waiting for Janus

end of another year. water under the bridge.

thursday philosophy - be weird whenever you can

a lot of people are of the opinion that i cannot get any weirder, but one can always chip away at perfection and transform all that carbon into diamond.

one should choose the time and place well, though. do the unexpected, is my motto. choose a nice time, say like after a hard day at work, when one's bosom cronies and one are lying in various stages of spread-eagledness on the couch in front of the tv. wait for the right kind of song, and break into a sudden dance. roll eyes and throw about limbs for added effect. one may even add a yelp or two in tune with the said song.

the reactions are generally satisfactory.

i got several seconds worth of shocked silence.

why nice girls pick losers

Puppet making workshop tomorrow.

the kids are going to make rod puppets like the highly stylized wayang kulit puppets and will use them to stage a shadow puppetry show on stories from the ramayana or the mahabharata.

the scripts are in - one around sita's swayamvar and the other one on her abduction. we have such a fine sense for melodrama. even kids could unerringly go right to some of the most dramatic episodes from the great epic.

bits from the script for the play on Sita's Swayamvar;

narrator: janaka called all the princes to his court and declared a competition.

janaka: today i declare that who will lift the SHIVADHANUSH and string it will be declared the husband of my beautiful daughter.

narrator: many princes, demons, rakshasas tried to string it. but everyone failed. few were not even able to lift it. it was like nobody could lift or string it.

narrator: king janaka went to vishwamitra and told him something.

janaka: vishawamitra, would brave rama like to string the bow?

narrator: rama went to string the bow. he successfully stringed the bow. but soon the bow broke.

janaka: i announce rama my lovely daughter's husband. i am a happy man now.

soon rama and sita are married.

the end.

the end indeed, in more ways than one. poor girl.

:::

the entire idea of her swayamvar is so depressing - lovely princess, beloved daughter, all dewy eyed and innocent, the kohl in her eyes almost melting with the wait for the prince, landing the biggest chauvinist in the assembly. what would sita's fate have been, if she had but chosen a more ordinary man than the purushottam? definitely not the deified symbol of indian womanhood, but all the same, she could have been perfectly happy being wife and mother to an ordinary man and his ordinary kids.

following his shadow through dense woods and dusty roads, soft feet worn out on thorns and pebbles, sheltered complexion seared in noonday suns, rough cottons for the silks, flowers for the jewels...to what end? doubt and renunciation? to become the touchstone for a man's pride?

what waste.

i cant help being torn between sympathy and contempt for her.

i'd have taken ravan any day - good king, interesting parentage, skilled musician, good brother, brave warrior. plus, he must have really, really fancied her. helen of troy was more practical in these matters.

how stupid to have waited for him who led her through hardship and came for her not out of love, but out of a misplaced sense of bravado and affronted pride.

pack up the moon

poetry is such a dangerous art. no space for pretense. Auden's 'stop all the clocks' is the most moving song of desolation. it cannot have come unbidden. what loss might have forged it?

it sets my skin prickling every time i read it. every verse is a lament, controlled and absolute.

filled with the black despair that comes down like a thick velvet curtain - suffocating and blinding. the same terror that jolts one awake from nightmares where loved ones die in strange ways. the landscape of dreams where every law of the ordinary world is a mockery of itself, where every step is a step to doom; every face a quick-morphing mask. nothing, nothing can be done. where everything of value can go in a snap. and one is defenseless against it.

the daily terror that mothers and lovers endure.

Stop All The Clocks

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

- W. H. Auden

sad day today

the jeans that was an uncomfortably tight fit a month ago is now comfortably loose. i am losing my hard earned kilo.

hence, i am sad.

the (un)holy state

all my friends persist in being ardent advocates of matrimony. like it is some giant exclusive club they are dying to join. more is the horror, they would do anything to drag me into the quagmire as well.

members' benefits - exciting conversations about the lord-and-master's eating habits, sleeping habits, working habits, spending habits and bathroom habits. why do they imagine for a moment that such fascinating details could be of absorbing interest to their unmarried friends? do my glassy stare, tapping foot, yawns and frequent peeks at the watch convey anything else? i think i need one of those workshops on body language. or perhaps, i could take a cue from my old deaf cousin great-grandfather and shout 'it is all nonsense. NONsense' at them.

what is the point? i get told - companionship, children, some one to look after one in one's old age, social acceptance...

companionship is plenty. all around. if one is a self-sufficient individual one does not lack it. or else, simply cultivate a reading habit. that banishes a want for company.

children? adoption is not a crime, surely? why go through all the horror?

support in old age - what a selfish notion. abhorrent. does one have kids just so they can be effective pay cheques in the future?

social acceptance - why bother? why bother at all?

today i got told that i am to lose one more to the marriage-mafia.

my poor, silly, optimistic friend. why, oh why are women so silly?

i live in dread of the other shoe dropping. may it not.

spring cleaning in autumn

cleaning cobwebs. all sorts.

clingy, immaterial things. nothing to be gained except getting one's hands dirty. still, how lovely they manage to look sometimes. holding up heavy drops of dew, minor rainbows in every drop. like something magical to be treated with care. too fragile for heavy handedness or haste. one can get so completely taken in. the spider's lair.

so much time wasted.

monthly strange event number-1

i somehow managed to cut a deep gash on my left foot's big toe by accidentally getting it under the leg of the chair that i was sitting on. being hungry and sleep deprived does not help matters at all. i spent a good minute wondering exactly what place hurt, and what exactly i should do to make it better. slow, slow reflexes.

after making sure that i wasn't about to cry or something equally silly, everyone else proceeded to robustly make fun of me. unkind people.

ah well. the mind above matter thing works, after all. i can now forget entirely that i have a big toe on my left foot, let alone one that hurts like hell.

i certainly don't mind spilling a little blood, but i wish my injuries were a little more heroic than this.

• 
  

saw off shr tonight. the family i got to choose.

can't say goodbyes convincingly. hate letting people go.

the land of plague and floods

the diamond city is far from glittering. it is a dirty, dusty eyesore. at least the old city is - garbage piled up around street corners, encroachments bang in the middle of main roads, ugly broken down buildings, dust and grime all around, factory chimneys belching smoke in heavily populated places...a total municipal disaster.

as one enters the city, a giant hoarding proclaims the biggest lie i'd encountered in a long time - Welcome to Surat. clean city, green city!

mass apathy or mass illusion.

• 
  

the evening saved the day from becoming one more statistic in the most-boring-day-my-life register.

dinner and conversation with mr. and mrs. sharma, my gracious hosts for the evening at their lovely home. watching the comfort of an alliance of long unfolding in an equal, if different, partnership. the sweetness in being taken for granted.

later, a walk in the garden made fragrant by the flowering of the ratrani, the full-moon glow and the sound of crickets in the stillness. on the drive back, i notice that night shows the city off in kinder light. the warts are hidden in the dimness and the neon lights add a touch of festivity. an obligatory dressing up.

the car cruising over the flyover with the windows down and the breeze all soft and whispery, companionable silence and the comfort of being with a friend in a city of strangers....not a bad day.

small blessings abound. and i am thankful.

the angst of someone who is understood

i'm being understood.

curiously enough, i do not like it. at all.

it is not nice being understood by a class-full of 10 year olds. to them, i wish to appear mysterious, benevolent and unpredictable. most of all, unpredictable. i seem to be losing the unpredictability. so much so, that now they have started completing my sentences. like a long-married couple.

i begin, "my dear friends...." and they complete "life is not fair."

i begin, "this is...." and they complete "RIDICULOUS!!"

i begin, "you better come with your homework done or else....." and they complete "i'll skin you alive and hang your pelts on the wall."

i barely begin, "how...." and they chorus "STUPID!!"

i try to growl, "i suggest you stop that right now or else...." and they helpfully complete "i'll assassinate you personally."

all this is most depressing. i shall have to think up some new threats. they are beginning to think i am cute. that will definitely not do. i must not lose my fangs. the fangs are essential tools of the trade.

ah well.

at least it is better than the first week, when i would ask for silence, and the class would obligingly erupt in 24 people yelling "keep quiet, stop talking, look at madam" simultaneously. now i can achieve instant silence of the pin-drop variety by just throwing them a glance with a glint in it.

all in a day's work

my class has a severe problem with writing. they whine more plaintively than a galley-full of ill-treated slaves when faced with a writing assignment of any sort. which means that my brain is constantly addled with all the thinking i have to do to disguise writing in sheep's clothing.

today i decided to introduce some dirty competition into the academic equation. poster-making - topic of choice; individual or pairs; tone-persuasion/awareness/warning; 30 minutes.

Jehan's poster. most people liked it for its striking use of color and graphics and the catchy slogan. the poacher looks rather woebegone though.

Appy and Dhruvin's poster. i liked the symbolism of the graphics and the artwork in general. nice and pessimistic, that is us.

hitarth's broken arm proved to be pure serendipity. he left the writing monochromatic because he could not finish coloring it in time, but the audience liked how the no-smoking sign stood out against all the white and black of the rest of the space.

Meet's work. i like the spotlight effect created by the two circles. a rather glamorous family - everyone is very cosmopolitan and smokes! i especially liked the copious amounts of tears the rest of the family is shedding. enough to drown them all. the dead body looks on quite cheerfully from the pyre.

These and two more went as prizes. on-the-spot artwork by the teacher. perhaps there is something wrong with me. everything i draw turns out to be wide-eyed. something freudian perhaps.

day one of the new term

can't say i'v not been warned.

in my inbox - "i hope you have enjoyed yourself in the vacation. from tomorrow we are coming back to harruss you. my dear." followed by a very malignant looking smiley.

well, well, well.

sunday philosophy

A promise made is a debt unpaid.

discoveries

today is a day of discoveries and introspection.

discovery number one: my heart is made of india rubber.

inevitable perhaps, me being the granddaughter of a smallish rubber plantation owner. break-resistant and flexible, it insists on bouncing back. i have no future as a wilting violet, alas.

discovery number two: there is distress and i am (so far) a damsel, but i'm not in it.

no wonder i'd been scaring off all the knights in shining armor waiting for me to fall into distress. it is more entertaining causing the distress than being in it. i cannot ride horseback and i think horses stink, anyway. perhaps the knights stink as well.

discovery number three: i am not built to be a saint.

ahhh.. the bliss of being able to tell idiots that they are idiots. nothing compares. ultimate bliss. all the strain of trying to keep a stiff upper lip and behaving in a suitably dignified, ladylike fashion that is expected of a spinster lady in her mid-twenties was too much.

discovery number four: being a bitch comes naturally to me.

my dear well-meaning teachers at the convent would be shocked. despite being a 'fair, convent educated, homely girl from a good family' i excel at pithy one-liners and crushing sarcasm. sometimes i think i could very well be the reincarnation of that mightiest of super-bitches - the great Groucho Marx.

the weight of all these ponderous revelations has given me something to chew on. i think i'll now go and bite someone or something.

april girl, thats me

now this guy had taste.


Always Marry An April Girl

Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true --
I love April, I love you.

- Ogden Nash


but of course, we april girls are no wall-flowers. we have alternatives. namely;

If No One Ever Marries Me

If no one ever marries me -

And I don't see why they should,

For nurse says I'm not pretty,

And I'm seldom very good

If no one ever marries me I shan't mind very much,

I shall buy a squirrel in a cage

And a little rabbit-hutch;

I shall have a cottage near a wood,

And a pony all my own

And a little lamb, quite clean and tame,

That I can take to town.

And when I'm getting really old -

At twenty-eight or nine

I shall buy a little orphan girl

And bring her up as mine.

- Laurence Alma-Tadema

so there!

.....on the verge

to begin a day with the bitter taste of disappointment...fruitless, meaningless waiting....my spirit does not bend to my will. i find haughty indifference alien. my happiness effervescent and all pervading like the dawn fog misting my window as i wait; it too, goes the same way. melted away in the heat of a rash word.

what is all this making of me - a bitter, twisted non-believer?

daily dose of tragedy - starcrossed

seen in passing -

a young couple being forcefully parted and handed over to their respective families. the guy was slapped for good measure by indulgent 'older and wiser' people, and the girl admonished for doing something so silly as attempt to escape the folds of her family for the circle of her lover's arms.

they boy tried pathetically to hold on to his cockiness. to be a man for the still-watching girl; in the end only to watch helplessly as she, head bowed and cowed, was driven away.

they were but kids, both of them somewhere in their late teens.

who decides what is love and what is not? perhaps the fact that being near that one person can make one feel invincible and immortal is enough for it be named love. perhaps it is the dawning incoherent realization that we are but cosmic flotsam on an endless trajectory - some fated to find kindred spirits, some not so blessed. so what if this search for meaning and belonging can sometimes end in sadness and litter the floor with broken hearts? one has to close one's eyes against the yawning deep and just leap off, trusting to god that one learns to soar and won't drop as dead weight into the chasm.

as we grow older, this courage to trust another person with the strings to one's sanity wears thin. we get pragmatic and watchful and ration our affections against guaranteed returns. we seek minimum collateral damage.

we call it the dawning of wisdom. funny.

being young and vulnerable is the worst state to be in, perhaps.

daily dose of tragedy - not mine this time

the worst tragedy that befell me happened on the 19th of february in the year 1989. the pest was born.

i tried the best i could to persuade my parents to donate him to charity, but they adamantly refused to listen to reason. since that terrible day, he has made it the chief purpose of his life to bug me to distraction.

now to my joy, the hateful little neighbor has a little brother too. i don't mind having a little brother if everyone else has one as well. misery loses its edge when distributed evenly and fairly. and by all that is holy, if anyone on this wide earth deserved such a punishment, it is she. i'd like to see how long she can call her famous red tricycle her own and for how long her favorite toys remain saliva-free. hahaha. pride comes before a fall.

the neighborhood baby brother is a dangerous person in the offing, one can tell. his optimistic parents have gone and named him Harsh and he quite lives up to the name. perhaps they forgot to tell him they meant it with the Hindi connotation and not the English one. he glares at passersby in a harsh manner and dribbles saliva all over his chin in a harsh manner too. his harshness reaches new peaks when he is wet, and we are all treated to the sound of him protesting very harshly indeed.

perhaps he feels that

A bit of talcum
Is always walcum.

- Ogden Nash (Reflection on Babies)

Diwali

there are crackers going off incessantly outside, and the sky is lit by flares and fountains of light. old age must be catching up with me. spent the entire day reading in bed. it is celebration of a sort, i guess.

at any rate, i am not all dolled up like amitabh bachchan on the Big Boss show in something pink, emboidered and feminine. perhaps the dress was generously lent to him by that doyen of high fashion faux pas, the newest addition to the family, mrs. rai-bachchan.

i don't understand men who wear pink, much less geriatric men who wear embroidered pink - with a matching pink embroidered stole! that is taking metrosexuality a bit too far, in my opinion.

he is going batty in his dotage. i took a poll. the family and i much rather prefer shilpa shetty and her marvelous curves gracing the Big Boss screen.

randomness

Solo songbird's song

sunk in secret sadness

secure.

.........................

Mornings mourning

momentary madnesses -

madcap machinations

masterfully mowed down.

(t)horn of plenty

i am now faced with three bottles of home-made wine, two bottles of honey - one the wild variety and the other the refined variety, three huge cakes, 20 kilos of plantains, fried fish, prawns, smoked beef and many many many coconuts. all of which i am expected to down in the short span of 15 days.

families. out to kill one.

another installment of the make-twiggy-fat project.

illumination

seemingly lasting things erode away so very quickly. nothing lasts in this constant flux. fragile things constructed out of prayers, leaps of faith, half-hopes, daydreams and wishful thinking are so easy to dismantle. so very easy. set on collision course from the moment of inception. on impact, nothing is left, but fast disappearing mockeries.

not every toad turns into a prince.

is it just me, or is the world really out to get me?

last day of term.

true to the frighteningly efficient form the H.R. had been exhibiting throughout the first half of the year, we got this form to be filled in at the most urgent, a generous 10 minutes before pack up. one more form to fill in is indeed my idea of a fun way to spend a few minutes, compared to totally fruitless activities like getting a drink of water or going to the loo. forms, they are something.

this one was extra special. it requested exciting details like the date of birth of one's mom, and sex (where one has to work hard to squash one's desire to write a truthful 'never had' )

hennyway,,trouble is, it required one to fill in one's details IN BLOCH LETTERS and no less. now i have had as substantial a general education as the next person, but i'v never been taught to write in BLOCH letters, much to my shame, so i gave in, and just filled it in in humble block letters.

and the evening held a few more revealing glimpses into my total lack of in-with-it-ness.

this sign for example, in the friendly neighborhood mall which commanded in no uncertain terms - LADIES DRESSES AVAILABLE HEAR!

the rabbi

kids are the sweetest things. and they say the darnedest things. my favorite bits out of my Teachers' Day tribute -

the cover has a picture of me looking like a constipated criminal, but i'v decided not to crib.

"..she is very buetiful and a vigorous reader with many suggestions to give us about books." vigorous reader. perhaps i flip the pages with a lot of vigor?

"..is always carm and cool. for her nobody is good and nobody is bad. she explains and not take action." i think he meant to say that i am fair. i hope so, anyway. or maybe he meant that i am an unfeeling twerp?

stamp of approval from someone experienced. serious stuff - "..you will never get bored in her class. i say this, because i am experienced."

"with a cup of tea, her mood is very good"

"she organises her space, time perfectly" little monster. calling me fussy.

i am going to quote him when i win the Peace Nobel - "once we were lost, but she came and guided us to the right path. because of her hard work, we are at this stage." the state of the stage is questionable. i am not sure if he meant the last bit as a compliment.

things that make little boys grateful - "when she scolds us, she also jokes. she sometimes gives us extra time for submitting our work. she also shows us videos and asks questions in a quiz."

"whenver it is her turn to teach, i never get bored. she gets angry less often. and because of her, i somewhat started to like Math." high praise. intelligent kids are so difficult to keep interested.

lucky, lucky day. i have found a helpmeet in this difficult world - "my teacher is very serious about work. she gives us homework that is lengthy but at the same time interesting and joyfull. she says if we want to have fun we also need to follow some rules. she gives us many options in working. we will follow her rules and help her to manage this difficult world." yahoo.

" ma'm is supper best. if there was gold on one side and ma'm on the other i will choose ma'm. when my mode is bad i see her and it becomes good." this is my cue to start teaching Degrees of Comparison, and work a bit on getting their spellings in order. 'supper best' is definitely more interesting than a tame super best, but there are times when one has to be conservative.

"she scolds in the regular way. she cares about us and wants us to be healthy. i eat my salad now." he does, he does. small battles won.

my favorite - "she follows nonviolence, peace and politeness." i do indeed. surprising really.

"'she cooperates with us and we also do sometimes." the 'sometimes' is so totally totally true. thank god for small mercies.

"i like her because of her way of speaking even if it is a scary movie. her facial expressions are nice."

"when ma'm speaks i think that a cut sparrow is speaking to me." i sincerely hope he meant 'cute sparrow'. i'll seriously have to do something about the spellings. or, good heavens - my voice.

it is funny. one does not even realize when it is that other peoples' kids slowly become one's own. how so much space can be created in an ordinary human heart. this is such a delicate, frightening thing, this handing over of precious people to be looked after at strange hands.

a new beginning

dear shiny. may every single happiness come your way.

"We talked as Girls do --

Fond, and late --
We speculated fair, on every subject, but the Grave --
Of ours, none affair --

We handled Destinies, as cool --
As we -- Disposers -- be --
And God, a Quiet Party
To our Authority --

But fondest, dwelt upon Ourself
As we eventual -- be --
When Girls to Women, softly raised
We -- occupy -- Degree --

We parted with a contract
To cherish, and to write
But Heaven made both, impossible

Before another night."

- Emily Dickinson

narrow escape

got rid of the gladiator dress finally.

i am so very grateful to have gotten it exchanged. i'd been having nightmares thinking i'd have to go into the wedding of one of my oldest chums looking fit to do battle with hungry lions.

the poor misguided designer probably had noble thoughts when he/she designed it. perhaps the flashy golden breastplate-lookalike was designed to make the wearer an irresistible center of attention? if that was the intent, the dress will surely fulfill its destiny. no one with a functioning pair of eyes will be able to escape looking at it, and after looking once, will have seriously dilated pupils for a considerable while hence.

the new one is definitely low on bling, though the sleeves are distressingly fashionable. i just cannot see the sense in having sleeves made of net. what is the point? some sort of let-them-glimpse-but-not-see-all theory out of 'the art of seduction'?

will have to do something about them.

in the meantime, i am so glad at not having to go about looking like an out of season lit up christmas tree.

career crisis

i think i'l start a new phase in my life. the current one is getting jaded.

i have decided i'l be an agony aunt. not that i am not one already, but i have decided to go professional.

three life-altering years as an elementary teacher has taught me all i need to know about human nature. plus, quick thinking, decision making, personality analysis by just looking at the twitching of a nose or the flicker of an eyelid, pronouncing the final word and succintly summing up a situation are all now second nature. i am perfect agony aunt material.

i dont see how any self-respecting newspaper or magazine can get a better deal. on top of all my other qualifications for the job, i have one more. i can supply the question as well ! two for the price of one.

Q.

dear agony aunt,

i suspect my husband is having an affair. he comes back from work very late, and smiles at me! he also has the smell of another woman all over him. what should i do? should i just confront him that i am wise to his villany?

mrs. suspicious

A.

dear mrs. suspicious,

how can you be so certain that there is another woman involved? if it makes you feel any better (then again, it might not), it could be someone of an entirely different persuasion. anyway, why not look at the silver lining? atleast now he smells good when he comes back home.

Wisdom, and the places to find it.

time was when i used to think wisdom lay at the threshold of turning twenty and entering the magical world of adulthood. all gawkiness, social misery and lack fo witty repartee would be things of the past. blushes would never again drown me in red pools of mortification, nor would the foot-in-mouth syndrome strike with such alarming regularity.

well, it seems i was -yet again- wrong.

i have found this most underrated quality of the human race in the most unexpected of places. in the sharply observed one-liners from my mother which condense a character to its essence; the startling see-all gaze of a child which cuts throught layers of feigned interest; the quiet understanding of old friends when they let one rant a self-righteous soliloquy; the solid common sense of old people; sometimes in the most unlikeliest of them all - in myself.

still, for someone who lives in words, wisdom is a rare commodity nowadays. all is dash and flourish and clever sentences. intelligent perhaps, but not wise.

one writer who is a contrary delight is Alexander Mc.Call Smith. the gentle humour - not ascerbic but sympathetic, the keen observing eye, the deft characterisation and the feel of leisure his writing brings, i have yet to find it all in another's writing, except perhaps, that of J0anne Harris. even now, i am struck by the -that word again- wisdom of his lines.

perhaps there was no real point to our existence -or none that we could discern- and that meant that the real question that had to be asked was this: how can i make my life more bearable? we are here whether we like it or not, and by and large we seem to have a need to continue. in that case, the real question to be addressed is: how are we going to make the experience of being here as fulfilling, as good as possible?

or,

we all fall in love, and some of us are sentenced to unrequited love, talking about it over cups of coffee in flats like this, with friends just like this, and oddly comforted by the process.

How to acquire fans and impress people

.....provided they are armpit(or below)-height people.

anyway;

Ingredients:

Item Description Quantity

child small a few

window foggy one, to begin with

finger preferably your own one, for starters

Process:

Make sure intended audience is not (a) sleepy, (b) fighting with its neighbour, (c) busy sticking its head/hand out of the window, (d) reading a book - it happens sometimes, (e) picking its nose - it happens often.

Do something to grab attention - simple things like vomiting, bumping one's head against the seat-back opposite one, or putting up both hands over one's head and wiggling one's fingers work generally.

Once attention is grabbed, work fast. juvenile attention dissipates faster than the fizz out of a cola bottle.

Draw a figure on the foggy glass with your finger. Try a fish for starters (If you cannot do even that, go and die immediately)

Wait for someone to notice "fish" in a bored voice, and then proceed. Draw a larger fish, with a more sinister expression.

Next, draw a turtle.

Then draw a whale.

Follow it up with a starfish.

Wait for awe to descend on the audience. When suitable amounts have descended - it is characterized by shrill voices yelling Madam drew a fish/turtle/whale/starfish,,,look, look - continue.

Graciously oblige further requests and draw on demand - jellyfish, sea horse, octopus, sea snail, sea anemone, and shark.

Listen to awe-stricken comments in the nature of Wooww madam, you have such nice drawing.

Bask in the glory.

Follow-up:

Bestow benign smiles on said conquests when you meet them next, and wave a royal palm at them when they yell hellos/goodbyes at you. Sure to make parents/teachers wonder at your animal magnetism.

I now have a devoted following, who sit very close to me in the hopes of there being a repeat performance the next time it rains.

pre-k

the campus is suddenly full of little people. positively crawling.

the bus ride to school has shot up on the entertainment index, though. there is this particular small person who keeps asking every two seconds "where is daddy?" and another one, who wails heartrendingly for his mommy. on the first day, the wailer tried wailing for a full half an hour, before he threatened to hit the driver on the head if he did not take him back, pronto. the driver displayed suitable fear, and promised to take him straight back home, once the bus dropped the rest of us unfortunate people at school.

poor things. maybe they think we are kidnapping a busload of kids. silly kids, though. why would we kidnap other people's kids? decidedly second hand. we can very well have our own.

on the seat next to me sit a diminutive brother and a slightly less diminutive sister. the sister, by dint of her worldly experience of having gone to school for the last year, keeps dispensing pearls of wisdom to the brother in the lines of - there are dinoasurs in the school (i spent some time wondering about this earthshattering discovery, before i noticed one of the other little creatures point at a chameleon and yell -what else- dinosaur!) and it is better to eat one's bruch and drink all the water in the water bottle in the bus itself, so that the bag becomes easier to carry to class.

each able-bodied adult over the age of 7 is entrusted with one such weepy human being to ferry to their respective classes. all the first graders are swelling with pride at being treated as seniors, and it is a common sight to see five people hearding one kindergartener.

walking to and fro on the campus is nothing short of courting disaster. little persons keep getting under your feet all time.

June: life-threatening crisis number one

nothing is safe anymore. especially things like packing and unpacking stuff. i had always said so to whoever would listen -which not many do, bad luck for them.

among the cartons and cartons and cartons of stuff that has come to campus in the wake of the Prep team's shift here, danger lurked. and by danger, i dont mean just the danger of getting a hunchback unpacking it all. this was a danger with far more venom than the combined poison of a roomful of quietly swearing women.

anyway, to make a long story short, bhavna got bitten by a baby snake, and it was the kiss of death. not for bhavna, but for the snake. she is now in hospital under observation, and the snake is in hospital too -dead- for identification. the critter turned out to be of venomous variety, but as it was only a two day old thing, the venom is thankfully not fatal.

it is sad one can wear shoes only on one's feet. i would wear them all over myself if i could, but human anatomy being what it is, that is not possible. now the only surefire way to escape getting bitten by some punk-snake with a death wish is to stop going to the washroom altogether. for some reason, the creepy-crawlies seem to love the place. very popular snake hangout. i wonder why? what if someone unlucky got bitten? and worse, bitten in some unbandagable/undignified part of the body?

cancelling out the washroom visits is quite drastic a step, and would take away a major chunk of time i spend in intellectual musings. it is also a favourite hangout for harrassed teachers, and a vital connecting link in the unofficial underground grapevine system.

i can only hope that all the good deeds that i have done so far saves me from a fate worse than death.

Day-4: Jogini Falls

May 7, 2009

"I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree" - Joyce Kilmer

pine trees are lovely when they are putting forth new

leaves. it is the freshest, brightest, happiest color. like one large

flower, only prettier.

the walk was lovely. we took the better part of the day,

lingering at places that caught our fancy - the village itself,

the schoolhouse,

the wildflowers and roses growing abundantly everywhere,

the sudden streams, the crisp green of the apple orchards,

the paint-box beauty of the himalaya cafe,

pine cones carpeting the wood, other walkers like us

with no agenda, but the walk itself...

To come upon wildflowers as one walks - such a blessing.

On the way up. A prayer got answered here.

A grassy knoll and a brook nearby, laughing secrets skipping by. solace to weary souls and feet, hope renewed and breath steadied.

this place reminded me of the one-log bridge over the brook flowing through my grandfather's small rubber plantation.

Day-3: Marhi and Solang Valley

May 6, 2009

my first encounter with snow. we did not get along.

Marhi in itself should have been quite nice, but too many people per square inch for the snow to remain white for long. the long long line of cars snaking for kilometers down the way did not add to the view. to make matters worse, there were too many newly-weds being noxiously romantic all over the place. that is enough to turn anyone's stomach.

way too many people and too many cars.

by the time we got to the place, we were ravenous. we shared the most expensive and definitely the most delicious bowl of maggi there. the scalding hot coffee seemed to make no difference at all. the cold still found all sorts of openings to creep through.

being stuck in a traffic jam was never this enjoyable. only downside was the cars emptying for the occupants to make generous contributions of uric acid to the local soil. there was a horse grazing on this spot. a nice looking white and grey beast.

Solang Valley.

the ski slope was devoid of snow, this being summer, but it was still terribly cold. we found this under-construction log cabin that still smelled nice woody smells and had a roof-edging in wooden wind chimes that rang at every gust.

back

everybody who thought i was dead - i am not. very much alive and kicking everyone in sight.

i miss the mountains. never mind the fact that when i was in them, my toes were threatening to freeze altogether off my poor hypothyroidic feet, and i had to shroud my glorious (ok, ok, to me at least) figure under all the pieces of clothing that i possessed. most of us would have given anything for pre-warmed toilet seats - even waiting with bated breath (and other bated things, besides) to be the last in line to answer Ma Nature's incessant and totally ill-timed calls. i have marked my trail across some of the most beauteous spots across the place in true wild-child tradition. some poor animal is going to be very very confused.

she-who-refuses-to-divulge-her-age made one interesting discovery - if one tinkles in fresh snow, it does not leave a tell-tale stain! interesting addition to the sum total of human knowledge. now i dont know for certain if the tinkle leaves a similar trail of non-odour and non-taste. i did not possess the moral courage to ask her if she had subjected the insulted snow to test on those counts too, for fear of getting an answer that might make living in the same room difficult.

of course i did other things too, besides. too lazy to type right now.

kyon? kyon? aakhir kyon?

i am doing so much early-birding nowadays, that soon all the worms will end up(down) my gullet.

my increased state of awareness raises some hitherto unasked questions in my bosom (by me, that is. i am sure that dastardly Shakespeare must have already gone and asked them, and done it a lot posher too) (and yes, i have one)

anyway,

now that i know why men have earlobes, and that the greatest recorded length for ear-hair is a staggering 4.5 inches (which, by the way, is a record held by a teacher in India - some teacher, that!), and various other unmentionables -this is a family blog, for those in doubt. we publish only those things that anyone can watch on prime-time K-serials. which, includes tame things like multiple marriages, mothers who look younger than their grand kids, flash divorces, extramarital affairs by the dozen, illegitimate children, poisoning, stabbing, shooting, seducing, vamping, people who get reborn/plastic surgeried with alarming regularity, and other such traditions closely in keeping with the values of our traditional tradition- it still throws me into knots of bafflement why men don't listen or see. except of course things like sports/women/cars/women/bikes/women.

why is it so difficult for the human male to locate a sock that is staring belligerently at him out of his own cupboard shelf? why does he feel the need to repeat "where is my sock" in all permutations and combinations of decibels and levels of urgency, descending to desperation, untill some sensible pair of female hands stuffs them obligingly down his throat?

why do they invariably go and buy matchsticks when you ask for butter and act surprised you aren't grateful for the help?

the blue i

plumbing the depths of gloom, i come across 

treasures buried in silt

bits of forgotten dreams 

remains of nightmares, jagged

shrugged off caresses

eddies around ankles in water

cheeks laid to cool mosaic

the worm turns

Read: 'love and longing in bombay' by vikram chandra - dark, funny, intimate, poetic, realistic, all at once. he takes the claustrophobic closeness and familiarity of bombay (i love him for calling the city that. glad he did not make it sound like the middle-aged-maharashtrian-housewifely sounding mum'bai') and makes a glowing collection of interconnected short stories out of it all. a long time since i really enjoyed reading indian authors writing in english. don't get me wrong. some (like rohinton mistry) are a delight, but the familiarity of the subject matters sometimes put me off. i am seriously looking forward to chandra's next. it is a nice thing. this looking forward.

Also read: 'ladies coupe' by anita nair. good in parts, with some really well formed sentences, but i cant help feeling that it is a bit too forced sometimes in its effort to be realistic. and the ending does not fit at all. the characterization goes all wrong there. middle-aged straitlaced spinster having a change of heart overnight, and suddenly becoming a new woman, and celebrating this new found emancipation by seducing a young man she just met on a beach? improbable, to say the least.  

Re-read: 'kari' by amruta patil. the graphic novel is beautifully laid out in black and white and an occasional splash of colour. i read it more for the look than for the story. the story is indeed interesting, and told through the tongue-in-cheeky, vulnerable, yearning voice of the boy-girl protagonist, but it is the graphic effect that is more pleasurable to me. 

i miss having illustrations in the books that i read. who decided that adults dont like to look at pictures as they read? no fair.

Also re-reading: 'persepolis' by marjane satrapi. i have a feeling i shall be doing a few more of this re-reading stuff. of the same book, i mean. the graphics are lovely, and the text is both direct and intelligently funny. i loved this book.  

Reading: 'wyrd sisters' by terry pratchett. what can i say? pratchett is king. i hope (a) he never dies or, (b) if he does, he does it very, very, very many years later. 

Also reading: 'literature and the child' by lee galda and bernice e.cullinan. it covers all genres of childrens'/young adults' literature, offers author profiles, exhaustive booklists and teaching ideas. thought provoking and detailed, galda and cullinan take a good look at how some of the deepest issues known to us are addressed through literature and how our children respond to it. themes like racism, incest, death, identity-crisis, perspectives, self-worth and adolescence are a part of the warp and weft of all literature, and they need to be sensitively treated while in the hands and minds of a child. it is rather steeply priced, though. sometimes i wish i had pots of money. allright, one pot at an opportune moment would do as well.

Dying to read: 'the naked man' by desmond morris. purely scientific interest. and it has some very, shall we say, interestingly named chapters. only thing is, this will be an exchange book. the old ek hath le, ek hath de, kind of deal. to get my paws on this, i'll have to temporarily part with morris's 'the naked ape'. the thought hurts me a great deal. not the getting part, but the giving part. my heart bleeds. i hate lending books. if i had a baby, i might lend her/him to someone for a little while quite gladly, but lending books is beyond me. what this says about my depraved state of womanliness i cannot say, but there it is.