Uncle Andy's Blog

One Day Theatre Workshop 27th May 2017

2017-05-30T10:52:00.000+05:30

I was shoved on stage at the age of 6 by my mother and the acting bug bit me…I was the family entertainer and mimic…. people, accents, anecdotes…I know I got it from my mother…maybe some unfulfilled dream of hers. (Photos Courtesy Ashish David)

I love telling people about how great my parents were. Considering they were from a much more prudish era, where the father wore a shirt and a pair of trousers till he went to sleep and the mother would stitch clothes, cook, knit, and take care of us brats, their philosophy on child rearing was revolutionary! Each of us was encouraged to be who we were and do what we were comfortable and good at doing, and we were the best at it, in my parent’s eyes! So, my brother Joe was the cleverest (started reading the newspaper at the age of 5! Was a self-taught classic guitarist, cook, passed school in Russian medium and topped, and is a walking encyclopedia and repository of any knowledge you seek!), my brother Ted could do and make anything (built a car from scratch working on weekends at his father in law’s house -including welding and what not…could also stitch, cook, build things paint etc. etc. etc.), my sister was the princess (spoilt rotten and I hope she does not read this! But she could draw, paint, was very generous and was an excellent hairdresser!) and then there was me…. The entertainer! …and no one was cleverer than Joe, or could make things better than Ted or was prettier than Les or a better entertainer than Andy! We were never compared to each other… how my parents managed to come up with this amazing philosophy is quite beyond me!

I digress! So, after 50 years of acting, if I am no good at it then I have wasted 50 years of my life! I would work with young children and help them act on stage, worked with younger actors and learned so much along the way and eventually was doing sessions for schools, teachers and colleges. A dearly departed close friend Jeffrey, my cousin Nicholas/Nicky and my wife Jenny have been after me to start doing theatre workshops for people. I have always doubted my ability and knowledge and truly wondered if when people told me they had learnt a lot from me, and many had asked me when I would do a theatre workshop, whether they were just humouring a rather portly over-the-hill actor or if they really meant it.

So, I decided to plunge in headfirst and do a paid theatre workshop in the YMCA sports hall (a small studio area which does not live up to the term ‘hall’ quite honestly) on Saturday the 27^th of May 2017. The response was good initially and then people started petering out (many for unexplainable reasons and some for quite implausible ones!) and then a resurgence towards the end, (with some even 20 minutes before the start!) which unfortunately meant that many did not get the opportunity to attend.

We started at 11 am and by the time we reached 430 pm we were wondering where the time had gone! Many were amazed at their own ability and the strenuous nature of very docile seeming exercises that taxed their bodies and minds and left them rejuvenated and yet exhausted at the same time! I was overjoyed at the cross section of social strata and ages we managed to encompass, which always gives any interaction so much more flavour and substance! It was a veritable voyage of self-discovery and learning. From school going young people to young professionals to a parent with children of his own who was taught by me back in 1990 and is now a banker! We enjoyed the contribution of each person present and the workshop came to an end with each one taking back something unique to themselves with them along with a re-energized and more confident, theatrical self. The discussions carried on outside the hall, post the workshop, and I know, from the feedback I have got, many may come back for future workshops and call friends to attend too.

So, keep a look out on FB for the next workshop! Would love to have you along!

Jeffrey Kenneth jeremiah

2017-04-24T09:37:00.002+05:30

We bumped into Jeffrey in Mount Abu where our son Danny was studying. He would come up and down to drop a young student and pick him up and on a couple of occasions picked up our son Danny too for holidays. We then started meeting him in Delhi. Trips for the kebabs that all of us I am sure have tasted and eventually trips to Sadhupul in Chail to his Pinewood Trails campsite. We shared his adventurous nature as much as we could keep up. Our son Danny also accompanied school trips with Jeffrey as an instructor and they formed a bond too. Brothers. And that is what made Jeffrey our foster son…of sorts…

Over the years, the symbiotic nature of our relationship got stronger and deeper with calls in the day time beginning with “” Sir can I ask one question”” and I would reply”” You can ask two!”” to which the the proverbial ufffff would be uttered. Or an evening call…”” Want to come with me to pick up kebabs”” …and we would jump into his car and take off. He visited every school Mr. Pulinkala and I were doing a musicals in and somehow made himself a part of the institution! He came with me for plays and shoots I was doing and made friends there too!

Jeffrey had that gift. In 5 minutes, he was your friend and in one day a confidante and advisor. Young people listened to his valuable although sometimes untried and antiquated advice and soak it up with filters of course. But he always emphasized the importance of education for reasons best left unspoken. He would call and be called and whatsapped right through the day by people seeking help and advice and he never turned anyone down. “” You say and it will be done”” he used to tell me and I would always try to tell him that he had to learn to say “”NO””. We debated and argued a lot. Jeffrey always had a very old fashioned outlook on life. Very often I would say “” I am younger than you Jeffrey!””.

I bullied him very often. I think he understood when I told him I do not want to see you go forward in life…. I want to see you go up in life. He always said he began to move in new circles and expanding his acquaintance circle. Between jenny and myself we were able to design a new avatar in Jeffrey where attire was concerned and made a bit of a transformation. Shirts styles, brighter colours, more casual formals. We had to be cruel to be kind sometimes, but he never learned to tie a tie…. he was adamant he wouldn’t…thus the cravats! His trademark. Along with the lines from Joseph and His Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat-I look handsome I look smart, I am a walking work of art!

So many memories, drives to Sat Tal, Nainital, Sadhupul, Orchha, Rama Studios in Khan Market for new phones, Gandhi nagar for shirt pieces, Side Wok for Chinese food, R K Vison in Lodhi Colony for anything electrical, Ghalib for the kebabs, Matka Peer for Korma and Biryani, teas at Haus Khas chai walla, bred pakoras and kachoris outside YMCA, aloo parathas at Murthal, long drives, his driving especially when someone overtook him in a swanky car!... Death certificates, driving licenses, minibuses and travel guides for trips to Agra, airport drops airport pickups, buses for Danny and Sharon’s wedding, even a rifle he sneaked in for a show we doing in Saket with cops and big wigs in attendance, Jenny’s personal swimming coach, he was always worried about everyone’s health except his own, walks with Jenny around Nehru place and Lodhi park, helping priests nuns brothers and all religious, buying him crocs instead of frogs and trying to explain how they will last longer even though they cost a lot more….he wore those crocs out!...and of course how we teased him about his girly brand of cigarettes… and of course whenever you called him you would find him at the YMCA his second home where he would become so animated with his views and thoughts on improving it and helping the various committees…and of course his ultimate aim…to be elected onto the board!

Yes, we will miss him, for each of our own personal selfish reasons. But I am sure that we will all agree that the most precious people on this Earth for him were his mother, sister, niece and nephew , cousins, uncles, aunts ----Family--- and we became extended members of Jeffrey’s family…so when we look around and see the people we have met through him and formed new friendships with I am sure we shall realise that he will stay alive in our memories through each other and all the new bonds we have formed and shall keep, thanks to Jeffrey. Hearing me I am sure he is up there somewhere saying….””UFFFFFFFFFF!””

Farewell to my Aunty Rita in Kathmandu

2015-12-17T07:06:00.000+05:30

...am back in Delhi after bidding farewell to my Aunty Rita...there is an indescribable disconnected emptiness and numbness that i know i have to shake off... I am so grateful for the time I got to spend with my cousins Pam , Jennifer, Deborrah and their families, not forgetting Simone and Pratiksha, ....we gave strength to each other at a time when we were overcome with a deep sense of grief and also gratitude for the peaceful passing of Aunty Rita...we relived her wonderfully exciting and eventful life in all the anecdotes we shared... the people i met made me feel so at home and a part of everything that happened... thank you Shalini , Mark , Nick, Freddie, and the two friends from the church who stood by me through the event... in her passing we forged a bond i know will last... and also thank you to my college brother Bhardwaj PS (aka Pashu) for being there at the church service and to Goofy for meeting me before I took off and taking me to a place I always wanted to see...his Royal Enfield workshop (Himalyan Enfielders)... and treating me to a meal...and of course I then came home to Delhi to Joy Mondle's amazing 'dalle' chutney in my suitcase that gave me a brilliant burn on the way in and also on the way out!... and then my own family waiting here for me..I feel so blessed...thank you everyone...

Farewell to 2014...

2014-12-24T09:37:00.002+05:30

Christmas has a habit of sneaking up on us here in Delhi. This year has gone in a flash, just so much has happened!

My own personal journey, after leaving full-time teaching 10 years ago, with the voice overs, theatre and shoots is at times incredulous and I have to pinch myself more than once to remind myself it is all real. I do voice overs for eLearning…pages of the stuff with an American, British or ‘Neutral’ accent- act on stage, advertisements, short films, promos and, when I am fortunate, bit parts in features…I work on Broadway Musicals in schools training the young actors…I even do workshops in schools…I am thankful to the Almighty for the small successes this year has been filled with and my Royal Enfield Thunderbird!

Jenny continues to amaze us all with her perseverance as she goes to the gym every day after work and even to the swimming pool (where she learned to swim last year!-a lifetime ambition!) and battles her diabetes. We celebrated her 50^th this year and she continues to age as gracefully as her mother, so it won’t be long before I shall be asked how old my daughter is!...She travelled to Canada to spend time with Gene and Petu, ( her brother and sister) and their families, where she discovered the wonderful world of golden hair streaks!....She completed 27 years with Emirates Airlines this December…

Danny Boy has started working for a sports outlet called Decathlon Sports. Fortunate to get a job he enjoys, in this world where so many are stuck doing something they hate just to make a living, working in the Btwin Bicycle Service Centre and being trained to maintain and repair high end bicycles (they have hydraulic disc brakes these days!) and has found he enjoys working with his hands and is really good at it …part of his genetic makeup maybe!...he got in as he enjoys sports and even had to do a physical test and verbal communication test that he passed, as he is also a good ‘people person’…

Well all that is left is for me to wish all of you and your families a very Merry Christmas and a Happy, Peace filled and Prosperous New Year from Jenny, Danny and myself…will see you on the other side!

"Ineligible" and Deleted

2014-04-01T07:07:00.001+05:30

I grew up in the Soviet Union of the 1960s, read Animal Farm when I was 11 and 1984 by George Orwell when I was 21. Last week Facebook did not allow me to log into my account and said I was “no longer eligible” to have an account and subsequently deleted my account. The helplessness of losing 7 years of work invested reconnecting with old and making new friends has been a blow to me.

Being a free-lance worker the last 10 and a school teacher for the previous 20 years, business contacts would know where to find me, ex-students from way back in 1984 would know where I was, people I have worked and performed with over the last many years and current new friends would connect.

I have written an appeal to the powers that be in Facebook and await an articulate, definitely logical, reasoned reply from a computer, which decided that I was ineligible to stay in contact with as many as 4000 people. We live in hope.

I have started a new profile but my heart is not in it. My old profile was a collection of friends, photos and notes over many years, scanned pics of my son, parents, grand and even great grand parents, friends from variety of spheres and countries and backgrounds…all lost…till they find me again as the mighty FB might deem me ‘ineligible’ if I were to add too many people in one go.

And we smirked at George Orwell’s work of ‘fiction’

Livingstone Foundation High School, Dimapur, Nagaland-2008

2013-11-26T12:35:00.006+05:30

It was providence and good fortune that brought me to Dimapur in 1988. I had just finished a stint in a school in Darjeeling and got the offer to come to Nagaland and help set up a school! It was so exciting an opportunity that I just had to grab it, not knowing that the one year I was about to spend in idyllic surroundings, with a warm family and the many challenges I was about to face, would give me memories and confidence to last me a lifetime.

I arrived in Dimapur in February 1988. The journey from Delhi to Guwahati on Indian Airlines was fun as a relative was the pilot. He came walking into the passenger cabin halfway through the flight and wished me Happy New Year, imagine the other passengers’ thoughts wondering who this possible VIP could be!? Then he took me off the flight at Patna to have ‘chai’ with the airport manager! When I told him I could not miss my flight he said “the flight can’t take off without me!”. This trip off the plane with the captain raised my standing with the other passengers of the plane to such an extent that one of them was convinced I was an incognito VIP and he even requested me to share his company booked hotel room that night, as the Dimapur flight left the next morning!

Flying into Dimapur the following morning was exciting and kindled any sense of adventure I had in me. The hills and greenery, so strange and yet so familiar, were straight out of a national geographic magazine on South East Asia. I landed in Dimapur and was met by ‘Uncle’ Arthur’s brother, ‘Uncle’ Bonny, who took me to my hotel. He then took me to meet Uncle Arthur and Aunty Nishili, who were eager, I am sure, to meet this strange man who had been chosen to assist them in the starting of their dream venture into education! In the course of the day I got to meet other members of the family and immediately was made to feel at ease and at home!

Dimapur was an exotic locale for me in spite of my having travelled to many other countries, as it was unlike any other country or city I had ever visited. The rural setting of the school was like a wilderness fairy tale to the city dwelling young man I was back then. The simple structures that made up the original school were humble and yet so practical.

The children were, so much like the crew of young teachers of those years, uncut precious stones. Each of them exquisite, unique, endearing and open to receive instructions and guidance, their names still in my mind and heart. I still keep in touch with some on Facebook! I started a page on Facebook with ex-students I did not know!

The year went by in a blur that was filed with so many milestones- setting the water pump into cement outside the well at the back of the original dorms, pulling my own water from the well and taking pride in being able to pull 10 to 20 tins out, tree planting drives, my own three cashew trees (that I planted from seeds given by one of the cooks who came to assist from Breeze Restaurant, who happened to be from Andhra Pradesh) of which one survived, construction of the field, singing hymns at Don Bosco, cooking breakfast for all the boarders, with my colleague Christopher Bearder, as the cook was unwell, our inauguration function at which we so proudly watched our children perform a play and a P.T. drill, and who could forget the water pond that used to be the water storage for the builders to mix cement that became a pond for fish!

And then the children, our greatest achievement! We watched quietly from our window with pride as two brothers who had come to us not knowing English argued with each other while playing marbles in broken halting English, not falling into their tribal language or Nagamese, and realised we had won the first battle!

And finally, Uncle and Aunty’s vision. I could not foresee the heights that Livingstone Foundation High School would achieve in such a short span of time, but I now know that they were gifted with that vision and tenaciously stuck to the task, not allowing obstacles to divert their sense of purpose in achieving the dream that is today a prestigious educational institution! And not only did they manage to pursue the dream themselves, but they were able to inspire others by passing on that vision to the next generation, and hopefully many more to follow.

The simplicity of that dream remains pure and alive in today’s Dimapur, a testament to the power of diligence and resolve of two honest and sincere people and the loved ones they surrounded themselves with.

Congratulations Livingstone Foundation High School on 25 years of striving for excellence!

May in the Hills

2013-05-18T06:51:00.000+05:30

After many months I am back here with the realisation that people who blog regularly are amazingly dedicated and talented people, unlike myself! Maybe these are just phases we go through, I don’t know. Anyway, they say it has been proven that writing a blog can stall the onset of Alzheimer’s, so this attempt at reviving my broken blog may just be the cure to me wondering where I left my scooter keys!

I happen to be in Mussourie as I write this, well not write, but type, enjoying the warm hospitality of Wynberg Allen School. While being here I have made so many connections with the staff and children, most of them belonging to the dwindling community I belong, to Anglo-Indians.

I have been working with Mr George Pulinkala the last couple of years helping with the production of Broadway musicals in schools and we are here to do a musical with the school for their 125 year celebration. An ambitious project, but as I am in charge of preparing the actors (hate when people say teaching the main cast to act, as no one can teach anyone to act okay?...they either have talent or don’t!) and have found a really talented bunch of young people I am pleased as Punch!

Mr Pulinkala's idea was ingenious, he said that we can begin auditions and the ground work in May, thus beating the heat of Delhi summer and preparing the children! So here we are in the cooler climes of the Himalayas, enjoying the chill early mornings and evenings and the fresh pollutant-free air!

My coming here has awakened a part of my nostalgic being with memories of Darjeeling and Mount Hermon School, where I first began to teach way back in 1984. The children, staff and school ethic being so close to the way Mount Hermon was. Teachers, who are helpful and kind, content in their assignment, grateful for the opportunity to serve in an institution where the very same values are framed and exemplified by the ones in charge, a small number of students who know each other and live like one big family and the unaffected attitude of everyone around here. Another wonderful aspect of the is trip is that Wynberg and Allen is where my wife’s, Jenny’s, mum, Margaret (Peggy) Morris (nee Farmer) and her siblings studied, so there are so many links being made here! She found her uncle’s name on the list as school captain of 1961!

This little oasis of education is so wonderfully caught up in a time warp of good manners, friendliness and contentment, that I know I will miss it when I return to the hustle and bustle and dog-eat-dog survivalist ethos of the big city I grudgingly call home.

So I will enjoy and relish the remaining 6 days, missing home, yet loathing to returning, yet knowing that I shall be back in August, as the show is in October! So catch you later with more news from the hills in August!

Eulogy to my mother on 2nd September 2012 (Memorial Mass)

2012-09-03T07:06:00.006+05:30

“Four Weddings and a Funeral” is such a meaningful film in today’s context. We come together, get in touch and close ranks on these two extreme of occasions. Today I have met people I have not spoken to for weeks, months and, in some cases, years!

Mummy brought us up on stories of her childhood and I am sure given the opportunity she would have made an excellent story writer. The pictures she painted in words are deeply imbedded in our minds…so much so that sometimes fact and fiction …memory and narration get jumbled…now in retrospect I realise she was handing down this treasure trove of her history for us to pass on…her life was so eventful it would have filled the covers of a modern best seller…. Parents who loved her and her three siblings…a mother who died early at the age of 29…a father who was as young…distraught and intimidated by the prospect of raising 4 children single handed in the 1930’s…orphaned at 17…sent to boarding schools in Asansol and Lucknow…and then into nursing college in Kanpur…she and her sister…my aunty Rita stuck together all those year forging a strong bond that lasted for years and miles...and we children we relived these times with her every time she narrated her stories to us…

As a young bride in the 50’s she travelled to a remote country called Sikkim…she took premixed masalas as she had never learned to cook…having spent most of her life with servants and then in a boarding school and a nursing hostel…my two elder brothers , Joey and Teddy were born there and many of mum’s stories of Sikkim kept us spellbound!...my sister, Lesley, was born in Delhi after their return…then to the UK where I was born…

following that we were off to an unfriendly country for Indians in the 60’s …China…then on to Russia…and back to the UK and finally home…and in all that time my mother was ever adaptable…exploratory and resourceful…setting up home with all the comforts at a moment’s notice…finding shops…learning a working smattering of the language…learning to cook excellently even making murku and cornflakes/puffed rice and peanut mixtures at home…even papads!...because of her we could call any part of the world HOME….this ability to travel and be at home anywhere helped us all the way through our lives…and mum continued to travel during her lifetime…never hesitating to spend her money on trips to see her grandchildren Kimberley, Michaela, Gareth, Danielle and Daniel, Danny Girl and Danny Boy, Kirsten, Zalen and Zane at the earliest opportunity…they will always remember Nana …fearlessly…undaunted by distance and long flights…she travelled a couple of times to Australia from the UK via Dubai…and also to India…when she made the difficult journey with dad as his condition deteriorated and later many trips alone…well into her late 70’s…

As is so often said…I know it is a cliché…but then cliché is based on fact…we are all here not to mourn her passing but to celebrate her life and to think of her….her sense of humour…her one line retorts and quick naughty wittiness! Her gimmicky toys she picked up in the UK, like the naughty monk whose head all young related brides had to press…till date members of the family, including my cousins, will call seekh kebabs ‘doggy turds’, gulab jamuns ‘Nat King Cole’s’ and rasgullas ‘prince Charles’’….. we will still joke about my cousin Stephen John’s (Punnu’s) ’30 inches’... the ‘Pad Man’ who was our neighbour in R K Puram, New Delhi… the guy she mimicked when she and my cousin Bobby Hoffland saw him scratching himself in Connaught Place!...we will use the word ‘aadi doombas’ to mean only what we know it means …

she was very popular with her nephews and nieces and our cousin Karen Harding, who is the eldest among the Hoffland clan, remembered how she would always follow my mum around, wanting to hug her, and got the nickname ‘Clinging Ivy’. And of course there was always ‘Aunty Yvonne’s’ loud laugh, large cooking pot full of lovely ‘khana’ and her ‘Lajo Churo’ ( a Chinese Pork stir fry dish she learnt in Peking and cooked for everyone)…. Her Tuna fish ‘Junglee Pulao’ that my sister-in-law Petu loves to date…

And who can forget those weekly letters she so meticulously written, with mundane details, like the menu for Sunday lunch, made to sound so epic and interesting ……

All this and more made Yvonne Cecilia Hoffland the wonderful person she was, who touched every heart she encountered and always had a houseful of young people laughing, singing, eating and listening to music; a unique and strong woman, my mother, Mummy.

She lost a part of herself when dad passed….and then had to watch her son, my brother Ted, lose his battle and then finally she lost her sight…it stole her letters…her crosswords and the ability to move around with confidence…

I respect my brother Joe and his wife Maxine for the strength they showed in making difficult decisions for Mum’s betterment…my sister Les and her husband Radha/Jup for their undying love and how the family supported visits for Les to see mum…my brother Ted and his wife Pauline for taking mum and dad out to the UK to a better life… my wife Jenny, who was a friend to mum besides being a daughter-in-law, and finally, our hearts have to be with her sister…my Aunty Rita…they were like Siamese twins, inseparable all their lives…and now Aunty has lost her closest and last sibling, an appendage…she will always be a second mother to us all…

I shall miss Mum and always feel guilty that I would get annoyed when she would get the time difference mixed up and call me at 2 in the morning, or get irritated when she would ask the same question repeatedly …and now it is too late to say ‘I am sorry Mummy’… thank you for being my centre for those formative years…making me the person I am today…

thank you for coming today to honour the memory of Yvonne Hoffland (Bampton), the remarkable woman I call ‘mum’…

My Mother Yvonne

2012-08-25T22:14:00.003+05:30

“Four Weddings and a Funeral” is such a meaningful film in today’s context. We come together, get in touch and close ranks on these two extreme of occasions. My mother passed away today and I have had calls from people I have not spoken to for weeks, months and, in some cases, years! We talked, smiled and then laughed remembering my mother’s sense of humour. Her one line retorts and quick naughty wittiness! Her gimmicky toys she picked up in the UK, like the naughty monk whose head all young related brides had to press….and of course you can guess what happened to the monk!

Till date members of the family, including my cousins, will call seekh kebabs ‘doggy turds’, gulab jamuns ‘Nat King Cole’s’ and rasgullas ‘prince Charles’’….. we will still joke about my cousin Stephen John’s (Punnu’s) ’30 inches’!..... the ‘Pad Man’ who was our neighbour in R K Puram, New Delhi… and the guy she and my cousin Bobby Hoffland saw scratching himself in Connaught Place!...today another cousin who is the eldest among the Hoffland clan remembered how she would always follow my mum around and got the nickname ‘Clinging Ivy’..and of course ‘Aunty Yvonne’s’ loud laugh, large cooking pot full of lovely ‘khana’ and her ‘Lajo Churo’ ( a Chinese Pork stir fry dish she learnt in Peking and cooked for everyone)…. Her Tuna fish ‘Junglee Pulao’ that my sister-in-law Petu loves to date…

All this and more made Yvonne Cecilia Hoffland (nee Bampton) the wonderful person she was, who influenced everyone she met and always had a houseful of young people laughing, singing, eating and listening to music; a unique and strong woman, my mother, Mummy. I shall miss her and always feel guilty that I would get annoyed when she would get the time difference mixed up and call me at 2 in the morning, or get irritated when she would ask the same question repeatedly….and now it is too late to say ‘I am sorry Mummy’… thank you for being my centre for those formative years…

now go and call your mothers and talk to them and tell them how much u love them….

Olumpics!

2012-08-09T09:48:00.002+05:30

Well it surely has been the ‘Olumpics’ for us Indians. I continue to be amazed how small piddly little countries are up there on the podium and we, with such a large population, hardly figure on the medal board. Then I remember what I always tell people who are amazed how short I am-“size doesn’t matter’….its quality, not quantity!”. So where do we go wrong?

As a teacher all over India, over the years, I have seen some wonderfully talented young sports people, my own son included, who have slipped through the net due to lack of governmental encouragement and facilities. Most sports people who have won medals had to do it ‘on their own’, on their ‘own steam’….grit and determination. Diet and training are so inferior at the grass roots level to the extent of being non-existent.

No doubt some states try to provide facilities but they are negligible when taking into account the huge population of our country. I always wondered when I was small, why we did not take the rickshaw pullers of Calcutta and not train them for the marathon, or the natural footballers of certain states and make a truly world class team? Fortunately we do have traditional sports like wrestling that are well cemented into Indian rural culture, enough to give us a base to build on and find world class wrestlers. Boxing is another sport all together. Indians do not strike with closed fists! Maybe the Namaste has spoilt that for us. If there was an open handed slapping kind of fight we might win!

And then we have hockey! The last bastion! Let’s be honest here. The game that is played internationally today has absolutely no resemblance to the game we all grew up playing! The world has taken that game and changed it to suit their own abilities! No more fancy stick work, just a faster ‘pass and hit’ game which requires more stamina and bigger physiques! Smooth (now BLUE!) surfaces, unlike the uneven fields we play on in India which require more skill and keeping the ball closer to the stick!

So when we see an Indian on the podium we need to feel proud and appreciate all their efforts! We should also appreciate all those who have qualified and got to any stage of the Olympics, because they have done so against all odds. We can look at the games and wonder whether we have been left behind or whether the others have moved forward. The end result is the same. We are far behind! So we may have to like it, or just LUMP it!

Of Boarding Schools and Raisin and Rum Ice Cream

2012-07-18T08:51:00.002+05:30

If two people were to eat a rum and raisin ice cream, one would taste the raisins and another would taste the rum. That would be ME!

I say this to try and illustrate that two people’s perception of a situation and the experience they derive from it could be as diverse as sleeping at home and running a marathon! So when someone asked me some questions on boarding schools I was in a dilemma.

As a teacher, the best years of my teaching were in a boarding. Many people who went to a boarding school have such wonderful memories and are, to a certain degree, so disciplined and focused.

And then I have my son, who was in a boarding for 5 years and found it so hard to adjust to a day co-ed school. Unfortunately he gets his looks from his mother and athleticism from me, so he is a good looking boy and a natural sportsperson! So, although his boarding life might have been ‘fun’, the teachers were wonderful caring people and he got to become an exceptional sportsman, the life skills required for the rat race we live in were never imparted.

Question 1. Sending a kid off to a boarding at a tender age of 5 or 7 is a decision that shapes the personality of the offspring for life. How far do you agree with such a decision taken by parents for the ‘welfare’ of the kid? Have you sent your kids to a boarding or have been sent yourself as a child? How has the experience been?

Well my son went off at 12, because we felt he needed to be away from me, as we were together 24 hours a day, and also form the stifling home environment. To learn to ‘take care of himself’. He never did learn to fold his clothes, and remains very disorganised, which somehow reminds me so much of myself. So does a ‘disorganised’ gene over rule a stint in a boarding school? I wonder!

Question 2. Is there a sense of abandonment for the child going away?

I shall never forget the look on his face the day the train pulled out of old Delhi railway station. It still haunts me. I jumped on to the moving train and told him, “this is not a punishment!”. The next time we met he asked, “are mum and you going to separate?”. Obviously many of his school mates were in the school for other reasons. My son inherited another gene, the “emotional attachment” gene, along with the “sensitivity” and “caring” gene, as I have heard very often that he is “too sensitive”, “too caring and sympathetic”. Is that a bad thing? So he did miss us as we missed him. The drawer is full of the train tickets to Mount Abu. And we have many photographs of the 8 road trips we made by car. So that question on abandonment has to be answered by him, not me.

Question 3. There are times when the child feels neglected and searches for an emotional bond among the people he/she loves. That is not met with in a boarding life. Does this push the child to notorious activities like taking to drugs, alcohol or bad company?

Peer pressure and the wanting to experiment is not the monopoly of boarding schools. I went to day school in the UK in the 70’s. I think I did a lot more than most kids I know. Even in Indian schools today! Maybe that is why I made a ‘good’ teacher! So to say that abandonment in a boarding school leads to the three taboos, “sex, drugs and rock and roll” would be too naïve. Not to say my son also did not have his share of "trouble", but isn't that part of growing up?

Question 4. Going off to a boarding is almost equated to a long-term punishment for the child who feels he/she has done something wrong for her/him to deserve a life in boarding. Your take.

My take? I think that a day school can be a punishment too! Parents need to talk to the child and take into account his/her suggestions and feelings before making this decision. As a teacher I have seen some children sent to boarding schools for all the wrong reasons. And a friend of mine, I just heard, sent his step son off to a boarding without telling him that the arrangements had been made until the 11^th hour. That is so wrong. So obviously that child is so much more susceptible to go the way of question 3 also!

So whether they are right or wrong. As I mentioned earlier, it depends whether the child is tasting the raisins or the rum. That was such a terrible example!

Culinary Kwest

2012-07-13T23:01:00.001+05:30

Did an ‘improv’ entertainment show with the group ‘Humour Me’ today at a 5 star hotel in Delhi. A completely new experience having fun on stage with impromptu stuff and getting paid to do it! Something like ‘Who’s Line is it Anyway’! The Corporatti was not prepared for us and was absolutely blasted into oblivion! The meal after the event was more interesting. Big hotels use useless jargon and names for dishes that are basically just mismatched ingredients with exotic names. Cuisines cut across boundaries and land up in a plate. For example, chicken in Shiraz sauce with tandoori parathas! Lamb in a mushroom sauce next to pulao rice! Risotto! Chicken breast stuffed with ricotta cheese next to the papads! And we eat it all followed by ras malai and strawberry panna cotta! Of course everything tastes just like Butter Chicken in different hues and colours. We are Indian! We are like that only!

My Earliest Memories

2012-07-06T07:16:00.002+05:30

My earliest recollections are as a 3 year old in china. I do at times wonder how much of it is genuine memory and how much is the effect of my mother’s amazing story telling ability. Her stories of our family’s travels have always been show stoppers. There are many incidents that spring to mind, I will try to give as accurate an account as can be possible with my own sixpence worth added for good measure, a genetic defect I inherited from my mother!

We lived in Wai Chi Talu within a large diplomatic and multinational community. They in themselves are a rich source of quite amusing anecdotes worth relating.

My first memory is playing marbles with a boy from Sri Lanka called Aloysius. What a name! Well the story, as related by my as imaginative brother Ted, always ended with the mention that the crotch of my trousers were split and poor Aloysius thought I was winning as I had two marbles more than him!

Jokes apart, there are so many stories! The one that is now part of family folklore is the one I do remember. My parents, along with the Indian Embassy crowd decided to visit the ‘forbidden city’, home to the last emperor of

China

, Go Yin Pu Yi. We had a successful and uneventful day till three year old me felt the pressure in my bowels unbearable and, as any child my age would have done, turned for a solution to my mother. My mother was a very innovative and resourceful woman.

Till date people remind me that I did ‘lumps’ in the ‘forbidden city’, and to cap it all my little bottom was wiped with…….wait for it…….orange peels! I am happy I have no memory of this, but I still hate the smell and taste of oranges, unless they are mixed with a suitable alcoholic distillation.

At the time we were in China, the early 60’s, India’s relationship with the Chinese was not on 'best buddy' terms and there were many instances of expats and people from India not being served in shops and even being insulted. Fortunately for my mum, she always wore dresses and always looked ‘Indira ‘Gandhiish!’, so the shop keepers would ask ‘Greece? Albania?’ and mum would just nod, smile and get exceptional treatment!.......while trying to stay clear of the sari brigade who followed her for the best bargains!!!

Stories of houses being bugged were a reality we were made aware of from a very early age. A great example was the ‘doctor’ sent to treat my mother as she is a chronic sufferer of blocked sinuses. He always had a ‘translator’ with him and had to always prescribe traditional Chinese medicines. Till the one time he sent the ‘translator’ to get his stethoscope from the car and then quickly whispered in my mother’s ear in perfect English….’Mrs. Hoffland, the next time your husband goes to Hong Kong, tell him to get a tablet called Dristan.” A medicine we have used ever since, as not only have I inherited my mother’s wit, but also the bunged up sinuses!”

The diplomatic community was confined to one big enclave called Wai Chi Talu, we had a mixture of nationalities and a huge group of friends. The various accents and social customs made for very interesting living indeed!

There are plenty of interesting characters that spring to mind at the drop of a hat. A civil servant currently with the UN (who shall remain anonymous!) is definitely one of them! He must have been about 9 or 10 then and had an amazingly mature sense of humour. Again, my memory of those days is patchy….I was 3 for God’s sake! There are many tales told of his hilarious escapades. One of them is that one morning he donned his mother’s finest lace table cloth, from Hong Kong no doubt, in those days all good things came from Hong Kong!....wore a large cross around his neck, and then proceeded to prance around the diplomatic compound singing ‘the hills are alive’, from the very popular hit movie of that time, "The Sound of Music, at the top of his voice!..... Which his voice certainly wasn’t, I remember that much at least!

He surpassed even his own level of ingenuity, when, on a dare, he even went and kissed the fat, garlic smelling, ugly bus conductress! I can feel him squirm from here as he reads this as I know he will! We were fortunate to bump into him later in Moscow where another selection of stories lies hidden in the recesses of my deepest memories!... He never did lose that spark of his and I can’t imagine him a serious civil servant.....keep wondering if he suddenly has flashes of his ‘creative’ genius even today....we met in NYC a couple of years back in a sushi bar and it was great to meet that same person despite the fancy suit!....thankfully we have just to many shared childhood memories to make us false and pretentious!

I was admitted into Sacred Heart Convent, Beijing, at the mature and sage-like age of 3 (!) by my brothers and sister who felt it was time I had to broaden my knowledge and linguistic skills. My first day was spent crying in the nursery so much that I was moved to my eldest brother’s class so that he could pacify me. This of course was a ‘promotion’ as far as my little mind could make out, and on returning home I promptly told my mother that I was so intelligent that I was now in my eldest brother’s class!

The nuns were loving and caring….have yet to meet people as dedicated as them. Today every person, my wife included, who has ever had an encounter with a convent and a lady in a habit is overcome with a deep, definitely not profound, silence, as they recount their ‘days with the nuns’, followed by a few choice explosive expletives, either hissed between the teeth or with a brief yet violent letting out of the breath!

I remember toffees, cuddles and kind words.

I then remember the sobbing as we watched the same nuns being expelled from China. This was while we were out at the movies in the Odeon cinema hall in Delhi. They used to run a newsreel before very movie in the 60's and this was before we watched the movie 'Sound of Music' (ironically). Till date, my mind is always filled with pictures of Beijing and those wonderful sisters of 'Notre Dame", who loved me so much, whenever I watch that movie.

India- the enigma

2012-07-02T08:22:00.001+05:30

Did some theatre exercises with a few select dancers at a friend’s dance school yesterday…. Interestingly, when each group was asked to come together and form a tableaux themed ‘birth’, a baby featured…and when I asked them if the baby was male or female, most said the baby was a girl!...there is hope for the future of the girl child in India! I met a girl whose parents allowed her as a single Punjabi child to go to Bombay to study fashion!...

...A young school girl who is in class 12 and dances so well she is an instructor!...

...and then I came home to read of a politician in Assam who was beaten by a mob because she married her FB friend from ‘across the border’…

...”mera Bharat mahaan”… like most women…just when you think you have her figured out she springs another surprise!

Childhood/Youth/Cut-Offs

2012-06-26T09:07:00.004+05:30

I think we must have been a very fortunate generation.

Looking at children today I feel so sad that they have been deprived of their childhood. When we were kids we had two things to do….study and play…if we did go for tuition we never told anyone as it was a social stigma…and you were branded…STUPID!....we never had TV’s!...some aunty would open her doors to the neighbourhood children…either out of sympathy… or smugness that she possessed a TV!...on Sundays it was the ‘Sunday’ movie and on Thursdays Chitrahaar….and whether we wanted to watch or not, we would join the friends we had... to sit and watch...as we knew damn well that the following day that would be the topic of conversation in school so one had to be ‘clued up’!

Play was something we did on the streets…cricket, pithu and so many others that are lost…we would see a scooter pass once an hour and a car maybe thrice a day…the gwala (milkman) kept his buffaloes at the corner of the street and we got fresh warm frothy containers of milk that mum would boil and skim the cream off either to be eaten with sugar or saved to make butter or ghee for parathas and halwa. A cold drink was a Sunday treat after church at ‘KumKum’s’ in WEA near chana market…we would drink ganna (sugarcane) juice and have chuskis (shaved flavoured ice) from the man who went around with a cart….and my Aunty Rita would exclaim “instant bloody cholera!”…

We also had two sardar men who sold all kinds of snacks from two baskets balanced on a pole…chana…peanuts…sugar coated rice…somehow we always thought they were related!...they probably weren’t… I got my first pair of jeans when I was 12!....

Today, kids slog to get marks….have to divide their time between school, tuitions (sorry coaching!), dance/guitar/tennis/drama coaching and of course social networking…they climb the long and arduous stairs to success and then when they reach the top they are told “sorry…just not enough”…ridiculous cut-off marks!....no wonder they become so disillusioned with life and later work hard and party harder…becoming children when they are 28…makes me wonder about the practicality of our education system…why not keep DU for Delhi students and upgrade and standardise all state Universities so that young people do not have travel to another state to get an education of repute?...would that lower the 'cut-offs'?

…I have absolutely no idea how to solve the problem…DO YOU?

NO!

2012-06-23T23:41:00.000+05:30

Hatred all around us, clashing cymbals sound.
Human issues rising, writhing on the ground.
Suspicion clouds our reason
The ending of all seasons

Killing machines on our minds
The stopping of all vital signs
No more time for plucking flowers
Counting down the long dark hours

Life is worth a few greenbacks
A cup of milk, some rice in sacks
Statistics on a paper scroll
No hope of reaching any goal

Hurrying to our destiny
Of hatred and hypocrisy

Reaching for a hand we cannot see
Apocalyptic painful prophecy

Theatre Fun/Adventure Camp!

2012-06-20T09:36:00.006+05:30

For some time now young people have been asking me to do some sort of theatre/drama ‘workshop’, so I decided the summer break would be the right time to do just that. Maybe a trip to the hills for a theatre fun (I felt it too presumptuous and ambitious to call it a ‘workshop’!) and adventure sport camp!

My friend Jeff has a campsite in the hills. The camp has tents for accommodation, a lovely stream running alongside and he employs trained mountaineering/adventure sports experts to see to the adventure side of things. We talked it over and had this brainwave to have a ‘theatre fun/adventure camp’!

The social media websites are used to advertise many events so we made an ‘event’ and waited for responses…..and we counted them in

… 10 …16...13….22….27….38….56…..67….78…89…94…the ‘yes’s kept clocking in and we were so happy people liked the idea! Plans were made…buses were nearly booked ….and then we started to ask for people to pay up so we could begin making arrangements….. some made elaborate excuses….and some just did not take our calls or reply….the reality dawned on me that people sometimes just talk and do not have the decency or gumption to back it up…..that is the way of the world today I guess…

Anyway we decided to go ahead regardless of the response so we could make sure that those who took the trouble to attend and had the wanted to work with me would have an unforgettable time!

I think our final number as we set off from Delhi on Thursday the 14^th of June night was about 23….all raring to go and eager to come back rejuvenated! On the way we picked up some children from Chandigarh. One of the girls nearly did not make it a cousin had come to stay with her. A 12 year old little boy. The smart girl that she is, she convinced the cousin and his parents that the camp would be great for him!

We reached the camp and found that this year has been the hottest year for the northern hills of UP and Himachal Pradesh…the sun was hot but we got some respite in the shade as there was a cool breeze blowing…

The theatre fun section I had planned, with much thanks to my friend Bikram Ghosh aka Momo, with many interactive exercise, improvisations and script reading (at night under a lamp post!) went beyond what I had imagined

….imagine a 20 year old and a 38 year old sharing a snippet from their lives candidly without inhibitions?...the older and younger participants playing silly games and rolling on the floor laughing?

...the adventure aspect was as exciting! The ‘flying fox…Burma bridge….ladder climb up to the Sadhupul bridge from the stream below… and of course the rappelling down a steep rock face…by the end new friendships had been forged and many felt that they had more strength then they had had before coming out on the camp…

...the most amazing event for me was to see people I knew from various aspects of my life become friends on this camp…a girl who acted in a musical I helped with in Chandigarh became friends with children I had worked with in Delhi!...

The journey back was tinged with sadness and yet relaxed as most new they were rested and rejuvenated….we reached Delhi and bid adieu to new friends…till we meet again….

Camp Pinewood Trails…Hip Hip!.....

Paradise....lost?...

2012-06-12T09:57:00.000+05:30

This tribute is just to show you what made me fall in love with Kashmir.

Kashmir conjures up a myriad of images and flashes off the news channels reporting of violence and demonstrations.

I was fortunate to spend two months there in 2011 with a group to train the children of Presentation Convent School to present a Broadway musical called Annie. We lived with a Kashmiri family and made wonderful friends.

Our friend Imran and his family will always be very dear to all of us. The nuns in the convent are also precious to us. The students stay in touch and we shall share a part of their lives always.

My experiences in Kashmir left me with a love for the charming people, the natural beauty and delicious food of the area. I consider myself privileged to have spent time there and seen the ‘real’ Kashmir.

Of Koftas and Kabul!

2012-06-09T09:11:00.001+05:30

In the middle of a hectic Friday, between recordings, I decided to drop off something to a friend’s place in Lajpat Nagar and pick up some new neon/tube lights, the old ones are falling apart and sound like chain saws, when the ‘chokes’ buzz!

My friend Jeffrey said we could meet and pick up some street food stuff for lunch, always a favourite of mine….in reverse order! We spotted some amazing chole bhatura (for those who don’t know, that is deep fried flat bread and chick peas) that had us salivating. We were just about to try it out when Jeff noticed a collection of Afghani restaurants in the vicinity! Visions of the plains of Afghanistan, bread baked on clay ovens, Pulao rice with raisins and nuts, kebabs, koftas, exotic pickled vegetable and of course the cooler climes of the region made us look at each other and nod in the affirmative in unison! We entered a restaurant, that seemed more populated than the others, and found it bright and cheery,full of Afghanis eating their food with relish.

The man behind the counter (Shakeer Behzad) was polite and advised us what to order after we explained that we were novices exploring uncharted territory with the menu, and no, he did not choose the most expensive dishes! We settled for “Qabuli Uzbeki” (mutton pulao) and “Qorma Kofta”. I had a “Lassi” which did not taste like the Indian counterpart, but very much like something we used to get in Moscow when I was a child, a thicker version called “Keffir”.

When the dishes arrived we got two large rounds of Afghani bread, some bhindi (okhra) in a tomato gravy and an aubergine/baingan/brinjal kind of dish also that we had not even ordered. The man smiled and said we should taste it! On the house! The rice was light and not at all heavy, hardly spiced, with nuts and raisins (full marks for the imagination!) and the mutton was boneless pieces so succulent, moist and lightly flavoured, that you could actually taste the meat and not a mouthful of spices the way we cook it! The koftas were light and soft, resting in an oniony and tomatoey gravy…the same with the bhindi!...the bread that looked so hard and crispy was, on breaking, light and doughy! A lovely, pleasant, tasty and light meal.

The bill?... Including the lassi and a coke for Jeff was INR 300! The young man looked at me and smiled and asked “How do you like our food?” He beamed when I gave him a big smile and told him how much we had enjoyed it, evident from the empty plates scraped clean!

So folks? Discard those prejudiced opinions of the people and gastronomy of Afghanistan…Head down to Lajpat Nagar and have a taste of a cuisine that is the ancestor of a lot of the food we in India eat today.

I am salivating!

Cooking up a storm!

2012-06-08T08:32:00.000+05:30

One of the many hobbies I have is cooking! I am the Jack of it!...master?...maybe sometimes,when the skill allows, me to be ! Sadly I am becoming a victim of the very plague I see the younger generation becoming. The dreaded maid (in olden times known as the ‘servant’) who comes in the morning to cook two rotis and a veg for my wife! I get the incidental aloo paratha for breakfast, as I did today, rice or parathas for lunch, to eat with the afore mentioned veg! Now here is the catch! As we become more dependent on them, we slowly lose our own ability to prepare the basic dishes our mothers, foremothers and ancestors prepared, as we tuck into the standard fare churned out by these ladies of fortune!

My first ‘curry’, oddly enough,was a family favourite, mince curry, taught to me by my English sis in law, Pauline....she had learned from my mum! Later, in India, once when my mum was getting operated on, I started to cook for dad and myself.

I love watching cooking shows, and dinner is normally my responsibility, where we eat Anglo Indian, Chinese/South East Asian, or European dishes. Over the years I picked up various recipes from my mum, father in law and anyone I met. I learned my own community’s (Anglo Indian) recipes adding a twist of my own along the way. You see my father in law is from Kolkata and my mum learned how to cook from my dad’s mother (nana), who was from Vishakhapatnam (referred to as Vizag). So the styles are pretty different, even with typical Anglo Indian dishes. My own style of ‘Anglo’ food is now a ‘fatherless’ version of a combination of both!

Now what troubles me is that in the present day and age of a lady cooking the meals and the family rushing off in various directions to pay obeisance to the gods of scholastic and corporate excellence, the traditional recipes will get lost and we shall all be eating a homogenous version of ‘Indian’ food.

Today I cooked some rajma for my wife….it came out pretty good, just as she used to like it when we first got married (she only married me because she was looking for a guy who could cook!), my younger sister in law was also a fan of ‘Andy’s rajma’!

So I persevere and shall continue to cook my ‘fatherless’ versions of vindaloo, kofta curry (also called ‘bad word curry’), yellow rice, PC’s, glacy and jhal frazi (which I see on many menus and they do not resemble the Anglo Indian dish in any shape, form or taste) as my father in law and nana used to cook… and hope that in doing so I shall keep a part of my ancestors alive with me.

So go on!...cook those idlis, sathu parathas, dhokla, thukhpa, akhoni, rogan josh, biryanis, saags, luchi aloos and daal batis!

Keep your culture alive! But hang on to your cooking lady who comes in the mornings!

Fete at St Mary's Mount Abu

2012-06-06T08:51:00.000+05:30

We had planned to go to Mount Abu for the school fete and had booked train tickets. Unfortunately when the time came we found that one ticket was wait list #1! Being the law abiding citizen that I am, I felt that we should cancel the tickets and stay in Delhi. The Rajdhani train has strict laws about travelling without a reservation. Our friend Jeffrey came over and said that we should go and knowing my problem with Hindi he offered to talk to the authorities.

I hate travelling unless everything is clear cut and arranged. Especially with the railways and airlines!

At the station Jeff went into the chief ticket chaps office and then called me in a little while later. The man said since we had two confirmed berths on the ticket and one was WL1 we could travel! “It is the law” he said! the law!...can’t argue with that! We then met the main ticket collector for the train and he said “Actually it is not allowed, but do not worry, I am there.” Which sounded even more ominous!

On the train Jenny and I tried to get comfortable on the lower aisle berth while Danny slept on the upper one. No signs of the TC guardian. At 1am he came to tell me there was a spare berth if I wanted to use it! My faith in the ever vulture like appearance of TC’s was restored. Not a penny, sorry paisa, extra!...I snored the other passengers to sleep!

I shall now digress….we saw this man with a shiny grey tight suit and a matching trilby on the train. Waxed moustache and all! I thought he was some high class pimp or a gangster. Further down the track we saw two more. Was this a gang? NO!!!!!...this was the new uniform for TC’s on the Rajdhani! Believe me!

The day before we had left Delhi, my friend Cliffy in Abu had told me that the weather was hot and sunny, so we had not packed warm, although ‘yours truly’ always goes prepared. When we reached the station and looked at the mountains we were surprised to see clouds!. As we drove up there was mist and cold breeze! Nirvana for us Delhiites who had been sweltering in the mid to high 40’sC!

The good weather endured for the two days we spent there eating and vegetating. The ‘fete’ was a small affair, but we had a good time. As usual we won nothing! However, I must say meeting old friends and chatting was great! The evening was a small get together a few pegs and with some simple khana …

Our return journey was another lesson in travel! When we boarded the train we found a lady feeding her messy child on our two lower berths we were so relishing to lie down in! When asked, this lady said the TC had told her we would ‘adjust’ (that amazing word that Indians are so familiar with meaning “sift up!!!!”) when we got on. We told her to bugger off as politely as we could under the circumstances, and she left but muttering and nearly making us feel guilty for taking our seats!!....of course when the TC arrived we found we had travelled with him before and he never even brought up the subject of any ‘adjustment’! Travel in India never ceases to amaze….

Reading in the mountains

2012-06-04T18:51:00.003+05:30

Bookaroo was a literary fest for kids held in a school in Srinagar. Many children's writers, illustrators, directors, and people who work with children were invited. I was asked to attend as a reader. I got another chance to visit paradise on earth-Kashmir. Would anyone in their right mind ever pass up an opportunity? I had three reading sessions…one with 4 to 7 year olds…one with 10 and 11 year olds and one with 12 year olds…I was dreading the 4 to 7 year olds (700 of them i had heard!) which, incidentally turned out to be my best session! I had these lovely action stories and songs prepared which went off really well! The 12 year olds were supposed to hear extracts from classics, but i saw them switch off half way thorugh so switched to the ever popular Roald Dahl renditions of the fairy tales. , that i love so much! The final 10 and 11 year old session saw a handful of students and parents and thankfully a group of young primary teachers. They had more fun than the children as I read the Roald Dahl fairy tales and also sang along with some action songs!

And that got me thinking. So often we fear or dread an upcoming experience or obstacle so much that we resign ourselves to defeat. And then, when the episode actually happens it is never half as bad as we had imagined, and in fact turns out to be a great learning experience!

A wonderful few days spent with some very interesting people…each had something fascinating to bring to the table whenever we would get together. The camaraderie and fun was so easy and somehow it was as though we had all met in some earlier life. Made some great friends! Got to see more of Srinagar.

One of the most outstanding moments…of course there were so many…was when we met a Mr Bhatt who manages/owns (?) these house boats with a ‘who’s who’ gallery that had autographs of famous people. While we were there I happened to have a chat with this wizened old man, in a pathani suit, who could have passed off as any Kashmiri ‘servant’. He was telling us about the chinar leaves and the pollen from them, using impeccable English that any newsreader, teacher, and voice over artist would give his/her right hand for! When I asked him how long he had been working there he said “I have been here since I was a child of ten”!!!!....I have seen many text books in my years of teaching, including some from a major publisher, where the use of the word ‘since’ was absolutely wrong and here was this worker, whom anyone would have walked passed without a second glance, using it correctly. Then I started to think of the times and people he had seen in his lifetime. Wish he had a blog!

As always I fell in love with Kashmir all over again. Met some friends I had made the previous year and was quite sorry to leave…..

Blogger me!

2012-05-26T20:22:00.003+05:30

I attended the #DellBlogathon2012 , as an ex student called Karan Bhujbal had called me to help with the ‘entertainment’ as one of the “amazing persons” they had invited. I was deemed to be 'amazing' as i do have this accent-mimicking thing i do! I was definitely flattered but knackered, as I had done a few episodes of a series of documentaries I am voicing earlier in the day.

Delhi is reeling under the hottest of heat waves, so although I tried to get out of going, I landed up, fearing the worst! My Honda scooter is not the best mode of transport on a hot hot day like it was today, but I made it in one piece to one of the massive south Delhi malls where the event was being held in a lounge/bar….(Yeh…free beer!) What a load of bloggers there were! They were all tech savvy, but definitely not geeks and a pretty interesting bunch they were too! I headed off to get a snack and when I returned I found it was time for the ‘amazing persons’!! The first was Karan Singh, a young man who ‘read minds’. Pretty damn scary! Nah not really!

The crowd was now feeling the effects of some tasty morsels dished out as snacks and the free beer was now flowing. A famous Australian brand, which Australians do not drink, but the rest of the world slurps and then it makes them talk with strange Australian accents! The next poor ‘amazing person’ was this truly amazing young man, called Abhishek (Baxi), who had arranged his whole big Punjabi wedding on an App! Forgotten the name! (Evernote?) But by now the snacks and beer had kicked in and the bloggers were socialising off line in loud voices! I was getting cold feet, which would have been good if I was outside in the heat, but I was in this crowded lounge/bar!

Then it was my turn! To cut to the chase I had a blast! Thanks mum and dad for shoving me on stage at 6! I love it! Did some crowd banter and then, of course, the accents never fail me! Had these chits and got some ‘chit pickers’ (Yeh, that’s what I called them!) pick out accents from a bag! Then of course someone said (shouted actually! Two beers down!)) “What about an English accent!” I took off ! Off the cuff and lotsa fun.

I believe everyone there enjoyed it as much as I did! It was ‘good’ for all us! Even if the earth did not move for most! Made many new ‘fraands’ and I look forward to getting in touch with them on FB as I am a terrible twit and don’t tweet much! Thanks bloggers for inspiring me to ‘wake up’! Catch you all some time!

2011-10-15T19:19:00.001+05:30

I always wonder where to start when I restart….i guess it’s the starting that is difficult…so here goes.

Oliver the musical in chandigarh…first run-through today…went better than expected…the months of on and off travel and work to chandigarh paid off!....the hospitality was unparalleled…the kids worked hard…some amazing talent discovered…always so rewarding as only we teachers know…that moment when u see growth in someone…and watch the fruition of months of labour…the train journeys to and fro have been good…the train samosas memorable…although not always for the right reasons…and more for the resulting flatulence…the late arrivals into delhi…and later ones when the train gets stuck at sadar bazar for half an hour…on a three and a half hour journey!...the decisions…meru cab or auto rickshaw?...to pay and travel or argue and bargain…the home comings…the re packing for the next trip…the goodbyes….worth it…the show is next weekend…I feel content and confident…I love what I do…

the big five-oh!

2011-08-16T09:28:00.000+05:30

There has to be a website to help restart a blog…I mean where do you pick up from…so much happens and I forget to write…so now…do I just go on?

I am now 50!...the big five oh!...do I feel any different?...of course I do!...not what u expected right?...i got to be on stage on my 50th…how cool is that?...a blessing from the almighty that I am where I am and am doing what I enjoy…a sign from HIM…..TARAMANDAL…my labour of love with a great group of actors and a sweetheart of a director…and probably the best performance ever …on my birthday….

Called a group of old and new friends and had a catered lunch (thankfully not expensive and the yummiest food for a long time….not cooked by me!) in a basement in the main church (cathedral) of delhi….Was so difficult not calling some people but where do I draw the line?...always a difficult proposition that I am sure I shall be forgiven for by the ones who were not there….and I hope to keep being mentioned in prayers and good wishes…it was amazing to meet some older friends…and also to see the various pages of my life come together…

Some day I will sit and write about our Easter Abu trip and the suitcase getting left on the train to Ahmedabad…my visit to Srinagar to do Annie the musical in a school there with kids who had never doen anything of the kind and yet shone….of the great people and food of Kashmir…of great friends made…and enjoyable times had…some day…maybe…till then?...adieu…have a great day!...