Reference to Barkha Dutt's article in HT-Lib Service, TV-Style

Who is the liberal amongst us all?

I am surprised and saddened by a whole generation of educated women who have watched the K-serials and either lauded or felt mesmerized by the persona created by a la Tulsi or Paravati. I would have understood an uneducated woman responding to it with enthusiasm but can’t comprehend the enchantment in the other.

I almost feel as much threatened by the impact these serials have had on women who were in some cases pioneers in their own small ways when they started out in life. This generation of women that constitutes our grandmothers, mothers or mother-in-laws and aunts have fought and made difficult choices at one stage or another in their lives to create a change, to achieve that one right that would separate them from the repressed and help them move into the modern and liberal world.

Mind you they didn’t get that easily. My eldest aunt’s right to education came after a long struggle; perhaps my mother had it easier than her! My mother-in-law is a teacher for heaven’s sake. My husband’s aunts are all educated, self sufficient and independent. They must have battled with their own to win the right to just be who they want to be. They couldn’t have had it any other way.

Such women from normal, middle class families created the category of the working women in yesteryears. These same women in other circumstances create a hierarchy while in the company of women from the villages or small towns. They see themselves as different.

Why then do they find it so easy to consort with the likes of Tulsi? Why then is my generation being compared with the likes of Tulsi and shown lacking in many ways?
Why then have they lost their ability to understand and respect the small victories they helped us achieve? Our conception by all means wouldn’t have been possible if they had not broken the first barrier. After all we are what we are today, because they took that first step ages ago. Sometimes I feel the uneducated have shown me more respect, appreciation and tolerance. They seemed to be growing and evolving whereas these educated women have become complacent in some way, have stopped the process of accepting growth, change and building new ideas.

Maybe the dynamics of what represented liberal and modern then and now has changed but surely they are capable of sensitivity or awareness of an individual’s right to form, dignity, and independence as well as the right to self-expression which is exactly what they fought for in the past.

So who is the liberal amongst us?

Why does the woman in us split and become two contrasting people? Sometimes I feel we are a nation filled people who have no idea of the word tolerance or an individual’s right to personal space. Sex, gender, religion, education, profession, caste, place, people, name, brand, lifestyle-all these categories exhibit a clear lack of tolerance or an individual’s right to personal space or freedom in term’s of self expression.

If educated, independent young women who are leaders in their profession and in a position to make a difference in society begin to respond to such regression by not raising a voice what will be the outcome of their conception? If they allow the split or allow it to coexist with their other self, what might just happen? That thought worries me.

Knowing each other....

I think appearances are deceiving not the superficial ones on the surface of how one looks or carries their particular shape, size or form. But the ones that seem to exist in our minds and yet never take shape or form outside of it. Sometimes I wonder why we can’t face the parts of us that other people know and see so clearly. There’s this absence of awareness both in the case the self and in the case of another person whom we love or whose friendship we treasure. We never get to know either the self or another completely.

I sometimes find this absence of awareness distressing. Sometimes painful. Any thoughts.

How often do we encourage creativity to flow, develop and flower as a big part of our lives both professional and personal? How often do we make time to nurture or indulge in creative processes? Most people talk about that one-day when they will make time to take up that course in pottery or get back to their singular talent of painting or singing. We shy away from learning, especially the sort that does not lead to an academic end or fulfills a professional goal or objective.

Most people treat education as a phase of life that falls away into the past and reminds one mostly of pleasant memories of growing up, friendships and change. No one thinks of revisiting this phase in the role of a student again, especially as an adult. Somewhere the urge to fly and indulge in things that make us wonder, things that fill our imagination with countless possibilities and make us explore our curiosity have disappeared. The clutter of information all around, available at the click of a button has turned the spirit of adventure to mundane clicking.

Can one understand the challenges that stop people from exploring and indulging in creative learning in later lives?

How should one define creative learning? Why would anyone want to indulge int it?

Trying to be on a break...

I have been on the move so long. For the past three months literally I have been living out of a suitcase. Somehow all my vacations get crammed up with activities. The weekend breaks to Bhopal are no different. But its monday morning here and Abhi is at work and I suddenly have time on my hands and I don't know what is the next best thing for me.

This page is soft, white and inviting and I am free. Free to do as I please. Countless chores come to my mind seeking attendence. But I don't want to bother with them. I'd much rather pick those up that have been on my to do list since ages and have nothing to do with my daily routine, my work life. I'd love to pick up soem thing interesting and new, something just for the sake of indulging.

I don't want to waste a single minute sorting through the options I just want to indulge, go ahead relax, sit, sleep, write, cook( I wish I could but Abhi's one room set offers no kitchen!) and here I am with my feet up wanting to write but knock, knock...there are no thoughts pounding at the doorstep aching to be written down.

So I guess I should simply wait and do nothing for the time being!!!
What is it that people do when they have a break?

This morning:

22.03.07

The season rests on the edge of a change, breeze brushing gently against the tress, leaves whispering down the sidewalk, cushioning the earth with its softness and I stand watching. This is a moment for peace, for quiet watching, for listening to silence and thinking about changes.

I am back at work; last night wasn’t so far away in the distance. It seems like only moments ago I’d left the place and I’m back here in the room that has no window. Wish I could watch out and see the morning change before heat of the late morning declares the onset of summer.

I find I am thinking about a friend again this morning; sometimes I wonder why he hasn’t kept in touch. It’s been such a long time since we have spoken and now I find it quite difficult to send him messages, I sort of shy away. It’s as if I know he wouldn’t respond back though I don’t know why he wouldn’t.

If I ask, would he tell me? I am filled with the feeling that perhaps he won’t and my hopes of being connected will fall down like the soft leaves in this changing season.
Why do we lose touch with people we care about?

A dried leaf wept
yet shed no tear;
In the silence of a winter
night, it swayed until
dawn found it lying still.

Winter stood watching
so close at hand wanting, yearning,
aching to touch.
In the exact moment of connect
everything went still.

Night and dawn fought over it
curling, sheathing, they both sought
till wind came snarling, hurling, slamming
in the dark of the night
and the light of the day
and claimed one tiny shaken leaf
and took it away!

Challenges...

Memory holds strange textures of sounds and smells that paint the canvas of our life and then suddenly spreads them loose one night, in the distant future reminding one of past dreams, fears and anxities;

While working on a tongue twister today-"Dream machine streams amazing dreams" I asked the children to create their own dream machine and try and sell it to a group of customers. The children came up with amazing machines that could do just about anything.

Sometimes, I wish I could weild the option of simply wearing such an extraordinary ring or the fantastic dream goggles and switch the channel to watch my favourite dream play over and over again.

But alas like one wise 12 year old pointed out to the customers-the problem with dreams coming true was that till such time that we wish and the possibility exists of its not coming true or turning disastrous the excitement for the dream machine lives on, but the moment they begin to come true, one wishes for things to go back to normal as there is nothing new left to explore!

Challenges in life are like that! One shouldl just wait to see and hear where they might lead us!!!

What do you say?

Changing patterns

29th January, 2007

In a blur of colours and patterns that changed around us almost every single moment that day, Abhishek and I in a small and quiet ceremony, tied the knot at the Guruvayur temple in Delhi.

We got married the Kerela way; he looked like a Rajasthani instead of the Kumaoni groom he was meant to potray and I represented my stock- a mixture of kashmiri and tamil origins!!!

WHERE DID YOUR FEAR OF THE WOLF COME FROM?

A Wolf-poem by
BESNIK MUSTAFAJ
Albanian Ambassador to France 1992-7
Translated by Anthony Weir



WHERE DID YOUR FEAR OF THE WOLF COME FROM?

You were born in the city, my son,
so you never went into the forest,
not even for a stroll.
So how did you get your terrible fear
of the wolf ?
So I'm asking you what a wolf is,
I'm asking you what a wolf's like.
All you can say is that he is voracious
and that when he is hungry
the water lapped by the lamb
is troubled all the way up to its source -
which prevents the tender creature from drinking.
Thus it is obvious that you have never seen a wolf,
my little man.

So where in the bosom of the big city
did your fear of the wolf come from?

Was working on a project on wolves when I came across this poem(check out the source: http://www.beyond-the-pale.co.uk/vaskopopa.htm), thought i should share it with everyone. Sometimes one must just not talk but absorb the words and feel them..this is that kind of poem. It evokes the whole essence of this world and the diversity and the disparity that exists between man and animal.

Waiting

Sometimes an eternity passes
and I wait for the sun to come,
lie down and rest in my arms...

There are days like this when the aspect of waiting is elemental. One can't seem to break it down into sub atomic parts and dissect its root cause. But one seems to go through an intense feeling of time marking its pace almost reverberating in the eardrums. And then the distortions come as if they each had an answering need to be a part of this, but instead of bringing in semblance of peace or perspective they seem to create a cause for more of the chaos which lies unattended and desperate for help.

On such days a part of me just flings its self out and watches the other me from the sidelines trying, measuring, attempting to keep pace with destiny’s unknown hand.

Sometimes an eternity passes
and I wait for the sun to come,
lie down and rest in my arms...

Faded music plays in my ear
and I want to sing alongside.

Words flow
but watch the emptiness on paper,
tirelessly agonizing over it.

I wait to be enveloped
and left in the safety of a cocoon to hibernate.

Strangely then I want to break free and shake the world
as if they were contents in a glass,
lying in front of me.

The contents swirl, round and round and mist comes,
creeps over while life is still in transition.

Restlessness

Still water,
surface tension broken by
the splashing resonance of a stone
dropped suddenly.
Free fall,
broken,
dispersed,
spreads eagerly.
Spirals of wishes ring,
sing and disappear
as stillness
takes over restlessness
deeply submerged, till
the stone and its resonant feelings
become part of the water
floating flat on the bouyant surface.

people

prayers of a lifetime etched on a face



the drummer



smiling faces
people from places
where do they come from?
where do they go from here?
In a land called nowhere
what brings them so close
from east to west
and west to east
migrating flocks of people, yak and geese
some imported
some domestic
some looking rather smug and pleased
'stay here', sit down'
'pass the khambir and butter tea around'
'life is short, talk to me'
'Don't stop, move around'
'abundant colours are gorwing here,
but please, no loud sounds'
'capture all, don't spill'
'shoot', 'shhhh....be still!!!




three old men



i watch silently

pictures from Limayuru

blue sky and the gompa at limayuru



Limayuru Gompa



top of the gompa



a train of music



the dance



captured abhi

travel issues in leh

The travel sector in leh/ladakh needs an overhaul I think. It predates to a system that smacks of monopolist culture; Dominated and run by the taxi union the only mode of transport available to any of the surrounding locations is a taxi and the costs are humungous for budget travelers like Abhi and me until we find willing partners to share the cost and that too is limited to a number of only five maybe six if you are lucky (which means on an average you land up spending per location per day travel costs of up to a thousand rupees minimum). The few buses that ply are totally unaccounted for; the system of accessing information is tired and squeaky and grating to one’s ears. Customer satisfaction is far down on my list of requirements I think a whole range of organizing and understanding the needs of the consumer has to be taken into account here.

Each interested traveler seems to land up knocking on almost all the doors that run travel agencies (there’s no centralized system for taxis’; one would have assumed that with such monopolist tendencies they would have at least catered to that) and so each morning and evening one takes a tour starting from the beginning of the market in the left and moving upto the end in the right asking if they have found us partners and since everyone seems to be knocking hence every travel agent worth his name has perhaps the same list of enquiries but all of the them unconfirmed. A centralized booking would have taken into account that if one is looking for shared taxis’ then those that need to travel on the same route can fit into one till there is a need to fill another. So no matter what the origin of the agency one would have not been so hard pushed to waste their time and day looking out for bargains.

Similarly permits need to be quicker. Almost all destinations need one; so without fail one should be advised to get one irrespective of the travel agency but the nexus seems to state that only if you are traveling with them can you get a permit; We of course learnt that the other option is to walk down to the DC’s office and get one made within a day yourself. All you need is a proof of identity such as a passport/driving license/voters Id card or some other significant identity.

in n around leh

at the gompa next to leh palace



in front of Shanti Stupa




Shanti Stupa



At Thiksey



Shey Palace



At Leh Palace

The three little lamas

Pictures from our travel

travel notes-rock a by baby on the tree top!

Hanging on the top of mountains almost at cliff's edge, must be someone's favourite ambition.

At least the monks in leh/ladakh and surrounding areas spreading further from its epicenter seem to thrive on it. No relief in the landscape can be torturous on nerves as delicate as mine especially when one is trying desperately to hang on for dear life on the stairs that go way up, up, up almost touching the skyline as the clouds seem to descend on you, while the valley below smiles gladly inviting you to miss a step and land in its gutless depth. The bus journey on this mountain terrain can be equally grueling and yet mind blowingly fantastic for each spasm in your chest needs to account for having moved ahead and not stepping back from fear.

Frankly there’s no room for that if you know what I mean…there is only one way on this lonely stretch and that is the road ahead there’s no turning back until you reach civilization’s end and honk for a turn, back to go the same way you came up from. Perched on side tops and sharp angles, monasteries that sparsely inhabit the horizon of these cold dry desert mountains seem equally barren of human space and life until you breathe in its domain and realize there is life here as well.

Walking into the compounds there is a feeling of relief for you are back on flat ground covered on the sides with bare minimum chance of you falling down to death. The view is spectacular from up here anywhere, no matter which monastery you take as an example. The silence is endless till a single lama enters your thoughts and leads you towards the shut doors opening them for you to strike your head inside and smell the essence of a religion that has such a long an interesting history behind it. The Tibetans have stories that need another space and another time and perhaps another journey from my end before I can even begin to account.

I don’t understand the script, nor the scriptures have any meaning for me but the Buddha has a way of overwhelming people who visit and come so far. The almost three floor high statues in Shey, Diskit and Sumer that I witnessed were just that. I stood there gaping, trying to fathom the wonders of this divine being; its presence in my life at that moment was very real unlike anything else. One doesn’t have to be a Buddhist to experience a certain spiritual existence or develop a craving for understanding it and needing it perhaps.

Our trip to Limayuru on the other hand was perhaps divine intervention; coz, till we boarded the shared taxi we were not sure if we were bound for this journey or Tsomoriri or any of the others on our to do list.

So six of us –Theodere (a Swiss student studying environmental engg in IIT Chennai under an exchange program) and Julien (a very young barely out of his teens, Swiss French tutor), another quiet French couple, Abhi and me, we set out early morning on the 22nd to witness the Limayuru festival. The journey in the middle has some enchanting villages that are picturesque and the taxi driver politely gave in to our demands for photo-shoots every now and then. I personally felt not taking the trip to Alchi was a loss for quite a few people recommended it yet the shared system had to account for our decision to forgo Alchi in this journey. The Swiss couple had done it three years back when they first came to leh and the French couple was rather busy on their own. Conversation was polite and friendly with the younger couple. Later when the ice broke we became good friends and decided to take the trip to Nubra valley together. They were the two people we had been looking for all along!

Rest for later, I'm quite sleepy now.

travel notes-invading nubra

No time for rest; we traverse from one end to the other; flitting like flies in a million zones from one to another-ceaseless movement and exertion, for what, one might just ask? However the sand dunes near Hunder (Nubra Valley) called a halt to our efforts and we sank, digging in our toes deep inside the mound of softness that seared up the soles and made us jump at our futile attempts to sample the simplicity and preciseness of being boneless! Our only contribution to the ever-changing pattern was a disturbed and sorry looking tale of footprints.
But peace seeped in, there was quiet; a rush of the wind as it changed its voice for each song across a country that contrasted without giving us reasons: sand dunes in the middle of nowhere and water flowing clean and sharp on the pebbles that since ages memorized the feel of its inevitable touch. Walking on them and slipping in the soft gooey mud is another of its contrasting experiences for nothing beats the softness of this slush and tired feet come to a rest aching to just sink and dissolve. Alas there is no depth here; at least not on the stretch we explored. The green that dots a landscape of barren mountains, dry as toast is sharp and needled baring thorns to those who wish to creep any further inside its abode.

This human season

'Well, to me you see it's part of the whole system, the fags.Imperialism, capitalism, exploitation. Small comforts in exchange for the big things like jusice. Fags, coca-cola, a bag of nuts, a nice car. That's what they throw you, instead of giving you your rights. It's what they call a pay off.'

...pg-57

Was killing educational?Perhaps briefly;as a genration is brief. The young sowed horror in their springtime with high hopes for the crop and it rotted down through a long summer. They harvested grief in the autumn of their lives. And did they believe, even as they held their grand children, that there would be an end to it all? After a hard winter killed what was left of them off, it came again, this human season, this springtime of hatred. The young went to it because it was in their nature.

...pg-75

By Louise Dean