Raindrop

Yajnaseni & Others

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 22:59:15 PST

Book Cover credits applicable here

Yajnaseni is the story of Draupadi who was born of the sacrificial altar, written by Sahitya Akademi Award winning Pratibha Ray in Oriya. The English translation is a bit hairsplittingly bookish but the content of the novel holds good on its own for you to be captivated by the strong characterisation and flow of Draupadi's life. I wish I could read Oriya as the translations never do justice to the original text.

It deviates from the original storyline in probably only 2 or three minor aspects wherein she is portrayed to have a soft corner for Karna and an infatuation for her sakha Krishna. The way it is woven, it seamlessly appears believable because somewhere deep down we can relate with the human depiction of her spiritual fascination with Lord Krishna, jealousy for Subhadra and Hidimba, sympathy for Karna, restrained respect for Kunti, dealing with five husbands who have difficult natures to please; anguish, helplessness and a quiet submission to fate despite having been a firebrand princess who doesn't hesitate to state the truth.

I bought this book six months back. When I started reading it, I was full of apprehensions. I had just finished a book on Oriya short stories. Most of the stories had a sad ending. So, to pick up another literary gem from Oriya literature needed courage. I found the way Draupadi explaines how the world saw her as a beauty to be a bit unabashedly outrageous. Which royal woman talks like, "people equated my thighs with the trunks of soft plantain trees" in first person? But as I read on, everything made sense. I am halfway through and can totally understand why this book is an award winner.

This is a book one must read if one is interested in the socio-political thread that runs through the whole fabric of Mahabharat. Especially gender dynamics and challanges of womanhood. Other three books which see the great epic from different individual and ethnic viewpoints are -

'The Second Turn' by M.T. Vasudevan Nair. Originally written in Malayalam as 'Randamoozam', it is the retelling of Mahabharat from the viewpoint of Bhima, the second Pandav brother.

'Triumph Over Death' by Shivaji Sawant. Originally written in Marathi as 'Mrityunjay', is based on Karna.

'Parva' by S.L. Bhyrappa in Kannada. Tanslated in over 7 languages it also won Sahitya Akademi Award for translation for K. Raghavendra Rao. The uniqueness of this book lies in the 'monologue style' where few principal characters of the epic narrate it from their points of view.

All these four derivatives are masterpieces in their own right.

(Note : This post doesn't talk about innumerable re-tellings of Mahabharata. Only the books which bring in a fresh new perspective by weaving a storyline on individual characters have been mentioned here. If you know of any such books, please do tell me about them. Would love to read.)

Hands Up

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 06:06:37 PST

The moment anyone says 'Hands Up', an image of someone holding a firearm at a bank robbery crosses my mind. This image of someone holding a gun to your back at point blank and asking you to raise your hands is so etched in our minds that I forget endless hours of punishment (for constantly talking while the class was on) where I had to kneel down and hold my hands up in school.

Another memory of holding our hands high were the weekly yoga lessons in school. While doing 'tadasana/urdhva hastasana', "Stretch them high enough to touch the sky", our teacher used to say. It increases blood circulation in the body by giving the vital organs free space to work more efficiently, they preached as we stood on our toes, trying to reach the ceiling if not the sky

Then there is the Mexican wave. A totally different version of 'hands up'. Adrenalin, happiness, jubilation!

Kavita Dwibedi & team performing at DODACON 2012

Yesterday I saw another example of 'hands up'. I saw a beautiful Odissi dance recital by Kavita Dwibedi. The theme of one of the dances was 'Draupadi Vastraharana' where Draupadi is being forcefully disrobed in a court full of Kings, courtiers and relatives after she was dragged around with force by pulling her hair.

Dushassana kept unwrapping Draupadi and she helplessly sought the help of all elders, her husbands, her in-laws and all present in the court by pleading with one hand and clutching her saree with the other, no one came forward to help her.

She even falls down on the feet of her aggressors. They just laugh and continue stripping her.
She is humiliated beyond words.


Draupadi calling out to Krishna - A madhubani painting

She closes her eyes. Folds her hands and prays to Lord Krishna. After salutations to him, she throws up both her hands in despair and lets this heinous act continue without any resistance from her anymore.

That is when Lord Krishna comes to her rescue by miraculously extending her saree into reams which Dusshasana gets tired of pulling and finally gives up.

Most of the Indians know this story but very few are aware that as per the legend, only when Draupadi throws up both her hands in surrender does she get help. Why didn't Krishna help her before? Why didn't she get help when she pleaded. Why only when she gave up?

What is it with us and raising our hands up in praise, prayer, surrender, happiness? Abandonment or submission, it does give us a sense of letting go. A sense of release. It symbolises our connect with forces outside of us for help or expression. Hence the hands up I guess.

But whenever we are scared, worried, thoughtful, ashamed etc., we want to curl up. That is for affirmation, expression for seeking of help from within. That is a whole different story about why we curl up?

Note: This Madhubani painting is courtesy dollsofindia.com

Secret Language

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 10:17:41 PST

I wish there were a language so secret that only me and the universe understood it. So that I could put it forth without the worry of anyone interpreting it in their own way to mean what their minds want it to mean.

Dear Universe,

I just sent out a whole lot of thoughts to you. Hope you get them in their purest form.
No questions, no answers, no complaints, no gratitude. I just wanted to communicate. That's all.
Going to sleep now. Talk to me in my dreams.

From Me.

Man in an expensive coat

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 20:22:27 PST

“Will you please pass my empty Pepsi can and sandwich pack to her”, I asked my husband so that he could give them to be put into the collection bag the air hostess held in the aisle. He was uncomfortably parked between a sleepy me in the window seat and a very sophisticated man in the aisle seat. It was 3:00pm.

He picked up my empty sandwich box and passed it over to the air-hostess. As she took the contents, a few residual drops of Pepsi fell out of the can on the man in the aisle seat.

Hubby took out his handkerchief and apologised profusely. The man didn't turn around. Hubby tried to dab it with his hanky, the man refused the help (still not making any eye contact). The air-hostess handed the man some tissues. He began cleaning the spillage (which I am sure was not more than 5 or 7 drops max). We tried to apologise once again but he didn’t turn around and never spoke to us in the whole journey. He looked extremely disgusted with us.

We felt bad for having spoilt his coat with our drops of Pepsi. But after sometime I got thinking. (In the meanwhile I checked the brand; it was a Pringles’ and most probably a merino jacket)

What was this man so uptight about? Was it a very expensive coat (around $400 - $500 I guess) that had sustained irreparable damages? Or was it the fact that it came from us who looked dishevelled and not so proper as we had been travelling for 300 kms since 4:00am? I know we were at fault but did it really merit such behaviour from a fellow passenger? We didn't expect him to turn around and smile or say, “Oh it is ok. It happens” and felt awful about the way he ignored our apologies.

What was it that made him sulk for the next two hours, harbour negativity within and make such a herculean effort to avoid eye contact with two people crammed so close to him?

I am home now. Safely tucked in my razai. Surrounded by all things precious to me which I am sure will get damaged at some point or the other, sooner or later. I still cannot understand why was he so terribly annoyed? And why am I thinking about it so much?

Episodes like these always remind me of ‘The Eternal Lightness of Being’ by Milan Kundera. A book I never understood when I read it but over the years it has slowly shaped the way I think.

I will let that man out of my head now but I do thank him. For, he has reminded me that next time someone steps on my prized Sambalpuri saree, I must make an attempt to address the person first and the tear later.

Life Saver Ad

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 22:51:16 PST

We were in Nawalgarh last week. A little getaway time we got for ourselves which we grabbed.

Nawalgarh is a small town (could be called a big village) full of narrow gullies and beautiful old havelis in the state of Rajasthan. A walk in the market takes you at least 60-70 years back. We stayed in a resort. We did nothing but laze around. We loved the lawns and the sun so much that we could be found there from 10:30 am to 4:30 pm reading books, having our meals, listening to Pallaji (a folk singer), getting Mehendi on hands etc etc.

Some of the local TV channels were fun to watch. One such channel was dishing out a time-streaked print of a movie we both liked. The movie was interspersed with cable ads. Some of them were of very poor quality. Some were just photographs strewn together by a decent narrator. No dhinchak graphics. No especially recorded background music. No deep baritone voice-over. No taam-jhaam generally one would associate with an ad.

One such ad of 'Jangid Hospital' made me smile. Maybe it had something to do with the name or the way they droned about the facilities and doctors available, dispensary and other machines in a hurried monotone. I saw it and was reminded of the other tastefully made Hospital ad that I had mentioned in my earlier post. What a stark difference.

I didn't think much of it and started ordering my dinner. Hubby wasn't hungry. The Aloo Tikkis and Bhelpuri of the evening were still sitting packed in his stomach. He asked for a Digene. I said I will get it from the front office after ordering my dinner. He insisted I get it right away. He generally isn't that way so I walked upto the reception area.

When I came back, I saw the door ajar. He was on the bed. He asked me to get the front office staff to get him a Disprin and a Sorbitrate. Till then I wasn't worried but now I was. I asked him what happened. He complained of chest pain.

We were in the middle of nowhere. All the doctors in Rajasthan in government hospitals were on a strike. There was no way any chemist shop would be open at 10:30 pm in this sleepy town. I cursed myself for two things - one not being able to drive our car and two for not having Digene, Disprin and Sorbitrate in our first aid box. If there ever was a Worst Informed Doctor's Wife Award, I would be the honourable claimant I am sure. We didn't know where to go.

Suddenly Partha remembered the 'Jangid Hospital' ad which had mentioned clearly the exact location, the doctors available, that there was an ECG machine there and a small dispensary. One of the Hotel reception boys was with us who guided us to the location. We reached there at 11:00 pm (can never forgive myself for the fact that Partha had to drive in those gullies in that condition in the dead of the night). By the time we reached, his pain had eased and it was clear that it was a case of gastric trouble but he didn't want to take any chances. We got an ECG done and bought the medicines we wanted from the dispensary.

We had both learnt important lessons in life.

Now in the comfort our house when I look back, I shudder to think what could have happened and if it wasn't for that obscure little ad on cable TV, we would be running around looking for a hospital around midnight. Now this is what a hospital ad should be able to do - save patients by giving them exact information they need - not just make one feel good ad as a brand building exercise which does nothing for the patients.

Their ad was a life saver

The Inside Story

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 08:01:29 PST

These days I steer clear of any conversation which even as much as hints at discussing marital details of other people. There is no point. There are only four possibilities.

One - They are in love and have decided to stay together and grey together.

Two - They are not in love but find each other bearable enough to stick it out together for the rest of their lives for the sake of convenience, parents, children and some fondness for each other which is natural when you have spent a considerable amount of time with each other.

Three - They are in love but are ever evolving. They outgrow that fondness and find other things that mean more to them. Sooner or later they will part ways.

Four - They are not in love. They realised it but tried to make it work just for the sake of it. They will part ways sooner.

Beyond these four situations everything else is just a permutation and combination of the real life situations and what they project. People will get angry, fight, cajole, kiss, fight again, throw a fit, blame etc etc. but more often than not, they will make up. One can never really know the dynamics within. In fact I know of two diametrically opposite situations which make it very clear that you can never really know the inside story unless you are one of those two.

Situation 1 (happens all the time) -

A and B are madly in love and get married at the earliest. Slowly get to know each other and realise that they are very different people. A tries to keep B happy. Goes out of the way to do things for B. B is demanding. Never happy. A gives up. B realises this and tries to soften up. Tries mending ways. But A has already given up. Now B goes out of the way to do things for A. A isn't keen on relenting. B gives up. A realises this. Softens the stance so that B may try to make inroads again. But B has given up. A tries to woo B back. B is not interested. A goes an extra mile than B had. B is still not happy. This goes on. In the end, even though A and B have gone a long long way to keep each other happy, it simply doesn't work. Blame game begins.

Situation 2 (happens, yes it does) -
Imagine A and B cannot stand each other. They are separated. Their divorce is just about to come through. Both eagerly await the day they will be free of each other. Then one day, calamity strikes. A is dead. Just like that. Out of the blue. A is dead. The world doesn't know what was cooking between them. B keeps up a brave front in the public eye. Looks crestfallen (maybe B is truly sad but you never know). B is the center of limelight and is portrayed as the epitome of valour and composure. Goes home with all the money, fame and sympathy. A's bereaving parents are left alone and penniless . B goes and marries C.

Seriously, who is to say if A is to be blamed or B or just the situation itself? I have come to a conclusion that unless there is a case of gross violence or abuse, it is best not to judge and use superlatives of any kind when you come across a couple who is having a rough time. They will tide over it. Everyone has their own way of dealing with their spouse. You will be surprised how quickly they make up while you worry about giving them a solution.

(Why did I write this post today? It is because I came across an old newspaper clipping wherein lay buried some half truths which look like different ends of the spectrum to people who know the real story and those who don't.)

All you do is smile when you know...

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 07:29:19 PST

Recently I saw an advertisment. It was a beautiful television ad. Very tastefully made. It was about a patient. The filmmaker had taken great pride in having made it (very rightly so). The Client (a very renowned Hospital) had been kind enough not to bombard it with brand logos. The creative agency had been subtle enough to not overdo the 'human touch' element. Everything was perfect!!

Once those few seconds are over, you smile to yourself thinking of the very famous Hospital. You smile because you know the real administrators and doctors who are running it like a business. You know how the business of saving lives that is thriving behind all that glass and chrome, is run. You know the details of what could easily be termed 'criminal' if it ever comes down to pure ethics. But they know that this film is definitely going to increase their 'sales' figures (or whatever their income terms are) henceforth. They wait with a bated breath for tomorrow.

You smile because you know exactly what is going through the filmmakers mind. You know how they are waiting for it to be aired so that they can put the director's cut on the top in their showreel, ASAP. They wait with bated breath for tomorrow's release schedule.

You smile because you know how eagerly a bunch of the creative agency guys are waiting for Company's commercial director's approval on the 'awards budgets' so that they can send their entry into various categories. They wait for tomorrow with a bated breath.

You know that the media plans have worked because the 'Client' has informed the Media Agency of their rising diagnostic graph. Faint hearted suspects who watch particular programs on TV with clockwork punctuality are lining up outside their OPDs and Labs, as a preventive measure of course. They are waiting for their lab reports, without knowing how they make up for such a huge database.

You know that the legal department who has run the fine print of the ad copy through tooth & comb is smiling because they have managed to be absolutely non-committal. They are hoping against hope that no one should point a fingure at them for any unreasonable claims tomorrow. They wait with a bated breath.

You smile because you know that the only one person who is unaffected by all this is the lead of the film because he/she has a long long battle to fight ahead. He/She knows it could all be over if things don't go well. He/She is the only one living the day to the fullest! (I just hope and pray that they have not used a model to play the character, which is not quite uncommon considering the past records of testimonial ads).

This is how all the Hospital, Insurance, Bank, Courier etc. ads make you feel.

You smile when you look at them and quietly say "Liars" in your heart.

Petrol Pump Geese

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 02:32:54 PST

People don't swerve their vehicles into this petrol pump. They slow down, crane out of their windows and once they are sure that nothing is in the way, make way for the oil stand. Some even pray that it should be their lucky day so that they can sppt the famous 'petrol pump geese'. It was my lucky day today.

The Bharat Petroleum Filling Station at Race Course in New Delhi has adopted a few geese. They have even made a little pond for them and people are more than welcome to come and play with them. Some days the whole flock decides to visit the actual fuel dispensing area. No one stops them. Instead, they make way for them and watch them with utmost awe as they quack along inspecting everything that is going on all around. They are not to be fed by the passers by.

Sometimes, one of them gets fascinated by a fancy car/children or a specific sound. It is so beautiful to watch the lone admirer break away from the group and reach out for what has caught its interest. The one that I saw today was captivated by a parked car which had some children in it. The children couldn't help but shriek in amusement which drew the goose nearer. Just as it was about to get too close for comfort the driver started the vehicle and drove away. The goose straightened its neck to the max as if trying to see them off and the children waved back until they could see it no longer. Such a pretty sight!

These geese don't cross the road. They don't even cross over to the neighbouring HPCL pump. What brand loyalty I say :)

Once their day out is over, they head back for the pond where they enjoy the winter sun, paddling away to their heart's content. This has been going on for many many years.

I had always heard about this. Finally saw them today.
Totally worth the wait!!!

Ducks at Bharat Petroleum Pump at Race Course, New Delhi

Diabetes, my foot!

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 00:47:38 PST

"Don't have sweets, you will get diabetes", this threatening statement has absolutely no effect on children who are born to diabetic parents. They know, sooner or later diabetes is going to catch up with them and they will have to give up sweets anyway. So, might as well make the most of the time their blood sugar is hammocking between the lullaby levels of 80-110 mg/dL.

When I was 5 or 6 yrs old I remember hopping across to neighbouring gardens to pluck periwinkle flowers for my mother. They were magic flowers that were going to help my mother be cured of a disease she had. As I grew up I was to pick wood apples, bitter gourd, Tulasi, Neem etc for her to eat as various stages. She seemed pretty OK to me but for her abstinence from sugar and rice. Neither did I know that what she had was hereditary, nor did I care. But yes me and my borther enjoyed giving her the insulin shots. She could bribe us into doing any chore by saying, "I will let you give me an injection if you do what I say".

Nobody tells children about the family tree and how each leaf befell. When it was my turn to know how my maternal grandfather died, I was shocked to hear that it all started with a wound on his heel. My limited higher secondary knowledge refused to accept that someone could die of a small wound, that too on the farthest corner of your body - the feet.

I was warned about my love for cakes and chocolates. "Your grandfather died because of diabetes. Your mother and Uncle have it. You should be very careful", I have heard this so often that I had a blindspot for it.

I heard a similar statement last week. Many years and many warnings later, I was a bit worried. I have seen my mother leave us after years of dialysis and a foot ailment. My younger brother is severely diabetic too. So it is easy to scare me these days.

I was feeling weak and had all the symptoms last week. We decided to go in for a blood test. I always boasted of enviable blood sugar levels. So what was it this time that got to my nerves? It was fear of the inevitable.

Someone who was diabetic and had been admitted to the hospital with a foot wound passed away the day I went for my blood test. It wasn't easy for me to stop thinking 'what if I am diabetic too'. For the first time I was scared about my blood report. I even let my husband polish off the whole box of 'gajar ka halwa' that day without as much of a whimper of resentment. I was going to be careful about not hurting my feet (I have this phobia that diabetes+hurt foot = death).

God bless Dr. Arti who told us on the phone that I was still in the pink of my health. I can eat what I want :)

Now dare anyone tell me not to binge on chocolates and cakes. Dare anyone say, "You will get diabetes".

Diabetes, my foot!!!

Monkey Cap

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 23:05:35 PST

It is that time of the year when layers of warm clothes and caps are a necessity.

I have been into water slides in amusement parks. Had hour long brain MRIs. Been stuck in pitch dark rooms without light. Travelled in Mumbai local trains in peak hours. Gone scuba diving. But nothing makes me as uncomfortable as a monkey cap does. Claustriphobic suffocation at its best. I don't know why but I feel so whenever I wear it that I end up having a headache and can't wait to get it off. But unfortunately, it provides the best protection against Delhi winters. Especially when you go to sleep and all other caps threaten to slip off and freeze you out of your REM, a monkey cap is faithful to you like a soldier.

I don't like it but here begins my yearly two month affair with the Monkey Caps.

My Role Model

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 01:13:53 PST

"Who is your role model/who do you want to be like when you grow up?"

I have been plagued by this question since childhood. I wouldn't say I didn't look up to anyone. I did. There were many people I admired. But I have never been in awe of anyone or felt like "I want to be 'this' person when I grow up".

So, to get rid of such queries I would give run of the mill tolerable answers like, "I want to be like my father" or inconclusive ones like, "I just want to be a doctor". I knew I would become neither. I also knew what not to say. I never took the names of Mother Teresa or Mahatma Gandhi. Beauty pageants had demonstrated how unarguably fake saying so sounded.

When you have lived half your life without a role model, you eventually stop looking for them.

But the last two moths have been somewhat of a revelation.

I am finally in awe of someone!!!

I always thought it would be a filmmaker. It isn't!
I have fallen in love with Kalidas. The Sanskrit poet & dramatist from an era I so wish I was born in.

The more I read his work, the more I close my eyes to take in this feeling of floating mid-air, in appreciation of every verse I finish. The similes, the metaphors, the imagery, the grasp over facts and sheer sensitivity make you wonder how could any writer be so knowledgeable and gifted, almost 2000 years back?

Nothing is known about him as a person. There are scholastic differences about the period he lived in (around 4 CE) or where he lived (Ujjain or Sri Lanka). We don't know anything for sure about his family, appearance or life.Yet his work says it all. It lives. Little things that fascinated me as I read along are listed here:

1. The slight chip/crack in the vermilion 'tilak' on her forehead is a sign that she has disguised her anger and frown well. (Chapter IV, Malvikagnimitram)
-What an observation :)

2. Indumati is like the traveling light on a highway. It is her Swayamwar. The rows of kings are like the palaces across the highway which are illuminated (with hope) as she approaches them but silently fade into darkness (of gloom) when she walks past without selecting them. (Chapter VI, Raghuvamsham)

3. When you decide to meet your beloved's friend hoping that your beloved will accompany her and you will be able to get a glimpse of her, you are disappointed when she doesn't come along. It is just like making a trip to see the Sangam hoping to catch a glimpse of the mighty Ganga but you get to see only the Yamuna in the beginning. (Chapter II, Vikramorvashiyam)

4. Always accompany your loved ones upto the first water source if they are going away on an unknown journey. (Chapter IV, Abhigyan Shakuntalam)

5. Being a King is like carrying an umbrella in the sun. The effort of carrying it around is much more than the comfort it provides. (Chapter V, Abhigyan Shakuntalam)

6. A renouncer sees a person immersed in sensory hedonism and feels exactly the way a freshly bathed person would feel upon seeing a person covered in oil. (Chapter V, Abhigyan Shakuntalam)

7. A king should be like the Southern Winds, neither sweltering nor freezing. (Chapter IV, Raghuvamsham)

8. Anger has a shelf life only till the other person doesn't give in. (Chapter IV, Raghuvamsham)

9. Old age had announced itself by humbly coming close and whispering near his ears. (Chapter XII, Raghuvamsham)
- What a way to convey that he had started greying :)

10. Other instances wherein various details of season (misty eyes like the winter moon which is forever seen through the haze of the dewdrops), geography (an account of flora/fauna/soil of across India including Arunachal and Manipur, in Raghuvamsham), aerial view (exact mapping of the separation of Gulf of Mannar & Palk Strait) etc. leaves me spellbound.

I am yet to read Meghdootam, Ritusamhara and Kumarasambhava.

There is sooooooo much I feel like underlining in all those books and sharing with everyone. What a pity! I finally found a role model and somewhere deep down I know, I can never be like him.

I can only hope and pray to be inspired by him.

Two Extra Hours A Day - True Story

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 00:19:14 PST

My friend Soniya and I have a lot in common. The only thing we do not share is that she has wonderful parenting skills and I have none. Her son Arun is in Std XIIth.

He is busy running from class to class, tuitions to tuitions, alongwith managing school and other co-curricular activities. If he makes it to a good professional college, this is probably the last year Soniya, her husband and her son will live together as a family unit.

It was his birthday a few days back. She wanted to gift him something that he really really wanted.

He was getting dressed for school when she asked him what he wanted for his birthday.

He looked startled. He was a bit confused as he hadn't thought of anything. He continued tying his shoe laces and sighed, "I wish you could make the day have one extra hour so that I didn't have to rush everywhere". She looked at him and sighed back,"I wish I could do that for you and have an extra hour for myself too." She teaches the senior secondary in the same school and finds it next to impossible to do anything without rushing from one task to the other, in the light of the new education norms.

Spending time with each other is a luxury these days. Enough extra time to be able to sit at peace with oneself and 'just be' is good enough.

If I get two extra hours a day, I will gift one to Soniya and one to Arun.

(Real names have been changed.)

I met Gita Saar

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 20:49:24 PST

Anyone who has read Gita Saar (Essence of the Holy Bhagvad Gita) knows the following line from it:

What is yours today, belonged to someone else yesterday and shall belong to someone else tomorrow.

It is nice to have this up on the Facebook status once in a while or preach it to a youngster. But when it comes to imbibing the essense and embodying the same, I hadn't met anyone who was able to do so in real life. I always assumed it would be someone who had renounced the world and was on his/her way to the Himalayas.

So, imagine my surprise when I met Dr. Anne Hilty a few years back, a Health Psychology practitioner from New York who was traveling the world in the quest which she best described as 'I am searching for home'. Where you feel at home need not necessarily be where you were born or you lived. She had travelled half way across the world and had stopped in India before she went ahead.

My first reaction was, "How strange it is to leave a roaring practice of 15 years in New York to go looking for peace and home like this. These Americans I tell you." But as I got to know her over the couple of days she spent at my place in Mumbai, I knew there was something different about her. She also changed the way I made sweeping statements about Americans.

One day she asked me, "Here are some of my clothes I want to give away. Can you paas them onto someone who might be able to use them?" I hoped to find old and worn out clothes. I was wrong again. She was giving away everything that she had. She called it 'divesting'. I was touched. I passed on everything she had asked me to give away, except a pair of black trousers. They were too good to be passed on. Unfortunately, I don't fit into them. Tad bit tight for me. I hung them in my cupboard. They keep a check on me every time I want to go berserk buying clothes that I don't need.

She was meant to stop by to share an important lesson which I had been chanting since childhood but never could practice. To give up everything you have and start all over again, again and again in a new place, is something I am yet to even think about, let alone do it.

Anne Hilty

She has finally found 'home' in Jeju Island in the Republic of Korea. It is a treat to read her articles on the deep sea women Divers 'Jeju Diving Women', Shamanism 'Beyond Tangerines and Palm Trees' etc.

You can read more about her on Anne Hilty - Psychologist & Writer. Her research interests include the balance of societal change with cultural preservation, women's empowerment and eco-feminism, deep ecology, shamanism as indigenous psychology, and the healing of trauma in post-conflict societies. She is currently pursuing a secondary specialization in peace psychology.

Why did I feel like writing about her right now???

Because she just went and 'divested' once again while I shopped like mad for Diwali.

Apples & Oranges

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Sun, 02 Oct 2011 21:54:52 PDT

"You got good marks in Science. You must take Science as your main Subject." Dad said as I held my Std. Xth marksheet.

"I got good marks in English, Hindi and Social Studies too", I tried to justify.

"No no, you must opt for Science and Mathematics in Higher Senior Secondary. You are lucky to have got good marks in both Maths & Science in Std Xth. This way you can either be an Engineer or a Doctor when you pass out Std XIIth. You will have a choice", he continued.

"But look at my marks in Hindi. I got the highest in my class. If I don't take Humanities (those days it was simply called 'Arts'), I will never study Hindi any further. I want to take Hindi or English Elective." I countered.

Prose, Poetry and History were something I looked forward to.

"That is the beauty of taking Science my child. If you don't get into Medical or Engineering colleges, you can always go and join a bachelor's degree in any Arts college. But if you take Humanities now, you are closing the doors for anything to do with science in your life. Why do you want to do that?" He rationalised.

This was simple logic. I agreed.
I got stuck with science.

I always wondered why was I drawn more to ancient times. Workings of human mind. Prose. Poetry. Historical factsheets appealed more to me than empirical formulae. Period epics were anyday preferred over the preiodic table. No wonder I don't remember andthing of my Chemistry Honour's degree.

It has been over 20 years since I gave up studying the subjects of my choice. I could never understand why I never wanted to invent anything or try and make anything new. I loved to discover things. Always interested in wondering how and why something happened, not in how and why one can make them happen.

The joy of discovery was sudden, exponential and totally rewarding.

They joy of invention was like the culmination of longdrawn expectations and hard work. Couldn't invoke that sense of 'starry eyed' awe in me.

Apple by choice and Oranges by profession. Funny fruit salad.

Birthday Barometer

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 22:08:32 PDT

Courtship period is the childhood of any relationship. Not so much for its infancy but for the way we longingly recount it with wistful absent mindedness time and again.

It is during this period that lazes around a moment which makes you look at the person in front of you and go ‘Ohhh I am falling in love with this person’. You slither down an imaginary water slide. Nobody can stop you. Not even you yourself. A movie that has come close to beautifully depicting this feeling is ‘Fatal Attraction’ when Michael Douglas tells Glen Close of an incident when he had gone to see the opera ‘Madame Butterfly’ as a kid. You almost blurt her sentiments out for her, when she looks at him over a cup of coffee.

This moment of ‘I am falling in love with this person’ can strike you any place, anytime.

It struck me when my boyfriend of a few months told me about how he had a friend who had lost a loved one and how our man had arranged for a joyride in a chartered plane for her at the cost of people assuming that she was his girlfriend.

‘He is such a nice guy. So thoughtful. Life with him is going to be such bliss’; I said to myself and slipped down the water slide. That is the moment etched in my mind when I fell in love with my future husband.

First Birthday together. We were single, living in different cities. He decided to pay me a visit. I kept waiting for a gift not realising that the meeting itself was the gift. I hid my disappointment of not getting anything on my birthday well. Didn’t mention it to him. Acted like his visit was more than anything I could ask for.

Second birthday together. We were six months into our marriage. My first birthday as a married woman. I waited for him to surprise me with thoughtful acts of chivalry. Nothing notable happened that day. The only special thing I remember was that my ma-in-law gave me a ‘haathbaxa –small wooden box to keep jewellery’. This time we were close enough and I told him that I was disappointed.

Third birthday together. I got a lot of flowers, cakes and congratulatory phone calls. He has nice friends. They always remember each other birthdays and make it a point to make the birthday person feel special. He took me out for a movie. By now I wasn’t expecting any out-of-the-box thoughtful gesture and he had explained to me that he saw everyday as alike. He loved me the same every day and he would take care of me the same every day. No more, no less on special days. This was a 'rock solid bond' and I shouldn't look for reassurances at every step.

My fourth birthday with him. I didn’t expect much. I didn’t get much. If I think back to as far as I remember, it can be counted as one of the worst birthdays of my life.

I yearned for someone to surprise me, make me feel special and if possible ‘pamper me mad and not get angry with me’ just for 24 hours. It wasn't meant to be so.

I thought if ‘how your birthdays are spent’ is a reflection of what you mean to your spouse then I was in big trouble. How could that be? He had just taken me to Andaman’s for our Anniversary. Got me pea-fowl feathers one evening. Takes me out for long drives. Gives me the freedom to do what I want. Treats my friends so well. He does these nice things but for my Birthday….they are as non-existent as ever.

I was busy thinking all this when September 10^th arrived. My mother’s birthday. We lost her in 2008. I called up Dad. “Baba Aai’s birthday today….what’s for lunch?” I thought they would have made something she liked. “Ohh..haan…ummm…acchhaa….good you reminded me….I will see,” he replied. He had forgotten her birthday. His wife of 35 years whom he loved so dearly and took care of when she was bedridden for 5 years before she left us. He had forgotten her birthday. There was no way I was going to question his love for her.

I see what my husband means now.

Birthdays should never be used as measuring scales to gauge how precious you are to someone. These things cannot be quantified. Coz here, the total is always greater than the sum of the parts. Or so one would like to think. There alone lies peace and solace.

ऐसा थोड़े ही होता है (it doesn't happen like that)

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 00:10:57 PDT

I am not used to having the TV remote to myself. I had the chance last week. There was no mode of transport, laptop, internet or husband around. Me and the TV became very good friends. I thanked the emotional immediacy it provided by merely being around, without asking for anything from me. Expecially in the night when reasons begin to clamour and every sound is magnified to its demonish magnificence.

On one such night I began watching an eposide of 'Grey's Anatomy'. We never see it when my husband is around. This is something about doctors that I don't understand. They don't want to watch movies or soaps about other doctors. They always look at it realistically and say 'ऐसा थोड़े ही होता है' (it doesn't happen like that).

I watched on regardless. In one of the episode, a pregnant lady (Callie) gets into an accident and is rushed for an operation. As they are wheeling her in, she comes out of her own body and starts singing. One by one other doctors are singing as the operation is going on. All the operatic drama ends when life resumes its rhythm and Callie is back to consciousness (in a Hindi soap this would have qualified for a jubilant relative running out of the recovery room screaming 'उसे होश आ गया है' mimicking a shrill falsetto).

This person coming out of her body and breaking into a song would have made me go 'uuugghhh' at the creative liberties taken. But it didn't. It took me back to the times when I had just regained consciousness after a seven hour long operation.

There a song 'Tumhe aaj maine Jo dekha' from a movie called 'Kuch na Kaho' (I have never seen the fiilm, nor did I have prior association with it ever) kept running in my mind. It was as if I was standing and looking at myself being wheeled out of the OT on the beats of this song.

Doors being flung open...me swaying from side to side as if I am I am on the lower side berth of a superfast train....a young trainee holding me still in the side position so that the back doesn't touch the bed....a doctor shouting at him for not doing it properly.....'LD Flap LD Flap' he kept uttering in a loop....warm fluid running out of the corner of my mouth even though I could feel no sensation....wires stemming out as body extensions and attached to some beeping screens....lying with eyes closed even after regaining consciousness...the herculean effort that opening those eyes was (eyelids had vaccumed shut for the lack of any eyelash).....knowing that dad is waiting there with bated breath for me to open my eyes....the guilt of not wanting him to be the first person I wanted to see when I open my eyes....the pangs of not finding the person I wanted to see around....being extremely thirsty....dad requesting the night doc...finally being allowed to get a few ice cubes to be placed on my lips....a teenaged boy admitted on the bed next to mine that night....screen being pulled around him...machines brought in....doctors shouting something about 'adrenaline'.....him being declared dead....other doctors leaving....his father crying and asking the duty doctor 'how can he be dead.....he is still breathing'.....the doc saying 'it is just the machine hiss...he is gone....we take him off the macine and he won't be breathing'.....the boy, the father the machine being taken away at some point in the night.....my father peeping in from the door to see if I was being given the ice cubes (he wasn't allowed inside)....that night was probably the longest night I ever had....waiting for morning.....knowing that there definitely will be a morning even though the night seems endless.......the restlessness of the mind in a still body (truly understood the book 'Diving Bell & The Butterfly' that night)

My body or mind didn't feel, hear or experience these things. I was watching all this as a third person right next to myself....all strung together to the tunes of a song I didn't even like.

So next time you feel like saying 'ऐसा थोड़े ही होता है'.....pause....maybe things like that do happen. Imagination is one thing but Art does immitate life. Maybe sometimes ऐसा होता है........

(Note - It has been 6 years but all I had to do was look up the song on youtube and close my eyes. I was sitting on that slab again....seeing all this crisply edited to the beats of 'Tumhe Aaj Maine Jo Dekha')

Disconnected in the times of 3G

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 01:04:06 PDT

What is that sinking feeling called when you feel inferior not for the lack of anything but when you feel that instead of friends meeting after a long time, a few gadgets are getting together and discussing their tech specs?

That is how I felt last evening.

I didn't meet people. I met an ipad, a Dell Streak, a Kindle and a Samsung Galaxy. I stands for a Nokia E63 here.

How are you? How is your wife? How are the children? Tell me about your new job? This is what I would have wanted to ask. Instead, the conversations revolved mostly around what each gadget can or cannot do.

Aren't these machines meant to connect us more?
Why did I feel so disconnected?

Why do I have to justify why I went for a Samsung Netbook instead of a tab when they cost almost the same? How should it matter if one person knows how to convert a .mobi file into a pdf? Why is it so difficult to fathom that I don't want to use pushmail even if my phone supports it? How it cost 100 USD just for the ipad cover etc etc!!! I undersatand one must know about these things and be technologically updated. In fact I am thankful to them for introducing me to things I din't know. But to just go on and on about it....it drained me of any will to talk further.

When I sit with Iru or Anagha, I don't remember me bragging about how the complex video editing softwares work or them bragging about their imacs. We talk about us. Our families. What drives us at work. What pulls us back. Our travels. Movies. Food. Books. So much to share and enrich.

I felt very out of place yesterday. Whatever happened to being happy for the other person just coz you feel happy that your friend has purchased a new gadget and not because how you have a better one?

Maybe things would have been different if I had mentioned that I am planning to buy a 12 core Mac Pro soon. But I was not me yesterday. I was a mere Nokia E 63 without 3G who couldn't even open the GPS map that one of the friends had sent as the pickup location.

How to Play the Bansuri (Indian Flute) - Youtube Videos

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 10:19:38 PDT

Introduction to Bansuri

How to choose a Flute for yourself

Types of Flutes

The Sur

Exercises & Basic Lessons

Playing in Concert Pattern

All the other Ragas you can get it when you view the channel itself.

Welcome in Uniform - Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Thu, 11 Aug 2011 23:34:49 PDT

Jamnagar

When you think of a squadron, you imagine it brimming with fighter pilots in aviator shades. They sure are the heroes we have all wanted to grow up to be or marry (thank you Tom Cruise) but there are others who complete the picture. Technical crew, logistics, administrative guys, medical support, education dept. etc. They all make it into a self sufficient unit.

What happens when all men of that area are away on a secret operation? (yes things like these are a reality in everyday lives of men in uniform). Not for a few days or weeks but for 10 or 11 months at a stretch.

Imagine a wife who doesn't know where her husband is or when will he return? Once you have imagined the plight of one such wife, do imagine hundred such wives. It can drive you crazy to try and answer each and every one of them or help them with their chores. Life has to go on. Kids have to go to school. Bills have to be paid. Everything must run as it was when their husbands were around.

One woman who is directly responsible for managing all this is the Commanding Officer's wife. Generally called the First Lady. This is a role which calls for immense amount of patience, tact and judiciousness.

One such lady got a phone call one day. It was a trunk call from Bihar. Any unknown or unsolicited call is scary in such times. She held onto the receiver hoping all was well.

An old couple came online. They were quick, sharp and lost no time in telling her that a lady will be travelling by this particular train and reaching her at this particular time with her luggage. She was free to accommodate her or then the lady would be left to fend for herself.

This was something which struck the Co's wife like a bolt. Who was coming over, why was she coming over, what did she expect from her?

She didn't have to wait for long. The lady was at her doorstep sooner than expected.

Calling her a lady was rude. She was a young girl. Could have been 19 or 20 yrs old.

She stood there with two suitcases and a paper chit with an address which she had finally managed to find and reach. The moment she kept the suitcases down and figured that she had reached the right pl;ace, she burst out crying.

"I have been married for almost 8 months. My husband said he was going away on a mission right after our marriage. He never told me where and when is going to be back. I stayed with my parents the first three months. We still didn't know where he was. He refused to divulge. They sent me to my in-laws. I have been with them for 5 months. He calls once in a while but never tells anything else. I hope he is not going to leave me. Now I can't stay with them so we found out about his unit and your address." The uncertainities of her newly married life reflected clearly on her face and travel tousled clothes.

This was a long story told in a few minutes. The first lady sat and heard it all. Her mind was ticking. This young girl whom she knew nothing about was her responsibility now. Washing her hands off was unthinkable.

"Is he here? I hope he hasn't taken another wife. How can he be away for so long and not get any leave?", the girl continued.

"He is fine, don't worry. He is away at work. He is doing such an important job that they are unable to find a replacement who is as good as him. So he is unable to take leave," the lady consoled the girl knowing fully well why he hadn't disclosed anything on unsecured phone lines.

"First you must have something to eat, then we will talk to your husband".

While the girl freshened up, the lady arranged for a phone call, a temporary accommodation to be allotted and called all the other women who were posted there.

The girl calmed down after she spoke with her husband. She could now be explained where and how he was. In the meanwhile all the other women gathered. Everyone had a thing or two for her. Utensils, mattresses, curtains, cooking gas etc. were thus arranged in no time. All the ladies took it upon themselves to teach her a thing or two about the Forces and how the wives were the backbone of men who fought at the front without worrying who was going to take care of their families. In two days she had a running house.

And in two months, when her husband came back from the 'Operation', he was amazed to find that his young bride had already been transformed in the Fauji Wife.

Welcome in Uniform - Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Wed, 24 Aug 2011 12:34:05 PDT

Last night the dinner table was abuzz with stories of how an act of pure heartfelt welcome can leave such a lasting impression on the ones who arrive in a city for the first time. (names are withheld as these are all people in uniform and cannot be named here).

Adampur

Two young boys of 21 or 22 had just passed out from the Academy at Hyderabad. Their first posting was at Adampur. For those who don't know, Adampur is in Jalandar district of Punjab. It is also the coldest place in plains in India.

They had not informed anyone about their arrival requirements. They had only sent a telegram mentioning their arival and joining dates. Trains generally stopped there in the middle of the night. It would be criminal, to ask people they didn't know, to come and receive them in the thick of December winters. Shy and naive, they decided to take it as it comes.

At 2:00 am, the train approached the station. One of them headed to the door to hail a porter, second one stood inside guarding the luggage. The first one ran back and asked the other to have a look out of the window. The train had slowed down. It was dark. The railway platform was absolutely deserted. No lights, no vendors, no porters, no other passengers. Just one odd person sound asleep under the vacant bench. It was isolated and abandoned to the extent that one would imagine no one ever came here.

As the train finally pulled to a stop, they stepped out of their first class coaches.

They were about to head for the out gate when they saw the silhouette of a man walking towards them.

The boys were clueless.

He walked straight up to them. Shook their hands. Gave them a big warm smile and said, "Welcome to Adampur!"

The boys didn't know how or why was this gentleman here at this unearthly hour. Who was he?

"This is your first posting, right?", the stranger asked in a crisp clear tone.

"Yes Sir", they replied in unison. They could see him clearly now. He was just a few years older but his demeanor commanded respect.

"Welcome to the Forces," he smiled back.

He had been waiting for them at the railway platform for a long time. He was there against everyone's advice. "You are mad to go and wait there for the train at this time of the night in this freezing weather. Those boys will find their way to the Unit on their own, why are you wasting your time??", everyone had expressed their disapproval. Those were the days of 'no mobile phones'. But he wanted to be here for them because he knew how stinging the bitterness of a cold night at a new place can be.

He led them to the vehicle waiting outside. Long regal strides confirmed that this is how a young Squadron Leader leads the youngest members of his fleet. An example they will remember when it is their time to take charge.

Today, those young boys are old and senior enough to command their own squadrons. Thanks to their first welcome experience, they make sure that everyone (irrespective of the rank) who gets posted to their unit, gets the warmest of welcome. They have been taught pretty well that leading from the front requires leading from the heart!

Novelty Stores - All Types of Fancy Items Available

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Tue, 26 Jul 2011 00:09:50 PDT

Cramped stores with plastic toys hanging outside. Rows of colourful buckets and footmats near the entrance. A few clothing items that you move out of your way when you step inside. Ladies purses, bangles, shampoo bottles, fairness creams and chunky necklaces on mannequin necks in window display shelf. You will find anything to do with decoration, women and children in this shop.

More often than not, they will be named 'Novelty (General) Stores'.

I always wondered about people who decided to name them so, instead of immortalizing their family names. There must have been a unanimous decision taken in the household to call it 'Novelty'. Or maybe they were just following a trend. Either way their target customers are women and children. They seldom keep anything for men.

The reason is simple. It is women and children who go 'Oooooh' and 'Aaaaahhh' whenever they see something new or innovative. They are driven more by the novelty factor than the need aspect. When the novelty wears off, so does their interest and off they are to the 'Novelty stores' for new buys. They are the repeat customers, not men.

Freshness of an idea appeals more to them. Innovation just for the sake of innovation is something they appreciate. Gainful utility is seldom a thought that crosses their mind before they walk into a store, all starry eyed. Every glittering piece of plastic and various beads take them into the fairy land they dream of. Banners, swirls, confetti, ribbons, toys, imitation jewellery, combs, creams. Anything that holds the promise of a more beautiful world attracts them.

Even if you don't want to buy anything, just browsing through the supplies to your hearts content is a good enough reason to walk in.

Whenever you have bigger questions looming large over your creased forehead, do try and find such a place nearby and visit it. It will take away all your worries. It will take you back to the times when you were a child and wanted to build castles and empires of sparklers. Cheap satin and fake gold lace might feel coarse to touch but it has the power to take you into a time when you were a princess and the kingdom belonged to your father whom you lovingly claimed was the strongest person in the world.

Economy of OTS (One Time Settlement)

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Fri, 22 Jul 2011 21:20:39 PDT

I got this in the email. Makes a lot of sense to me but if there is anyone who has different vuew or cut to it, would love to hear that as I am not a number cruncher or an 'eco' guru. This piece is not by me. The credits are at the end.

A professor of economics put this together to show how our current tax system works based on each segment of our population.

Suppose that every day, ten men go out for beer and the bill for all ten comes to $100. If they paid their bill the way we pay our taxes, it would go something like this:

The first four men (the poorest) would pay nothing.

The fifth would pay $1.

The sixth would pay $3.

The seventh would pay $7.

The eighth would pay $12.

The ninth would pay $18.

The tenth man (the richest) would pay $59.

So, that's what they decided to do.

The ten men drank in the bar every day and seemed quite happy with the arrangement, until one day, the owner threw them a curve. 'Since you are all such good customers, he said, 'I'm going to reduce the cost of your daily beer by $20.Drinks for the ten now cost just $80.

The group still wanted to pay their bill the way we pay our taxes so the first four men were unaffected. They would still drink for free. But what about the other six men - the paying customers? How could they divide the $20 windfall so that everyone would get his 'fair share?'

They realized that $20 divided by six is $3.33. But if they subtracted that from everybody's share, then the fifth man and the sixth man would each end up being paid to drink his beer.

So, the bar owner suggested that it would be fair to reduce each man's bill by roughly the same amount, and he proceeded to work out the amounts each should pay.

And so:

The fifth man, like the first four, now paid nothing (100% savings).

The sixth now paid $2 instead of $3 (33%savings).

The seventh now pay $5 instead of $7 (28%savings).

The eighth now paid $9 instead of $12 (25%savings).

The ninth now paid $14 instead of $18 (22% savings).

The tenth now paid $49 instead of $59 (16% savings).

Each of the six was better off than before. And the first four continued to drink for free. But once outside the restaurant, the men began to compare their savings.

'I only got a dollar out of the $20,' declared the sixth man. He pointed to the tenth man,' but he got $10!'

'Yeah, that's right,' exclaimed the fifth man. 'I only saved a dollar, too. It's unfair that he got ten times more than I did!'

'That's true!!' shouted the seventh man. 'Why should he get $10 back when I got only two? The wealthy get all the breaks!'

'Wait a minute,' yelled the first four men in unison. 'We didn't get anything at all. The system exploits the poor!'

The nine men surrounded the tenth and beat him up.

The next night the tenth man didn't show up for drinks, so the nine sat down and had beers without him. But when it came time to pay the bill, they discovered something important. They didn't have enough money between all of them for even half of the bill!

And that, boys and girls, journalists and college professors, is how our tax system works. The people who pay the highest taxes get the most benefit from a tax reduction.

Tax them too much, attack them for being wealthy, and they just may not show up anymore. In fact, they might start drinking overseas where the atmosphere is somewhat friendlier.

David R. Kamerschen, Ph.D.

Professor of Economics, University of Georgia

Bhook Laagli Aahe

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Thu, 21 Jul 2011 21:38:08 PDT

"Aai, mala bhook laagli aahe (mom, I am hungry)", I would scream when I entered the house after a herculean day at school. The table would be set before I could throw my school bag on the sofa or toss those pointed shoes under it. Mother saw it all but never said anything until my meal was over. 'A hungry child is not to be scolded' was her policy. I took the food she prepared for granted. She had learnt to prepare marathi cuisine after her marriage and she was good at it. Dad loved it. It reminded him of his childhood. I hated it. it was ruining my childhood. I wanted noodles, pizzas, sandwiches, burgers.

One day she was gone. So was the marathi food from our lives.

Next time I went home, aamti had been replaced by katti saaru and masale bhat had lost out to bisibele anna. Uppitu substituted for Kanda Poha and paayasa had knocked down shrikhand/basundi. It saddened me and my father but there was nothing we could do about it. It was the sign of times to come.

Marathi Cuisine at its best

A couple of days back we bid farewell to some friends. The menu was Marathi.
It brought back beautiful memories of a plateful of lost time. The last I had this food in a silver thali was at my wedding :)

Times have changed. Yes there is a glass of sparkly wine next to the traditional platter but it still brings alive the charm of an era long gone by.

Thank you Jacob & Niyaz for having arranged this for us. You have no idea how special the evening was because of all this.

बिदाई (Farewell)

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Sun, 17 Jul 2011 20:12:11 PDT

बड़े-बड़े जाँबाज़ों को

बच्चों सा बिलखते देखा है

बीच समुंदर की तह में

अंगार सुलगते देखा है

हैवानों की दुनिया में

पीरों का मेला देखा है

अनहोनी का होना और

पत्थर का पिघलना देखा है

मुड़-मुड़ के बिछड़ना देखा है

रुक-रुक के चलना देखा है

पलकों पे थमीं उन बूंदों का

बेबाक़ छलकना देखा है

रह-रह कर आनेवाली उन

यादों का सताना देखा है

वीराने में बेबस से

देखा है हमने उनको चुप

कहते थे कभी जो सीना तान

'हमने तो ज़माना देखा है'

जाँबाज़ = daredevils, बिलखना = weep, तह = sea bed, अंगार = burning coal, सुलगना = smolder/ignite, हैवान = devil, पीर = saint, बेबाक़ = unabashed/not ashamed, वीराना = ruins, बेबस = helpless

The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972)

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 20:36:15 PDT

Many many years back (almost 8 or 9) I had seen a French movie called 'The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie'. I saw it for three reasons - it was made by Luis Bunuel, it was French and it was the in thing to do for a film buff.

I saw the film out of sheer reverence for the director. It made no sense to me. I had all my mind to switch it off many times but continued watching it just to see what the end would be. As all world classics, this one too had an end which only the super elite can decipher. For a lay person like me, it was a waste of 100 odd minutes.

However, it did leave me feeling a little.....what should I say...a little unfulfilled. It is like you search you whole C Drive for a document and don't find it till the end. I didn't know why I felt that emptiness.

Many years passed by. Google happened and so did Wikipedia. I searched for it again. I found out why I was restless after seeing the film. It was as if the document was sitting pretty on the desktop while I searched the whole drive.

The film is about 6 people who, through bizarrely linked scenes, sit down for a meal but are interrupted every time and have to get up without having a morsel. Dreams within dreams confuse you by ending with an aborted meal in every sequence. These are so subtly strung together that one is left feeling extremely hungry by the end of the film just by seeing the plight of the characters.

I was happy I finally understood the film and why Bunuel is considered so great.

What I couldn't understand was why would he want to make such a movie and how this was relevant to anybody to be able to sit through it.

At almost 11pm today, a lightning struck me to explain this very feeling that he had tried to depict. The feeling of 'waiting the whole day to grab something which is right in front of you. You want to wait till the right moment. But when the time comes, it gently slips away as you reach out for it'.

Deprivation of the privileged.
Starving of the bountiful.

Every-time a much envied city settles down to its peaceful co-existence, someone comes and rocks it.

I understand you today, Bunuel.
Mumbai had to get up once again from the dinner table this evening.