Thursday, February 04, 2010
The other day, my 8 year old son came home a wee bit more excited than usual. He had recited a poem at the school poetry contest. He said, “My recitation was followed by the loudest applause; my class-teacher’s face was bursting with laughter; my best friend clapped for me the longest and the loudest…” I asked him to recite it before me and he instantly took his position – body straightened, heels together and toes apart, hands folded in front of chest with the fingers of the two hands clasping each other like a hook. He started with a calm expression on his face – “Good Morning. My name is Dhruv Goel. I study in III-B. Today I’m going to recite a poem. The title of my poem is ‘Mother Doesn’t Want a Dog’ by Judith Viorst.
‘Mother doesn’t want a dog.
Mother says they smell,
And never sit when you say sit,
Or even when you yell…’
My hands clapped in delight as though charmed by the lyrical voice and flawless rendition of the boy. I gave him a tight hug and then asked him to wash and change.
I had heard him recite his school poems before. While walking together in the park, holding hands with him, I would often suggest him to recite a poem or to tell a made up story of his own. He always obliged graciously.
I too participated in my school’s poem recitation contest every year. I used to walk up to the dais, legs shaking, hands sweating, butterflies in stomach – a complete picture of nervousness, and then somehow introduce myself in an already faltering tongue. I could never recite beyond the first line of the poem. I never really understood the lyrical beauty of any poem, but all the same, every year stood at the dais in order to try remembering more than the first line of the poem.
Nature has its own ways of rewarding one’s perseverance, and mine got rewarded in the form of my son whose lyrical as well as literary abilities make my heart glow with warmth.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Bonds of Love
Friday, February 05, 2010
Today I got up in the morning thinking about my maid-servant, no, about her mother! For the last two days, she had been coming along with her daughter to work at my house. This is the second time that she has felt the need to accompany her daughter to my house. The first time, about a month back, I tried to adjust myself with both of them for a week and then decided to make a discreet call to my maid asking her to come alone to my house as I’m not particularly fond of two persons working at break-neck and sometimes ‘break-glass’ speed in my house. Her mother is a respectable, middle aged woman, efficient and fast, too fast actually, for my comfort level. Her speed at doing dishes in my kitchen took its toll in the form of a cracked crystal glass and one more glass item not yet identified by me.
I employed my present maid two months back after getting rid of another ‘speedster’ that my previous maid was. My ex-one was fast and inefficient, making her dangerous for my glassware and peace of mind. My present one is an intelligent and quiet girl of 18. At times, the quality of her work even surpasses the expectation of a ‘perfectionist’ like me. While working with her in my kitchen, I sometimes talk with her about her life and family. She was made to leave her studies by her mother because her alcoholic father couldn’t feed a large family of 4 girls and 2 boys. Looking at her intelligent ways, I’d asked her to get training in soft-skills like tailoring, embroidery etc. She said that she was already attending tailoring classes in the evening.
My experience with maids has always been great. Once I find a maid of my choice, I make sure that she is well cared for and amply paid in cash and kind. She becomes an integral part of our family. I actually have some tales to tell about my domestic helpers.
After my marriage, I shifted from the working women’s hostel in Bandra, Mumbai to my husband’s rented apartment in Kandivli, Mumbai. Shobha, a mother of 2 girls and separated from her abusive husband, used to work for us there. She was too good and intelligent for her lowly station in life. Her quality of work never left any scope for criticism. She was my first visitor at the hospital room where I had delivered my son. She gave me hot oil massage for 15 days after I returned from the maternity ward and saw my little thin bundle of joy grow into cute chubby boy. I had gone to my parents’ house in Chandigarh one month after his birth, and returned when he became 4 months old. Her cheerful comment “Arre, Mannu toh Tannu ho gaya” after seeing his round face, has been used by my husband as a caption in the electronic photo story of my kids. We bought an apartment in CBD Belapur, Navi Mumbai, and shifted there before the first birthday of our son. Shobha was with us till our truck started to move and bid us farewell with tears in her eyes.
Once in Navi Mumbai, I was once again fortunate to have a very sweet-natured Muslim girl named Shabeena working for us. She was not yet married but soon became like the second mother to my son. She was his play-mate, teacher and friend. I used to teach her Arithmetic and English; had discussions with her on ethical and spiritual matters for she was an insightful girl; worried about her marriage with the right kind of person; even got her to sleep at our house when my husband was gone to the USA for 2 months. I was pregnant with my daughter when my husband decided to take us with him to the USA.
I gave lots of household stuff and a few thousand rupees to Shabeena’s mother as a token of our gratitude and affection for her daughter. On our last day, she kept working tirelessly with us till I asked my husband to drop her to her house on his bike. When he came back, he told me Shabeena’s farewell message. She had said, “Bhaiya, please take very good care of Didi. Always keep her happy.”
I’ve decided to talk to my maid’s mother directly this time, and explain to her that in my household, it is more about a relationship that I develop with my aide than about the quantity and quality of work done by them, and that her hasty presence tends to disturb the delicate harmony that I share with her daughter.
Today I got up in the morning thinking about my maid-servant, no, about her mother! For the last two days, she had been coming along with her daughter to work at my house. This is the second time that she has felt the need to accompany her daughter to my house. The first time, about a month back, I tried to adjust myself with both of them for a week and then decided to make a discreet call to my maid asking her to come alone to my house as I’m not particularly fond of two persons working at break-neck and sometimes ‘break-glass’ speed in my house. Her mother is a respectable, middle aged woman, efficient and fast, too fast actually, for my comfort level. Her speed at doing dishes in my kitchen took its toll in the form of a cracked crystal glass and one more glass item not yet identified by me.
I employed my present maid two months back after getting rid of another ‘speedster’ that my previous maid was. My ex-one was fast and inefficient, making her dangerous for my glassware and peace of mind. My present one is an intelligent and quiet girl of 18. At times, the quality of her work even surpasses the expectation of a ‘perfectionist’ like me. While working with her in my kitchen, I sometimes talk with her about her life and family. She was made to leave her studies by her mother because her alcoholic father couldn’t feed a large family of 4 girls and 2 boys. Looking at her intelligent ways, I’d asked her to get training in soft-skills like tailoring, embroidery etc. She said that she was already attending tailoring classes in the evening.
My experience with maids has always been great. Once I find a maid of my choice, I make sure that she is well cared for and amply paid in cash and kind. She becomes an integral part of our family. I actually have some tales to tell about my domestic helpers.
After my marriage, I shifted from the working women’s hostel in Bandra, Mumbai to my husband’s rented apartment in Kandivli, Mumbai. Shobha, a mother of 2 girls and separated from her abusive husband, used to work for us there. She was too good and intelligent for her lowly station in life. Her quality of work never left any scope for criticism. She was my first visitor at the hospital room where I had delivered my son. She gave me hot oil massage for 15 days after I returned from the maternity ward and saw my little thin bundle of joy grow into cute chubby boy. I had gone to my parents’ house in Chandigarh one month after his birth, and returned when he became 4 months old. Her cheerful comment “Arre, Mannu toh Tannu ho gaya” after seeing his round face, has been used by my husband as a caption in the electronic photo story of my kids. We bought an apartment in CBD Belapur, Navi Mumbai, and shifted there before the first birthday of our son. Shobha was with us till our truck started to move and bid us farewell with tears in her eyes.
Once in Navi Mumbai, I was once again fortunate to have a very sweet-natured Muslim girl named Shabeena working for us. She was not yet married but soon became like the second mother to my son. She was his play-mate, teacher and friend. I used to teach her Arithmetic and English; had discussions with her on ethical and spiritual matters for she was an insightful girl; worried about her marriage with the right kind of person; even got her to sleep at our house when my husband was gone to the USA for 2 months. I was pregnant with my daughter when my husband decided to take us with him to the USA.
I gave lots of household stuff and a few thousand rupees to Shabeena’s mother as a token of our gratitude and affection for her daughter. On our last day, she kept working tirelessly with us till I asked my husband to drop her to her house on his bike. When he came back, he told me Shabeena’s farewell message. She had said, “Bhaiya, please take very good care of Didi. Always keep her happy.”
I’ve decided to talk to my maid’s mother directly this time, and explain to her that in my household, it is more about a relationship that I develop with my aide than about the quantity and quality of work done by them, and that her hasty presence tends to disturb the delicate harmony that I share with her daughter.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Devtaas and Asurs
Monday, February 1, 2010
On Sunday evening, I went with my daughter to the birthday party of a friend’s son, while my husband and son were in Mumbai at a friend’s place. The party was the usual ‘fun, frolic and food’ kind. The children were busy playing around the house, while the grownups chatted away merrily. The birthday boy’s mom shared with us a very pleasant memory of hers. She told us that her husband was working in Mumbai when she got married to him. He had rented an apartment there before going to his hometown for getting married and left the keys with his relatives living in Mumbai. When the newly married couple arrived in Mumbai, their relatives brought them to a beautifully done up apartment with a kitchen complete with all the supplies, crockery and cookware. The new bride was welcomed into the house in accordance with the customs and traditions of the family. The couple was served rich food in elegant dishes. The bride was impressed beyond words at the beautiful welcome presented to her by her hosts. The biggest surprise came to her when she discovered that those welcoming her were not the hosts, but guests themselves in the couple’s new house.
Her musings about that incident brought to my mind a story.
Once a feast was organized by Lord Vishnu and all the ‘Devtaas’ were invited to it. The ‘Asurs’, however, were left out of the party. As the feast began, Vishnuji was surprised to see that there were far many guests than were invited originally. He looked at his guests carefully and saw that each one of them had the appearance of a ‘Devtaa’. He understood that there were many ‘Asurs’ in the guise of ‘Devtaas’. He announced commencement of the feast. After the plates were laid before each guest, he, however, made another announcement. He said that he had plans for some fun at the feast and requested his guests to allow his servants to tie a stick around their elbows before beginning to eat. The guests found his idea funny and agreed happily to get their elbows tied to the sticks. The guests were then asked to enjoy the feast. After some time, Vishnuji started taking rounds around the party tables and saw that some of his guests had started to feed each other, while others were frantically trying to take food to their mouth but ended up throwing it behind their backs instead. Vishnuji then asked his servants to untie all the sticks. He waited for everyone to finish eating and then said that his party was for the ‘Devtaas’, for it is possible only for the ‘Devtaas’ to enjoy the party that our life is, as they are the people who serve others before serving themselves.
On Sunday evening, I went with my daughter to the birthday party of a friend’s son, while my husband and son were in Mumbai at a friend’s place. The party was the usual ‘fun, frolic and food’ kind. The children were busy playing around the house, while the grownups chatted away merrily. The birthday boy’s mom shared with us a very pleasant memory of hers. She told us that her husband was working in Mumbai when she got married to him. He had rented an apartment there before going to his hometown for getting married and left the keys with his relatives living in Mumbai. When the newly married couple arrived in Mumbai, their relatives brought them to a beautifully done up apartment with a kitchen complete with all the supplies, crockery and cookware. The new bride was welcomed into the house in accordance with the customs and traditions of the family. The couple was served rich food in elegant dishes. The bride was impressed beyond words at the beautiful welcome presented to her by her hosts. The biggest surprise came to her when she discovered that those welcoming her were not the hosts, but guests themselves in the couple’s new house.
Her musings about that incident brought to my mind a story.
Once a feast was organized by Lord Vishnu and all the ‘Devtaas’ were invited to it. The ‘Asurs’, however, were left out of the party. As the feast began, Vishnuji was surprised to see that there were far many guests than were invited originally. He looked at his guests carefully and saw that each one of them had the appearance of a ‘Devtaa’. He understood that there were many ‘Asurs’ in the guise of ‘Devtaas’. He announced commencement of the feast. After the plates were laid before each guest, he, however, made another announcement. He said that he had plans for some fun at the feast and requested his guests to allow his servants to tie a stick around their elbows before beginning to eat. The guests found his idea funny and agreed happily to get their elbows tied to the sticks. The guests were then asked to enjoy the feast. After some time, Vishnuji started taking rounds around the party tables and saw that some of his guests had started to feed each other, while others were frantically trying to take food to their mouth but ended up throwing it behind their backs instead. Vishnuji then asked his servants to untie all the sticks. He waited for everyone to finish eating and then said that his party was for the ‘Devtaas’, for it is possible only for the ‘Devtaas’ to enjoy the party that our life is, as they are the people who serve others before serving themselves.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Time Management - the Panacea
Last night, I slept thinking about my Tennis class at 7.00 in the morning. I wasn’t feeling enthusiastic about it, because the memory of the Monday class still hung on in my mind. On Monday morning, I got up at 5.00 (my usual time), exercised, meditated, cooked lunch for my kids and then rushed for my tennis class just 2 minutes before 7.00. I try to go to my classes on my brand new bicycle and avoid using the car until and unless I’m frightfully late or have an aching body. The reasons why I chose to keep a bicycle handy are many. Firstly, I believe that my constitution is of the primitive kind which makes it difficult for me to use mechanized things; secondly, if and when possible, I love to expend bodily energy over any other kind; thirdly, I am frugal with resources, natural as well as personal; fourthly, I like to look and feel young in body and in spirit; fifthly, I believe that even a little effort on an individual’s part to avoid spreading the harmful fumes in our surroundings can go a long way in keeping our Mother Earth in good health. And now, back to my narrative…at 2 minutes to 7.00, I was standing by my bicycle, a picture of ‘dusty’ beauty with its tires looking a little flatter than usual. I hastily pressed my thumb into a tire and found it soft. Dusting the seat and the handle, I nonetheless rode it and started pedaling hard. By the time I reached the tennis court, my legs started feeling heavy and shaky. I took the customary round of the ground jogging slowly and then joined in the group taking practice shots. After coming back home, I kept feeling the urge to take to bed and actually did so immediately after sending away all the family members to their designated destinations.
Later during the day on Monday, our new auto-gear scooter got delivered. The need for the scooter was felt for taking kids to their activity classes, as my husband takes the car to office. I had proudly declared to my family that the scooter would never be used by me for my personal use, and that I would use it only when kids needed to be transported within the boundary of our Township only.
Now, back to my last night’s thinking process. I slept convinced that I would use the scooter for going to my tennis classes. After all, I ought to be more responsible towards my body than my spoken words, I thought.
Today again, my day started as usual. I was sitting deep in meditation when an idea slowly descended upon me. Why couldn’t I start for my tennis class a little sooner, dust my bicycle thoroughly and fill air in its tires with my easy-to-use air pump? The answer lay in better time management! So today, I was by my bicycle 10 minutes earlier than usual; cleaned it nicely, filled air in its tires, pedaled it in rhythm with my body, continued focusing on my breathing, and was at my destination on time.
Door Darshan Beckons!
Even after six months of stay in our present house in Pune, we don’t have a TV cable connection. It was our collective decision to not have this medium of information and entertainment at our home. The reasons were numerous – firstly, we thought that the news and information provided by newspapers and Radio broadcasts were quite sufficient for us; secondly, we hated the quality of entertainment that current Indian TV channels provide; thirdly, we wanted our minds to think beyond TV when at leisure. We were satisfied with our current setting involving newspaper reading in the morning, doing household chores with the Radio playing in the background, and watching Bollywood and Hollywood movies of our choice during the week-ends. But then Australian Open Tournament happened, and all I got to see and hear of it was through my tennis buddies’ expressions and opinions pertaining to the match played the previous day. I found my craving for viewing some live action increasing each day, and hence, decided to talk with my husband regarding the ‘Idiot Box’. He, however, isn’t much of a sports enthusiast and thus, found my demand for the TV as a backtrack from our aforementioned decision.
I thought of a solution that could accommodate our former principles as well as my new-found interest in viewing some world-class action on TV. The solution was to subscribe only to our dear old DoorDarshan (DD), and stay away from the rest of the plethora in the TV World. No sooner did the supposed solution came into my mind, I made some important inquiries from my maid-servant who was recently gifted an old TV set by someone. She told me that they called an electrician to fit an old-fashioned antenna to the TV and now they could watch all the DD channels! I was filled with nostalgia over my girlhood days when we too were served the DD channels by our large antenna. I got the chance to revive my old fascination for our dear old DD on Sunday when my husband and son were safely out of my way in Mumbai. I summoned an electrician, told him that our LCD TV set had come from the USA
I felt cheated. I inhaled deeply a few times and sat pondering over the whole situation. I analyzed that I had lost my money and time over the electrician’s foolishness, but then I gave a thought to the electrician’s situation. He too spent his entire day at my work; went to and fro many times between my house and the electricity shop; looked and felt miserable at his failure to do my work and would now lose some money too if I insisted on his taking back the stuff and returning my money. I decided to forgive the poor man, and started to feel light and happy again. When the man came back, I asked him about his charges for doing the work that he ‘undid’ at my house and also about the money that the shop-keeper would give back on returning his stuff. He said that he charged 200 rupees for similar work and the shop-keeper would return 180 rupees for the antenna. I quickly did my math and told him to take away the antenna and the cable with him and not to bother about returning my 300 rupees. Color returned to his pale face and he happily pledged to help me in getting the colors on my vacant TV screen soon. I, however, had had enough and wanted neither ‘Colors’ nor DD on my TV for quite some time!
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