the destination. I rode it through traffic, through flocks of sheep, through the rain, and up steep inclines till I got where I wanted.

On the way to college there was a long road that went uphill, became really steep along one stretch, till at some point it levelled out. Most riders, young and old, male and female, got off at that steep incline and pushed their cycles up till they reached the flat road. I was loathe to get off even here.I started pedalling fast a little early so that I gathered a bit of momentum which helped me ride up the hill without any major effort.

Gradually over the days I made a very interesting observation. Whenever I overtook a male rider who was pushing his bike up the incline, I could be sure that within a few seconds, he would be up on the bike and overtake me. The girls didnt seem to care. If they decided to push the cycle rather than ride it, they continued to push it irrespective of who rode past them. This became a game for me. Whenever I saw a male rider ahead of me struggling up the hill, an evil grin would form itself in my head, I would pedal fast, overtake, and start counting. One, two, three, four...... Without fail, hundred percent of the time, before I counted ten he was past me. The younger the poor devil, the earlier he had to hop on to the bike. Such entertainment it provided me, back then!!

Ohhh, the Vanity of Men!!
:)))))))))))))))))

Summer Makeover

2006-05-20T13:59:00.000-07:00

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Thames valley in winter 2005............

..............and now.

I tried to get these swans to be part of the picture above, but without bread slices, they just wouldn't cooperate!

An Audience With Richard Dawkins

2006-05-16T08:19:00.000-07:00

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The name of Dawkins first registered in my mind when I read an article "Is Science a Religion?". I was a fan almost immediately (and NOT after I saw how handsome he was, which is what my impish niece suggests). Richard Dawkins is an evolutionary biologist, popular science writer and at present the Charles Simonyi Professor of the Public Understanding Of Science at Oxford. He is an outspoken atheist, who was compelled to say after the Sept 11th attacks, "I used to think religion was harmless nonsense, entitled to at least some respect. I'd now drop the 'harmless'. And the last vestige of respect." And perhaps angered many.

I searched for and read other articles on the net and then finally found a fantastic book 'Unweaving the Rainbow'! This time, I fell in love with Science, all over again. The book can be considered as a retort to the accusation by Keats that Newton had destroyed all the poetry of the rainbow by reducing it to the prismatic colors. Dawkins has set out to show "the feeling of spine-shivering, breath-catching awe — almost worship — this flooding of the chest with ecstatic wonder, that modern science can provide" (quote from 'is science religion?') and has fully succeeded.

Imagine my thrill when I heard that " An audience with Richard Dawkins" had been organised in a hall near where I live! I called up and booked my ticket. I couldn't wait to hear such a learned and articulate man of science speak. It turned out to be more than I hoped for. There were about five hundred people in the audience. First there was a reading of passages from his various books, 'Unweaving the Rainbow', ' A Devil's Chaplain' and his latest, 'The Ancestor's Tale', by Dawkins and his wife Lalla Ward. They made a superb job of it. Lalla Ward being an actress, was able to bring in that extra life into quotations and dialogues found in the passages.

Next came a Q and A session. It is one thing to produce written work of extreme clarity, and lucidity (not that it is easy!), but an entirely different matter to speak with these same qualities when asked unexpected questions. There were questions concerning the recent controversy in America regarding teaching creationism in schools, about the place of morality in the absence of religion, how evolution explained the existance of moral values in humans, how if given the chance, Dawkins would change the teaching of science in schools...... Whatever the questions were, the answers appeared well thought out, and were engrossing and extremely thought provoking. I also have to note that some of the questioners obviously disagreed with Dawkins on the matter of religion. But to the credit of both parties, the exchanges were in a most dignified manner.

At the end of the program there was a book signing. I had bought A Devil's Chaplain' earlier in the evening and I got Dawkins' autograph on it before I went home. An evening well spent.

I had been a little reluctant to pick up 'The Ancestor's Tale' because of its size, and the fact that it is entirely about evolution, but this experience has left me with a thirst to learn more about evolution. I think I will go for it.

Agony and Ecstasy

2006-05-11T06:18:00.000-07:00

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I had said I would write about the agony and ecstasy of working in a charity book shop. Well, 'My World - Of Heroic Mice And Thai Curries' should serve as an introduction to this. My experience in book shops the past few years being what they were, consider how it feels to be left all alone in a fantastic book shop for four hours at a stretch!

This is no ordinary book shop mind you! It is a second hand book shop, and second hand book shops, and old books (a..a...achoooo!!) have their own special charm for me. (When in Bangalore and Mysore the Select Book Shop on Brigade road was a favourite) The old books in leather jackets and gold edges, which my father quoted from and said was a must read , which I found too serious back then; Classics which, if we read, were in paperbacks, found here at their original dignified hardbound best, and with original illustrations; The popular books I read as a child or college student, and the books which were the rage a year and a half ago, and a few odd new ones, all sitting invitingly together in one room! If spending four leisurely hours in that room is not ecstasy, what is?

And what do I do in this book shop? I sort out the donations, and send the salable ones to the appropriate shelves in the store room above the shop. I bring in my favourites from the store room and display them in the shop. Occasionally when a really old book appears among the donations, I search in abebooks to find their value, sometimes discovering that it could fetch us hundred of pounds! Ofcourse I also bring home books at very reasonable prices.

The customers are so interesting! The youngish grandmother looking for Beatrix Potter's 'Benjamin Bunny' to give to her new born(!) grandson named Benjamin. The old man with the dog who buys a book from the 50p tray every week, reads it and promptly brings it back to donate to the shop. Students from the university who come in one after the other desperately looking for the same book till we realise they are participating in a treasure hunt.....

Have you as a kid, ever played make-believe shopkeeper and customer with leaves for notes and pebbles for coins? Ever fought to be the shop keeper? Ha! I get to play the shop keeper with a proper till and real money! I am proud to say that I have finally learnt to make a transaction without hitting a single wrong button! (There were just a dozen buttons to learn. Tchah! I thought. Easy. Then I was alone at the till when a customer came along and I pressed some button and it went "kreeeeeeeeeeee"!) Great fun. (when you dont have to do it everyday, I suppose!)

Now for the Agony. A lot of donations come in every week. Unfortunately, many of the books are not in great condition. They are unlikely to be sold. There are some other books which sit on the shelves for months occupying precious space. We keep reducing their price till finally they cost 50p and even then are not sold. What to do with them? Some are bought by another roadside bookseller, but the others..... are sent for recycling! Really, it is absolutely heartbreaking! When I make a fuss, the other volunteers tell me it is better than the books sitting for ages collecting dust. If they are recycled they will hopefully come out as other books (or toilet paper?! Ohh the Agony!) I am so tempted to rescue some of them, but where is the limit? As it is, I buy quite a few books I really want. Even when I know I already have many at home I havn't read, I pick up some telling myself I will not get them for 50p when I do have the time to read. So I end up coming home after every session, thinking that surely someone somewhere would have wanted that book, but now it has gone to be recycled! Sigh!

Note: Just as I finish typing this there is talk about our donating these books to another charity that is collecting books to establish libraries in Africa. If that happens, I will be the happiest!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Btw, my son read 'My world - Of heroic Mice and Thai Curries', and said,
"Nooo Ma, you have got it all wrong, they are all lies"
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah...........I never read Brian Jacques when we were visiting Kinokunia, it was only after coming here, to England, and..... Alex Raider is not the latest, it is the vampire books...."
So you see, the lies are all in the little details!

I Cast My Vote In England!

2006-05-05T11:09:00.000-07:00

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Yes. Last evening, I cast my vote in England. Not to elect the President of the Kannada Sangha, not to elect the secretary of the Indian Association, but to elect the councillor for the borough we live in! I, a citizen of India, resident of England for less than a year, I voted. I am told that even during the country's general elections, my vote is invaluable. Am I the only one who finds this wierd, or are you with me?

When my husband first told me that we were eligible to vote and he would register us as voters, I cound not believe it. He explained that since we were citizens of a commonwealth country, and were residents of UK, we were eligible. I later discovered that I could even stand for election to the House of Commons!

In a way, voting in the council elections seems right. After all we pay our council taxes. If I pay for something, I should have a say in how it is delivered. But my mind just refuses to extend it to the national arena. Would I like a foreigner to vote in India to decide who will head the governement at the center? I think not!

I initially said I would not vote. I felt I should not vote. You see, I have voted only a couple of times in India, when I was in Mysore and Bangalore. After the introduction of the photo ID, and our move to Delhi and the resulting confusion in voters lists, I never voted. Now that we live outside India, and there is no overseas ballot, there is no question of voting. I felt that if I don't cast my ballot in my own country, why here? Faulty logic, hence I said 'felt' and not 'think'.

Is it a right or a duty to vote? For me it is both, in India. But here? I don't know! I finally decided I should treat it the same way here, atleast in the council elections. Plus I was curious to see a voting booth, and the voting process here. We could vote any time between 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. Very long hours compared to India! So off we went at 8.30 in the evening. There were no banners near the booth, no flags, no party members with leaflets and stupid grins urging us to vote for their party. All very quiet. I felt like an intruder. The election commission had sent us cards with our registration numbers on it, but I assumed we would need some identification, so we carried our passports along. But no one asked to see any proof of identity. We mentioned our names and address, and the election officer found them on a list, she struck them off and gave us the ballot slips, we voted, and the lady thanked us and we were out.

What should I do during the national elections? When I wouldn't want a foreigner to vote in my country, how can I vote here? The parliament can take major decisions that could change the lives of people in the entire nation. How does this country allow outsiders to be part of the process of electing their MPs?? During the last US elections, when an American friend in Singapore was getting ready to cast her (overseas) vote, I had told her that since the US pokes its nose in every country's business, the outcome of the US elections will affect all of us, so all of us should have the right to vote. She agreed (that I was right). But I can't say the same about UK, atleast not now. And I wonder how the citizens of UK feel about it. How is it that they are not jumping up and down and protesting, especially with the paranioa concerning outsiders that appears to be increasing after the terrorist attacks? Or are the numbers too small to worry about? But I thought every single vote is supposed to matter. Well, I for one, just don't understand it.

Spring Heading Towards Summer

2006-04-28T14:50:00.000-07:00

I was inspired to put up these photos after seeing Pridera's post

My daily(?!) walks had been a bit of an ordeal the first three months of the year thanks to the cold weather. Then not only has the weather improved, but I also got to see these beauties whenever I step out!

I don't know the names of most of them ....

I thought white flowers would not look good agaist a light background. But they look quite alright don't they?

On the other hand, these magnolias looked so magnificent, but the photo does not do justice at all!

So these are the flowers Wordsworth wrote about..Daffodils!

Some flash of colour

My World - Of Heroic Mice and Thai Curries

2006-04-27T13:56:00.000-07:00

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"Hey V?.....How about going to the Kinokuniya book shop today?"
"Yayyy! Yippee! .......Will you buy me a book, Ma?"
"Mmm....Let's see...."
"Owww.....! I hate it when you say 'Let's see'!"

(Havn't I heard that before somewhere?....Oh yeah... that was ME many years ago.....complaining to MY mom..)

"V, look here, there is no rule that we HAVE to buy a book whenever we go to the book shop. It is good to just browse, you know! Sometimes we may get the same books in the library"
"I hate to just browse. I will only come, if we are buying books"

(I never said that to my mom! I was a nice, mild, undemanding.... oh alright, I just didn't dare!)

"See.... these shops even allow you to sit in a corner and read...., you can read some of the books there, make a note to look for some others in the library, and if there is a book we really like...."
"Right!...One book then?"
"Hey wait....! Let's see... I mean...Oh,ok!"

(Why on earth did I yield so easily?? hm....... C'mon, atleast he is not asking for video games, he is turning out to be a regular book lover.... and yeah....perhaps it will give me some time to browse for my books....)

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"C'mom Ma, the kids' section is out there!"
"OK.. V, you be there... I will go round the shop and come back to you.....V? Hello ? V?"
"Ma, look! Magic Tree House books! There is one I have not read.... can I buy it?"
"Wait wait, go through the shelves..... there must be other books you will like...."
"But I like this....!"
"Your school has loads of MTH books"
"Not this one, See? This is new!"
"V.... Listen! I am not prepared to spend $6 on a book you will finish in 15 minutes. You can wait for the school to get it. Now look for other books"
(Sulk sulk....)

("Hmm.... This book is interesting....'Galileo's daughter'....Is it a biography, or....")

"Ma....look at this.....! This is really a great book on soccer. There are so many books on soccer there, come let me show you....."
"YOU can look through them V, let me spend some time here..."
"Just come for a minute...., please.... see? Isnt this wonderful? Here is Thierry Henry! Guess who this is.....? It is Ronaldhino when he was a kid!!"
"Hmm, nice. Ok.... can I go now?"
"Can I buy this..? pleeeease??"
"Dont even think about it!! $45 for a book of pictures of soccer players! Most certainly not!"
(Sulk sulk....)

("Ahha.... this is interesting! Biography of Iris Murdoch...I wonder if it is the same as.....")

"Ma.... I finally found a book I really really want. Brian Jacques is a really good author! All the characters in his books are animals. There are mice, rats, shrews, badgers, ferrets, otters, moles, squirrels...it is really informative..."
"Dont you play the 'informative' card on me! If you want information, we have the animal encyclopaedia at home"
"Seriously, you learn a lot from this book! Infact I have been telling YOU to read 'Martin the Warrior'. It is the best...and Ma,this is JUST $25. Or.....is that a lot?"
"Ofcourse it is a lot!......But well....Ok, you can have it..... Now, will you leave me alone for just a while....?"
"Wowie!! Thanks Ma, sure, you go ahead!"
(Hug Hug)

("'Ancestors tale' by Richard Dawkins.....is it history? Where did I hear the name of Dawkins before?")

"Ahem....Ma......?"
"Now what ....V?
"I am really hungry......"

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The two of us sit at Delifrance, eating pizza baguette and sipping tea......with V happily reading about the adventures of Luke, Martin's father. I glance through the 'Vegetarian Thai Dishes' I bought for $4 from a display next to the cash counter. I suppose they keep them there just to comfort harassed moms.
Over the last few years, I have learnt all about the comparitive sizes of various Dinosaurs, the complex evolutionary paths of different Pokemons, the jinxes and hexes used by Harry Potter and other witches and wizards, the adventures of Martin the Warrior (mouse), the differences between Vampires and Vampaneze (ugh!), and more recently, the missions of the young MI6 agent Alex Rider.
The other day, a friend asked me,
"Anu, you like Amitav Ghosh's books, don't you? Have you read his recent one on Cambodia?"
Amitav.... Ghosh.....?? Er....Who is that?

Charity shops

2006-04-20T23:09:00.000-07:00

A feature of every town in England is the charity shop. The way it works is this. Let us say you have a book you no longer need, or a sweater you no longer fit into, or a toy your child played with ages ago and has now outgrown....and you just don't know what to do with it. What you can do is take it to a shop run by a charitable organisation and donate it. They decide whether it is in good enough condition for someone else to be interested in buying it. If it is, they fix a price on it and display it in their shop. The price is much less than its original price and there are many people ready to buy it. The organisation gets money for its work, you feel good that you did not throw away something that was once useful to you, and you actually helped in a good cause.

I think this is a wonderful idea. There are charity shops run by Oxfam (which I believe started the trend and has hundreds of shops), Amnesty International, Salvation army, British heart foundation, cancer research UK, Marie Curie cancer care, British red cross, and many others. They sells books, clothes, toys, CDs, cassettes, gifts and so on. Most of them are single room shops with very pretty window displays, that would tempt you to go in and have a look. Most of the shops are run by volunteers. It has been estimated that nearly a hundred billion pounds are raised every year for charity through these shops. There is the additional advantage that many things which would only have gone to the landfill are being given a further use. One step towards 'reduce, re-use and recycle'!

I hear there are charity shops in many other countries. I wonder why they have not caught on in India. There are innumerable organisations working for good causes. There would be lots of people happy to buy things in good condition, available at low rates. I am equally sure there are many people who hang on to unused items in the house for the simple reason that they dont want to throw them away, but would gladly part with them if they are sure someone will use them.You may say that one might as well donate things to people who actually need them. But there is always the problem of linking up the needy to the one giving the charity. This is an excellent way of bringing them together! Are there charity shops in India that I am not aware of?

I volunteer at a charity book shop. It is both agony and ecstasy for me! More about it in my next post.

Did they rule my country?

2006-04-17T04:34:00.000-07:00

"Just look at this inefficiency.... terrible.....! Whereas, in foreign countries......"
Are such comments still made?

2005. We shift to this town in UK, stay at a serviced apartment for a few weeks, find a suitable apartment to rent. So far so good. With three days left to move, the fun begins. The estate agent says he has mailed the rental agreement, but we don't recieve it. We go to the agency. A cursory "Sorry about that!" , and we get a new form. We find that our 'previous landlord' in UK has to give a letter saying we have always paid our rents on time. We call up the manager of the serviced apartment. "Sure!" she says and forgets all about it for the next 24 hours. When the letter doesn't arrive, we call her again. "I was busy. I will try to send it today". TRY......!?? She knows that we HAVE to leave the serviced apartment the next day and if we havn't got our apartment by then, we have nowhere to go! But the letter arrives the next morning. We move.

There is gas, electricity, and water in the new apartment, but we have to apply for the telephone. We do. We get a letter on the 1st, telling us our telephone number, and saying the line will be activated on the 21st. 21 DAYS?? This is a 'first world country'! Surely there must be some mistake? We call the service provider from the mobile. But the letter is right, no engineer is free before that date. On the 21st, the engineer will make the connections outside our building and the phone will start working. Sigh! We settle down to wait.

The much awaited day arrives, and I lift the phone every few minutes to see if there is a dial tone, but no, silence. Towards afternoon it occurs to me to dial the number given to us, from my mobile. I hear the phone ringing and....... a lady picks up the phone!! Ooops, I have dialled a wrong number! Since someone HAS picked up the phone, I tentatively ask if the number is such and such and the lady says no. Ah..., so I HAVE dialled a wrong number. I dial again, careful not to make a mistake. The same lady on the other end, a little exasperated. "No...! It is NOT that number!" .......Just where is my call going? Now we call customer service. After being on line for 45 minutes (no exaggeration!) we are told that the engineer has finished with our area for this week, and will visit us after 5 days. Wha...?? Can't believe this. Meanwhile a friend visits me from Bangalore and through him I come to know that Mysore is now completely Wi-fi!! I can sit in a park in Mysore and access the internet.

Five days pass and finally a mechanic arrives, checks all the connections within the house, tells me that everything in the house is ok. There must be some fault with the lines outside. I am assured that an engineer will arrive shortly to correct it. I wonder what 'shortly' means. A couple of hours later, I am relieved to see the engineer working furiously outside the apartment, in the midst of a tangle of cables. I learn that our cable had been connected to the apartment downstairs. They had TWO cables leading to the same phone! Cool! I just hope that the exasperated lady downstairs hasn't made long distance calls through my line.

I have just started reading a book called 'Empire. How Britain made the modern world', by Nial Ferguson. According to the blurb, the book discusses this: "....Just how did a small, rainy island in the north atlantic..... rule the plains of Asia, the jungles of Africa and the deserts of Arabia". I would really like to know.

Current Run Rate

2006-04-10T07:25:00.000-07:00

Most of my old friends won't believe what they are reading. "Anu...? run rate..? Is she talking about cricket? what does Anu know about cricket? She doesnt even like cricket!" They are actually right. I don't know much about cricket and what I do know, does not particularly excite me. You see, I grew up in a family where my father believed that cricket was not a sport at all. He pointed at some of the famous cricketers of the 70's and their big paunches, and said that if the so called best cricketers developed paunches while being on the team, it can't be much of a sport. I think he is right. I don't think much of a game which, if I played, I would be standing waiting for something to happen 80% of the time. I prefer games like tennis, basket ball, badminton, where there is continuous action for everyone....

But sometimes one has to develop an interest in some things for various reasons. In my case, the reason was, I married and, ....no no, my hubby is not a great fan of cricket either. He is mildly interested, but is ready to sit through the night to watch only soccer..... I got married and moved to an apartment, where my neighbours had two young school going sons. They became my great friends, particularly the younger one who was about 8 years old. When I got back from work in the evening, little Chinu always welcomed me outside my door, giving me the day's news. It could be something interesting that happened in school or home, or a fight he had with his friend. One evening he was hopping in and out of his apartment when I entered the building and as soon as he saw me, called out, "Auntie.... Azhar duckoo....!".

(This is one of the beauties of kannada. Whenever we like a word that belongs to English, all we have to do is add an "oo" or a "u" to it and it becomes our own. For example, when we speak about computers in kannada, we dont have to look for a kannada word for computer, we can just say "computeru" and we have a new word!)

Anyway, here was little Chinu telling me that Azhar was a duck. I was zapped! Even with my limited knowledge of cricket I knew that there was this guy called Azhar who was the captain of India's cricket team. What can it mean when you say he is a duck? How on earth did he transform into one? Chinu's countenance did not indicate whether I was expected to be happy about it or sad. Before I could react, he dragged me into their house. I walked in and looked at the screen totally unsure what to expect. There I saw this normal looking man without feathers or beak, but with a bat under his arm, head bowed, walking slowly amidst a huge uproar. He didnt seem particularly happy. And as I watched, a cartoon duck made an appearance, also with a bat under its arm, shoulders drooping, and started walking behind the man. I was about to laugh at this, because it was really very comical, but a glance at Chinu's father alerted me to the fact that this was not something one could laugh about. After nodding my head to everything the boys and their father excitedly told me and a few "waa"s and "chhe"s, I walked home with a determination to find out about this duck business from my husband. He would surely know.

This was my entry into the world of cricket. I wanted to impress Chinu, so I thought I better learn something about ducks. And I did. Soon I could calculate 'run rates' and 'required run rates' and since I normally start watching the match only when there are a few overs left and ofcourse, India is playing, I even make "intelligent" guesses about the chances of India winning a particular match. (I hear someone saying, "Aww.. no one can guess thaaaat". But I never said I guessed right!)

My son has inherited his father's love for soccer. But he has to play soccer, rugby and cricket in school according to the season. The coming season being 'summer', it is time for cricket. Meanwhile, having attended a rugby match in school, I have decided that cricket is much better than rugby, atleast for young boys to play. I don't have to be worried about my child breaking his bones in a 'ruck' or a 'scrum'. Ofcourse people have pointed out to me that in cricket, if the child dozes off while fielding, a ball may hit him and hurt him. But I think this can be prevented, by getting a few extras to stand around the field and talk to the boys to keep them awake. Anyway, my son will attend a cricket coaching camp soon. Since there are school holidays now and the India vs England series is on, I have been watching it with him once in a while, and imparting to him what little knowledge I have.

And I think I have found a flaw in the terminology of cricket. Why is 'current run rate' called that? For me 'current' means 'belonging to the present time'. In terms of run rate, current run rate is the run rate during the last 3 or 4 overs. What is now called 'current run rate' is actually the average run rate for all the overs before the current one. The average run rate is important, but the run rate for the last few overs is equally important. Consider this. India is batting second and in the 46th over. We have made 225 runs till now. We need 50 more runs to win. That is when I switch on the TV. The announcement says, "current run rate is 5 runs per over, required run rate is 10 runs per over." Depressing indeed. I would switch off immediately. But the fact is that we have a number of wickets still on hand and the players have been hitting left, right and center in the last 5 overs, making about 10 runs per over. What term do you have for this recent run rate? None. The announcement should be, "The average run rate is 5 runs per over, the current run rate is 10 runs per over, and the required run rate is 10 runs per over." If I hear this, I can decide to keep the TV on for a few more minutes and hope to see India win. What say you? (Ofcourse there are some who say that India winning is really not so good, we should consistently lose, so that other games in India have a chance of revival. Well....)

I wonder if my father will disown me if he gets to read this?? Naa.... parents are very forgiving. But I can hear him saying to my mother.."She should never have given up her job. Look what a 'nirudyogi' she has become. She spends time thinking about and writing articles on cricket!!"
(the nearest English equivalent of 'nirudyogi' is 'jobless')

Snakes in the lunch box

2006-04-06T11:07:00.000-07:00

I wrote this in response to the comment by 'Bru' to my previous blog.

I was in class 5, so perhaps I was around 10 years old. My school, which was on the outskirts of the city, had many acres of fields and gardens around it. One afternoon, I was sitting on the grass, watching some senior students play throwball. I clearly remember scratching the ground beside me with a stick, and unearthing what looked to me like small tubers or plant bulbs. There were about four or five of them. They were less than an inch in diameter, and what made them different from ordinary tubers was, they were very soft and they appeared to be pulsating. My sister is a biology enthusiast. I vaguely remember that I wanted to take them home and show them to her. The only container I could get was my empty lunch box. Naturally, I put these interesting objects into it and carried them home.

I dont remember clearly what happened at home. The version I get to hear from time to time is that I left the lunch box in my book case. After a few days, the room started smelling really bad. When my mother searched for the source of this stench, she discovered little dead snakes and eggs in the lunch box.

For years I didn't believe what my mother and sisters told me. Perhaps my mother had thrown away the contents of the box by the time I came home from school, or more likely, threw the lunch box out. I insisted that I had never brought home snake eggs, and definitely not baby snakes. They were something else. But once on discovery channel, I happened to see snake eggs, and from the way they were being handled, I knew what they must feel like to touch. And it then dawned upon me that what I had picked up that day were indeed snake eggs!

But why did I keep them in the book case? Why did I not show them to my sister? Did I forget all about them once I put it there? I have no idea! Now I feel terrible to think of the poor snake babies hatching into a dark suffocating box and never seeing the light of day! On the other hand, what would have been my mom's reaction if she had opened it and found live snakes in it?? Better not think about it now!

Pets!

2006-04-02T01:34:00.000-08:00

In a few days, my son V turns ten! Just the other day, when he was 4 or 5, and was pestering me for a pet, I had promised to get him one on his tenth Birthday. The reasoning was that , no pet could be happy, cooped up in our 21st floor apartment in Singapore. In a few years, we would go back to India, and live in a house. Also, at the age of ten, he would be old enough to take some resposibility in caring for the pet. Perhaps, I even secretly hoped that if we put it off long enough he would grow out of this fancy for pets. V has neither forgotten my promise, nor has he lost interest in pets.

I have never taken care of an animal before. Ofcourse, that does not mean that I don't understand how he feels. When I was about eight, I desperately wanted a cow. It was all very simple. I would keep her in the shed behind the house. I would keep the hay in the loft. I just had to learn how to milk the cow, which I was sure, I would master in a few days. When no other line of reasoning worked, my mother told me that the red oxide floor of the shed was too smooth for the hooves of the cow, she would slip and fall. My (then) simple mind accepted that and I gave up the idea of owning a cow. Ofcourse I still love cows, and during the summer holidays in Mysore, when a wandering cow smells the water melon we are eating and ambles towards our house, I like to give her the thick skin of the melon and watch her as she eats it with a dreamy, faraway look in her eyes and a juicy "crrunch...., crrunch....". I nurse a small hope that one day I will own a tiny farm and a line of adorable cows.....

Back to my son. When bigger animals were ruled out, V asked for fish. In a moment of motherly weakness, I brought home a fish bowl and a couple of red coloured little fish, fish food, a net, and whatever else the shopkeeper insisted were absolutely necessay, to care for the fish. V was supremely happy. The bowl of fish sat on the dining table when he ate, shifted to his room when he played, stood on the table beside his bed when he slept. Things were great for a couple of weeks. Then one morning we found one fish dead, and in a few days the other. Naturally, my son was very upset. He could not understand why the fish had to die. I said the space in the bowl was not enough for them, and perhaps they were not happy with the chlorine in the tap water, which we used to fill the bowl. I said no to buying any more fish. We shouldn't bring home and kill the poor creatures.

On our next trip to the botanical gardens, V took a bottle and the net with him. With me hanging on to him from behind, he diligently collected dirty water and some little swimming things from a pond. He was very happy that he now had some fish, which he would keep in the water they were used to. They would surely survive. We came home and observed the little swimmers. I felt they were tadpoles. He was sure they were fish. I said we would soon find out, they would develop legs. But they died.

My son walked around unhappily for a few days. One fine rainy evening, he ran into the house and took a small plastic box and ran out again. The next thing I knew, I had a snail, lovingly called Melville, on my hands. The next few days saw me washing and tearing lettuce at lunch time, not for my salad, but for Melville. I told V that Melville was lonely, it was not good to confine him in that box. I hadn't chosen my words well. That evening, Melville got company. I cleaned the box, and made salad for two snails from that day. Taking pity on them, I sometimes spread a paper on the center table and allowed them to wander around for a while, much to the disgust of my friends. One day, V saw me washing their box wearing gloves and with wrinkled nose. He finally took pity on me and took the snails out and set them free. He occasionally came back from play saying "I met Melville today"

After this there were a series of other creepy crawlies. He once brought home a grass hopper and played with it in the balcony for a few days, till it found a way out and flew away. Another day, he found a cocoon on the stem of a plant and brought the stem home. We put it in the empty fish bowl and covered it with a net. I will never forget the look of exultation on V's face, when he came home from school, and found the cocoon open and a dull brown coloured little butterfly flying around the bowl. He voluntarily took the bowl out and set the butterfly free. Next were three spiders in a jar. They were with us till the bigger spider ate the smaller two.

The experience with the fish(?) from the botanical gardens had left V with a desire to grow tadpoles. On the next trip to Mysore, he got his willing aunt to bring home a terrarium and spent the next day adding mud, arranging stones and planting some small plants in it. Next, we had a dozen tadpoles swimming in the water in the terrarium. Much of V's time was spent counting the tadpoles hidden behind the stones and leaves, making sure they were all alive, and observing them with a lens. To his glee some of them soon developed little legs, their tails disappeared, and one day we found a tiny frog sitting on one of the plants, looking out curiously at the world. We quickly tied a net round the mouth of the terrarium, to prevent it escaping, Next day when we were getting ready to leave Mysore, there was another little frog looking out at us from the top of a plant. V did try to sell the idea of taking them with us, but didn't succeed. The next thing we heard from Mysore was that the frogs had escaped despite the net and everyone at home was on their hands and knees trying to catch them. Even a week later someone would come upon one of the little fellows in some unexpected place.

NOW. V wants a REAL pet. Real, according to him being, one that either meows or barks. Heellppp!!!!

Get a name NOW!

2006-03-30T06:54:00.000-08:00

Advice from a new blogger to future bloggers: Get a name for your blog NOW!!

Deciding on starting a blog was the easy part. (it took me just a few months to make up my mind). Getting a name for it.... well, that was a whole different story. My blog was not going to be on one particular subject, and I obviously intended to write about my thoughts, a little bit of this and a little bit of that...... so I thought of various names to suit the idea.

I soon found that I was not the first one with this idea. I tried "thoughtgallery.blogspot". It was taken. Then I came up with "loudthoughts.blogspot". That was taken too. "loudthinking.blogspot", "openmind", "thoughtalbum" and then "knickknacks", "miscellany", "potpourri", "patchwork", "mosaic", "mishmash", "hodgepodge"..... all taken! Some of them seem to have been long abandoned. I found that the last entry in one was 4 years ago, and in a couple of others, there was a solitary entry, made ages ago. Anyway, they were not available. Just for fun, I tried "newword.blogspot", and found a blog of that name! Then, "latestblog".... Taken! Finally I tried "Sigh.blogspot"....... but siiighhh!!, there is a blog even by that name!!!

As a next step, I thought of coining a word by linking a number of words together, like they say the German language allows. The first attempt was
"newtoblogging". But....you guessed it.... there is already such a blog. And, believe it or not, there are blogs whose names are "nonameavailable" and "bitsandpieces", and also "abitofthisandabitofthat"! . I was infact quite surprised that "cannotfindagoodname" was available. One would expect thousands to have tried that. Well, it was not a good enough name for my blog.

I then hit upon the idea of a blog name in kannada, which is my language anyway. The very first name I tried, "Tunukugalu" which means "bits and pieces" was available!! I hung on to it, ....for a while. As I went on my walk that day, I mused about all this...., amused by all this. I also reflected on how walking was always a good opportunity for musing. It was then, that another possible name occurred to me. I came home and tried it. Bingo! "walk a-musing" was mine! When I start a kannada blog, I will call it "tunukugalu"!

Now my advice to all those who are "thinkingofblogging" - this name is available, by the way, so hurry if you like it! - get a name today. Reserve your space. With about 100million bloggers already, and the number growing steadily, there may not be many words in the English language still left for you to use as a name for a blog. You can start writing in the blog at leisure, even a decade from now. No hurry there!

Here goes!

2006-03-28T00:48:00.000-08:00

It was soon after the Indian Ocean tsunami. I then lived in Singapore. The contributions made to tsunami relief funds did not bring much relief to the mind. I was looking everywhere on the net to see if there were any first hand reports on relief work in India. It was then that I stumbled on a 'live' discussion amongst a group of people, who informed each other about what kind of help was needed, which voluntary agency worked in which region, what kind of relief material was being collected where, and so on. I felt I was trespassing on somebody's private conversation. Everyone addressed each other in familiar first names. I was sure it was some private group, and assumed that they had made their discussion available on the net so others could also benefit from the information exchanged. The heading on top of the page said it was a 'blog'. It was the first time I had heard the term.

On my trip home, my better informed niece educated me about blogging. She suggested that I start a blog, I could write about my travels. I said I already spent too much time on the internet. I should be doing other things. She shrugged and left me alone. But the look on her face clearly said, "What other things?"

I have now moved to the UK. Further away from home. But thanks to emails and yahoo chat, I have always been upto date on everything that happened near home. Till recently, that is. A few months ago, another niece started her own blog. She, who used to mail regularly, almost stopped mailing me and I saw her having roaring conversations with various Ashoks, Arathis and Anons! I once mailed her commenting on her blog and she asked me why I didnt put it on the blog itself! I felt like a perfect fool. Soon my brother got a blog, a nephew got himself a blog and I got a bit panicky. I was being left out! I had been forgotten!! So, blogging is the new mode of keeping in touch with people! No SMSs, no emails. In the good old days, I checked my mail every morning, to see if anyone had anything to say to me. Now, after checking my mail, to find the inbox full of articles and magazines I have subscribed to, (thankfully, they have not stopped sending the articles and asked me to visit their websites instead!) I visit half a dozen blogs, to see if there are any new entries. And if one of them hasn't been updated for a few days, I wonder, "why hasn't S been going to the office the last few days? She must be very busy...." or "why hasn't A written anything?...I better call and find out if all is ok...."

I could make phone calls ofcourse, but I would go bankrupt considering how much I wanted to share. If I wanted to be in touch with all these loved ones, I should comment on their blogs. Now, what if I want to initiate a conversation? I cant possibly leave a comment on their blog about some subject they havnt written about! Ohho...! There is only one thing to do. I HAVE to start my own Blog! And keep my fingers crossed that they will leave their comments there. Also, the next time I am introduced to someone, if we hit it off well, I maybe able to say, "Let us keep in touch, here is the name of my blog!"

So here goes! This doesn't mean non-nieces and non-nephews are not welcome to read what I write. Ofcourse, anyone passing by is welcome to read and comment. It would be lovely if I can make a few extra friends along the way. I do intend to update it regularly, but you see, I am neither a student nor a software engineer....I am a stay at home mum! So I may get very busy at times and not have the time to write!. And if I have to have a real private conversation with my nieces and nephews, there is always the phone.......