A Memorable Get-together of Team Srijan

  Team Srijan–2005, March 29,2006                                       

In a mock serious tone I made a comment: “But the conditions that apply for the get-together are that the girls would come early to my place and the boys would leave late”. “But why?”, was a common chorus. Perhaps they were disappointed that the girls and the boys will have different dinner timings to segregate them, as I was a warden too and had to be careful about the rules! “Well, nothing special”, I continued, “only because the girls will help me in cooking and for that they need to come early and the boys will help me clean the kitchen, and for that they need to stay a little longer! We all were very happy as the new magazine, Srijan–2005 had been printed and it was wonderful. We needed a celebration.

A look of relief on their faces made me laugh. So happy were they to have some good time together that even the fear of boring household chores didn’t daunt them! So finally we all decided to have a get-together to celebrate the coming out of  Srijan-2005. The mood at the informal meeting where it was decided was euphoric but I still had my doubts (kept them wisely to my own self)!

How would it be possible for me to prepare dinner for almost thirty persons single handedly and that too at the time when renovation was going on in the house. Whole of the house was in shambles and for any reasonable get-together, there was neither the time not the place. But how could I say all this to a group of enthusiastic group of youths who were just looking for this gala event. As if on a cue to set my fears to rest, Saurabh Kulshreshtha, the tallest among all in our Team Srijan, came to my office the next day and very generously offered to cook at my home. He looked so excited that just could not say “no” to him. “Dum Aloo” was what he planned to cook for the entire group the next day.

The D-day was full of excitement. Coming a bit early from the Institute, I found whole of the house in doldrums. There was dust all around as the bathrooms were being tiled and what not. Come March, and the Government funds start flowing down the drain and this time it was just not a metaphor but the funds were really flowing down our bathroom drains! I suddenly developed headache thinking about the busy time ahead. But changing to my work clothes, immersed myself in cleaning the house, to make it a little habitable for the evening. In between ran to the kitchen to do the preliminary preparation for the dinner. By five in the evening, I had put the house in order (so I thought), had prepared Channas, chutney, Mixed vegetable, and also had kneaded the dough and waited it to rise by seven in the evening so that could deep fry the Bhaturas by the time Team Srijan would arrive.

But where  were Kulshrestha  and Rajput, they were to come early to prepare “Dum Aloo”? I tried contacting them through chat but they  both were offline. Suddenly the door bell rang and there was the duo, looking smart and happy. Kulshrestha ran straight to the kitchen and I was pleasantly surprised to find him so comfortable in my kitchen. He needed a single orientation to the kitchen and he really learnt fast. By that time girls too had arrived and some of them came to the kitchen straight away. Suddenly the kitchen started looking so small! Nidhi was assisting me to roll out the Bhaturas that we spread on the kitchen slab, Shipra ,who is from Dharamshala, gave a helping hand to us. Like an instructor, I was giving my advice wherever needed. Khushboo and  Ipsita also wanted to try their hands at rolling out Bhaturas but as it was not a child’s play, they soon left the arena with their petite hands smeared with kneaded dough. Rahul, was busy capturing every moment on his camera. We all wanted to give our best shot but he would capture us at our worst! A real “sting operator” in the making! Gajendra surprised us all. A very soft spoken boy from Rajasthan, was the fastest learner in the kitchen. He fried the bhaturas so efficiently and enjoyed the job perfectly. He was reminded of “Dalbati- Churma” of Rajasthan. This is what the feeling of home does to you. Priyanka was so taken over by this homely ambience that time and again she would exclaim to me that she felt like being in her own home, assisting her mom. And surprised me at times calling me “mummy”, inadvertently! Suddenly everything started running so smoothly. I was running in between to make my presence felt but whole of the kitchen was literally hijacked by the Team Srijan! Priyanka, so efficiently, started to assist Kulshrestha and Rajput took the job of an errand boy to run to the market to fetch what the chef asked for. Right job Mr. Editor, befitting you. 

I would go to the Drawing room to sit with all those who were relaxing in the ambience of a home after such  long time. Another group was sitting in another room, on pc, searching and playing the songs on it. Some others were browsing through the books and some artistic souls were critically analyzing paintings I had made long back, but still adorned the walls of the gallery. It was wonderful. The home really reverberated with so many of young voices filling it with a youthfulness that made it young! Dinner time was getting a little late as Kulshreshtha was making piece-a detour to impress all of us in general and one Miss X  in particular by his culinary skills!

Dinner time was announced and all those who were relaxing till now, geared up to take up job to serve dinner. I just don’t know from where they got hold of all the crockery and started with serving the first group. The real fast learners, I would say. And when I went to the drawing room, I was pleasantly surprised to find the first group sitting o the carpet and eating voraciously. Nothing ever gives more pleasure to a mother than to see that the children eat well and this was the feeling that overwhelmed me that moment.

The second group started soon after and now just six of us were left. Aditya was the one who now had taken over the job of handing the Bhaturas to Priyanka who still was busy frying them. So the last leg together was taken by myself, Priyanka, Kulshrestha, Aditya, Gajendra, and Nidhi. We were tired but exhilarated! The errand boy Rajput was assigned to serve us water and just to tease him Kulshrestha gulped down a number of glasses of water as he enjoyed Rajput running to the kitchen bringing more water for us.

Dinner was over but nobody was in a mood to leave. We sat for some more time together talking of so many things and laughed a lot. Everyone had something interesting to share with the group and many secrets came out from the cupboards to  which I was the prime listener. They forgot at times that they were with a teacher! And I really enjoyed it.

Time to depart. It was almost 11PM, and as I wanted to escort  the girls back to the hostel so I went along the group and bidding goodbye to the girls came back to my home, this time the boys escorted me back. It felt good to have such attention from the boys! Back home, the sink full of utensils was the only physical mark left by the Team Srijan group, which was soon obliterated by me. But the mental mark that it has left, is permanent, never to be obliterated.  Wonderful memories of the good time that we had together.

Thank you Team Srijan!

Curtain Down on Srijan 2005

March 30, 2006

Curtain Down on Srijan 2005

March 27, 2006

The Srijan 2005: Myriad Hues, has finally been released albeit unofficially! Whole of the Srijan Team met today in the evening and we circulated the copies of the Srijan amongst the team members. The joy that we felt cannot be expressed in words as it was reflected on the face of each of the member.

Kumar Ashutosh, the most vocal of all, who would blurt out whatever came to his mind exclaimed, “Oh! I feel so relieved as if I have delivered a baby after carrying it for such a long time!” How right he was! Is it not true that any writing process or for that matter any thing creative starts taking shape in the mind long before it is finally delivered. The anxiety and uncertainty of its being born, as conceived, is something that gnaws at the back of our very being all the time. And Ashutosh, these labour pains had to be severe for you as did you not carry triplets? English section, Hindi Section and the Arts section as well on your frail shoulders or may I say, in your slim tummy?

Varun Rajput was just ecstatic. He had a big burden off his head and I noticed with pleasure that his voice has improved a lot since the time that he came in my class in the first year. He was barely audible at that time. He would just whisper and I had to guess what he must be talking about! Since he is from Lucknow, I thought that it was the good manners of the Lucknow people that he represented by speaking in whispers and I didn’t want to show my bad manners to ask him to speak loudly. And how I suffered during his class seminar when he told us about his arduous train journey and I had to concentrate every little muscle of my ears to make any thing out of it! Thank God he had written about the same in one of the assignments and it made my job much easier to comprehend what he was speaking about. He stood so near to me on the dais, but still I had to exert so much. I really pity the other students in the class for tolerating him! The making of Srijan has done him lots of good. He has learnt the art of comprehensible speaking! Who says that as an Editor of Team Srijan you only hone your writing skills. Meet Varun and you will disagree with this long established convention!

Ah! Sanchit, the PR face of the magazine. You need to have a job done, just ask him. He will see to it. He is a born manager. I came to know about his managerial skills during my talks with Mr. Gagan, the printer of Srijan. “Sanchit would make my boys work for this magazine even when they were tired and off duty!” Praising our boys he would tell me, “Addressing them Bhaiyya, they would make the workers do the job happily.” Now this is what I call being a good manager. With his kind of persuasion he would sell ice to the Eskimos! I plan to have him as PRO for Srijan 2006!

Abhishek Tondon, the dedicated soul! I was impressed, no not the right word. I was moved with concern to see him work. It seemed that everything else except Srijan was secondary or tertiary to him! He didn’t even take lunch when all of us went out, by turns, to have ours. A person of few word, he believes in speaking less and working more. Abhishek’s prowess in both Hindi and English made him the cynosure of all eyes.

The way he worked at the Printing press made me worried that we would be losing an excellent Engineer in the making, as the printer had an eye on him. He thought him to be an asset for his establishment! How vigilant I had to be to save him from the clutches of a prospective employer. He really stood a fair chance of becoming a “Bonded Labour” for the printer! Abhishek’s prowess in both Hindi and English made him the cynosure of all eyes.

Torturous Forties…

Though it may sound strange but the truth is that I was really very happy when I turned forty as throughout these years I carried the vivid picture of my mother in her forties, blissfully happy and content at having acquired sons-in-law for two of her daughters and like the long forgotten ONIDA’s ad “neighbour’s envy, owners pride” displayed her new found status with a sheen unmatched by any of her friends. Don’t we all believe in the adage “Like mothers, like daughters”!

  

Like a true daughter to my mother, I too had thought of a similar work plan to take shape by my forties when I could happily flaunt my new-found status draped in exquisite sarees, conveniently hiding tyres’ of fat around my midriff! And why must I hide accumulation of fat (and also my financial status), as don’t they say that life starts afresh at forty. At least for my mother it did. Fat purse or the fat person, in our society, stand for prosperity. So I was bent upon displaying my prosperity by my forties to make people jealous. How I had looked forward to life at forty for me!

  

My dreams shattered away as I touched forty. It was a phase of life where all that  I had envisaged for myself, evaded me. My forties turned out to be a dreadful time in my life. Instead of hooking suitable matches for my teenaged daughters, a la Mrs. Benette of “Pride and Prejudice” fame, I was busy filling up forms of various competitive exams that they intended to take, seeking guidance from friends and foes alike on the most competitive coaching institute, and even slyly was acquiring information about how much money they charge as capitation fee, sorry tuition fee, in various professional colleges of Maharashatra and Karnataka!  And my mom during her forties would be busy collecting copies of horoscopes of prospective candidates for our marriage and the only persons she would frequent would be the Pandits. And here I was going to different coaching institutes, with forms for admission, in my purse. How I wished to run back in the time machine to have the kind of life that my mom enjoyed.

  

It was not the only predicament that I had to face, there were many more, and serious ones at that. In order to act and look like a super mom—TV perfect, to the staple diet that my daughters were religiously fed,  I had to acquire quite a handful of gray hair (which I tried to catalogued by applying henna). I had dreams of having a complacency on my face that comes from a sense of achievement but  I had achieved nothing significant by this age. The contended look that I had dreamed of for my forties is replaced by a look of anguish, uncertainty, and vulnerability.

  

Leaving apart the look on my countenance, there were other serious issues to be  taken care of. How excitedly had I waited to eat whatever I may crave for as adding few kg. Was what  I really wanted at this age. But what to say of bulging tyres, which I waited to add in my forties, the Madonna posters peeping from my daughters’ room make me feel guilty for adding even a kg. to my well maintained weight. And the layers of Kanjeevarams in pastel shades that I was waiting to wear all these years are looked down upon my son and he prefers me wearing a designers’ suit, which looks like ordinary handspun Khadi draped in a shapeless manner around a human form.

Oh God, why all this was to happen to me. Had I waited so long for all this to happen to me in my forties? I would happily barter my life with twenties, thirties or even fifties but never forties.

  

And then they say: “you have come a long way Baby!”

  

Women Empowerment: Any Takers?

Hi gals! One fine morning, in the year 2001 that was being celebrated as Women Empowerment year, enlightenment dawned upon me and I could clearly envisage the difference between the “so called empowered women” and the “real empowered women”, and this great secret is what I am going to share with you as I know empowerment is what all of you want to achieve. No, I didn’t have to go and sit in meditation under any Boddhi tree; all it needed was a few sittings at the backbenches of some official functions that were instrumental to reveal this secret to me.

  

Frankly speaking my heart bleeds when I see you wearing those shabby and dull looking workshop uniforms, dull enough to kill any interest that a boy may have in you. My eyes shed a tear or two (not crocodile tears) when I find you competing fiercely with boys in all spheres of college life. Am I jealous of you? Oh! No, it is pity that overwhelms my poor little heart. Such a waste, a real shameful waste, of beauty and good looks.

  

What are you after—a good job which will give you financial security.

  

Self identity that will make you look apart from crowd.

  

Self respect which will help you get self esteem in your own eyes.

  

Above all a name of your own!

  

And in your own idealistic state of mind, you perceive these to be some of the attributes that will empower you, how mistaken you are? My foot, sorry, my big ugly foot! And if you want to know how my feet became ugly, although big they always were, it was because of running to the office, market and where not? Didn’t I tell you that in my ideal to become a perfect woman—I had to have time for everything and everything on time—and for that I had to be on constant move? My dreams of housing lovely, dainty feet strapped in thin golden-leathered delicate sandals vanished in thin air when I opted to be a “so called empowered woman”. Oh, dear I am sure I am not frightening you but you would not like to look the way I look.

  

And my hands—they say the hands of a person speak volumes about him or her, though I believe that it’s the woman’s hand that are more under observation, remember—the hand that rocks… kind of idioms. My big working hands, similar to that of a working maid’s, albeit, devoid of any embellishment like enamel, ooze out the story of the “empowered status” that I enjoy. I sincerely don’t have to have that status. How many times had I to hide my hands under my shawl when my so-called society friends were scrutinizing them critically!

  

If empowerment is what you are looking forward to, keep your eyes and ears open and observe critically the women you feel are the real empowered ones in the town, who really constitute the power echelon. And how to do that is quite simple—observe the woman who would head straightway toward the front rows during any social or official function.

    

Yes, you get my point, these are the really empowered ones. Dressed in exquisite silk sarees, flaunting their husband’s status and wealth, these figures of power would straight away go and occupy the front rows. Honestly answer my question—have you observed me during such gatherings? I head towards the forth or the fifth row or even to the benches at the back to make room for these “really empowered women” at the front.

  

Dear girls, it baffles me at times to ascertain as to why these women, most of whom had been, invariably, the backbenchers throughout their academic careers, reach the front benches. I know from my personal experience about their academics, so trust me nothing is being exaggerated. And the ever-elusive answer came to me during the enlightenment that I talked about.

  

The secret is that these women knew an age-old secret well that successful men love marrying dumb women! Please don’t laugh. When acting dumb can get you what acting and being smart can never get you, why not to act dumb?

  

Didn’t we talk about in the beginning about the attributes that “so-called empowered women” must have and the first was to achieve financial security. The harsh fact is that what the “so called empowered women” get after working so hard and slogging in work places from 9 to 5 seven days a week, the really “empowered women” get for free. And if you think that men love women with beauty and brain, you are seriously mistaken, my dear. Intelligent, smart and successful men prefer to socialize with not a particularly intelligent women as it might hurt their fragile ego but with a dumb beauty who will boost their ego by listening to their silly matters, awestruck! So what would you prefer to become—a so called “empowered woman” or a “really empowered one”?

  

And job satisfaction—if this is what you have in mind, forget it. You have to do everything better than a male colleague to prove yourself to be at par with them. To top it all, when it comes to managerial assignments during an official function, thank your stars if you find yourself in Decoration committee.  They don’t put you in a Decoration Committee because they know about your artistic skills but because being a woman you’ll surely end up behaving just according to their plans, turning up in your Sunday bests, looking like a doll would fit the role of a decoration piece on the D-day. Oh dear, I can almost hear your whimpers. You might be questioning as to what stops you from looking your best during your working days? If you feel like it, nothing stops you. But your own inner voice which tells you to wear non-specific clothes as subdued appearance may help others to focus on your work than your looks. The cycle repeats itself and ultimately you end up looking nondescript and even nonentity at times. Just look at me and stop being a starry eyed fool. On the other hand the “real empowered women” are free or are rather encouraged to project their best image. The looks they cultivate help them get into limelight during all functions. Whereas I try my best to merge in the dull and drab background of my official colours, oh how boring indeed!

  

As if all this was not enough, when it comes to gracing social occasions by their “benign presence”, getting time out of their very busy schedule(?) to act as judges for literary activities, painting competitions, sports functions etc., whom do they invite? Me? Never. It is, invariably, someone big’s(?) wife, as if by marrying judiciously and calculatively one becomes accomplished in all such arts to pass judgment on the efforts of dedicated and committed contestants. “Am I feeling jealous?” If this is what you plan to ask me, no. The choice was mine, why must I feel jealous?

  

I think we agreed in the beginning that the so called women empowerment lies in having an identity of your own, self-respect, and a name for yourself to mention a few.Let us discuss all these terms one by one.

  

 Identity—do I have it? Sure, I do have it. Over the years I have developed a cold and indifferent expression on my face which initially I used as a mask to hide my real feelings but to my dismay, this mask has become my identity today. A look at my face and people put a tag “a working lady” and another adjective that they don’t utter but is clearly written all over their faces “a poor working lady”, and this is my identity.

  

What about self-respect?  Humiliation at the hands of my superiors and brash behaviour by my juniors, have tried to remove all traces of self-respect that I did possess before becoming a “so called empowered woman”. The only fragment of self-respect that which I still possess stops me from rushing towards all the prestigious sofas, however inviting they may seem, during a social and official function. I am sure you never had such an ides about self-respect!

  

And a name for myself? The big dream that I chased like a fool similar to a wild chase to get a pot filled with gold at the end of the rainbow, unfortunately, still remains a dream.

  

If I question myself if I really have earned a name for myself, the only honest answer that comes to my mind is, yes. Perhaps I have earned a name which you, all my dear students, have coined for me—a red head or perhaps even a pig head!

  

    

       

My Childhood War Experiences…

The year was 1971 and I was barely 15 years old when Pakistan suddenly declared war against India. Prior to this there had been 1962, 1965 and 1968 wars as well and I carry some faint but indiscernible memories of all that we went through at those periods.

  

 

It was evening time when suddenly the blaring of hooter took all of us by surprise. This hooter was a regular feature of Shimla as it would blare at ten in the morning without fail and seemed to run the lives of the people of Shimla by its regularity. But this untimely blaring made everyone listen to it, first with curiosity, and then with indifference. It was assumed by all and sundry that some mechanical problem was the root cause of its untimely sound. Once again the hooter was sounded but now the sound became too jarring to the listeners as it was something that had spoiled the ambience of the place by breaking a practice. How irritable we all become when an established practice is broken! For us, the children, it was a exciting moment. A truth has dawned upon me today, after almost 35 years that what irritates the adults, is taken in an exciting spirit by the children. We all were playing outside and assembled to discuss the probable reason for this sound and making more noise than was ordinarily made by us. We were excited by the unconventional!

  

 

Suddenly the lights went out. Now there was real commotion all around. Mothers starting calling their children to come back home. Some adventurous  children had gone to the Telecom office, the source of the excitement, to collect first hand information about the eventful happening. As it was the month of December and the darkness had suddenly enveloped whole of the town, people became anxious of the, unwarranted, power break down.

  

 

As it was a period when LPG stoves were not at all common and coal hearths were the lifeline for all Shimlaites. The evening was fast becoming dark and many small kids of the neighbourhood were still untraceable and moreover the evening food was to be cooked in all homes, so the level of commotion all around can best be imagined. We were assigned the job of finding the children and make them sit quiet till the cause of sudden power failure could be ascertained by the elders who suddenly took responsibility upon them. People started putting fire to the coal angeethis so that the homes could be made warmer as well something could b cooked as well.

  

 

It was at this point that someone came with the shocking news that Pakistan had declared war against India and has started the air strike. To be more specific, Pakistan had launched a premediatated air strike at 5.45 pm on a number of Indian airfields. As Amritsar airfield is considered close by hence the power cut was enforced as a precautionary measure and more so as the earlier hooter warnings had gone uncared for.

  

 

This news changed the mood from pure commotion to grave concern and people started shouting at others who had either lighted candles or had fire glowing in the angeethis. As if on some cue, even the small children became quiet. Such is the fervour of love for nation that personal concerns evaporate and general concerns take over.

As children of my age group had had prior experience of war, we became hyper active in instilling “do’s and don’ts” among the younger children. And suddenly all the prior memories came flooding to my mind as they have come today after such a long gap.

  

 

The earlier wars had made us learn certain things that would come handy if somehow there would be some calamity like air strike.  All the residents of Shimla were taught about the hooters and the two different mode in which it was to function. A sudden rise and fall in the frequency would mean a danger of an air strike and all precautionary measures were to be implemented immediately. The sound of the hooter with a consistency in frequency conveyed that the danger was over. How would my little heart tremble when I would listen to the first kind signaling danger and how relieved it would be when the second hooter was heard!

  

 

Practice drills became a common feature of all schools and institutes and the home-guards became a common feature of all localities. All the window panes in homes as well offices were criss-crossed with strips of paper so that in case of an air strike the glass splinters don’t do much damage. We were instructed to stand still against the retaining wall, if the hooter would go, while we were on roads. Lessons in basic nursing were given to all school students, house wives and others. In case of emergency, the way to revive a seriously injured person, was instilled in us. We became so confident!

  

 

Though the war times made all people come together and a new camaraderie developed among all, there was one negative impact as well. It is only during these testing situations that the best and the worst of the human nature comes to light. I regret to say, with all humility, that I had become so suspicious of the Kashmiri Pathans who lived in Shimla in large number. So much so that we would run away on seeing a Khan (as they are addressed). Rumours mills were busy bringing out new rumours day in and day out. We as children learnt about Pakistani spies, Transmitters and even poisoning of water sources in Shimla.

  

 

If war experience taught us to come together as a people, it also taught us to distrust others. This was first time in my life that the concept of the “other” was introduced  to my mind and honestly confessing, it has stayed there till date.

The Mahabharta As I Remember It!

 

                                                                                                                                 “Oh! Why did I read The Mahabharata when I had you in my womb?” my mother would shout in dismay whenever my sister and I used to indulge in our customary endless fights in our childhood to claim our possession over some common object that interested both of us.

 It was but natural keeping in view the fact that I followed her just after 20 months of her birth, and my mother exasperated after the hard task of looking after the usual household chores and perhaps overburdened by two she-devils which she had as her daughters would put the blame squarely on the great epic for having daughters who were fighting all the time. The poor lady felt morally responsible for this fighting spirit present in both of us as compared to our much docile and cousins that she was certain that it had something to do with her reading of the Mahabharata   that has made us so diehards when it so much so as came to sharing a small toy !

And what upset her more was that she had read the Mahabharata with so much of devotion, reverence and a strong belief to have off springs with inborn qualities of the heart and the soul. Such was her devotion that she would religiously read the Mahabharata and pray to the God to bestow her with a child that would surpass others in matters related to learning and morality. And here we were quarreling over small pretexts. I vividly remember my elder sister once hitting me hard with a pencil knife which she was sharpening her pencil with. My howling along with my mother’s outburst made whole of the neighborhood assemble to the great embarrassment of my father. This further made me firm in my conviction that my mother’s reading of the Mhabharata had something to do with this killer’s instinct that we had developed.

  

 That was my first introduction to the great epic and the name connoted to me something dreadful concerned with sibling rivalry and an obsession to win over something that becomes a bone of contention between two warring groups. It was not only my mother but all the people of our acquaintance who would refer to Kauravs and Pandavas while comparing us.

 It so happened that my mother in her solemn quest to beget a wonderful child started reading the great epic as the wise old women of her acquaintance had filled her impressionable mind with the so called words of wisdom that the child in the womb learns all that transpires the mind and soul of the mother during her pregnancy and incidentally as luck would have it, the Gita Press Gorakhpur, to which my parents subscribed regularly, had brought out the third edition of the Mahabharata a year prior  to the birth of my elder sister, and as it had two parts and as per my mother’s statement, she was  unable to finish both the parts during her first confinement and  started with the second part of the Mahabharata when she carried me in her womb not only because she had  conceived  the second time soon after the birth of my sister but also had developed a keen interest to follow the second part of the great epic to know the outcome of the great war of all times to have taken place in this great country of ours or what I think today, perhaps to find out how the vows of Draupadi taken during the disrobing would be fulfilled by her five brave husbands!

I thank my mother silently for having read the second part of the Mahabharata while carrying me inside her as now I understand that  it is the second part which contains the real message of this great epic and whenever someone comments upon my prowess in handling matters I silently credit the mahabharata for having filled me with knowledge while I lay cuddled in the safe and secure womb of my mother. This notion was further reinforced by learning from my mother that Abhimanyu had learnt the secret of entering the Chakaravihu while Arjuna shared the technique with his wife and yet to be born Abhimanyu lay in the secure womb of his mother, although the death of this great warrior made me wish that why couldn’t his mother keep him huddled inside her, to save him from the cruel end that befell him later!

  

The other indelible memory of the Mahabharata that I carry pertains to a movie that I saw when of impressionable age titled perhaps Mahabharata wherein the scenes concerning the disrobing of Draupadi which instead of making me sorry for her, rather made me envious that Lord Krishna himself came to her rescue whereas never would he show his concern for a lesser mortal like me. As a young fed on the staple diet of Puranas and epics and the monthly issues of the Kalyanas that abounded our home, I had started believing firmly that the Gods appeared at once whenever someone would appeal to them straight from the heart, and in my innocence had appealed to God so many times seeking numerous articles that my parents would not provide us with and fighting with others for some thing that they possessed made little sense to me, after all a lesson that I had learnt was that although it was within the precincts of the Dharma to fight with your siblings for your rights but was unfair to fight with others. Although to seek a favor from the God was an acceptable practice and He always bestowed the believers in a bountiful manner.

  

But He never cared for my prayers, how many times had I asked Him to get for me the first position in the class or even a new dress and He was providing heaps and heaps of saree to a damsel in distress, Draupadi of course. How partial and partisan even Gods were but it was another truth that the Mahabharata had put in my small head, had not even Lord Krishana, the embodiment of truth itself behaved in a biased manner!  Another scene which has become an inseparable part of my memory refers to the jeering and mocking laughter of Draupadi when Duryodhana wasn’t able to distinguish between the water and the floor. Weren’t we all drilled with some basic good sense in our childhood not to laugh at a person for a deformity which was not within his capacity to mend and worse still was to laugh at a person for a physical deformity that his parents unfortunately had acquired for no fault of theirs. How ill mannered indeed and then everyone blames poor Duryodhana for his stubbornness. How could a princess married in the royal family of Kuru’s, behave in such unbecoming manner, really astonished me even when I was too small to comprehend such matters. And here was my mother who would scold me at the drop of a hat even if I would be slightly disrespectful towards anyone. Looking back today, I really thank my mother to have put in my small head to be respectful and even if I had any disrespect, not to let it show on my face, leave alone to speak out and that too in such sarcastic and jeering manner.

It was, in fact, B. R. Chopara’s tele-serial The Mahabharata which as an adult, a wife, a mother and more important as a woman I was able to appreciate as Rupa Ganguli had put life in the portrayal of Draupadi’s character that changed most of my earlier views and I started to analyze the women of the Mahabharata. It was at this stage that the stark reality about women as chattels and the private property of the men folks descended upon me.

How could Kunti make Draupadi share all five Pandavas as her husband passed my comprehension? Had Draupadi no say in the crucial decision regarding her life and that too when I envied these Aryan women for enjoying so much freedom in choosing their husbands to be. Why couldn’t the so called, Dharma incarnate, the all-knowledgeable Yudhishtir rise to the occasion to challenge the immoral diktat of his mother? The knowledge that he himself argued the case for sharing Draupadi among all the five brothers further sickened me as was he not a man who never spoke but truth?  And the least said about Arjuna the better it is as he being the one responsible for winning the stakes put for the marriage of Draupadi must would have the courage to speak against this illogic practice that was nowhere legally sanctioned among the Aryans at that point of time and place. Was it not his duty as a husband to protect his wife from all problems? All my sympathies lay with Draupadi as she represented everything that a hapless woman would have to undergo in this male dominated society.

Whatever may have been the reasons of Kunti for this decision but I developed my own serious reservations about the moral conduct of the royal scions. Perhaps it was the turning point for me as I started understanding the famed epic in a new light. While analyzing the reasons that led Kunti to take such a step, I delved deep into her character and found her to be more sinned against than sinning. How could a young princess- robust, healthy and bubbling with youth would have felt when married to a prince who turned out to be impotent, and more so when this prince was not forced down her throat by a pushing father but she herself had selected from the august gathering of the royal scions? Of course with a royal nod after the garlanding ceremony and a little prodding before the ceremony to tilt the scales in the favor of the great Kuru prince.

  I sympathized with Kunti when all her dreams turned out to be futile, but all that sympathy vanished when she copulated with others to beget sons to propagate the Pandu lineage, I would have retained my sympathies had she fallen in extramarital relations just to satisfy her own cravings of the flesh and motherhood. Why it had to be a male to dictate her to do something which even in today’s world has not a universal acceptance and what to say of appreciation.

  

The dilemma that I wavered in-between was the result of my appreciation of the women of the Mahabharata as supernatural beings incapable of any misconduct and therefore beyond human criticism, but B. R. Chopra’s tele-serial atleast was able to bring out these characters as humans as we are and replete with all human follies. This revelation renewed my courage to study these seemingly out of the world characters in their human form and  try to seek the reasons for what I found to be lacking  in their morals and conduct, without feeling guilty. This quest to find more about the characters who had been worshipped throughout the ages without even once questioned about what was wrong and what was right by the common people, led me to search for the recreation of the fiction based on the Mahabharata and surprisingly I found the literary scene if not abound but atleast sufficiently littered with such works even in regional languages that brought to surface all those questions that had haunted me right from my childhood.

I remained haunted by these questions and was able to find answers only when I read the new interpretations of the Mahabharata by modern writers. All these years I had thought myself to be a little of a misnomer and was uncomfortable for not believing in what rest of the people seemed to ardently believe upon, but in the ensuing readings of various books which dealt at  length the pain and angst of the females, I started feeling that I was not alone in my feelings.

  

Another question that troubles me these days is that what is the use if a few individuals engaged in critically analyzing these theories, circulate these among themselves without even trying to change the mind set of the people at large where it really matters. Is it not an accepted fact that the stereotypes of the women in the psyche of the masses remain by and large the same? An act of disrobing of a woman or even an attempt in this regard is the manifestation of the power that a man would love to display, a la Dushashna.

The stereotypes of Indian womanhood are so deep rooted in the Indian psyche that attempts at disrobing women or even to make them feel inferior to men have become very common and I personally find misinterpretation of our great epics to be responsible for it. Are we not fed upon the stories from the Mahabharata and Ramayana but are always encouraged to become like Sita, an ideal wife? And never have I found reference to encourage a daughter to be like Draupadi! So much so that my own mother was rebuked by an elderly and worldly wise matron for keeping the Mahabharata in her home as she thought it to be an ill omen to keep this classic piece of Hindu literature in household!

But I have kept the Mahabharata at my own home without anyone telling me not to! And would I had listened to such an illogical advice?  

  

 

Policing the Class…

Never in my long teaching career had I imagined, in wildest of my dreams, that I would have to police the class one day!

  

There are some unspoken rules of the class that everyone understands to be followed without someone having the need to speak explicitly about them. If a teacher has to tell a class of grown up students as to how they should conduct themselves in class, it means either they come to us with no such previous training, which I find difficult to believe keeping in view their twelve years of schooling, or they feel so much freedom in the college as professional students that all the “do’s and don’t” of the class do not apply to them. I had always been happy that despite my being a very lenient teacher, discipline was something that I had never to force down in my class. But this confidence or rather overconfidence has slowly being jeopardized by some incidents in the class that have made we reassess my role as a teacher.

  

Of late, a new trend has been observed in the class, of speaking proxy for some absent students. I understand that the fear of not being permitted to sit in the examination would make even the most honest of the student to indulge in something unethical but to see it become a regular feature is something that I find disturbing. The worst part is that once caught in the act, they would not stop but still go ahead with it and sometimes with added vigour! Remorse is a word that seems to be absent from the dictionary of present day students.

  

I wonder at times, if this could happen in a professional Institute where the system of internal assessment and sessional always gives control in the hands of a teacher to discipline the offenders, what would happen in other teaching Institutes? And it was always by default that the students of a professional College would have to be well behaved albeit a forced well behave that they had to put on!

  

But over some years, a degradation in values among students, has become a regular feature, much to the discomfort of  teachers like me who always have been guided by the unfailing faith in intrinsic goodness of human nature. I cannot bring myself to believe that an eighteen or nineteen years old student could be beyond redemption and would always try to find something good and appreciable even in students outrightly rejected by others as gone cases. But these days when I found myself, too, to question the situation from the point of beyond repair, I became concerned, rather extremely worried.

  

It was a stray case of proxies that caught my attention in the beginning, then a few jarring sounds made to distract the class. I wonder what is achieved by all this? It doesn’t help the disturbing student in the least and rather spoils the ambience of whole of the class. I used to feel bad when I would catch hold of someone speaking someone’s proxy but these days I have stopped reacting and have become indifferent to it as the incidence has increased so much that if I start catching them then when would I teach? Earlier I would be extra alert to catch the offender and found out that all my energy would be concentrated to find the offender and I would be left with very less to give to my lecture.

I started having serious doubts about the job profile that was expected of a teacher—whether to teach or to catch the culprits? Were we supposed to teach the students or to police their behaviour? I have started to believe that the day is not far off when the recruiting agencies for the teachers would be looking for certain traits in the prospective teachers that the law enforcing agencies look for in its employees! But as I am not al all interested to learn the traits of policing the class, I have become indifferent towards this growing trend. I understand that it signifies my failure but these days even the fear of failure doesn’t seem to influence my teaching as I have realized that there are many other ways to become a successful teacher!

  

This realization, dawned upon me, has made me placid and cool.  And I allowed my students to speak proxies much to their joy!

  

Walking Among the Greens

For old timers, Shimla generates the image of roads free from the hassles of vehicular traffic where one can take long walks peacefully without being disturbed by the honking of the traffic. When I think of Shimla, I think of the Ridge with its green coloured benches where people would be lazing through in the sun, after having walked the roads in and around Shimla that were in aplenty giving a wider choice and a more peaceful ambience to those who enjoyed walking.

Driving a vehicle through the roads of the Mall was considered to be an unpardonable sin. The only time that I remember to have seen a caravan of vehicles plying on the Mall was the famous Bhutto’s trip during the signing of the Shimla agreement. And I remember that many diehards for the beauty of Shimla were less against the signing of the agreement and more hurt for the damage it had done to the a long established tradition of Shimla!

This was a time when even the high officials and dignitaries valued non-plying of vehicles on the Mall and it was a sanctity more that a rule! The Private vehicles were a rarity during my days and no vehicle except the fire brigade vehicle, the ambulance and the post carrier of the post office was ever allowed to ply on the Mall. Yes, official functions were an exception. We all loved walking. And recently when one of my old time friends in Shimla offered to drive me through all those roads that were prohibited for private vehicles in my time, I felt offended rather than privileged.  She flaunted her official status and my heart cried to see what Shimla had come to be. Getting special license has become a status symbol that old timers would never would have thought of. We loved Shimla for its pristine beauty and queer ways of regulating this beauty.

Walking through roads surrounded by lush green forests on both sides was the reason why we would walk all the way from Chhota Shimla to Sanjauli–my college! local buses were very rare those days and even if they suited us, we would rather walk and meet each other at the Ridge and then would walk to our college. The walk from Chotta Shimla to Sanjauli via Lakkar bazaar and then back to Chotta Shimla was a daily affair, twice a day, that we really enjoyed. The whole of our group would meet under the tree on the Ridge near Goofa restaurant. We were never tired of walking, rather enjoyed it. There was no vehicular traffic at all on this road, occasionally we would have an ambulance and would cross our fingers seeing it which we would uncross only when we saw a black dog. Oh! Sometimes it would take such a long time to see a dog as Shimla could  boast of having a number of pet dogs but stray dogs were again a rarity like the vehicles on the roads. And crossing the fingers when one saw an Ambulance was considered to fulfill one’s wish!

The road to Sanjauli had another rare sight on it—the bicycles! This was the only road in Shimla where cycling was possible. I regret never having tried learning cycling. But I was afraid of balancing my weight on two slim wheels when there were deep gorges one could fall into, if slightly careless. There were two cycle stands—one at the Lakkar Bazaar and the other at Sanjauli and one could hire a bicycle at one end and hand it over at the other end. And believe me people riding cycles looked so brave to me! One of my friends, Jassi, who had come from Chandigarh would ride a bicycle occasionally and we all would be awestruck by her feat!

But it was always walking for us that we loved! It never made us tired rather invigorated us to walk more. And it was real fun. Looking back, I am really surprised at the quota of strength that we possessed as many a times we would go to the Mall in the evening as well! Must have walked miles and miles in and around Shimla. This habit of walking has stood me in good stead–and I walk a lot even today–and that too at a pace that may put many youngsters to shame. Thank you Shimla for many things

It is walking through the “roads less traveled by” that I am reminded of right now! It was 1972 or 73 perhaps when the road between Lakkar Bazaar and the Ridge started sinking and was declared dangerous. So much so that it was blocked and all the buildings in that area were vacated as a precautionary measure. The Regal building, DAV school and all those other shops closed business. The stairs leading to the DAV Boys’ school had sunk deep and had to be supported from down below. The road was actually closed and one of my friends whose family used to live in the Regal Building had to vacate the house and shift to a portion in “The Embassy”, the bar and restaurant, that they owned!

We, as college goers had to walk through ways, earlier unheard of and we really enjoyed the newfound freedom in un-exploring new ways and pathways leading to our destination. It was wonderful indeed. We would ascend up to somewhat near to the KV Jakhoo and would descend down and reach the Ridge at the Public library building. Not only we learnt about the new pathways of Shimla but we learnt new things about Shimla as well. It was at this time that we came to know about an adage about Shimla—Beware of three W’s of Shimla—weather, women and ways—all unpredictable! With malice towards none, especially the not-so-fair sex, we coined another adage–Beware of three M’s of Shimla—Mall, men and monkeys!

It was really bad at that time. But we enjoyed the new found freedom in exploring the new ways in Shimla as we really were ignorant about the gravity of the situation. We just loved walking and covering more unexplored pathways of Shimla.

It was this initiation in walking along the unfamiliar areas that we planned to walk to Chotta Shimla through the road leading from below the  Ritz through “Three Benches” and it was at this point of time when we came to know that the road is known as “Lovers’ Lane” and was frequently hunted by the lovelorn couples, that we stopped the process!

But during my recent visit to Shimla my heart bled to see a number of vehicles parked near the Telegraph office and at the other end of the Mall road as. People with power and influence would do anything to get license to drive through the roads which were the virgin roads of Shimla. I remember old people who would rather walk to hospital than to call for an ambulance as it hurt them more than the sickness! The number of vehicles with red lights atop them has become such a common sight that people don’t even notice. In our days it was a memorable sight to see a vehicle with red light to ply on the roads of Shimla.

And still worst is the apathy of the people of Shimla towards what I consider the rape of the pristine walks of Shimla surrounded on both sides by lush green trees!

 

Women’s Day: My Personal Perspective

Another day in our life and we have labeled it as Women’s Day!

Early in the morning, when I realized that it was 8^th of March, I cried out, "but it is our day—Women’s Day". And shot back my second daughter who was reading Jane Eyre in her room, “and what is so special about this day?”

Yes, what is so special about this day? A few speeches by politicians and the so called social workers who make part of the so called socially correct-self appointed-moral policing force, who would deliver some speeches and thereby claim to bring about a qualitative change in the life of some unprivileged women and lead them to up liftment! “From darkness to Light” kind of therapy would be given in capsule form to daughters of  lesser mortals.

This brought me to ponder over our life as a women and to see where we stood and what kind of improvement, if any, was needed in our life?

Incidentally, today i.e. on Women’s Day, we were three women at home. Me–the mother and two daughters, one recently married and another on way to make up her mind about a serious relationship. So, I tried analyzing the three different, yet in a significant manner, related women to find out the truth about our existence. And the discussion that followed was brilliant by any standards as all three had their own points of view to offer and stand by.

The eldest among the three is the writer of this post i.e. me. 49 years of age, married for 27 long years, “happily” is the adjective that I would love to add to my state of being married. And I have been assigned the task of putting the analysis to a consensus and put it to others who would love to get a message out of it.

In spite of occasional and quite serious difference of opinion, my husband and I have tried to be as compatible to each other as is within our power. Influencing each other as well as giving space to each other. No one, I stress, no one of us knew anything about our rights and duties, except what the Pandit Ji recited, when we got married but on the long way to this stage we learnt all and have not done bad either. I never knew about Women’s Day nor did my mother who had such a blissful married life with my father though he was 10 years elder to her. I had my own views about so many issues that I would discuss openly but never knew that a member of moral policing force would label them as my self-assertion rights as a woman and an individual. Life really had its own charm without labels.

Compatibility—a much talked about word these days, was not even in my passive vocabulary as also were not tension, depression etc. So was just ignorant about the ingredients that make a successful marriage. So, the analysis is that life runs smoothly without any labels attached to it as when we attach labels, we become so centered towards the efficacy of these labels that instead of paying attention toward the substance, we are more concerned about labels.

I really wonder that when everything was running so smoothly why we Indians had to imbibe and show off certain features of the Western society to prove to the world about our being cultured people? If we don’t have a Women’s Day celebration, would it in some manner make us berate our women? Is it just a lip service to a cause and that too to garner publicity that we deliver speeches and promise to help the underprivileged? I feel extremely sorry to find that everything Western, with a tag attached to it, is the most sought after commodity in our country. A country like India, where women have always had a place of honour in society and where “Shakti” the female power is much revered, has become victim of a Western Trend of celebrating a trend that is so foreign to our roots.

When I hear the present day girls talk of parity with the other sex, equality, personal identity etc., I wonder about the lack of such slogans in the earlier times. But our life has been, by no means, less eventful or participative. Life was much more smooth when women enjoyed all these rights and never made an issue out of it. Our epics speak volumes about the kind of freedom and influence women enjoyed not only in their own life but in life of persons around them, yet no hue and cry was made out f it. Certain things retain their charm so long as they are the accepted norms of the society and much is not debated about them.

Perhaps it is because of my personal perspective that I remain content to have my life as it has been for a considerable period of time. My feminist friends may decry me as anti-feminist or might berate me for being self-centered, caring only for my own life and of people close to me. I maybe accused of turning a blind eye to other women around me. But I believe that charity begins at home and we must put our life in order before bringing out a change in the life of others. I may be wrong by others' standards but right and wrong are perspectives that carry different meanings to different persons. What may be right for me may be wrong for the other.

I believe in Women’s power that is supportive to the male power and vice versa as well and not something that in the name of creating balance of power, makes the concept of power bereft of its very essence!

Why We Failed to Impart Values to the Young Generation?

I sincerely wish that I had kept my diary in which I used to make some entries! As it would have made remembering the dates so easy at this time when I am trying to write something from my association with persons and places of Shimla where I spent so many years of my life.

When I close my eyes and start thinking about my first impression about Shimla, I see a small girl, who would wait for her father to come home in the evening. Now what is so surprising in it? Every child does the same. But it was the excitement of what we would do after his arrival that made it different. And then all four of us i.e. Amma, Bauji, Pappa my elder sister and I would go for our daily evening walk. As we lived in The Lower Bazaar and Bauji’s worked at the Head Post-office which was just few steps away from our home, he needed to straighten up his legs in the evening by going for a walk and we looked forward to this daily walk, less for the exercise, and more for the stories that he would recite on his walks—stories from the past!

And, honestly acknowledging, there was another attraction—the “Pudiwallah” who would be on the Ridge and we would buy sometimes the salted groundnuts, or mixed or Channa, Poodi which was in fact a slim cylindrical cone of paper holding these roasted delicacies.

He would tell us stories from the past referring to the incidents about the buildings of Shimla or people of Shimla. But most of the time the stories, by and large, came to focus on the topics that he loved to tell us the most, our freedom. Though it was the reference to the present that he would dwell in the past and to make these connections, we had a glimpse of the past while looking at the present.Even today almost all old buildings of Shimla bring forth a surge of emotions as every stone used in exterior of their walls, seems to tell me the stories from a different world, a different era. All deeply etched in my memory.

The Scandal Point, romantic rendezvous, would remind me of the Patiala King with an amorous appetite which, in spite of having so many local beauties, craved for even the girls of the white masters! And finally the English banned his entry to Shimla because he tried taking liberties with an English damsel. It created a big scandal and uproar and had the place not being named as the Scandal Point who would even remember the story about the lust of a King? While at this point, I would always imagine the fair and beautiful English ladies walking the Mall and the scent in the air would filter down to the Lower and the Middle bazaar where the lesser mortals lived.

Another source of our information about the past was one of the old timers from Shimla  Leela Behanji, as she is known among all her acquaintances. I remember sitting cuddled near her to listen to stories from the past. She would regale us about those days and we would listen to her mesmerized by the past. Behanji is around ninety and talking to her generates the old world charm even today. She would tell us as how as young girls, they would go up the stairs leading to the Mall and would try sneaking at the English ladies and the Gentlemen taking a walk around the Mall which was banned for the Blacks! And the whiff of the scented air would travel down their nostrils to be savoured for a long time and sometimes if they would be lucky, they would surreptitiously move their hand over the glazy satins of the long swirling skirts of  the English ladies. This childhood image was recreated in me when I read Mulk Raj Anand’s “Coolie” and was in a position to comprehend the British life through the eyes of an Indian coolie.

Listening to her escapades, my little mind would be filled with the romance of the eras gone by and at the same time would be so relieved to walk over the Mall as a free citizen. Perhaps it was because of this feeling of good sense generated by the freedom all around that we felt a deep sense of obligation and gratitude for the Heroes of the freedom struggle. This fervour for the freedom struggle was kept alive by the Public Relation Department that showed us pictures like Shaheed, Maharani Lakshmibai etc and made us, as small kids, vie for the British blood. We had become so biased towards everything British that all those English people who had chosen to stay back in Shimla, were looked down by us and scorned at as well. Looking back, I acknowledge remorsefully to have made fun of one such English lady as she represented for us–The Raj!

Not only this, I hated everything that had the least concern with British Raj. And today after so many years, I see myself roaming around the Lower Bazaar market on Sundays where a number of books would be displayed on the pavements, books that would attract me no less those days as they do today! But as these were the books left by the British, in their hurry to go back home, I would not even touch them. Though, today it brings a smile on my lips to confess that had I even touched those books, it wouldn’t have made any difference as I would not have been in a position to even understand the titles! But it shows the intensity of the feeling of hate we had for all British things.

The course book of English in my second or third class, if I remember exactly, The English Reader, was printed and published in Great Britain, and how I hated the book, especially the name and place of the publisher!

Yes, we were second generation free citizens of India and carried the agony of the Freedom struggle, though vicariously, along with the pride of being Free and sustained this mixed feeling with a fervour that made us different from the present day generation. We were proud to be free and grateful to the people who had sacrificed their life to make us free. All the persons having association with the freedom struggle had  a special place in our life. I remember, as a child, having learnt about Nathuram Godse who was kept in Boileaguegunj Jail after the unfortunate killing of Mahatma Gandhi. But my sympathy for Godse was raised manifold when I heard from the old timers that during his confinement, he would be busy typing on a typewriter all the time, but all those papers never saw the light of the day. How I wish to read all those papers that would reflect his thoughts to all of us who wanted to know the truth. He was not insane to have killed Gandhi for no reason.

It was a time when our parents and teachers valued the freedom because all of them had been born in a slave country and inculcated in us the importance of a freedom that their generation had achieved by paying a heavy price.

On the other hand, our generation gradually immersed itself so much in making progress and bringing our country at par with others, that all the values that needed to be imparted to our children, somehow were relegated backstage. A sense of new found equality and freedom made us self centered. In order to provide our children all those luxuries that were denied to us in our childhood, we became focused on materialism. And during all this, the celebration of the National events came to be just an yearly affair or to be crude another holiday to enjoy! We forgot that one cannot enjoy the present if he doesn’t take along the best of the Past. Myths and memories of the making of our nation were somehow not being a subject being discussed at home or school. We have not been able to keep alive the National past and war memories. I think we have become so accustomed to look at the Government to do something in all regards that our personal sense of duty has vanished somewhere. All these Days would be celebrated if there is an official notification about the same from the Government otherwise we would not even as much as mention them to our children and students.

I feel that many of us have failed in our duty for not having imparted the same feeling in our children and the indifferent attitude, towards National Heroes, shown by them is our failure.

I don’t know about others but I accept, with deep sense of remorse, My failure as a teacher, a parent and as a person.