Monday, March 22, 2010
A Daughter's visit.
Hi, I am sure that many of you with married daughters would agree with the sentiments expressed in this post. I was looking forward to my daughter's visit from the day she booked tickets for their trip to the Andamans. Time passed, sometimes slowly and sometimes in the blink of an eye and the day soon dawned, but as luck would have it I was bang in the middle of conducting the annual examination and could not dream of taking leave. Somehow we wove our sojourns to the shops in my free time and had a good time. It all passed too soon. I had anticipated my son-in-law to arrive with her but he could make it only two days later. It was great fun to spend time with them. I pestered them to come to vidyarthi bhavan for breakfast as I wanted to introduce their special masala dosa to Harshad. Later in the afternoon Adithi pestered Harshad and me to watch an English movie with her and I kept on dozing off only to wake up to shrieks of "Amma". I would try to keep my eyes open but the masala dosa and the warm afternoon forced me to give up the fight against my eyelids shutting down and i went off to have a nice siesta. Though Adithi was home just for a few days still it felt like the old times having her back home with the bonus of a son-in-law. So looking forward to good times
Friday, January 15, 2010
Television
The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set --
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotised by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES!
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rate and Mr. Mole-
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.
Roald Dahl
As I was going through projects submitted for evaluation I came upon a lovely poem by Roald Dahl. Very true of the world as we see it today.Thought I'd save it on my blog to let the world know that such poems exist.
The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set --
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotised by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES!
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rate and Mr. Mole-
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.
Roald Dahl
As I was going through projects submitted for evaluation I came upon a lovely poem by Roald Dahl. Very true of the world as we see it today.Thought I'd save it on my blog to let the world know that such poems exist.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Love at Tiger Point, Mahableshwar.
Mahableshwar is a lovely hill station in the Western Ghats. Its proximity to Mumbai and Pune make it a paradise for honeymooners. A quick trip to Mahableshwar, a visit to the numerous points and lousy food which is a strain on the purse is our modern day majnu's and laila's idea of a honeymoon.
The guys walk around in a daze and their wives look like brides run away from the wedding hall with their mehendi laden hands and feet all attired in jeans and fancy tops coupled with the traditional 3 dozen bangles on each hand and a sindoor laden forehead.
En route to Arthur's seat I got tired of walking and sat near a point called tiger's point. Here you will find a spring of cold, refreshing water and every tourist guide who walked past me explained to his group that at night there are four legged animals who drink from the spring but during the day there are two legged ones drinking at the spring.I sort of got bored by the guides repeating the same same story and concentrated on the conversation between the koochikooing couples. A young couple stood at the spring with the husband trying to coax the hygiene- conscious wife to drink from the proffered glass of water. She daintily refused but condescended to wash her face with it. Another couple wanted to pose for a romantic photograph and with the wife giving a thousand instructions as to where the camera should be placed for the perfect picture the husband finally got it right and the photo was clicked.The wife was seated on a rock and after a plea of 'help me down honey' the husband valiantly carried her off the rock. There were couples who spoke every language that India boasts of. A middle aged couple arrived on the scene and the husband told the wife to drink water from the spring as it would give her extra energy to roar like tigress. He also explained that it was useless for him to drink it as it would not help him to be the boss in his house.
At this point I had to get back to the car and the pleasant sojourn into the minds of other fellow humans had to be stopped.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Fascination for the 'Queen's Language'
Indians have been forced slaves to the queen's language since the British East India company conquered India. The freedom movement saw us throw off the yoke of British Imperialism-physically at least.
Mentally we remain slaves. I, for one, can think and write in English with greater ease than in my mother tongue.Our generation was exposed to the spoken language since we grew up in a state that did not teach my mother tongue. Today's generation of parents have taken slavery one step further.
As I travelled to Hyderabad with a young couple and their 4 year old kid the appalling state of our slavery could be seen in the way the couple spoke only in English to the kid. Right! Mr. Technocrat your kid stammers and stutters through English. You want him to 'whine' and 'dine' in English,but I shudder to think of the scene 10years hence.
Now the conversation went as follows:
'Oh! mommy I am bored.'
'Look there is an engine is that Thomas?' (Thomas being the name of some engine in a story book.'
'Can I have some shoup?'
'Not shoup its soup.'
'shoup' went the kid. Mommy started feeding the child some soup.
'Its hot.'
'Is it hot or spicy?' Mommy was quick to put in a lesson on the difference in meaning between the two words.
The parents spoke to each other in Telugu but always in English to the kid. The kid also had a first name, second name and surname pattern which is very alien to us Indians. They probably wanted to jettison the kid straight from the creche to the' land of opportunity.'
I wonder what happens when the peer pressure sets in and the talk becomes 'Hiya Machaan'
'Whathcha doin'
I felt sad that the kid was being cut off from his roots. Can a tree blossom and bloom without roots? Something to ponder about. In another few generations our rich culture and heritage will be lost forever to the world if we stick to English and forget our mother tongue.Indian children being brought up in other parts of the world are taught their mother tongue along with English. My brother and my sis-in-law, who were bringing up their children in the USA made a conscientious effort to speak to their children only in Tamil[being the father's spoken language],
and Bengali[being the mother tongue] and the children automatically learnt English. Hats off to such thinkers who plan well for a problem free tomorrow.
The point to ponder about is whether we are missing the forest while concentrating on the trees.
Let us not deprive our children of their rich heritage and make them, 'Dhobi ka kutta, Na ghar ka na ghat ka.' Learning to speak only English from birth does not make one a Britisher.
Mentally we remain slaves. I, for one, can think and write in English with greater ease than in my mother tongue.Our generation was exposed to the spoken language since we grew up in a state that did not teach my mother tongue. Today's generation of parents have taken slavery one step further.
As I travelled to Hyderabad with a young couple and their 4 year old kid the appalling state of our slavery could be seen in the way the couple spoke only in English to the kid. Right! Mr. Technocrat your kid stammers and stutters through English. You want him to 'whine' and 'dine' in English,but I shudder to think of the scene 10years hence.
Now the conversation went as follows:
'Oh! mommy I am bored.'
'Look there is an engine is that Thomas?' (Thomas being the name of some engine in a story book.'
'Can I have some shoup?'
'Not shoup its soup.'
'shoup' went the kid. Mommy started feeding the child some soup.
'Its hot.'
'Is it hot or spicy?' Mommy was quick to put in a lesson on the difference in meaning between the two words.
The parents spoke to each other in Telugu but always in English to the kid. The kid also had a first name, second name and surname pattern which is very alien to us Indians. They probably wanted to jettison the kid straight from the creche to the' land of opportunity.'
I wonder what happens when the peer pressure sets in and the talk becomes 'Hiya Machaan'
'Whathcha doin'
I felt sad that the kid was being cut off from his roots. Can a tree blossom and bloom without roots? Something to ponder about. In another few generations our rich culture and heritage will be lost forever to the world if we stick to English and forget our mother tongue.Indian children being brought up in other parts of the world are taught their mother tongue along with English. My brother and my sis-in-law, who were bringing up their children in the USA made a conscientious effort to speak to their children only in Tamil[being the father's spoken language],
and Bengali[being the mother tongue] and the children automatically learnt English. Hats off to such thinkers who plan well for a problem free tomorrow.
The point to ponder about is whether we are missing the forest while concentrating on the trees.
Let us not deprive our children of their rich heritage and make them, 'Dhobi ka kutta, Na ghar ka na ghat ka.' Learning to speak only English from birth does not make one a Britisher.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Dalhousie-a trip into the hills
The Vaishnodevi pilgrimage was completed and the majority of the party departed to Delhi. My sister Vandana and I stayed back as we wanted to visit some places in the North that we had not seen and were curious to see the places that we had only read about. From Jammu we boarded a bus that took us to Pathankot there we had yummy aloo parothas for breakfast and started inquiring about a bus that would take us to Dalhousie. We were told that there was one only at 11a.m so we decided to take a taxi to Dalhousie. We had a lovely drive up into the hills and later checked into the Hotel Geetanjali that I had booked through the net. Though the hotel was very old and worn out it was comfortable and a huge room which consisted of a dining room, a bedroom and an old British style bathroom. There was no other means of sightseeing so we asked the taxi that had brought us to Dalhousie to take us around. The taxi took us to a place called Khajjar which is also known as Mini Switzerland it was a beautiful meadow surrounded by pine trees. It was a picturesque place. We lazed around in the meadow, had lunch and started our return journey to Dalhousie. The natural beauty fo the place was breathtaking but the other places like saatdhara etc. were a waste of time. Then it was time for what women do best-shopping we got off at the Mall and window shopped at the Tibetan market . Then we drove to the hotel watched some T.V and crept into bed after a few painkillers as our limbs were still aching after the arduous Vaishnodevi trek. Next morning we drove back to Pathankot 
and got a bus to Amritsar.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Summer of 2008
Jai Mata Di!!!
This was the cry that echoed through my mind when I agreed to join my sis and sis-in-law on a pilgrimage to Vaishnodevi the abode of Mata Vaishnavi. We planned our journey well in advance and everything just worked out well as a jigsaw puzzle falling into place. There is a strong belief in devotees that the journey is possible only when the Goddess wishes you to visit her. I had images of hindi movie heroes and heroines walking up to the shrine to have their problems solved and I also wanted to experience the bliss that they had experienced. The numbers in our group kept on increasing with my cousin Hema also joining us for the trip. It was a nice get together as we cousins had spent many summers in each others company as children this was probably a first as we reached middle age. Finally we were five cousins along with my uncle and aunt and Hari and Pavan as the male escorts. We all congregated at Jammu on the 9th of May and drove to Katra on the 9th evening. My aunt and uncle were booked for the next day by helicopter so twelve of us proceeded towards the Trikuta mountains.We reached there around 9 p.m. and stood there trying to assess our physical capacities , some of us chickened out of the climb and got onto ponies others started the arduous trek uphill. Exhausted we reached the shrine at around 2 a.m. had darshan and started the trek downwards at 7 a.m. reaching the hotel by 10 a.m. It was a dream fulfilled.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Journey through India.
A lazy morning had me heading towards crossword where I decided to browse through the latest Shobhaa De offering, 'Superstar India'. Reading this book set me off into my own train of thoughts on India. A very picturesque insight into the confusing land of mystics and technocrats-- India. A jumbo jigsaw puzzle which fits in so well as if ordained by the Gods . Hundreds of languages are spoken all over the country but an Indian will never feel he is in an alien land as he accepts the alien language as his own.He may not understand the exact meaning but the gist of the matter will be absorbed. Seems as though the creator was thrilled to create a complex jigsaw named India.The author opens our eyes to the idea of simple living and high thinking when she tells us how the have- nots seem happier than the latest mobile flaunting,jaded rich citizens.
Life in India is technicolour 70 mm as wedding and funerals are opportunities for feasting and rituals. The meaning of the rituals have vanished into obscurity but yet we hang on to them with the assistance of the 'cell toting merc driven 'pujari.The poor don't mind getting into a debt to ensure that their parents are helped on their journey towards heaven. The greedy pundit makes hay while the sun shines. Lavish weddings are supposed to ensure your daughter's happiness .
The other day when I went to a multiplex to watch a movie, I casually looked around. This seemed strange to my daughter and she asked me why I was staring. I found it a very trivial thing then but on reading Shobhaa's book I realised that unconsciously we Indians who do not belong to the 'cool crowd' do have the habit of staring. But that is 'Mera Bharat Mahaan' so here's to folk like me, I promise not to make eye contact when I leave the desi shores.
Ah! The food in India is something to dream about. The variety of spices does make India a land of gastronomic delights. A lifetime is too short to master the delicacies of the various cuisines in the land of my birth. Of late pizzas, pastas and sandwiches are making their presence felt but the masala dosa of Vidyarthi Bhavan in Bangalore will have you salivating in your dreams. The Vada pav of Joshi vadewale in Pune and the special misal pav will drive all thoughts of dieting out of your mind.
Jai Bharat Maa. I am proud to be born here.
Life in India is technicolour 70 mm as wedding and funerals are opportunities for feasting and rituals. The meaning of the rituals have vanished into obscurity but yet we hang on to them with the assistance of the 'cell toting merc driven 'pujari.The poor don't mind getting into a debt to ensure that their parents are helped on their journey towards heaven. The greedy pundit makes hay while the sun shines. Lavish weddings are supposed to ensure your daughter's happiness .
The other day when I went to a multiplex to watch a movie, I casually looked around. This seemed strange to my daughter and she asked me why I was staring. I found it a very trivial thing then but on reading Shobhaa's book I realised that unconsciously we Indians who do not belong to the 'cool crowd' do have the habit of staring. But that is 'Mera Bharat Mahaan' so here's to folk like me, I promise not to make eye contact when I leave the desi shores.
Ah! The food in India is something to dream about. The variety of spices does make India a land of gastronomic delights. A lifetime is too short to master the delicacies of the various cuisines in the land of my birth. Of late pizzas, pastas and sandwiches are making their presence felt but the masala dosa of Vidyarthi Bhavan in Bangalore will have you salivating in your dreams. The Vada pav of Joshi vadewale in Pune and the special misal pav will drive all thoughts of dieting out of your mind.
Jai Bharat Maa. I am proud to be born here.
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