Learning to appreciate

I made a hurried trip to India a few weeks back in a desperate bid to escape the swine flu that has its arms tightly wrapped around Singapore. As of yesterday the number of cases had touched 4500, with an added 60 untimely deaths. Well. Lesson number 1 is that when you are in the midst of a pandemic, DO NOT try to run away from it. All 3 of us came down with the flu when we were in India. We paid a huge price to fall ill there, and then we spent the next two weeks trying to recuperate. By the time we got back, hubby and I were irritated out of our skins. What could have been a beautiful monsoon touched holiday turned out to be a dampener. AND my baby boy still fell ill with the swine flu. Thankfully he is making a fast recovery.

And I can never resist a book sale, even if they offer a mere 2% discount. Going by my experience, I have found some real treasures in the unlikeliest of places. The Penguin sale was good. Imagine my sadness when I was handed a pamphlet stating that there would be a much BIGGER Penguin sale, with books from every genre covering a whole stadium. I could have wept. Who knows how many gems I might have found there.

I couldnt resist dragging my dad, and sister to the DC book shop just down my lane. Thankfully dad wanted to carry my kid ( what are grandparents for) and I wanted to make use of the fact that it was the last day of the Penguin sale. Imagine my horror when I am told that no madam, there is no sale here in this store. The sale is happening at the MG road store. But point to be noted is that I had made it to the book store after all, and HOW could I leave without a book in hand. So, I picked up 3.
Selected works of Kamala Das, short stories by MT Vasudevan and selected works fo Basheer. Believe me when I say this, I would never have reached out for these vernacular writers a year back. So what happened?

Anita Nair happened. Of course, I had read her 'The Better Man', and 'Ladies Coupe' when I was a student at college, with free access to the neighbourhood library. She gave me my first taste of Kerala, in english. And then I lay hands on 'Where the rain is born', and 'Mistress'. The first is a collection of essays merely edited my Anita, but each has a very distinct Malayali flavour to it. Mistress is a unique novel. She has explained the emotions that are the soul of kathakali, and each chapter ( it is a love story of sorts), opens with a reference to each such emotion. How beautifully she had entwined the drama and ethos of Kathakali with fiction. I had just begun to drink at the poetry and soul of literature and I wanted more.

So it was without a moment's hesitation that I swooped upon O V Vijayan's novels and short stories. All of them celebrate what is Kerala, its many dialects, the many customs and rituals as well as traditions and superstitions of the locals. Even the names are so familiar that they could only be Malayali. I feel like I am unraveling a literary heritage that is so diverse, unique and beautiful. I am proud to say that Malayali writers stay that way, without trying to please a foreign audience. I know that the language would have been even more deep had I ventured to read the works in Malayalam, but truth be told, my hold on the language isnt so good, and what takes me a week to finish could stretch into a month's labour otherwise. I wonder if readers of my generation, go back to what their parents and grand parents grew up with. I grew up with Anita Desai, NOT Salman Rushdie ( I dont understand his works at all, his allegories and all that fly above my head), Vikram Seth I adore , Tagore and even Satyajit Ray.( am proud to say that I am now the owner of his selected short stories). I like Bengali literature. I can relate to it and the manner in which the Bengaliness is proudly show off, reminds me of Malayalam literature. Which is why I bought Choker Bali and Tagore's stories as well.

The poetry and beauty of such literature opens my eyes to the many different levels I have yet to reach. I am not yet there I know. Every time I read a line that spoke about "how the rain resounded like drumbeats' or how 'the sun had caught the dew drop on the lotus leaf', I wonder why didnt I think of that. Then it dawns on me. Because I am just a student of poetry. And they. They are the masters.

Tidbits

I dont know why ad agencies, and website development firms dont reply once you respond to their mail. Or is it a strange phenomena peculiar only to Singapore? I cant tell you how upsetting it is to wait in anxiety and believe that maybe this bleak phase will be over soon. Soon the sun will shine, I will be asked to write a short story or some content, and I will finally have something more to wake up to in the mornings ( besides kiddos soiled diapers). It hasnt happened yet. Correspondences just hang in the mid air, leaving me to wonder what went wrong, and why it happened. Slowly eating away at my confidence. I have decided that I am going to focus on penning a few stories for children once I get back to Singapore. Do what I do best. Put my heart and soul in imagination. Last time my book of poems ( that I am fiercely proud of, despite the meagre book sale), was thus born. For the record, I could have sold more books, but I refused to give Amazon the right to alter or modify my poetry to suit commercial tastes. Thats like saying Gone with the Wind should have more sex scenes, so lets rewrite the book. I am not saying my poetry book is a classic, but every poet knows when he has written from the heart.

My exercise regime has gone for a toss. I have put on much weight in my arms ( probably going to give some wrestlers a run for their money), and I am really frustrated about it. Kiddo chooses the time when I am not around to go on a rampage. He has succesfully broken a bedside alarm clock, and he is eyeing more unbreakable stuff to break so nobody really wants to take care of him. Add to the fact that little champ has discovered the power of his teeth and chooses to bite his aunt and g-parents if they try disciplining him. My sister walks around with proud mementos of four teeth marks on her arms and shoulders. Now if only I could lose some weight running after him, and burn calories with my high decibel screams. Works for others, but of course wont work for me. Murph was right- damn old man- if something can go wrong, it will.

Right now, my computer could make even an ageing tortoise look like an olympic winner. The words appear on the screen a good ten seconds after I type them out. Which makes me quite reluctant to type much more. This is actually my twenty min break thru out the day. kiddo is fast asleep. I have been planning to write a song in honour of Mother Mary for two weeks now. Have done nothing better than play with the words in my mind. Let me try putting them down on paper. till next time- adios..

In the name of God

Two days back, I watched a movie that I should have seen a year back- Khuda ke Liye. Simply put, the movie means "For God'. Maybe its my faulty perception at work, or maybe its the overdose of Bollywood that all Indians are treated to, but I did not expect this movie to be so good. Not that I know anything about Pakistani movies of course. Its just that, film makers over the years, have tried nailing down a culture they dont really understand, and they have only succeeded in making a mess of it, dramatizing it, or not really conveying the truth. Most often, what could have been a powerful movie, becomes something that you watched for 2 hours and probably wont remember after that.

Thats where this movie is different. Firstly, I didnt know any of the cast members. Which made it a fresh experience for me. Secondly, the film never swayed away from the story. It wove around different acts that happen in God's name, and it stuck by it. So, you have a father who cheats his daughter into marriage in the name of religion. You have a husband who decides that raping his wife is alright because by God, she hasnt allowed him to touch her since they were married. There is an innocent man, who gets imprisoned and suffers torture because he is a muslim. And who can forget how the mullah brainwashes his young flock, in that buttery voice and sighing Allah every two minutes. In the name of God. I think the best part of the movie, was the transition of an ordinary man, into something or somebody else. The way he changes his appearance, tells his mother to wear a hijab, marries his cousin in the name of religion, and eventually takes up a gun, was frightening. Frightening because it was so believable. Frightening because for a minute, you think about how many other young boys are probably going through this right now. How many children or men, have been robbed of their right to live a life on their terms, because somebody took a minute to brainwash them into thinking otherwise? How many people were told they were doing right, when they were realy doing wrong?

Its when a movie makes me think that I know its a damn good movie. I read somewhere that the director of this movie, made it for a friend of his who used to be a singer and then suddenly started preaching religion. Even after the movie ends, certain scenes, certain dialogues, certain moments truly live on. Kudos to the people who had the guts to make such a revolutionary movie.

And while, we are on the elusive subject of God, I wonder why theres so much of protest over giving gays a right to live. The High court decriminalizes homosexuality. While one section fo society is happy, the other is looking up religious books and verses to use for purposes of condemnation. My only argument is gays are people too. For the rest of society that's heterosexual, you wouldnt like somebody making snide remarks or harrassing you all the time. Thats probably what the homosexual side of society has had to live with over years. Am not saying that you become a spokesperson for them. Dont. Dont even try to understand them, if you feel you cant be bothered. But in the same breath, dont criminalize them either. The world is still big enough for everybody irrespective of sexual preference to live together. It always will be. So lets leave God out it.

Laying an idol to rest

Michael Jackson is dead. Buried. No more. Wont moon walk again. Ever.

If you ask people, almost everybody will claim to be influenced by a great person in some way or the other. Maybe it was a quote that somebody said, maybe something great that he/she did, or what that person stood for. For me, MJ wasnt God. Not even close to it. But I cant deny that he was such an important link for different reason throughout the years.

It all started when a family member played the Thriller song, and then Beat it. Well, as a fussy two year old who needed inspiration as a mere reason for swallowing healthy yucky food, Beat It proved to be just that. A great inspiration for my mouth to mechanically move and open on its own. Mom says it was the music. I know better than that. It was a sheer expression of awe, ( open and close mouth), which mom took advantage of. Even as a toddler, MJ's moonwalk and moved totally had me gaping. Nothing has changed even now. Eventually my grandpa got so fed up with my MJ fixation ( considering that the Beat IT and Thriller video HAD to play during my feeding time), that he gave my dad the video to take with him. "You will need this, Bobby' he told my grateful dad. Right he was. Many years later, as a child, I discovered the video lying forgotten in a heap of other videos ( back then , video cassettes ruled entertainment). As I put it on, there it was, the same moves and me still standing with my mouth open, eyes fixed on the screen. No, I never tried to imitate him. While I like to think Iam good at different things, I am only too aware of my limited dance movements. ( the better the dance of people around me, the better I ape).

So, I watched with amusement as MJ's skin turned from black to white. He wants to be white like the rest of America, hence the transfiguration, people said. Nobody ever spoke of the white blotches that had broken out on his skin, hence the need for a colour change. He married Lisa Presley. So, now he became a family man. Till he had a fling with his nurse, became a father and then fathered two more kids. He thought of himself as Peter Pan and built Neverland replete with its boudoir of animals including a cute chimp called Bubbles. His music was still sensational. The dance moves only got better. His concerts had fans crying, screaming and fainting.

Then came the shocker. MJ charged in a paedophile case. More followed. I tried on my part to hate the man. But I couldnt. His music had such a hold on me. How can a guy who makes such great music, be such a horrible character? I chose not to read the news about him anymore. I couldnt bear to see an idol being torn to bits that way.

He went into seclusion and he didnt really matter anymore. His latest album was just ok. Nothing that had his earlier punch I felt. People were more interested in his new monkey face and his latest nose job in a long series of surgeries. Recently he was supposed to go on tour again. Good for him I thought, Till I read that one line headliner in the paper- MJ no more.

Suddenly I am overflowing with sympathy for the man. I want to forget all his crimes and sins and remember only his energy, his good humanitarian works and his music. I have been a fan of his for the last 25 years. And yet I am just one his many fans who invited his music to be a part of their childhoods, parties, ipods and discmans. He was a fantastic entertainer. And an awesome musician. I can imagine my grand children, still gyrating to his beats and words years from now. Because in the end, whatever else went on in his personal life, he left his enriching legacy for the world- a new sound in music. And not everybody leaves a legacy.

Michael Jackson- May you live on , as before, and in many more ways. Rest in peace.

Your lifelong fan.

This cruel world

Something's happening of late. Not just to me, but to the whole world I think. The older I get, the more I am convinced that this world we inhabit is getting crueler by the day. The parameters by which people are judged are changing too. Its becoming necessary to be a master at manipulation, have conversation twisting abilities and if you can bullshit your way through life, then good for you. I think the days when people thought it necessary to be good, and were genuinely good are now gone. Every day somebody is judging you in a cruel manner maybe without even knowing you, and it hurts.

When I was a pig tailed, red frocked little girl, it wasnt a big thing to go and play in the park with your friends. Or go to the store to buy a magazine, or even buy an ice cream cone from a vendor. Or even talk to a neighbour. It isnt that same world anymore. Today, I dont think I would be ok with letting my kid go alone and play in the park, I would get suspicious if he spoke too long with any neighbour or too frequently, and I probably would get him a cornetto over ice cream from a vendor. You get the drift. Maybe I am wrong in judging my neighbour. But the media is to blame. I have read enough of awful news to know that being a bit suspicious and careful is better than having a lackadaisical attitude.

If denying my kid a normal childhood in this dirty world wasn't a crime enough, I know I cannot protect him from further judgements that the world will make of him someday very soon. He will be judged either as a brilliant child or an ordinary one. What is wrong with being ordinary? Truthfully nothing at all, but in today's world it is a shortfall to be anything less than brilliant. An 'ordinary' kid, may never have Pavrotti like talent, Picasso like hand, or even Gates' genius. So he is a failure already. Yet, an ordinary kid may just be a lot more happier than a brilliant one, who has the burden of competition and expectations to shoulder from a young age. Who the hell are school authorities to tell me that my child will never make it 'big"? And where in lies the proof of such failure? Why, everybody else scored 10 on 10 for the maths test and my kid scored only 7.

This horrible crushing pressure of enormous expectations is showing on children. Dont tell me the kid who hanged himself because he scored only 97% in his exams, was playing around with a rope. Or the child who drank poison, on failing to get a seat in the college of his choice, thought he was drinking plain milk. It is almost as if, children themselves are heaving off a final sigh, through such drastic actions resulting in their deaths. Like they have had enough, and just want to be left alone. I empathise with their unspoken words.

I was miserable for the past few days. People who were at the bottom of the class, are now earning 6 and 7 figure salaries. Everybody has cruised ahead to make their mark in life, and what have I done? Nothing much really. I am probably at the same position I was 2 years back before I got married. Advice is really nice to hear when you are feeling happy and on top of the world, and it really stings to try and follow it when you are feeling low. I try to remember what dad always said- the grass is greener on the other side. I felt so ashamed. Here I was, doing to myself what the world does to everybody else. Being judgemental. Measuring my worth, my talents, capabilities and everything that is essentially me, in figures. I know that if I want it bad enough, I can still make it to CEO before I become a decrepit hag. Its bad enough when the world judges you from the stands, but let me tell you its worse when you do it to yourself.

Love yourself first, before anybody else. And parents. Love your children enough to let them make it on their own, instead of pushing them to live your unfulfilled dreams.