Bandh- Novel ways to protest:

Now that the pros and cons of observing/ enforcing a bandh have been debated upon and having arrived at a unanimous decision (almost!!!) that it is a necessary evil, here are some ways to make it interesting and entertaining. But of course, the form of protest would depend on what you are protesting against:

a). Protesting against increase in fuel prices: Instead of sitting at home and making it easier for the government that subjected you to this hike, why not walk to work??? I am talking especially in Mumbai’s context, where people from far flung suburbs like badlapur, Kalyan, Virar or Panvel who have their own bhajan mandlis in the local trains. They can take to the roads , sing in their loudest volume with their dol and other accompaniments. The rest of us can join in.. The suburban train service of Mumbai transports 48 lakhs passengers daily. Imagine what a great time we can all have, if we all take to the roads. It would be almost like 26th July 2005, but without knee deep water or even better, Mumbai’s own Kumbh Mela . To make things merrier, we can hire the biggest band playing popular hits of bollywood.
b) Protest against rise in veggie prices: Vegetable prices have gone through the roof with the humble sooran selling at Rs.120/= per kilo. The same sooran that we used to take out from under the soil in our native place and cut and gave it who ever would care to have it! For once, we can switch to the healthy option by munching on leaves. If all of us carried a bunch of leaves in our hands and munched it while walking on our way to office, wouldn’t be a green Mumbai,(atleast to watch!) Oh, the TV news people will have a field day “Breaking News”.

c)Auto and cabbie strike: Here again , you have two options, you can book those bullock carts available in villages of Kasara, Igatpuri or some such villages or hire the prettiest victorias that you get to see in Marine drive. Those having bigger pets can walk them too. Needless to say, Mumbaikars will breathe easy that day!!!

So ways are many, one only has to use one’s imagination to make it interesting, but never, never sit at home on a bandh day. Anyway, by 6 pm things would be normal, and you can always come back comfortably. And whether the Government takes note of it or not, Gandhiji and his greatest fan Munnabhai will surely appreciate it??!!


Sujatha Natraj

FULL CIRCLE

FULL CIRCLE

“ I am not going to wear that hideous thing you got me for my birthday”, my daughter shouted at the top of her voice, simultaneously bursting into tears”. For God’s sake, I am eighteen and you expect me to wear that” she made an awful face..I couldn’t believe it, the dress I had chosen was a baby pink top, with a little frill around the cuffs and some pretty embroidery at the neck. There was a knee length corduroy skirt to go with it. I had thought it was perfect. Mom, when are you going to realize that I am A GROWN UP NOW! she started again, . That was the last straw,” Grown up! My foot! Then Act like one!!!, " I said aloud before realizing it and stomped out of the room.

I pulled some clothes from the cupboard, called up hubby dear and informed him that for the next couple of days, I will be out and the family ,( one son included) will be taken care by our “GROWN UP” daughter. I Rang my mother and she picked up in the second ring, Yes, dear, how are you? Has it started raining in Mumbai? I answered all her questions, "How is Adit doing? Is Rhea getting a tattoo for her birthday? And told her quietly, “Ma, I am planning to come down to Pune for a few days”.”I, but what about Ram, Rhea and Adit??" my bmother asked, Oh, they will come later, may be to pick me up, I said lamely and ended the conversation.
This was the first time I was running away from a fight, but recently my daughter and me had been having too many arguments, her dress, her friends, her mobile bills, the kind of TV shows she watched.We never seemed to agree on anything these days. She seemed to resent my advise. Ram was still the pampering papa, mainly quiet and non interfereing, never confrontative! Naturally, I ended up being the villain!

The moment I got down from the rickshaw, I saw my mother waiting eagerly for me at the door. I was not going to tell her anything, atleast not yet. She had prepared my favourite curry and after dinner, we sat on the patio talking about all and sundry. As the clock struck ten, I said” Ma, I am feeling tired” let’s go in”.

Next day, Ma woke me up with her special filter coffee, the aroma of which made my mouth water. As I sipped the coffee , I thought about my mother, staying all alone in the modest bungalow, that our daddy had built. She refused to shift to Mumbai “ I am happy where I am, I have this house, lots of memories to live by. And I do have some friends here” . So don’t worry about me, Yes, you all come whenever you can”, she would say.

I finished the coffee and went in search of my mother. Ma, could you please oil my hair?? I miss your oil massage before the ritual oil bath on Tuesdays and FriDAYS”.She smiled mischievously and said “ Oh! But I thought you hated oil in your hair”, Remember, how we used to fight over this oil bath? I smiled sheepishly and said Ma, that was then and this is now”. She said slowly “ Beta, that’s always how things are”.

I realized I had not called home. I wanted to find out how my “grown up” daughter was managing the home front. So I called my husband on his mobile, Hey, how are things? “Oh they are fine! He said nonchalantly”. What are you all having for breakfast” I asked again? Rhea is making something, I can smell something divine in the kitchen”, my husband added, I couldn’t believe it. “Did she clean up the kitchen last night”? I asked , not for one second believing she would have done it.”Hm..u know, we all, sort of chipped in, bye now, call u later” .

For the rest of the day, I relaxed, and later in the afternoon, after a leisurely lunch, I saw my mother cleaning out the wardrobe. I sat beside her, helping her fold sarees, exclaiming over the zari and embroidery. My dad had an eclectic taste and she had a fine collection of chiffon, mysore crepes and kancheevarams. Sadly, these days, she wore very few of them. Sometimes, she would urge me to take some, but I did not have the heart to take those away from her. I knew how much sentiments were attached to it. They were all bought by my father on his trips to various parts of India on official duty.

When we were almost done, I saw a a small pack of clothes, neatly tucked away behind the bottom shelf. I remembered, it was my shelf and asked my mom, “ Mom, what is that on my shelf”? Oh, dear, that, these were the salwar kameez and and some tops, which we had bought for you and you didn’t like it and refused to wear it”, Since we had bought it from Delhi, we couldn’t exchange and get something which you liked”. I took out the pack guiltily and rummaged through it. There were three in all and they were not bad at all. Infact, I had to admit, they even looked nice. I remembered the incident vaguely, I had said that I hated the sight of it, and my parents, they just put the clothes away, wanting not to spoil my birthday. Instead, they had taken me out and bought a dress of my choice.
Once again, I thought about the difference in the way I had handled such a situation, and how my parents had! Feeling strangely remorseful, I blurted out to my mother what had transpired between me and Rhea. “Oh!, she gave me an innocent look, “Rhea already called me and told about it. She said you must have been terribly upset otherwise you wouldn’t have dashed off to Pune without saying bye to her”. "Preethi,Dear, my mom said gently,” Rhea will be just fine, she is a good child, not to worry?”Why don’t you both make up?I am sure she will come around"

But in my heart of hearts I justified my behaviour. Those days, we wore proper bell bottoms, not the form fitting jeans worn inches below the navel or the spaghetti tops ending above the navel. Yes, in many ways, I was still old fashioned at heart. We finished with the wardrobe and I set out to the kitchen to make coffee for us. As the coffee was brewing, my mind worked furiously, going through the not so infrequent arguments , I seem to be having with my daughter these days. In my heart of hearts, I wanted her to come and apologise, but knew, she being my daughter, would never do so..

We sat sipping the coffee in the patio, with the cool evening breeze blowing. I particularly liked this time of the day, the sun about to set, painting its canvas a vivid red with streaks of orange, and the golden glow, settling on the swing in the patio. A strange calm settled over me. In that moment, I decided what I would do, Call my husband and kids over and have a long chat with my daughter in the presence of my mother. I remembered the happier times when she was a quiet soft spoken child,very unlike this rebel. I promised myself we could come to a mutual understanding about her friends, her clothes, her phone bills etc etc.
I heard a car screeching to a halt and looked up and was surprised to see my daughter getting down with a sheepish smile and coming towards me., she put her arms around my hips and hugged me tight.” Mom, I am sorry, but I didn’t mean it that way. Anyways, we miss you and we have come to take you home and nani too, if she would come and stay with us for a few days, yes.. nani???? As if , any mom could resist that, I hugged her back. and turned just in time to see my husband grinning and showing a thumbs up sign to my mother.

Sujatha Natraj

Ever remember hurting others????

On a lazy sunday morning, while leafing through old albums, particularly of my school and college days, I found that I could identify some of my classmates very easily and even remember their names and surnames, others I could vaguely recollect and some not even their names. The ones whom I remembered very clearly, I found myself associating them with some incidents both joyful, or arguments which ended in quarrels or the times when we had shared a good laugh (Mostly at others' expense, I must confess).
Some incidents or occasions were more vivid and those were the times when I was deeply hurt by somebody's words or actions. The thought still hurtme, "How could she say that to me"? or he should not have behaved like this"? I closed the album, lest it spoilt the whole day.
But the thoughts stayed with me, especially the incidents, when my best friend of 8 years stopped talking to me for some silly reason.(Those days it did not seem silly at all!!). I ruminated over some other incidents when I had been "victimised" for no fault of mine.
But suddenly, I found asking myself, "why this self pity? Have you never ever hurt others by your words, actions?? Or you don't want to remember it???"
Over the years in our life, we always tend to remember how others have hurts us, but never, never, how we hurt them. Isn't this because we never learnt to forgive and never forgave????
Having found the answer, I made a mental note to write to my best friend whom I had not talked to for over twelve years, I know she will understand!! Surely, she too must have grown up!!!
Sujatha Natraj

PROCRASTINATION

Procrastination:

My first introduction to this word was when I was in the 9th standard. The moment my History teacher threw this word at me chiding me for the delay in submission of my history journal, I became strangely attached to it. Of course, I didn’t know the meaning of the word then and had to come home and look it up in the dictionary. Her words were” “Procrastinating the inevitable” or something sounding very similar to that. I loved the word And more so her expression when she said it – something between a smirk, or you have to come to me with the journal before your exams sort of look. I hated to even think of writing out long boring pages in the journal of who killed whom in which battle, after effects of Industrial Revolution in France, blah, blah. I couldn’t imagine for one second why anyone would even be remotely interested in things which happened ages ago…I even though it as grave digging… purely disgusting!!!

Before I realized, the word as well as the habit… yes ,Procrastinating had got to me. Now it was the washing, a visit to a dentist or even to a relative’s house. My parents and sibling called me plain lazy, or laid back, but I was dreading the correct diagnosis, I knew in my heart of hearts, that it was PROCRASTINATION, in capital letters. After all , teachers can never be wrong, can they??? The more I brooded about it, the more anxious I became. Stacks of journals and heaps of dirty clothes gave me nightmares!!

Through out my college years , I managed to submit my journals at the last moment, complete the assignments just in time to save the grades and I became more and more aware of my PROCRASTINATING ways. But the silver lining in the cloud of procrastination was, when I enjoyed or liked doing something, I did it the fastest, like watering my plants, talking to them, baking cake for my mom’s birthday and ironing for the entire family. Sadly these were a few!!!
As a newly wed, I went through the initial hiccups , mainly due to my procrastinating ways .But my better half , bless him, turned out to be this super efficient, chivalrous guy, who did not mind sharing more than his share of chores. In his own ways, he would say, ‘ Don’t like to do this”? fine, I “ll do it, Any why I would I want to miss your cooking” and he would quietly take over the wash or the accounts of the home front.
Today, years have gone by, I am still lazy or laid back or I even procrastinate, But I make it clear that I Just don’t like doing it, But definitely wouldn’t mind doing something else instead. Needless to say, these days life is a song that I hum!!!

Tryst with immortality

TRYST WITH IMMORTALITY

I must have been around 4 or five years old when I first noticed peoples’ fascination for immortality. My mother, amidst her kitchen chores wished me Good morning darling!” and thrust a steel tumbler full of milk at me and said “Hurry up!!! There’s a good boy!!”I was then just learning to read typical sentences with three letter words like “What is on the mat? The cat is on the mat” etc which I would join with great difficulty but finish reading with such pride!!! And my mother, she would beam at me for having accomplished such a big task. Now, coming to the steel tumbler, what fascinated me early that morning was ‘By “Vasantha Hari”. So far, I had seen words in my books only and started wondering why anyone would write in steel tumblers???.

I finished the milk soon (lest I might spill it and get scolded for it) and ran to my mother and asked her to join the letters for me. She read out the word, rather the name on it and said Oh! This is the steel tumbler gifted by Vasantha aunty when you were a small baby! And she offered an “explanation” for it, Darling! She wanted you to remember her even when you grow old!! Thus began my fascination with peoples’ fascination for their tryst with immortality. As I grew older, this fascination of mine grew proportionately. I would go to temples, community halls, churches, schools libraries just to read out the names of donors on the board. Some times the donors themselves would advertise “Donated by…”. Or It would be in the “loving memory of our beloved mother…” And the amounts would be anything around Rs.25,000 or above.
Here I must confess, this habit of mine caused quite an embarrassment to my wife , who would look at me pitifully and say “Oh God! Not again”!! And sometimes straightaway refuse to come with me to places where there was bound to be a big donors’ list.
All the time my mind would think what would anybody gain by advertising their good deeds, or is it to inspire other people to “give” as much as they can and as much as they should? Or is it the need to remain immortal by etching their names at every conceivable place ? Invariably my mind would turn to an old friend of mine who so strongly believes in “ a good word, a good thought and a good deed a day. There were many a days when he would give away his lunch to some hungry person, there were times when he quietly paid the fees of his servant maid’s children, donated blood whenever he knew someone was in need and the list goes on!!! No, he is by no means a rich man, just an ordinary common “middle class man” with a strong sense of values. Most of these, we would come to know much later, when the person whom he helped would gratefully acknowledge him.

Now I almost came to a conclusion that only rich people advertise their good deeds in their quest for immortality and what better way to show off to their peers “See if you could give this much, see how much I can give!!! While lost in contemplation of this trivia, and strongly deciding never to advertise if and when I do a good deed, my wife called out” My dear! The temple committee has come for collection for their social activities. Those who pay Rs.5000 and above get a mention in the souvenir .Shall I pay 5001 /=” ????

S Natrajan