Sudeepa Nair's Blog, page 27

Education, has always been a favorite topic of discussion in my family, whether of oneself or of others.

My maternal grandfather, who left for his heavenly abode, quite recently, was a tailor, and with whatever he could earn by stitching clothes for folks in his village, he made sure that both his daughters became graduates (something rare in the prevalent social milieu) and had educated themselves enough to earn a livelihood of their own. It was a miracle that he managed to do this, considering the fact, that he often stitched clothes for free (credit was often forgotten, by this Gandhian). He used to be an active Congressman, but had got disillusioned (at least since the time I remember him) and rarely discussed politics, showing his interest only when he watched the news.

My mother, inspired by the difference that education made to her own life, urged folks (who seemed on the verge of dropping out, due to financial or other constraints) to attain basic educational degrees by hook or crook! And well, she continues to inspire and motivate me

My paternal grandfather, who passed away few years ago, was an educator, a staunch follower of yoga, and as a school principal made sure that thousands of his students (including his own) understood the value of education. Few years before his death, as if he had some strange intuition, he instituted a scholarship for the students at his school.

And now, while in my family, education, is mainly discussed as something to be attained, I have the good fortune of being a part of a family (through marriage) where education is seen as something to be attained and imparted. My husband’s mother, is a fighter and has fought against odds to educate herself and her siblings. She is known to catch hold of unsuspecting and sometimes, uninspired, folks and motivate them to become PhD holders She even made her maid complete her graduation, and forced her to find a better job for herself.

A common philosophy, that runs across the families, communities that I have been associated with, is the importance of education for the girl child.

When I gave a serious thought to cultivating my hobby (of writing), I decided that education should be its central theme. Moreover, I also tried a new form of writing that I had not tried before – fiction. The reason being that, of all the forms of the written word, I have found that a story has a sustainable impact.

This being my first attempt, I decided to not take myself too seriously and have hence kept it light (Long live Bollywood!!)

I have already rambled a lot, anything more, I feel, would be too self serving…

Here is the link for the e-book. In case, you feel Rs.100/- is too high a price to pay for a first attempt by a not-too-serious writer, feel free to drop me a mail. I can send you a free copy.

You can download an ebook copy of the book here:

http://pothi.com/pothi/book/ebook-sudeepa-nair-reparation-dreams

A recent article in a daily newspaper (wouldn’t mention the name because although it’s a favorite among Mumbaikars and is trying to gain market share in the south, it’s articles are mostly doubted for its veracity), struck me, like a blow from a sauntering horse’s tail would, while you are walking on the road, minding your own business. It just didn’t register for a while, as I kept asking, ‘Really? Why me?’

The article was about ‘latchkey’ kids, a term coined during the world war II days for kids who returned home to empty homes due to warring fathers and working mothers. While the term itself was new to me, I was even more surprised to know that the article had to point out some negative impacts, on such kids – including delinquency.

Well, I have been a latch key kid since the age of ten or eleven and behold! I don’t want to be a delinquent in future (since I am pretty sure that I haven’t been one in the thirty odd years that I have been on this earth).

But coming to the experience of being a latchkey kid, I guess the protective environment that I grew up in, for the first ten years of my life, more than made up for being alone, in the next ten. I had a bevy of uncles and aunts who took good care of me till they decided to settle down and move on in life.

Besides, we had some wonderful neighbors too. I have spent my after school hours with some, sharing my lunch and play time (I became a huge fan of simple Maharashtrian fare and have exchanged my typical Keralite lunch of sambhar and rice or morukoottan and rice in lieu of matki ki sabzi and roti ) And there were others who would just open their kitchen windows and yell out to me at lunch – ‘deepa, khaana khaya?’

But I am pretty sure that my parents had a tough time at their workplace, trying to shut out that voice in their heads which would keep reminding them, that I am alone at home. I can understand now, now that I am a parent myself. However, those days, I presume, their number one priority would have been to ensure my physical safety and security, which was not a real headache, given the fact, that we stayed in a very close knit gated community, with security guards, lovely neighbors and to top it all, I had a dog. He would never let a stranger enter the gate let alone our house! He was my personal body guard and as long as he was there, I felt quite safe. In fact, a big advantage of being a latchkey kid (which the article mentions too) was that I got to be a housekeeper pretty early in life. (Ok, Mom, I did things responsibly because I had constant reminders from you!) I knew what it meant to run a house, if not a home. I became self reliant. (I can see mom shaking her head when she reads this )

So, what I mean to say is that being a latchkey kid is no big deal.

BUT, and now speaks the parent, if I were to imagine my own child being one, god forbid! I cannot!

For one, the security guards at our place hardly seem to know the folks who live here, plus, the group keeps changing often. How or whom do we trust?

Talking of neighbors, blame it on the lifestyle we choose to live, I hardly get to speak to anyone, barring few families here and there. Would they even know if my child was alone at home?

My neighbor in Mumbai, a curious Haryanvi, used to watch the path that led to our houses, like a hawk. She knew who went, who came, who tripped, who turned back and she even kept track of the number of jamuns that fell on the path. Today’s apartments are closed to the outside world. Fearing their own security, of course, people hardly open their doors and the loud TV sets would filter out any noise that might come from outside.

And we have only touched the tip of the iceberg with physical security. Who is gonna protect our kids from the INTERNET?! That requires a focused effort on the part of the parents as well as the kids to comprehend the risks and protect themselves. It would have to be a part of their value system. I am already perspiring at the thought of explaining my set of values to my daughter. What if she says, “Take a chill pill ma – you are so outdated!”

Our kids might just need more than a latch and key. They would need someone to open the latch for them, when they reach home!

I watched as the leaves dropped onto the ground,

As gently as ever, without a sound

A day ago would have been different,

For I would have swept them all into the dent

But today I felt that they should lie,

Beneath the tree that let them go from high

Had they served their purpose?

To be released without much ruckus?

I had planted the seed, ages ago,

And watched the tiny shoot grow…

As it grew sturdy and strong,

And grew its trunk far and long,

The branches had spread wide,

On which my children could ride

The tree bore pretty flowers and fruits

And also dug in its roots…

I watched as its leaves changed colors,

Just like my children who plucked its flowers

I heard the birds sing their often heard songs,

And they gave me a sense that I belong

My children climbed high on its branches,

And set their sights on the far away ranches

But try as they might, they couldn’t forget,

This sturdy tree that I had planted

Today, as I lean back on to my chair,

I thank God that I have no despair…

Let the leaves lie beneath the tree

For today, my soul goes free…

Recently, I had the good fortune of reading a book titled, ‘The Dalai Lama’s Cat’ which although is a fictional story of a cat adopted by the Dalai Lama, manages to propound some of the wisdom and teachings of the Dalai Lama through the lessons learnt by the cat.

I read the book in a jiffy – a bad habit exacerbated by the modern Indian fiction that I am fond of (You know what I am talking about – the kind that talks about ‘mistakes’ in life or draws parallels between mythology and capitalist India or even manages to create a Bollywood pin-up boy aura for a Hindu God).

But even in that frenzied ‘does this book even have a story’ kind of reading, one piece of wisdom managed to stay back through my ‘fiction only’ filter. The author talks about the concept of mindfulness, as a means of achieving greater satisfaction from actions, work or life in general…

I was intrigued by the concept, as intrigued as a consultant would be with the next 3-letter  acronym espoused by the consulting companies of the world (It sounds great, but what the heck does it really mean and can I actually get my client to sign a check for using it to solve their problems?). Except here, of course,  I was thinking on the lines of – will it help me to be less absent and more present?

So I decided to spend some time to think over it. An artist, in my situation, would have promptly wielded a brush, or camera, or Photoshop to create a world that is, well, more mindful. I am sure my daughter would have done that, had she understood the concept, but the analyst that I am, I decided to analyse the As-Is and To-Be scenario…the To-Be of course is ‘to be mindful’. But what about the As-Is? I decided to give myself a day to analyse the As-Is (for folks who are wondering about my project planning skills, please note that this is for a ‘totally proactive, internally driven, self improvement initiative’ and I can take liberties with the plan. A client engagement would have been totally different. For quotes, proposals, please contact the writer on her personal mail ID).

I realised after a day of brutal self assessment (which included day-dreaming while hanging onto the roof of a crowded MTC bus – folks who haven’t heard of MTC, please google!) that my mindfulness score is very low and if I were to use a statistical technique called multidimensional analysis and depict the results using a scatter diagram…it might look like a clear starry Chennai night  – conclusion – my mindfulness is totally scattered except for few activities during the day like sleeping.

Having reached this important milestone of completing the as-is, I decided that I needed to do a ‘proof of concept’  before adopting mindfulness as a long term strategy.

Unfortunately, the next day, I forgot that I had to adopt mindfulness for a day. As I prepared the lunch for my kid’s lunch box, I simultaneously tried to toast the bread for her breakfast and in the meanwhile, forgot if I had added salt to her lunch! So much for mindfulness! As I tried my best to be mindful of everything that I do, I found it more and more difficult to manage my time! Lesson learnt – multitasking and mindfulness don’t go hand in hand.

I boarded the bus and put on the earphones, deciding that I would be completely mindful of the music that I hear and lo and behold! Before I finished my next song – I had finished checking my office mail, gmail, facebook updates, google news (not in that order!).

During lunch, I tried to be mindful of what I am eating and I had answered a ping, a mail and a phone call, while I ate! How (or why) did I do that?

The POC was not much of a success, but thankfully, the investment was probably worth it. Very rarely does one get a chance to analyse one’s own day to day activities…besides I don’t have to convince anyone of an ROI…:D

But it was not a complete failure – I must add, during dinner time, I ended up having more than what I usually have because I was more mindful of the taste than usual. Now that’s what I call an unwanted return on investment!

Once, the angels converged on God’s land, seeking Him out for a puzzle they faced.

“Where art thou, God?” asked the Angel of Sadness, her drooping eyebrows, threatening to reach her deflated cheeks.

“We seek thy help in solving a puzzle,” said the Angel of Happiness, who was happy to seek help.

“What is it?” a voice thundered from above. The gathered angels recognized it to be His.

“There is a puzzle we are unable to resolve,” said the Angel of Anger, her eyelashes fluttering and her red cheeks aflame. She kept her emotions in check, only because, she was speaking to Him.

There was silence for a while…and then He spoke again, “What puzzles you, the Angels of Emotions?”

“Someone else is doing our job on earth, my Lord,” said the Angel of Compassion, her emotion speaking for itself.

Silence again.

The angels waited, they were surprised by the delay.

Then He laughed. He roared in mirth, He chuckled, He gasped. His mirth cracked up the floating clouds.

He spoke, “Sorry my dear angels, I was listening to this funny little piece of music. It had the weirdest collection of instruments, doing their best to be heard.” And then He cackled again.

The angels looked at each other.

The Angel of Calm turned around and beckoned to others to follow. “If God himself thinks so, Music must be better at doing our job than us. Let us go and help those unaffected by Music. Our burdens have certainly decreased.”

“Amma, may I go out to play?”

I sighed and returned from my day dreams. I looked at my daughter hopping on one leg while she balanced a ball on her fingers.

“Sure, go ahead.” I was relieved that the request was not for more TV.

“Will you come with me?”

I looked out.  It was a bright, beautiful day. “Okay, let’s go.” I got up feigning enthusiasm.

My daughter pulled me out and rushed towards the park, a large sand filled pit with a slide, a swing and a tiny carousel. I watched as she slid down the slide – once, twice, thrice, giggling all the while. Next she went onto the swing. “Amma, give me a push,” she said. I did and caught my breath as she rose higher and higher. Then she moved on to the carousel. She climbed onto it and said, “Amma, push!”

I gave the carousel a lug. It went around and I gave it some more pushes to sustain the momentum. But it came to a stop too soon.

My daughter came running towards me. “I am done with all the games. What should I do now?”

I looked around. “Why don’t you play in the sand for some time? Your friends will come out soon.”

“No, Amma. No one is at home. Sanju has gone to the mall with her parents. Rona has gone for a movie. None of my friends are at home!”

She dug a dry stick into the sand and created tiny furrows. I remembered something.

“Shall I take you to the play ground where I played as a child?” I asked her.

“Is it a fun place?” she asked with suspicion.

“It is the most fun place, I have ever been to!” I exclaimed.

“Let’s go then.” She jumped up.

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

I pushed the gate inside. It opened with a creaking sound which made me jump. It sounded sad, almost like a whine.

“It sounds spooky,” said my daughter.

“It needs some oiling,” I said, as I fondly touched the railing, on which we used to hang ourselves like tired washing on the clothesline.

“What?” she asked.

“This used be our ‘hang-out’ place.”

“Amma, where is the park?”

“Not a park, a play ground,” I corrected.

“Where is it?”

We walked down a path, choked by overgrown weeds. The path led to an open ground. It was bordered by bushes. A lone jamun tree stood at its far end. The bushes were as over grown as the weeds along the path.

“Is this the place?” She wrinkled her nose.

“Does it stink?” I asked in surprise.

“No, but it doesn’t look like a park.”

I drew a deep breath and took in the fresh smell of the green bushes.

My daughter walked about. “There is nothing here.”

“Exactly! You can play wherever you want, whenever you want, whatever you want.”

“What did you play?”

“Oh! We had so much fun.” I reminisced. “Once, we cleaned this place and turned it into a cricket ground. Then, once we had created a vegetable patch over there. It was so much fun. We dug up the place and created furrows all around. There were earthworms wriggling all over, the perfect soil to grow vegetables.”

“Eww!” She expressed her disgust towards the creepy crawlies. I ignored.

“And then once, we built a library.”

“Here?” She looked befuddled.

But I continued. “We used to light bonfires, sing songs, have picnics, sometimes, run around, and discuss movies, politics, school, and life!”

Her face fell. “But what did you play?”

I gaped at her. “We had fun!”

“Madam, this is not public property.”

“What?” I turned around to see a security guard waving his baton at me.

I smiled. “I know the old couple who live here,” I said, pointing to the cottage adjacent to the playground.

“Nobody lives there. Please move out of this property.”

“Whom does this belong to?”

“It’s a site for an upcoming residential complex.”

I looked around. I knew I would never be able to see this again. The jamun tree would be gone. The cottage would be pulled down. And the space…so much space! It will be divided into tiny pieces, for so many to call their own, and yet it would not be their own. I knew that no one could own it, they way we had owned it. We had tilled it, watered it, and sown the seeds of our dreams in it.

I took my daughter’s hand. “Come, let’s go.”

“What happened, amma?”

“We have lost this playground.”

My daughter looked back. “I wouldn’t know what to play there.”

She walked with me for a while and then burst out, “We can go home and play on the XBOX!”

I smiled. “Yes. XBOX it is.”