When driving down Bangalore-Highway from Chennai, a turn to the right after the Porur junction takes you to Thiruvallur town, just past the tiny wayside hamlet of Thirumazhisai. As you drive past Thirumazhisai, you cannot miss an old ramshackle Shiva Temple right on the road. It is called the Othandeeswarar temple, and it is believed that Shiva himself helped in establishing the temple at this spot.
Nothing about the temple will make you stop by. It looks like just another roadside temple. But what I love about this temple is the name of the consort of Shiva in this temple, the presiding amman. She is called Kulurnthanayaki.
Crudely translated the name means, the Cool Leader. And though the translation is crude, and sounds western pop-ish, it is actually literal and quite classic Tamil. Kulurthanayaki. I wonder who thought of the name? A cool leader in a land that is wilting and sweltering throughout the year, in the midst of the grime and dust of a wayside hamlet? Not to mention the added discomfort of profuse sweating. A cool leader? Whoever thought of such a name?
Was he a poet, a romantic, or a philosopher? What could have inspired the name? Was it just a whim or a wishful thought of the creator? Was it desperate hope? Was it an attempt to bring down the heat by reflecting on coolness? Perhaps there is some record of the temple’s presiding deities and their origins, and then again, perhaps there are none. I do not know of any, nor may I ever discover them.
But the name has fired my imagination and enchanted me like very few other things have done. I find myself often marveling at the lovely name. I bring it up in conversations. And whenever I drive past the temple, it never fails to bring a smile to my face.
If something draws me to innocuous Thirumazhisai, it is not the temple, not the architecture, not the associated myths and heritage, not even devotion to the God. It is just a name. Kulurthanayaki. A sweet name. A name that has created an oasis of coolness and serenity in my mind in the midst of the unremitting summer of Tamil Nadu.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Half-savage-half-saint
To those who think India lives in her gloriously shining malls and multiplexes, I say: make a trip to Tirupati. India occupies every inch of her villages and small towns, jostling, tugging, nudging, shoving, pushing, pulling all the time.
Speaking different languages, following different traditions and customs, but uncannily understanding other languages and recognizing other cultures, Indians are still mild and patient, yet tough, rugged and enduring, sloppy and uncouth yet sophisticated in their warmth and values…
India is still small town, and half-savage-half-saint…
Speaking different languages, following different traditions and customs, but uncannily understanding other languages and recognizing other cultures, Indians are still mild and patient, yet tough, rugged and enduring, sloppy and uncouth yet sophisticated in their warmth and values…
India is still small town, and half-savage-half-saint…
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Struggle on!
“You don’t know what a struggle this is, ma. You’ve never taken so much stress when you were in school!” How often have I heard this moan at home. And I’m sure I am not the only mother to have heard this. Mothers of all students facing exit examinations must be familiar with this refrain.
“Too much pressure,” “Too much stress.” Heavy syllabus, heavier competition. Sure, child, it is a struggle. But do not for a minute imagine that you are the only group of strugglers in this world. Or that nobody else could be suffering like you do. That all was hoity-toity in times gone by when I was young or your grand dad.
Child, all of us have struggled, and all of us will struggle till we come to terms with ourselves and the world. And even then, we still struggle. There may be differences in the degree of one's struggle, differences in the way one reacts to one's circumstances, and differences in the kinds of struggles. But to think that there was a time and a place and a people who did not struggle – is a misconception.
When I was young and a student in Kolkata, yes, we did not have to cope with a heavy syllabus, or pressure from home or peers. But we did struggle. Struggle to study in the face of long powercuts. Stewing in our own perspiration in the sweltering heat of summer, often with not even a pifling ceiling fan to cool us. Poring over our notes in the light of a kerosene-lit lantern, the kerosene being bought at a ration shop after hours of standing in a long queue unmindful of the summer heat. Air-conditioners did not exist in our vocabulary. No ice creams and milkshakes to cheer us on a hot day - those were rare treats.
We would walk long distances to xerox papers. Only a few of us had phones at home, which we could use but sparingly to connect with friends. And mobiles - whoever had heard of them then?
Struggle to find resources - there was no internet then, and not even the computer. We did not get information at the click of the mouse. No copy-paste to help us through our projects. Our parents did not explore opportunities on behalf of us, like we do for you. No one taught us study skills, or learning techniques or stress busting strategies.
We don’t know how we drifted, how we learnt of opportunities, how we learnt how to learn and study. Which were the best institutes, what should one aspire for, how does one face competition, what was the best examination strategy to adopt. We stumbled and faltered, fell and recovered, and moved on.
There were fewer tuition centres then, and they were less organized than they are now. And those of us who prepared for the JEE and other competitive examinations mostly took up distance learning and had to wait for their study packages to arrive by ordinary post. There was no courier those days. And when one answered a question paper, one had to post it, and wait for weeks for the corrected sheets.
Have you even seen post boxes? Well, there are few of them today, and we mostly do not use them, preferring to use the courier, but there was a time, when we were younger when these post boxes were our very lifeline, our windows to the world.
But we didn’t think of them as struggles, they were …well, our life, that’s all. Tell me, child, what would you do if you had to lead a life like mine? Would you then call your current life a struggle?
Your dad, sweetheart, went through much the same. He had to study in the same room as the television and if you only knew that a roomful of neighbours gathered in those days in houses that had the television (which was a rare possession, those days) you would understand how difficult it must have been for your father and his brother to study during telecasts.
I also remember, sweetheart, my father and mother talking about their student days. Those were worse. Mother travelled to a town from her village every day just to pursue studies - this in days when girls were not sent to schools, leave alone go out of the house, unescorted. She even chose to take up residence in a hostel for a whole year to complete her studies. Residence in a hostel run by Christian missionaries, who put pressure, subtle and overt, on her to convert. Not easy, as you can imagine, for a seventeen year old.
My father: child, your grandfather was the son of a poor schoolteacher. They lived in a one-roomed house: five families shared a toilet and bathroom. Father could not afford paper or even a slate (I don’t suppose you know what a slate is) to practice sums on. He used chalk pieces to write and scrub and write again – on the red cement floor of their house. Now, tell me, is that not struggle?
Child, we struggle in different ways in different times, but we all struggle. Life is about struggling – and struggling cheerfully. Your ordeals and torments - if you must think of them as that - will build your mental sinews and emotional muscle – which will help you face the challenges you will meet in the course of your life.
At every corner, and every nook, you will find a surprise, sometimes pleasant, sometimes not. And to move on from there will always involve struggle. If you learn to accept challenges, and develop the fire and energy to take them on, you will grow into a stronger, more positive and robust individual. If you allow yourself to cave in, to be intimidated, if you feel victimized and threatened all the time, life will seem a gargantuan insurmountable hurdle.
Therefore, my child, face every struggle consciously, gamely and confidently. He who sends us challenges has also given us the strength and endurance to take them on. He is confident that you will shine through - that is why he has piled it on you. Why, then, this timidity, this diffidence, this fear, this negativity in you?
Child, you did not ask to come into this world. But having come, you need certain qualities to see you through life. Take every opportunity to struggle cheerfully. Learn to meet life head on. You will, then, not feel stressed. Indeed, you will begin to enjoy life.
“Too much pressure,” “Too much stress.” Heavy syllabus, heavier competition. Sure, child, it is a struggle. But do not for a minute imagine that you are the only group of strugglers in this world. Or that nobody else could be suffering like you do. That all was hoity-toity in times gone by when I was young or your grand dad.
Child, all of us have struggled, and all of us will struggle till we come to terms with ourselves and the world. And even then, we still struggle. There may be differences in the degree of one's struggle, differences in the way one reacts to one's circumstances, and differences in the kinds of struggles. But to think that there was a time and a place and a people who did not struggle – is a misconception.
When I was young and a student in Kolkata, yes, we did not have to cope with a heavy syllabus, or pressure from home or peers. But we did struggle. Struggle to study in the face of long powercuts. Stewing in our own perspiration in the sweltering heat of summer, often with not even a pifling ceiling fan to cool us. Poring over our notes in the light of a kerosene-lit lantern, the kerosene being bought at a ration shop after hours of standing in a long queue unmindful of the summer heat. Air-conditioners did not exist in our vocabulary. No ice creams and milkshakes to cheer us on a hot day - those were rare treats.
We would walk long distances to xerox papers. Only a few of us had phones at home, which we could use but sparingly to connect with friends. And mobiles - whoever had heard of them then?
Struggle to find resources - there was no internet then, and not even the computer. We did not get information at the click of the mouse. No copy-paste to help us through our projects. Our parents did not explore opportunities on behalf of us, like we do for you. No one taught us study skills, or learning techniques or stress busting strategies.
We don’t know how we drifted, how we learnt of opportunities, how we learnt how to learn and study. Which were the best institutes, what should one aspire for, how does one face competition, what was the best examination strategy to adopt. We stumbled and faltered, fell and recovered, and moved on.
There were fewer tuition centres then, and they were less organized than they are now. And those of us who prepared for the JEE and other competitive examinations mostly took up distance learning and had to wait for their study packages to arrive by ordinary post. There was no courier those days. And when one answered a question paper, one had to post it, and wait for weeks for the corrected sheets.
Have you even seen post boxes? Well, there are few of them today, and we mostly do not use them, preferring to use the courier, but there was a time, when we were younger when these post boxes were our very lifeline, our windows to the world.
But we didn’t think of them as struggles, they were …well, our life, that’s all. Tell me, child, what would you do if you had to lead a life like mine? Would you then call your current life a struggle?
Your dad, sweetheart, went through much the same. He had to study in the same room as the television and if you only knew that a roomful of neighbours gathered in those days in houses that had the television (which was a rare possession, those days) you would understand how difficult it must have been for your father and his brother to study during telecasts.
I also remember, sweetheart, my father and mother talking about their student days. Those were worse. Mother travelled to a town from her village every day just to pursue studies - this in days when girls were not sent to schools, leave alone go out of the house, unescorted. She even chose to take up residence in a hostel for a whole year to complete her studies. Residence in a hostel run by Christian missionaries, who put pressure, subtle and overt, on her to convert. Not easy, as you can imagine, for a seventeen year old.
My father: child, your grandfather was the son of a poor schoolteacher. They lived in a one-roomed house: five families shared a toilet and bathroom. Father could not afford paper or even a slate (I don’t suppose you know what a slate is) to practice sums on. He used chalk pieces to write and scrub and write again – on the red cement floor of their house. Now, tell me, is that not struggle?
Child, we struggle in different ways in different times, but we all struggle. Life is about struggling – and struggling cheerfully. Your ordeals and torments - if you must think of them as that - will build your mental sinews and emotional muscle – which will help you face the challenges you will meet in the course of your life.
At every corner, and every nook, you will find a surprise, sometimes pleasant, sometimes not. And to move on from there will always involve struggle. If you learn to accept challenges, and develop the fire and energy to take them on, you will grow into a stronger, more positive and robust individual. If you allow yourself to cave in, to be intimidated, if you feel victimized and threatened all the time, life will seem a gargantuan insurmountable hurdle.
Therefore, my child, face every struggle consciously, gamely and confidently. He who sends us challenges has also given us the strength and endurance to take them on. He is confident that you will shine through - that is why he has piled it on you. Why, then, this timidity, this diffidence, this fear, this negativity in you?
Child, you did not ask to come into this world. But having come, you need certain qualities to see you through life. Take every opportunity to struggle cheerfully. Learn to meet life head on. You will, then, not feel stressed. Indeed, you will begin to enjoy life.
Monday, May 17, 2010
A system gone rotten
While Matriculation schools fight over fee structures, mull over teacher salaries, infrastructure, common syllabus and whatnot, there is another side to the whole issue that nobody seems to be talking about: the evaluation system. Reams can be written about the lacunae in this system. I shall leave the field to educationists, pedagogues and policy makers who are better qualified and more experienced than I am. I’d just like to document some practices and incidents that have come to my notice in recent times.
These practices and incidents center around the examination/evaluation system existent in Tamil Nadu. Some are based on first-hand experiences – my observations of students and talks with teachers. The most serious and shocking one is an incident narrated by the victim. A couple are mere hearsay, but in the light of my personal experiences, I am quite convinced that these are not exaggerations, and they are not only likely to be real, but even quite widespread. All of them made me feel embarrassed, ashamed and very very upset to have to say that I belong here, to this state and to this system.
We all know how much importance we give to examinations and scores. The following will show just how the obsession with examinations when carried to a hysterical pitch can defeat the very purpose of education, and very often, the knowledge or skill the examination seeks to evaluate does not exist at all, although the mark sheet sings a different song. So here we go:
* Students I know who have appeared for the Matriculation Class X examination say that their preparation centred more around the examination blueprint and design than around the content or substance they were tested on. To explain, the blueprint lists out the weightages given in the question paper to every chapter/lesson in every subject. The design states which chapters will have long descriptive questions and which will have objective type questions. It stipulates how many questions from each chapter can be expected in the question paper. A quick analysis of the blueprint helps our students plan their preparation. They zero down on which chapters to ignore, and which to focus on.
* An analysis of the last few question papers is also fairly revealing. It throws up patterns that help our students guess even the actual questions that are likely to figure in this year’s paper. A list of probable questions is also circulated by teachers and coaching centers based on a study of earlier papers. This helps students zero down on which questions to study and memorize and which to ignore. Remember also, that about 80% of questions in the Matriculation examination and Higher Secondary examinations come from the end of the lesson in the textbooks. Don’t be surprised to come across hordes of students who only read up prepared answers for questions and not the lessons at all.
* Did you know that one can get by in the Chemistry paper of the Higher Secondary State Board Examination by studying only Volume 1 of the course book? The coursebook comprises 2 books and 22 lessons, but just Volume 1 will get a student ‘average’ marks. A tuition teacher told me this. He also claimed that he could accurately predict most of the questions that will figure in the current Board examination basing it simply on an analysis of previous years’ papers. I believe him.
* Students from well-known, fairly big Matric schools have told me that their teachers have told them to “just read the notes well” in order to do well in the examination, a confidence that comes from the predictability of the paper.
* If that’s bad, here’s worse news: teachers tell me that there are schools where the Class 11 textbooks are not touched at all, that even in Class 11, students are put through Class 12 lessons so that a two-year drill and practice of the content will ensure decent performance in the Board examinations. Where is the question of understanding if the fundamentals are given the go by?
* Now here’s the cherry on the cake, and the rottenest one possible: cheating in the hall, often with invigilators looking the other way. A student recounted how her partner in the examination hall in the heart of Chennai was a private candidate who kept disturbing her with questions, and she had no option but to help with answers because he would not stop.
Worse, during the maths exam, the private candidate openly sought the invigilator’s help with a graph problem. The invigilator, on her part, took away the partner’s worked out graph sheet and gave it to the private candidate!
When her graph sheet was not handed back to her even when it was time to hand in the answer sheets, the student asked for it. She was told that her partner had attached it to his answer sheet and so could she please hand over her answer sheet without it.
This student did so, but made a complaint with a representative from her school present at the centre, who took it up immediately with the examination centre in charge. The result: the student was given a fresh graph sheet and an extra ten minutes to complete it.
And the private candidate? Take a guess!
The student who talked about it later said that cheating was rampant in the hall. While some students asked each other, some even asked the invigilators who were obliging.
Obviously, there's a lot to be fixed there before we talk of fee structures.
These practices and incidents center around the examination/evaluation system existent in Tamil Nadu. Some are based on first-hand experiences – my observations of students and talks with teachers. The most serious and shocking one is an incident narrated by the victim. A couple are mere hearsay, but in the light of my personal experiences, I am quite convinced that these are not exaggerations, and they are not only likely to be real, but even quite widespread. All of them made me feel embarrassed, ashamed and very very upset to have to say that I belong here, to this state and to this system.
We all know how much importance we give to examinations and scores. The following will show just how the obsession with examinations when carried to a hysterical pitch can defeat the very purpose of education, and very often, the knowledge or skill the examination seeks to evaluate does not exist at all, although the mark sheet sings a different song. So here we go:
* Students I know who have appeared for the Matriculation Class X examination say that their preparation centred more around the examination blueprint and design than around the content or substance they were tested on. To explain, the blueprint lists out the weightages given in the question paper to every chapter/lesson in every subject. The design states which chapters will have long descriptive questions and which will have objective type questions. It stipulates how many questions from each chapter can be expected in the question paper. A quick analysis of the blueprint helps our students plan their preparation. They zero down on which chapters to ignore, and which to focus on.
* An analysis of the last few question papers is also fairly revealing. It throws up patterns that help our students guess even the actual questions that are likely to figure in this year’s paper. A list of probable questions is also circulated by teachers and coaching centers based on a study of earlier papers. This helps students zero down on which questions to study and memorize and which to ignore. Remember also, that about 80% of questions in the Matriculation examination and Higher Secondary examinations come from the end of the lesson in the textbooks. Don’t be surprised to come across hordes of students who only read up prepared answers for questions and not the lessons at all.
* Did you know that one can get by in the Chemistry paper of the Higher Secondary State Board Examination by studying only Volume 1 of the course book? The coursebook comprises 2 books and 22 lessons, but just Volume 1 will get a student ‘average’ marks. A tuition teacher told me this. He also claimed that he could accurately predict most of the questions that will figure in the current Board examination basing it simply on an analysis of previous years’ papers. I believe him.
* Students from well-known, fairly big Matric schools have told me that their teachers have told them to “just read the notes well” in order to do well in the examination, a confidence that comes from the predictability of the paper.
* If that’s bad, here’s worse news: teachers tell me that there are schools where the Class 11 textbooks are not touched at all, that even in Class 11, students are put through Class 12 lessons so that a two-year drill and practice of the content will ensure decent performance in the Board examinations. Where is the question of understanding if the fundamentals are given the go by?
* Now here’s the cherry on the cake, and the rottenest one possible: cheating in the hall, often with invigilators looking the other way. A student recounted how her partner in the examination hall in the heart of Chennai was a private candidate who kept disturbing her with questions, and she had no option but to help with answers because he would not stop.
Worse, during the maths exam, the private candidate openly sought the invigilator’s help with a graph problem. The invigilator, on her part, took away the partner’s worked out graph sheet and gave it to the private candidate!
When her graph sheet was not handed back to her even when it was time to hand in the answer sheets, the student asked for it. She was told that her partner had attached it to his answer sheet and so could she please hand over her answer sheet without it.
This student did so, but made a complaint with a representative from her school present at the centre, who took it up immediately with the examination centre in charge. The result: the student was given a fresh graph sheet and an extra ten minutes to complete it.
And the private candidate? Take a guess!
The student who talked about it later said that cheating was rampant in the hall. While some students asked each other, some even asked the invigilators who were obliging.
Obviously, there's a lot to be fixed there before we talk of fee structures.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
A life to remember and celebrate
Today my mother went visiting her old aunts and uncles. I want to write about one of these couples. The grand uncle is 98 years old. The grand aunt, 90 or thereabouts. Weak, shriveled, their memories fading, disease-ridden, almost immobile and wheelchair bound, the couple is still very special to us.
They belong two generations back. Their life speaks of a time that has gone by, a lifestyle that just lives in the fading memories of a handful of old-timers. In a few years, these memories too will be completely lost. A generation would have passed on, taking with them, a whole culture, a lifestyle, and a value system. A culture we cannot afford to forget. Let me explain.
This grand old couple got married all of 80 years back. He was 12 then, she, eight.
They belonged to a generation that believed in getting their children married even before they matured, physically or mentally. I don’t want to argue the merits and demerits of the child marriage system. Much has been written about it. I have no new thought or fact to contribute. But evil or wrong as it might have been, the child marriage system in the hands of a few wise and benign people, did lay (and strengthen) the foundation of our family values. It moulded that living entity that we proudly call the Indian family.
I remember my grand aunt fondly recollecting those by-gone days. ‘Our marriage was a five-day affair,” she said, and the thought made my head swim. “We were children, playing together and with other children around us. We had to be dragged to the stage for the various functions!”
In keeping with the tradition of her times, she went back to her parents’ house after her wedding, awaiting the onset of puberty and an auspicious time to be ceremonially sent to her marital home. Her father-in-law, a distant relative, would drop in every month.
“I would run to hug him when I saw him at the gate,” she laughed as she recounted. “He would stoop and pick me up in his arms. I would sit only in his lap. I was too young to know how a daughter-in-law should treat her a father-in-law.”
The spontaneous love of a child-bride and the magnanimous and wise response of her in-laws set the tone for a loving relationship where family developed as the fulcrum around which life revolved.
Later in life, it was her father-in-law whom she credits with having put her through school. “He insisted that I appear for my SSLC examination,” she said one day. “Very few women did so those days. I was the mother of a child then.”
“I spent just ten or twelve years of my life with my parents,” reminisced grandaunt on another occasion. “And the rest of it in my marital home. Naturally, I was more attached to my marital home than even to my parental home. I knew the traditions and tastes of my marital home better. I cooked more like my mother-in-law than like my mother.”
The distinction between the two homes and the two cultures had blurred, making it easy for the child bride to adapt and adjust to a new way of life, accept it as hers, and build strong bonds. Did she mind? She does not seem to mind. “I could see no difference,” she said simply. “I was happy.”
Simple yet profound. When you accept something as your own, all differences cease to matter. She seemed to say that giving up and accepting, acceding and conforming were not signs of weakness. Nor did one lose stature, dignity or personality by following this path. It put her on a pedestal and gave her a stature and dignity that came very naturally – a stature that only givers can hope to attain, and not possessors.
So did she lose herself, her personhood, her very special identity – did she give up her rights and sacrifice her desires? Not more, not less than other women today. In spite of her all-consuming commitments and responsibilities, grandaunt did lead a full life, studying, socializing, developing her creative talents in crafts and arts of many kinds, and holding her own in her household and society. She learnt languages, did embroidery and handicrafts of different kinds, painted, cooked, read newspapers, wrote stories, translated literature, sang and composed songs, played with children, planned memorable holidays and picnics, threw herself with great enthusiasm into celebrations of all kinds, and readily taught others all that she knew.
A woman whose wisdom and affection drew all to her, who was much sought after, whose presence at a gathering added life and spark to it. A woman whose multiple skills and whose multidimensional personality shone distinctly and uniquely all the time. A woman who did not stint herself, did not shy away from her commitments, who did not hesitate to lose herself in her family, and yet found time and energy to explore her values, adopt new ways of thinking and stretch herself to see how far she could go. A woman who is living proof that by giving and accepting one does not lose, but only gain. That it is possible to be oneself and be recognized for what one stands, and yet be wholly committed to one’s family. That the two are not mutually exclusive.
At a time when women deliberately limit their commitments, hold back from responsibilities, define the boundaries of their relationships, keep themselves distant and not give of themselves wholly, grand aunt’s life is a reassurance that security and confidence come from within, that strength and support come from within, that you can be yourself and lose yourself at the same time.
They belong two generations back. Their life speaks of a time that has gone by, a lifestyle that just lives in the fading memories of a handful of old-timers. In a few years, these memories too will be completely lost. A generation would have passed on, taking with them, a whole culture, a lifestyle, and a value system. A culture we cannot afford to forget. Let me explain.
This grand old couple got married all of 80 years back. He was 12 then, she, eight.
They belonged to a generation that believed in getting their children married even before they matured, physically or mentally. I don’t want to argue the merits and demerits of the child marriage system. Much has been written about it. I have no new thought or fact to contribute. But evil or wrong as it might have been, the child marriage system in the hands of a few wise and benign people, did lay (and strengthen) the foundation of our family values. It moulded that living entity that we proudly call the Indian family.
I remember my grand aunt fondly recollecting those by-gone days. ‘Our marriage was a five-day affair,” she said, and the thought made my head swim. “We were children, playing together and with other children around us. We had to be dragged to the stage for the various functions!”
In keeping with the tradition of her times, she went back to her parents’ house after her wedding, awaiting the onset of puberty and an auspicious time to be ceremonially sent to her marital home. Her father-in-law, a distant relative, would drop in every month.
“I would run to hug him when I saw him at the gate,” she laughed as she recounted. “He would stoop and pick me up in his arms. I would sit only in his lap. I was too young to know how a daughter-in-law should treat her a father-in-law.”
The spontaneous love of a child-bride and the magnanimous and wise response of her in-laws set the tone for a loving relationship where family developed as the fulcrum around which life revolved.
Later in life, it was her father-in-law whom she credits with having put her through school. “He insisted that I appear for my SSLC examination,” she said one day. “Very few women did so those days. I was the mother of a child then.”
“I spent just ten or twelve years of my life with my parents,” reminisced grandaunt on another occasion. “And the rest of it in my marital home. Naturally, I was more attached to my marital home than even to my parental home. I knew the traditions and tastes of my marital home better. I cooked more like my mother-in-law than like my mother.”
The distinction between the two homes and the two cultures had blurred, making it easy for the child bride to adapt and adjust to a new way of life, accept it as hers, and build strong bonds. Did she mind? She does not seem to mind. “I could see no difference,” she said simply. “I was happy.”
Simple yet profound. When you accept something as your own, all differences cease to matter. She seemed to say that giving up and accepting, acceding and conforming were not signs of weakness. Nor did one lose stature, dignity or personality by following this path. It put her on a pedestal and gave her a stature and dignity that came very naturally – a stature that only givers can hope to attain, and not possessors.
So did she lose herself, her personhood, her very special identity – did she give up her rights and sacrifice her desires? Not more, not less than other women today. In spite of her all-consuming commitments and responsibilities, grandaunt did lead a full life, studying, socializing, developing her creative talents in crafts and arts of many kinds, and holding her own in her household and society. She learnt languages, did embroidery and handicrafts of different kinds, painted, cooked, read newspapers, wrote stories, translated literature, sang and composed songs, played with children, planned memorable holidays and picnics, threw herself with great enthusiasm into celebrations of all kinds, and readily taught others all that she knew.
A woman whose wisdom and affection drew all to her, who was much sought after, whose presence at a gathering added life and spark to it. A woman whose multiple skills and whose multidimensional personality shone distinctly and uniquely all the time. A woman who did not stint herself, did not shy away from her commitments, who did not hesitate to lose herself in her family, and yet found time and energy to explore her values, adopt new ways of thinking and stretch herself to see how far she could go. A woman who is living proof that by giving and accepting one does not lose, but only gain. That it is possible to be oneself and be recognized for what one stands, and yet be wholly committed to one’s family. That the two are not mutually exclusive.
At a time when women deliberately limit their commitments, hold back from responsibilities, define the boundaries of their relationships, keep themselves distant and not give of themselves wholly, grand aunt’s life is a reassurance that security and confidence come from within, that strength and support come from within, that you can be yourself and lose yourself at the same time.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Unlearn, ungrow - possible?
'Unlearn' - a much-used word today. It is fashionable today to say that there is much for one to unlearn, before one learns something new. So is learning like a ziplock on a dress that one drags down in a flash, wriggles out of and discards?
Only yesterday, a good friend said that one could only learn, not unlearn. I agree.
One can unlearn only as much as one can ungrow, unborn or undie oneself. Like these other processes, real learning too is an irreversible process, too deeply and integrally embedded in one's self to be detached at will.
Learning is not only growth and development, it is also a kind of experience, that shapes our selfhood and decides who we are and what we think. Newly learnt knowledge anchors itself to existing knowledge and transmutes itself into new understanding.
It is not a thing of the flesh, but a matter of the spirit: elusive, intangible, unquantifiable...
At best, we can learn to set aside a way of thinking or doing that we have been following, and learn and take to a new way.
Learning is too entrenched, too enmeshed, too well-blended a part of the self to be given up at will. Learning determines our persona, our self-hood, our very identity.
Let us not try to unlearn. Let us not try to quantify 'unlearning' or evaluate whether we have successfully 'unlearnt'! Let us not even think of unlearning.
Only yesterday, a good friend said that one could only learn, not unlearn. I agree.
One can unlearn only as much as one can ungrow, unborn or undie oneself. Like these other processes, real learning too is an irreversible process, too deeply and integrally embedded in one's self to be detached at will.
Learning is not only growth and development, it is also a kind of experience, that shapes our selfhood and decides who we are and what we think. Newly learnt knowledge anchors itself to existing knowledge and transmutes itself into new understanding.
It is not a thing of the flesh, but a matter of the spirit: elusive, intangible, unquantifiable...
At best, we can learn to set aside a way of thinking or doing that we have been following, and learn and take to a new way.
Learning is too entrenched, too enmeshed, too well-blended a part of the self to be given up at will. Learning determines our persona, our self-hood, our very identity.
Let us not try to unlearn. Let us not try to quantify 'unlearning' or evaluate whether we have successfully 'unlearnt'! Let us not even think of unlearning.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Death knoll for Kasab, not terrorism
Should Kasab be hanged? Seventeen months after the heinous crime against humanity committed by Kasab and his associates,the man has been sentenced to death.
Actually Ajmal Kasab ceased to exist, morally and spiritually,when he took on the task of taking innocent lives.
And he was sentenced to death even earlier. Certainly not today, the sixth of May, 2010. He sentenced himself to death on the day he allowed himself to turn terrorist.
When he landed in Mumbai, he was already a dead man. If he had not died during the shootout, he would have, by training, committed suicide, or been killed by his own masters or his opponents.
Then the seventeen months in prison in India. He must have died a thousand deaths in anticipation of the real one that was inevitable and imminent.
So what will his physical death mean? That terrorism has been severely dealt with? That the Establishment will not tolerate attacks on its people?
Or is this just another meaningless move on the chessboard of international polity? While the diabolical masterminds that spearheaded and planned the attack remain at large, a small-time operator, a mere pawn is to be hanged. Perhaps a sacrifice at the altar of political exigency?
Blood will have been drawn in return for blood. A strong message would have been sent. The government would be seen to have done its duty to its people: a terrorist was caught with a lot of fanfare, and after due noises were made, was predictably sentenced to death.
But will Kasab's death by hanging de-fang terrorism? Will it help hound out the master rats from their hellholes? Will it prevent other impoverished, uneducated desperate and vulnerable young men and women from turning Kasabs? What is anyone doing to address these more important, more serious issues?
Actually Ajmal Kasab ceased to exist, morally and spiritually,when he took on the task of taking innocent lives.
And he was sentenced to death even earlier. Certainly not today, the sixth of May, 2010. He sentenced himself to death on the day he allowed himself to turn terrorist.
When he landed in Mumbai, he was already a dead man. If he had not died during the shootout, he would have, by training, committed suicide, or been killed by his own masters or his opponents.
Then the seventeen months in prison in India. He must have died a thousand deaths in anticipation of the real one that was inevitable and imminent.
So what will his physical death mean? That terrorism has been severely dealt with? That the Establishment will not tolerate attacks on its people?
Or is this just another meaningless move on the chessboard of international polity? While the diabolical masterminds that spearheaded and planned the attack remain at large, a small-time operator, a mere pawn is to be hanged. Perhaps a sacrifice at the altar of political exigency?
Blood will have been drawn in return for blood. A strong message would have been sent. The government would be seen to have done its duty to its people: a terrorist was caught with a lot of fanfare, and after due noises were made, was predictably sentenced to death.
But will Kasab's death by hanging de-fang terrorism? Will it help hound out the master rats from their hellholes? Will it prevent other impoverished, uneducated desperate and vulnerable young men and women from turning Kasabs? What is anyone doing to address these more important, more serious issues?
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Ha, more evidence
Saw an ad for a Tamil movie called Goripalayam today. Pic shows some of the stone age types flexing muscles and all ready for action while a couple of women take a frightened peek at the world from behind the protective backs of their muscular companions. The eternal 'pomblai pullai' image - when will we shrug it off?
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Say 'no' to movies
Ten days back, I saw the Tamil movie 'Shivaji' played on video. Two girls - both very dear to me - giggled through scenes of Rajni and his 'mama' Vivek 'girl-hunting.'To see two bright and sensible young teenaged girls watching two ragamuffins catcalling girls, commenting on their looks, classifying them as 'bulldozers' or 'figures' drove me crazy. How can one possibly sit through this nonsense and watch women being insulted and humiliated so grossly?
To watch women being identified and classified merely by their physical attributes, to listen to them being referred to again and again as 'figures', almost stripping them off their personhood was pretty revolting.
While they toy with women, and incessantly spout sexually-loaded innuendoes, our 'heroes' have no qualms about seeking female companions soaked in 'Tamil culture and tradition'. In our Tamil movies, women are expected to be imbued with culture, modesty and traditional virtues and values, even as men retain the privilege and right to be uncultured boorish stone age types. The more uncultured and unshaven, the more macho a man is supposed to be - the more his capacity to charm the cultured 'figure'.
How much longer must we take this tripe?
How much longer will half the population be insulted just to entertain the other half?
How many more decades will pass before our movies portray our women differently, giving them the respect due to a fellow being?
And how can our bright young women actually go to the movies, watch femalehood insulted in every scene and come away unaffected?
How much more time before our young women refuse to watch movies that commodify women? How much longer before our actresses refuse to play commodities?
When can we hope to instate the intellect and cognition as attributes of females, never mind whether their uncultured stone age companions possess these attributes?
Must the words 'mindless' and 'entertainment' always go together in our country? Can't entertainment be mindful of intelligent, sensitive and cultured audiences?
To watch women being identified and classified merely by their physical attributes, to listen to them being referred to again and again as 'figures', almost stripping them off their personhood was pretty revolting.
While they toy with women, and incessantly spout sexually-loaded innuendoes, our 'heroes' have no qualms about seeking female companions soaked in 'Tamil culture and tradition'. In our Tamil movies, women are expected to be imbued with culture, modesty and traditional virtues and values, even as men retain the privilege and right to be uncultured boorish stone age types. The more uncultured and unshaven, the more macho a man is supposed to be - the more his capacity to charm the cultured 'figure'.
How much longer must we take this tripe?
How much longer will half the population be insulted just to entertain the other half?
How many more decades will pass before our movies portray our women differently, giving them the respect due to a fellow being?
And how can our bright young women actually go to the movies, watch femalehood insulted in every scene and come away unaffected?
How much more time before our young women refuse to watch movies that commodify women? How much longer before our actresses refuse to play commodities?
When can we hope to instate the intellect and cognition as attributes of females, never mind whether their uncultured stone age companions possess these attributes?
Must the words 'mindless' and 'entertainment' always go together in our country? Can't entertainment be mindful of intelligent, sensitive and cultured audiences?
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