"A" word and a few bad manners!

We Indians have serious issues when it comes to addressing strangers. The best bet is to call someone 'sir' or 'madam'. The 'sir' becomes 'saaaaaar' to South Indians, ' sher' to North Indians...We tend to pronounce the word with our regional colors. Here comes the list of most irritating ways to address a person, not necessarily in the same order!

1. A- word adolescents:

The blood boils in every cell...the tension is palpable as he lingers along the counter, awaiting my reply. That is when the canine in me wakes up and makes a plunge, i almost bark, seething in anger-"I am not your aunty, just call me madam". Bewildered, he looks at me again, a five foot frame draped in a cotton salwar with dupatta pinned up chin high, sindoor, few stary hairs and of course, a few extra pounds...May be age is related to weight, so how is it to be called when you are a mere thirty two, by a half crazy adolescent? Anna and his cadres, please call for a fast to delete the word "Aunty" from Websters'.  

2. Crappy clappers:

This is one tribe definitely different. You can find them on random roadsides. They usually spring into action when you drop something unknowingly and walk on. They clap and clap till their palms become red and the whole area turns toward them. As he hands over the stuff he had picked up on the sidewalk, you feel like smacking him on his back for letting the whole wide world know that you are idiotic and irresponsible. Dumbhead probably clapped all his life for others! And this clapping might be of heavenly use when you are awaiting an auto rickshaw. The louder you clap, the easier auto walah will hear you rather than the hefty woman on the opposite pavement's meek wave of hands.

3. Whistle bloopers:

These are the most annoying ones. We can safely exclude the bus conductors from this ilk, but must add the indecent monkeys jumping in front of movie screens in any movie hall. Well, the tribe do exist now, though their number is dwindling fast, thankfully! I feel like biting off the fingers that whoosh in and out of that ugly mouth...And i love glaring at the traffic constable who whistles and gestures every lady in the vicinity to move her vehicle behind the Lakshman Rekha! These whistle bloopers deserve a special punishment, we could chop their tongues off!!!

4. Coin tappers:

Have you ever went to some office and tapped on the glass counter with coins when the clerk is busy on a call? This is how it feels when you are on the other side- you feel like snatching the coin away and bang the person's head right on the glass! The sound of coins tapped on the counter glass or granite top is definitely not sweet, i say...

We definitely lack etiquette and manners when behaving in public. We like to tap, clap, whistle and christen anyone Aunty! I almost forgot my real name, being called aunty a hundred times a day. No more forgiveness. Next person calls me an aunty is going to be slaughtered, that is for sure!

P.S. - I have been quite busy with my brother's ensuing wedding and not so regular with the posts, please excuse. Don't care!

P.P.S.- Does the word "uncle" irks men more? I would like to know;)

P.P.P.S.- I scolded someone in my office today for jumping the queue- literally "jumping" a row of chairs and he was 46 years old!! Imagine his face when i called out on the mike- " Sir, you are 46, please don't jump"!!!

P.P.P.P.S.- Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all fellow bloggers and readers:)

Once upon a Christmas...

The pink head with a shock of raven hair appears first and then i face straight at the tightly shut eyelids, button nose and rosy lips. Then come the small hands and then the tiny feet. Reshma is still unconscious as i pat the young one. The baby boy lets out a sound scream that reverberates along the maternity ward. As i remove my grubs, wash and move out of the theatre, my eyes go again to Reshma to check her vitals. Still unconscious. I crane my neck to look at the little one blissfully asleep near the new mother. Satisfied, i stroll along to my room. The huge Christmas tree adorned with tiny colorful lights tinkling on the corridor catches my attention. I walk doggedly to the tree and stand in silence near the manger. Folding my hands i stand in a quiet prayer, as baby Jesus sleeps on His bed of straw. The sight of the sleeping boy who was born just then flashes by my mind. Shaking my head, i stumble to my room. I can have some peace, at last. 

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The couple before me look quite ordinary to me, must be another pregnancy confirmation, i think as i gesture them to sit on the chairs. The girl is robust, happiness showing in her whole 5 ft 4 inches frame and the color fanning her pink cheeks. I check the case sheet to find nothing and nudge them to speak. He was ill for the past six months, she complained. Stomach pain, treated as ulcer with all proper medicines. I write out a normal endoscopy just to be sure. As they walk hand in hand outside the room, i admire the deftness with which he held her little fingers. One loving and cute pair, i say to myself.

As i examine the reports, all i can feel is professional sincerity. Something is wrong, i think as i write down the name of the top oncologist on my prescription pad and hand it over to the couple. " Please go and meet him as soon as possible. Let us see what he has to say on these reports." I couldn't bring myself to meet the eyes of the young woman who looks at me with earnest eyes. I know what would happen if i open the news here, better, let the oncologist explain. I couldn't bear to shatter the happiness of them. 

Few weeks later...

As i call upon the next patient, Raj enters the room. He is nowhere near the shadow of the young man whom i had met two weeks earlier. He is looking pale as death, gaunt with a thick stubble on his chin. " I have something personal to discuss with you, Doctor", he quips. I intently listen to what is being told and silently admire his courage. Again i pull out a sheet of paper, scribble down the name of the sperm bank, make a few phone calls and turn to him. He is in terrible pain, that i can see. " You have an appointment with them tomorrow at ten", i reiterate. He nods and thanks me for the help. As he staggers to the exit in excruciating pain, i am feeling numb and i spend the whole day in a dull and melancholic haze. 

That was the last day i saw Raj. He had died in a week. It is almost a month later that she appears in my clinic. Bloodshot eyes, all color drained from her face, thin and wallowy, she makes a sad sight. She hands me a crumpled sheet of paper that she must have read and re-read hundreds of times. The scrawl was almost undecipherable, probably written with great difficulty. It read-

"My darling wife,

I know i am leaving you. My end is near and i can feel it. You too know my days are numbered. These six months of our wedded life have been the happiest of my life. We woke up in delight, ate in company, spoke with love, made love with passion. If only God had given me few more years to live with you, you would have known how much i love you...Life is always this way- predictably unpredictable. I know i am leaving you all alone in this dark world. You need someone to cling on to. Some hope to live, some life to love. I remember i have never got you the Christmas gift you have always wanted. 

Please do meet Dr Anne. Your gift is with her. I am happy i could give you something as i leave you. And i know my gift can make you immensely happy. I shall always miss you, your sweet smiles and tinkling laughter. I wouldn't bear to snatch all that happiness and smiles from you. I shall always be there for you, guiding you and protecting you. God Bless.

P.S. I love You!"

I turn away holding back my tears and produce the file from my closet. Her expression goes from blank to hope and then extreme happiness. With my hands folded i watch hundred emotions criss cross her face. " Yes, Raj had asked me to hand this file over to you. He wanted to gift you his child, after his death. He wanted you to give birth and bring up his own son. I suggested he deposit his sperm in the sperm bank and he had done so. When are you starting the IVF schedule?", i gently prod. With happy tears she says- " Right away, Doctor", clutching the crumpled letter from her darling husband.

It is time for my night rounds and i move on. The case summary in the cot stand reads RESHMA RAJ and i see her stirring slowly. She gently opens her eyes and reaches for my hand. Gently i hold her, ask the nurse to lift the baby son for her to see. Tears of joy roll down her cheeks as the lights from the Christmas tree weave a colorful array all over her beaming face. " Doctor, can you please help me to the tree?" she asks. Holding on to the baby as if it is life itself, she sways and staggers to the tree. Nearing the manger, she touches the cheeks of the sleeping figurine of Baby Jesus. "This is the best Christmas gift a man could ever give, Doctor" she says. I stand watching her in peaceful silence with the sleeping baby in my arms. The church bells chime somewhere far in the dark chill night. 

Merry Christmas!

P.S. : This post has been inspired by the following news link- Miracle baby

The "Dirty" Silk and the "Pure" Tinseltown!

Watching the trailer of Dirty Picture is a nightmare. And the reviews that speak volumes of Vidya Balan's beautiful portrayal as the sensuous diva irritate me. S..i...l...k...the very name that evokes passion, sexuality and arousal in men all over the nation! A skinny Vidya is no match to the voluptuous dusky beauty who had a generation gripped in sexual fervor. And the sensual 'aura' that emanates from Silk's eyes and pouted lips...my..my...Vidya is a meek kitten, compared to the cougar! Sorry Vidya, you fail miserably...In that case, no woman can possibly touch the heights Silk's sexuality did!

During the peak "silk" era of 1980s, i was a mere baby. Still i can remember being told- 'an apple that Silk Smitha bit was auctioned for Rs.500 in a movie shoot'. Such was the charisma and charm she enthused in an otherwise mundane and glum South Indian movie industry. I remember i was told to close my eyes..ahem...while watching the "pon meni uruguthe" song from Moondram pirai, in the theatre! I was about six or seven then! Silk knew how to gyrate and sway, though she never was a great dancer. Husky and sensual singing of Janaki helped her carve a niche in Tamil movie industry. She knew how to twirl the men of the movie industry over her little fingers! There were men who waited at her doorstep, for her to simply wag her finger at them. Vijayalakshmi, fourth standard drop out from a dusty village near Eluru, AP, could have never scaled these heights, if not for men...

Picture courtesy tamilwire.com

Being raped at 9 years, married to a waste to fend off molesters, Silk always nursed a secret dream of making it big in Kollywood. What not the way out than running away to Chennai? She started her reel life as a touch up girl to a B grader. Luckily, she played the 'man- snatcher', manipulating the paramour ( i wouldn't name him here:P) to land in a plump role in a Malayalam movie. Her first movie in Tamil "vandi chakkaram" ( 1979) earned her a huge name in movie industry. It gave her the name "Silk" too! She was one woman who knew her game and how to use her cards...It was after "moondram pirai" that earned her a cult status did she end up being typecast as "the other woman", a vamp all the time, dressed in skimpy bikinis and murdered in the climax scenes! Most movies that just had her performing a single 'item number' with mundane story lines became superhits. She was the MOTHER of all ITEM GIRLS! 

She was the peer to our Rakhi Sawants ( now there, i had my dig at her this time too:P) and probably Angelina Jolie learnt her pout from Silk Mamma! At the pinnacle of success, Silk charged Rs 50,000 for an item song. Imagine this was in mid 1980s when heroes down South were toiling for 20 or 30000 bucks a movie! There is no drug muckier than success and it was success that climbed to her head and brought her movie empire come tumbling like a pack of cards. Her subsequent fall from the top aided by fresh heroines who were ready to shed even bikinis at the drop of the hat and drug abuse is a rather sad story. Her probable suicide abetted by a love story gone wrong, lists her with the other young starlets who had unnatural deaths- Divyabarathi, Shoba, Savitri...

Though dead and gone, her sultry eyes, pesky pout and voluptuous frame shall always remain etched in the memories of a generation. All she has is my genuine sympathy and understanding. Which makes me ask the critical question- Is Silk Smitha an icon of women's sexuality misinterpreted and exploited by Kollywood's dark caverns or a vamp who 'used' the men who came her way? Further more, are women in Kollywood 'used' and 'exploited' mercilessly  by its men, as we go by general understanding?

Could i borrow your pen, please?

I try to keep myself busy by looking at the phone that doesn't ring and then scribble some rubbish on the paper nearby. The man standing before me refuses to take the cue and just keeps on hanging. Oh my...should i or should i not? My dilemma deepens and i look up at him trying to put up a stern face, that never comes so easily to me...Even the dumbest of the dumb men would look at my stern serious face and feel like giggling! This one looked smart and i knew he wouldn't budge. And he shoots his question, that question i have dreaded the past two minutes- "Madam, can i have your pen?" Gritting my teeth, i make a wry face and hand him over my pen gingerly. He accepts it gratefully. I check on how he writes, he holds it carefully and starts writing. Thank God, his nails are properly trimmed. Hallelujah! His hand is neat.


He seems to be engrossed in his writing and finally looks up and slowly moves the pen to his mouth. Oh no! I almost shriek in silence,  but the nut case chews the tip of my pen...MY PEN, absently. I glare at him, which he fails to notice as always. He chews quarter of an inch before he fills up his application form and by that time, i am resigned to my fate, THAT pen is going into the dustbin. He says a meek ' thank you' and hands my pen over. I use my 'tissue' paper and pick it up after he is gone, chuck it in the dustbin and take out my new pen. Reynolds has been showing profits all these years just because of  me! 

I hate to lend pens and i try my level best to say a NO when people ask for pens in the counter. I am not that unhelpful, but i just can't bear it to see my pen being chewed upon, used to scratch the back, scratch the head and once, clean the ears! My strict policy is " Say NO to lend a pen". I found myself in a tragic situation once, in a nationalised bank. I went to deposit some money and promptly took a pay in slip. Only when i looked up in my bag did i find out that i had forgot it back at home. I tried to borrow from the person standing next in the queue and he showed me a pen hanging in front of the counter. Thanking him and my lucky stars, i headed to the counter where the pen hung. 


All of my five feet frame could not reach the pen how much ever i jumped! I cursed my forefathers who were short, my PET master who didn't teach me high jump properly and my short heeled slippers. The pen was hanging from the countertop tied with a tight string, which might have been heavier than an iron chain. As i tried to pull it down, the string snapped and the pen fell on the floor. I could feel atleast a hundred eyes watching me and as i picked it up and tried to write, it refused to write, as anticipated. I shook it vigorously, blew it from the back and even tried to hit it- Sardarji ishcooter style, it refused to budge. Damn! I muttered a silent curse when Mr. Right arrived from nowhere. He looked at me and advised, " Madam, the pen is for everyone's use, don't take it for yourself". That is when i exploded, " As if it writes!" Mr Right glared at me and picked it up to write. Smiling sweetly, i left the bank as Mr Right was jumping, shaking and blowing...trying to make the pen write!


I have been wondering of late, why don't people keep a pen in their shirt pockets and women in their handbags...The next time you approach the lady at the counter asking for a pen...remember you are asking for trouble with a Capital T!

The rain-kissed...

The rains lashed out their fury. She watched from her bed, tiny rivulets of water sliding down the window panes. The clock straight above stood still at seven. Was it evening or morning, she was not sure. The green gown of the hospital smelt of disinfectant and medicines, her head reeling at the heady scents of life and death. Where is he now, she thought absently, drifting in thoughts. She vividly remembered the color of his eyes, the laugh lines along the ends of his eyes, the long drooping eye lashes, the shock of dark curly hair and the smile- the smile that shook her very being, the smile that has been haunting her for a long time. She reminisced their last meeting, rain drenching every bit of her, remorse washing every ounce of her soul. He had sought answers- answers why she was running away from him and a future with him. All she could do was stand silently rooted under the banyan tree, with raindrops and tears running down her cheeks...

The night duty nurse Sheela picked up a magazine and flipped through the pages absently. The patient on the bed was resting, she presumed. It is rather tiresome to be taking care of the same patient for a long time, she thought to herself. It has been three months since she was assigned to patient 1243. Dutifully, she had checked the pulse, temperature, pressure, eyes and slowly rolled over the socks over the chill and numb toes. Hair plaited, eyes closed with a tiny band aid fixed to the lids and the ventilator humming, the patient was sleeping peacefully. Sheela's thoughts went back to her ailing father at home. His cough had gone from bad to worse and all she wanted was him to pass away peacefully in sleep. Lung cancer in advanced stage was almost eating him away and she was a mute spectator. Her long nights in hospital away from him had made him more melancholic and lonely, yet she needed this salary to keep him ticking. She had proper rest in the hospital after she was assigned to bed number 1243.

1243? How she hated numbers...He was not so, he was a super computer and an awesome programmer. An intellectual, she smiled to herself. Rain was a messenger between them. She was always struck with awe whenever they met and in the company of rain. The long conversations in the empty classrooms, the short walks to the bus terminus, the small parties with friends where they sent searing glances at each other, the long train journey they had once traveled together...rain had walked hand in hand with them. Memories flooded her mind. She remembered the empty envelopes he handed to her, asking her to write to him when they parted ways. They had always remained empty and untouched, underneath all paraphernalia in her cupboard. She had always wanted to write to him, but held herself back. Now there were two families involved and she did not want to hurt anyone, ever- him, the most.

When would he ever see her? He had vivid dreams of her these days. The shortly cropped hair, the ringing laughter, dancing eyes and chirpy voice- the memories locked away somewhere in the subconscious came rushing back. His life with his wife Rama had been a quiet and uneventful one, peaceful and serene. Yet he longed to see his childhood sweetheart, feel her and touch her- that chirpy bouncing girl of his younger days. The long lost love, for whom he had waited with bated breath. That woman who left him for someone else. That woman who never uttered those three words. If only he could ever meet her once before he died...he coughed out aloud and wiped away the blood trickling down his nose. The pain came suddenly, all he could feel was her soft touch on his arm, the warm breath of her fanning his fevered cheeks and her cool lips on his forehead. Not a dream, this was for real...he smiled. His last breath was painless and peaceful.

Sheela woke up with a start when she heard peculiar sounds from the patient. The patient was almost breathless, eye balls rolling but no movement in her limp limbs. Sheela had seen so many comatose patients and she knew exactly what was happening. She held the thin fingers lovingly and caressed the hollow cheeks. Her lips were uttering silent prayers. The ventilator ceased its function with a violent thud and a tiny drop of final tear rolled down the closed eyes. Patient 1243 was dead. Sheela felt a lump in her throat as she picked up the hospital phone to call the duty doctor. The relatives had to be informed. Her mobile had been ringing incessantly for a while now and she picked it up after informing the office of the death.

It was her little brother Vimal who sounded out of breath. " Dad passed away. I noticed just now, Sheela". His voice breaking down, he sobbed silently. Sheela glanced at the dead patient, whose face looked composed and angelic in death. The raindrops fell pitter patter on the window sill in their own gleeful dance, kissing the glass panes...

Orange blossoms

He lay sprawled on the road. His face calm and serene, not a scratch on the cherubic face. Splinters of glass lay scattered on the road mixed with flowers strewn around- tiny orange blossoms and the curious onlookers were slowly dispersing. Only when he was lifted and wheeled away, blood glistened in the evening rays of sun. Splash fell the water, rinsing away the blood from the flowers and the road. Passing vehicles were now crushing the orange blossoms and he did want to collect them all over again and smell the heady scent. Twenty six is not the age to die and definitely death by a road accident is not pleasant. He would have loved to die peacefully, calm and sleeping. God was one person who never heeded to his wishes. Drawing a few breaths, he moved away. It was time.

She closed the book she had been reading and peeked at the clock. It read five forty five. He usually arrived by five. Of all the three odd months they had been together in this tiny world called their home, he was always punctual. Their evenings were spent in strange silence. He would sit in the living room watching hours and hours of television while she sat by the sofa reading, sewing and at times, simply humming softly to herself. Their dinners were always short, the only sound being the clangs of cutlery on the plates. He liked neatness everywhere and she tried hard to keep things organised. Even if he found the house a mess, his reaction would be a cold stare. That stare always sent her scurrying, cleaning and wiping the house. She tried hard to remember the last time she had seen him laugh and failed miserably.

He always wanted to be home- he would pounce the moment the clock struck five. She always sat near the window sill on the living room, watching her favorite sparrows. The pair had moved in recently to the orange tree shading their hall and he knew she loved watching them. She loved to breathe in the aroma of orange blossoms, her eyes half- closed and head thrown back. The placid golden yellow rays of the sun would wash over her angelic face as her gaze lingeringly followed the sparrows and the blossoms.

 He loved the way her nimble fingers held the needle and the glorious patterns she stitched on her pillow covers and kerchiefs. He never complained about the way she kept her house. The orderliness, the cleanliness and her artistic touch in flowers adorning the corner vase, he grew to love them all gradually. He was worried when she didn't do her routine- he was annoyed that she might be sick when he saw the house in a mess. And he knew one stare at her would bring her back to life and pink of health. He loved the silence they shared together. 

He was a man of less words, that she knew well before the wedding. She tried hard to impress him during the early days and failed to get so much of a smile from him on her home making skills. He seemed to have shut her off completely...or she wondered if she had ever gone through the wall between them, being shy and coy herself. They had week end outings to malls and movies. Her efforts to strike romantic conversations with him back fired as he completely closed off her from casual pep talk. She was wondering what went wrong and tried to solve the riddle herself. After few nerve racking trials, now she was resigned to fate. Some day, he will...

He knew she tried to breach his barriers- his carefully erected walls. He was not going to let her do that, he mused. Memories of a painful past hovered in front of his eyes. He had always been an introvert and so when Deepa entered his life like a thunderstorm on a rainy evening, he was sucked up by a whirlwind of passion and love. Her chirpy demeanor and ringing laughter alighted his soul and he felt he found his soul mate in her. She came home, cooked for him, even bedded him and finally ditched him for his boss. That bitch! His blood boiled even now, thinking of her. 

He needed time- a few months at least, to size up this petite, young woman that has been his wife of three months. He did not want to repeat the mistake of falling for a wrong woman the second time...She was chosen by his parents and he had married her- had he a choice? No! These three months had been a living hell, he thought. God, how much he did want to talk to her, to caress the fine lines on her brow, to wipe away tiny rivulets of sweat running down her spine, to feel her thumping heart beat every time he came near her...The very thought of her made him ache for her...long for her...

She was so much engrossed in her own thoughts that the shrill noise of telephone startled her. She picked up the receiver and whatever being said on the other side must have been bad, real bad. He kept watching her face go from a dull pink to a sheet white and she fell with a noisy thud on the floor. He  wanted to pull her up in his arms and soothe her, wake her up and utter whispers of loving words... The sparrows chirped and the orange blossoms swayed in the cool evening breeze, the aroma wafting through the thin curtains. He could never tell her his last words- I LOVE YOU. 

Of wedding portraits and love!

The hall of our ancestral home is an exhibition boasting of portraits of four generations of our family. The center of attraction is the picture of Jesus and His Sacred Heart. Flanked to his left is the portrait of my great grandfather. Now, he was one person who probably faced the camera first time in his life. His eyes almost pop out of the sockets in the picture. His demeanor is dull, gloomy and as a child i was scared to look at his picture at nights- too goofy you see! To the right is the portrait of great grandfather ( maternal) with his wife, taken in 1900s probably. He is regally seated on a throne like chair- i wonder where these studio guys buy "throne- like" chairs! His wife stands shy and coy, with her silk saree's pallu draped over both her shoulders. With a simple chain, jasmine flowers tucked behind her hair, she looks calm, cool and composed. Our great grandfather sports a silk angavastra, his look complete with a walking stick on hand, a HUGE moustache and a curt smile- he could pass muster as a village villain of any Kollywood movie.

To further left is the wedding portrait of my grandfather and grandmother, taken a few days after their wedding. The groom stands tall in his wedding coat- this is the influence of British in our family, i think- our forefathers had converted from Hinduism to Christianity by this time. The British were successful in converting many such villages totally from Hinduism to Christianity by a simple trump card- water! Only those converted to the new religion could draw water from canals for irrigation. The influence of British in weddings is depicted by the coat of grandfather- he even had a coat flower tucked in! And my grandmother sports a kerchief crumpled in her hands in the picture taken in 1947. 

Pic courtesy- oldindianpics.in

The next picture is that of my Dad and Mom, taken in 1977. The elaborate bouquet held gracefully in her hands, her wreath shining, Sharmila Tagore bun, jasmine flowers tucked by the side of her ear, big kajal laden eyes, my Mom was an equal match to Dad. His bell bottom pants, coat, curly cropped hair and big buckled belt- the retro look is totally enchanting! By now, men and women had learnt to stand together and were even bold enough to hold hands! 

Next in the lineup is generation 4- us, the cousins. These picture are ostentatious- pure display of status and wealth- the simple chain from generation one has now grown manifold. The number of neck pieces, pendant chains, haars and bangles till the elbow- now we know why the price of gold is sky- rocketing!!! The coat is the same, but the groom's chain and bracelet( of course gifted by poor fatherinlaw!) are more prominent than his smile! The bride- ah yes, poor she...She looks a mannequin who ran away from the ramp, all painted face, shining jewellery- clad in priciest kanjeevarams. As the mean distance from the grandparent's photo increases, so does the glitter and glamor of the cousins' portraits! 

Pic courtesy- google image search

 One look around the living room of my ancestral home, i try to peer closely at every pair and try to strike out a similarity between the four generations of wedding portraits. And i finally locate the underlying current that is synonymous in all the portraits- love! The glint of love in great grandparents' eyes that look straight at the camera, the gesture of hands held together in my grandparents' picture, the elbows hooked together in my parent's portrait and finally the 'clinging' pictures of the cousins- all speak of the love we have for our partners. God has gifted our family for four generations with His greatest Blessing- LOVE! And i am yet to figure out what the next portrait on the wall would be- probably a peck on the cheek of the bride....What say dear cousins?;) For a lip lock to be caught on a family portrait, it seems we have to wait another generation!

The week that was for Indian women...

Two news items caught my attention last week- One, Rajasthan's minister Maderna's involvement in a missing nurse case- very sleazy one that, and two, the murder of youngsters Keenan and Reuban, a case of eve teasing gone wild, in full public glare in Amchi Mumbai. The Rajasthani Minister's case was sen(x)ational one, with TV channels airing parts of sleazy CDs showing sexual overtures of Minister Maderna with the Dalit nurse Bhanwari Devi. She has been missing for almost two months now, probably murdered. Sadly, Maderna, though nailed by CBI, has been admitted to hospital with chest(!) pain in hospital. 

After Yeddyurappa, it is Maderna's turn to walk into the hospital, rather be wheeled into the hospital! Why doesn't the Government simply cut them open and conduct compulsory open heart surgeries? Seeing parts of the CD ( check link here) i could relate it to another sensational CD case, our own Swami Nityananda. Probably all porn sites should feature such amateur video CDs shot by 'unknown' people, they could cut down production costs, you see! Why does the press pounce on such CDs is anyone's guess- the TRP ratings. P7 and Sahara Samay has been pulled up by the Rajasthan High Court for repeatedly airing the CDs. Who worries anyway? PILs were filed against Sun TV network for airing Nityananda's CD- but we are yet to hear whereabouts of the case.

 I wonder why people with power and good public standing commit such sins(!) of coveting neighbours' wives. Saravana Bavan hotelier Rajagopal has been handed a life imprisonment in one such a case. He had ordered murder of Prince Shantakumar, husband of Jeevajyothi, the woman whom he took fancy to. Is this a deterrent to these men fancying other people's wives? NO. Success is something that churns out the sexual hormones in a frenzy...

Saravana Bhavan Rajagopal ( seated centre) and the woman wronged- Jeeva jyothi.

The other news that was deeply disturbing was murder of Keenan Santos and Reuban Fernandez in full public view- in the night streets of Mumbai. The two guys who were accompanying their women friends for a dinner in a Mumbai hotel. They were confronted by Rana, who sexually harassed the women friends, including Reuban's girlfriend in front of the hotel. Keenan and Reuban chased away Rana who was back with four of his friends armed with sticks, knives and sickles. With the whole neighborhood watching in horror, the two men who stood up for their women friends and their dignity were murdered in cold blood. Not a person watching, stood up for these poor men- ordinary men with ordinary dreams. The men who stood up for what they thought was right. Eve-teasing deaths do occur once in a while, but fade out soon, as the next death surfaces. 

Keenan and Reuban- the brave hearts

If this is the protection, respect and dignity that Indian women get in India today- why bauble on about 33% reservations for women? When rape in India has increased 800% in a decade, what good can our 33% reservation do? Nothing! Unless the society stops ostracizing women who stand up for themselves- women in India shall remain mere puppets, sans dignity.

Riyadh Zoo- A green haven!

When L suggested we visit Riyadh zoo that summer with the kids, i was a bit skeptical. Zoo is not a place that i liked to keep in the itinerary- i had outgrown it long time back. I had been to Vandalur Zoo in Chennai ages ago and developed inherent allergy to congested cages, dirty environs and almost dying animals. And when L suggested zoo and my two little ones yelled with joy, i groaned inwards. My displeasure failed to impress upon the enthusiastic trio and off we went to Riyadh zoo, flagging a taxi from our hotel. A Pakistani driver who ferried us, had a taxi that was befitting a zoo environment- the car reeked of age and the leather seat covers were tattered beyond recognition. We continued our journey in stoic silence, as L always bids us to keep our mouths tightly shut in any public transport.


The entrance to the zoo looked plain ordinary and what more can one expect from a zoo in the middle of a desert? All i hoped to see were monkeys full of bones, a few camels and innumerable stray cats! But the moment we stepped in the zoo, there was a shocking greenery all around. The entrance hosted a small lake where beautiful flamingos and other water birds were splashing by, unaware of the searing heat outside. A trio of seals were snoring on platforms around a climate controlled pool. The air conditioners were working overdrive. Surprisingly, i did not notice any foul stench that usually emanates from a zoo...

Blissfully asleep- seals in Riyadh Zoo

Then came the enclosure of African elephant. It was a calf, he strutted around the ground supervised by his Malayali ambari ( mahout)! The gentleman was much impressed by Indians waving at his pet(!) that he let me film the pachyderm closer. The antics of the elephant was interesting that i spent much time watching him. Only when L chided me for my love for the jumbo, did i move.

There is our African elephant with his Keralite Mahout

Landscaping of the zoo has been done with an eye for detail with a tiny stream  flowing through the lush green man-made oasis. The entire spread of 55 acres is a treat to weary eyes that behold the miles and miles of desert sand. Zebras, bactrian camels ( two humped camels), a tiny pony, giraffes and foxes lazed by in their enclosures. There was even a pair of lions and a Bengal tiger sleeping peacefully! Thankfully, the lions, tiger, leopards and the ilk looked robust, not the tired and half dead circus ones we get to see in zoos of India!

Bactrian camel and pony- The wall in the background is their airconditioned stall!

This cute fella did not like me clicking him!

Puff adder- after his hearty meal of a few mice!

Orangutan and his antics- Riyadh zoo.

After visiting the snakes, monkeys and birds, we were tired and had to find solace in soft drinks. The stall was run by a Tamil, we found it entertaining to have small talk with him. We sat then, taking stock of the lush green scenery around us. The little stream and its green waters remained placid as the hot afternoon sun blazed on above. Ducks waddled in the stream and a cool breeze blew from somewhere- imagine a breeze in the middle of a hot Arabian desert! The hard work and care given to the greenery and the animals in the zoo is just outstanding, i must say!

Relaxing by the stream

Another view- Riyadh zoo and its lawns

Green waters and ducks waddling

Memorable visit it was and i wish our Indian counterparts do learn from zoos world wide regarding maintenance of the zoo, its environs and the poor animals housed therein. Though i am not a great admirer of animals in captivity, a zoo does have educational value for the young, i must admit. And i wish as grown ups we relive a few moments of our childhood when we visit such zoos with our little ones!

Whispers...

This incident happened way back in 1994 when i was in my senior schooling years. We went on a youth camp to a remote village in Andhra- TN border and really had the best time of our life. Playing games, pranks, competitions and dances i just felt wonderful after a long time. One morning we had a renown psychiatrist addressing us. There we sat, listening carefully what he had to say about concentrating on studies and later on the topic moved to the various distractions we had when we studied. It was then suddenly pushed to the topic of premarital sex. I could feel the air bristle with tension when students put anonymous questions on sexuality, contraceptives and premarital affairs.

A small town girl who left to study in the city, ( you can watch the same scene in many Bollywood and Kollywood movies!)  i felt pretty awful and embarrassed to be discussing these issues in an open circle. And i was shocked, you can say shell shocked listening to the questions raised. My idea of sex and sexuality was limited to watching movies and reading Millsandboon strictly!

Cartoon courtesy- voicesofyouth.com

The embarrassment continued when we, the girls, were supplied with sanitary napkins by a manufacturer. Hijacking the solitary napkin in the secret pocket of my uniform salwar was by itself an adventure! Giggling and whispering, we safely transported it, hiding from the prying eyes of the guys of the class. I still remember vividly how we girls shifted a girl from our class to the ladies restroom who had spoiled her dress...the hushed tones, the sweat and the shivering hands! And why would these sanitary napkins be named- Hush, whisper, private, intimacy???

And how the world has changed today? Discussing sex is not considered a taboo anymore, as is evident now. And 'transporting' a sanitary pad is not an arduous task. Amma and her ilk are going to supply them free of cost to all female students in schools through teachers- errrr...come again, teachers, you said? So, from now on, teachers would be distributing notebooks and sanitary pads...What a novel idea! Freebies starting from sanitary napkins to mixers, grinders and cows, goats??? Children these days are more intelligent than us, they are swift learners when it comes to sexuality than algebras and theorems. Sex education in schools was a much discussed issue during my school days and now it has fizzled out. CBSE holds sex education as an optional subject and i wonder if anything worthwhile is taught in schools. And at times i myself am confused what is to be taught to our teens- safe sex or abstinence? 

The Maharashtra Government has banned sex education in all schools, citing reasons it 'corrupts' the children. I wouldn't say that is wise, because if classrooms don't teach them, our idiot boxes and peer circles will do that- nefariously! A friend lamented once that her five year old daughter wanted to know what that blue liquid being absorbed in a napkin was- seeing a TV commercial. She was too stunned to reply. But is that a solution? It is better we take kids to our side and explain what is required for them to be known for their age, depending on their maturity levels. Who would be a better teacher than us, parents- their first teachers?

Calls- unsolicited!

Shocker 1:

The moment my head hit the pillow, i was asleep. Somewhere far from me, i could hear my mobile's ring ring. Too sleepy to open my eyes, i fumbled for it on the pillow nearby. After a few seconds of groping in the dark, i opened my right eye a wee bit and looked at the clock. It read 10.30 pm. Now my search was almost frantic, lest the incessant ring wake up L peacefully snoring nearby. I finally got hold of the silly thing and wrung its neck- i meant pressed the green button. The voice on the other side was chirpy, too bright for a late night call. The person calling wanted to know his berth number for Rockfort Express about to leave from the platform. Now this person was one of my friend's friend and could have got my number from her, but frankly, is night 10.30 a right time to call a total stranger and ask if their ticket got confirmed? Probably the person thought of me as a super computer that remembers every PNR she comes across on a day. 

And what guts he had to remind me- " Madam, i booked my ticket in your counter two days back". Oh wow! his IQ amazed me so much. I book tickets for an average of 100 people a day and how do i remember this particular person and his berth number? I sat there staring stupidly at the mobile and managed to say- " Please check the chart on the station entrance" and tried to dutifully get back to sleep. That is when my own James Bond woke up and asked the momentary question- " Who is that?" By the time i could explain who it was and what he wanted, L was almost nearing boiling point! 

Shocker 2:

There was another incident a few months back. Poor me was admitted in a hospital for a surgery and was recuperating the same day. Thinking his darling daughter would need a mobile in case of an emergency, Daddy left my mobile near the bed stand. I lay there in the hospital looking blank at the ceiling as my memory faded in and out- the after effect of anesthesia. My right hand punctured and IV fluid administered, i could barely keep myself sane. Daddy had gone to buy me some medicines. 

That is when the mobile chose to ring. After the same legendary groping, i found it and after great difficulty lifted it with my good left arm. The other side cooed a good morning. " Madam, we are calling from XYZ insurance. Anything might happen to us at any moment. So, please subscribe for our company's insurance plan". My foot, i was already sick to the core, slipping in and out of consciousness and God only knows the expletives that marketing executive might have heard that day! And funnily enough, i was so fuzzy, yet i remembered all those expletives banned ages ago, by Mom at home! That meant i was doing just great!

Shocker 3:

This happened a few years back. A hot summer afternoon and we were all dozing at home when the phone rang. Dad who was sleeping nearby picked it up and sat bolt upright. He kept saying- " Oh", " great", " so?" and "ok, ok" so many times that i too woke up from my slumber, thinking he hit the jackpot. And when he handed over the phone to me, looking quizzically at him, i picked it up. The lady on the other side informed dad won a lucky draw and wanted to know if he had any summer vacation programs and i said a big NO. 

She babbled her company was providing a package- 4 days, three nights stay in Goa for a couple, free of cost! There was a little problem though- they wanted Dad to go with his wife. With our Mom dead and gone for five years then, i mustered all my patience and asked if he could go alone, for which the reply was the negative. Negative again, when i asked if someone else from our family could accompany him. That is when she and her sing song voice got to my nerves and i blurted out- " No problem madam, by the way, what are your plans this summer?" That is when i heard the WHAM of the receiver banged on my ears! 

The DNC letters of my mobile have almost worn out of sending Do Not Call SMS to my network provider ( he must probably be snoring away in his Antilla when i answer unwanted calls- how dare he?). They eat away your money and provide your numbers to unwanted marketing agencies who in turn call at the most inopportune moments selling anything under the sun! It is always Sunday afternoon 3 O' clock to sell mutual funds, loans and Monday morning 10 O' clock for holiday time shares;) And it is always a crowded wedding hall when they call up for your salary details regarding the bank loan you dread! So ladies and gentlemen, calling me the next time to sell insurance, mutual fund, cars, loans, jewellery, designer wear or inner wear- beware! I am going to sue you! You heard it right- SUE YOU. 

Excuse me madam...Weight loss?

This happened last week when i was waiting at the traffic signal for my green lights. My new two wheeler shining and my face radiant ( read- oil oozing out of every damn pore!) i stood in the blazing afternoon sun. The guy who stopped his vehicle next to me showed a fleeting smile as i glanced carelessly at the surroundings. He took out a card from his pocket and waved it at me. I being the Good Samaritan as always, thought he was looking for some address in the vicinity and got the card from his hand. The address read- Sutharsan Nutrition Center. I couldn't remember any center by that name and dutifully said- " Sir, there is no address like this in this area." He widened his smile saying- " No madam, we have a weight loss program, do pay us a visit". Well, you can imagine how i would have felt- dropped from the Eiffel Tower with a boulder tied to your neck. I did the most reckless thing next- locked my vehicle and got down from it. The weight loss wallah was happy, thinking he caught a big fish- oops, a blue whale! What he was next to see was the ugliest side of a seemingly normal woman...

Oh yes- you get rid of my weight and my money too!
Pic coutesy- adsoftheworld.com

The conversation went thus- 

Weight loss wallah (WLW): "Why madam..we can't talk here! Please come to my clinic."

Myself: "Why the hell would i do that? How dare you ask me to enroll for your program?"

WLW: "No madam, you are obese and you must reduce weight."

Myself: "I am happy the way I AM!"

WLW: "No no...please change your idea...no diet here, you can eat anything you want to!"

Myself: "Who said i am gluttonous? I know what to eat and what not to eat. You just mind your business. Next time i see you selling your clinic anywhere on this road, i am going to sue you!" ( By now my volume has almost gone to monstrous levels with curious onlookers and a traffic policeman rushing to clear the commotion!)

WLW: retreating slowly- "I just asked if you could enroll here. It is not an offence..."

Myself: "In that case, you created a public nuisance by talking indecently to a lady...come let us go to the nearest police station!"

WLW: No words...kick starts his bike and rushes in full throttle.

The traffic policeman gives me a big friendly smile, his large tummy dancing! We are both in the same side- the heavier side! The onlookers move on, disappointed at a no show. I reached home fuming and in a definitely foul mood. I tried looking at the full length mirror in my bedroom and i feel, i am certainly not that obese...Phew! People these days have the wrong opinion of seeing plump women as obese. May be the size zero factor has an important role to play here. I really feel pathetic when i see pencil thick legs draped in jeans when i visit a mall- poor girls...they are just a bag of bones! And if there is one breakfast that annoys me the most- it is corn flakes! If i ever get to lay my hands on the man who invented breakfast cereals, i am going to gouge his eyes out! PONG! Period!

My poor sister in law once enrolled in a slimming program that required her to weigh her cornflakes- only 80 grams! And it was 50 ml of rice with 100 ml veggies for lunch. I can never ever think of a pure vegan diet- i'd rather die and be buried. End of story. Recently i went to our obstetrician ( again read- 'obese'trician) who advised me to control my weight. "If you are obese, you will end up with diabetes, high blood pressure and your children might not take care of you if you are sick in your old age", she chided. Exercise regularly- yes, very good doctor, i would love to, but who gives me the time? She said- where there is will, there is a way! By the way, doctor dear, who is this Will? And why must he give me way to lose my weight?

I can never diet, i do not find time for exercise and i am happy the way i am. So will the world shut up and move on with something that is more important than my 76 kgs frame? Next time anyone is going to sell weight loss program, slimming center, fat loss powder, heat therapy, fluid extraction or any other such programs, think twice before approaching me. I am a fat-fanatic!

P.S.: Wondering if 76 kgs is overweight and obese for a 5 ft 2 inches person?

P.P.S: Even if it is overweight, i give a damn! Excuse me for this ranting;)

Bodhi Dharma- the forgotten chapter in Indian history

There has been much hype and hoopla surrounding the latest movie to hit the theatres this Diwali in Tamil- Yezhaam arivu. The multi crore budget movie has been marketed well and the expectations it has created has raised many eyebrows, including this movie buff. The story of Bodhi Dharma is by itself very intriguing- a Pallava Prince turned Buddhist monk of the sixth century. The Father of Chan ( zen) Buddhism and the man who named ‘tea’ from TAI…Fondly called Daruma in Japan and Da Mo – “ the blue eyed barbarian” in Chinese. When Chan spread from China to Japan, the myth of Bodhi Darma too sailed across to Japan. Today traditional Daruma dolls are an essential ficture in every Japanese home. Every monastery in China houses his statue. Bodhi Dharma is also said to have propagated the mix of yoga, silambattam, varmakalai and Indian martial arts and existing Chinese martial art forms to the Shaolin monks at the world renowned Shaolin Temple. He is father of Shaolin Arts- that reshaped into modern day’s kung- fu!

Oldest painting of Bodhi Dharma from 12th Century, Japan. Courtesy- onmarkproductions.com

Tanlin, the Chinese scholar of the sixth century mentions Bodhi Dharma in his book-

“The Dharma Master was a South Indian of the Western Region. He was the third son of a great Indian king of the Pallava Dynasty. His ambition lay in the Mahayana path, and so he put aside his white layman's robe for the black robe of a monk. Lamenting the decline of the true teaching in the outlands, he subsequently crossed distant mountains and seas, traveling about propagating the teaching in Han and Wei.” This is the first ever mention we find of Bodhi Dharma in China.

Prof Tsutomu Kambe - Univ of Tokyo provided an answer to his birth – “Documents published just after Tang dynasty (ending in 907) describe that the name of the Kingdom of Bodhidharma’s origin as expressed with two Chinese characters ’香至. A likely pronunciation is Kang-zhi (Kanchi).” Various accounts say Bodhi Dharma was born the third prince of Pallava King, who followed Buddhism under the able guidance of his master Pragnyadhara. This is again a slight variation from Gautam Buddha, narrates Osho- “he was not averse to initiate women as sanyasins like Gautam Buddha- he himself was a disciple of Sanyasin Pragnyadhara”! It was Pragnyadhara who prodded him to move on to China. It was her unabated streamlining that made him shed all his material love . He followed his master’s orders to reach China- the land of Zhen Dan. He probably sailed to China- a proof to again show the Indian Kings had naval prowess and crossed to mainland China by crossing the Yangtze River. The interesting interpretation of his crossing the Yangtze by using a reed, not a boat, depicts the smooth sailing of Dharma over the turbulent waters of samsara!

Bodhi Dharma, crossing Yangtze on a reed- courtesy xabusiness.com

He practised a unique form of yoga- zazen in Japanese, his own style- the ‘wall gazing’. He is referred to as the ‘wall gazing monk’. That may be a method of finding the truth behind a wall- the mind...This was definitely not meditation.  Every monastery in China and Japan boast of a statue of Bodhi Dharma, but Indian history has no trace of him. He himself had to relinquish worldly interests including the Pallava throne to spread Buddhism which was almost extinct by then, with the re-emergence of Hinduism. His death and fag end of his life is also shrouded in mystery. Legend says he was poisoned and died. He was buried, but a Chinese official named Shung Yun who knew him, saw him alive after three days heading towards India, barefoot, with a sandal in his hands. When enquired, Bodhi Dharma answered he was returning to India once for all and moved on. Only when the Chinese official returned home did he know that Dharma had been dead for three days. His tomb was immediately dug out and all they could find was a single sandal. His corpse was missing…History talks volumes of Jesus’ resurrection, but there is no hint of Dharma’s death and awakening. He simply vanished in thin air.

Daruma eye painting- at the beginning of the year and the end.
Pic courtesy- onmarkductions.com

In Japanese folklore, Daruma is looked upon as a symbol of prosperity, Daruma dolls, drums and figurines are made even today. People buy these Daruma dolls- a Japanese egg shaped doll that tilts back upright when knocked over. Its wide-open eyes and lack of legs come from the Bodhi Dharma legends. People buy these dolls without eyes, paint an eye at the beginning of a year. By the end of the year, as a thanks giving, they paint the other eye! Daruma dolls are used as talismans to ward off evil spirits and as lucky mascots.

Prince Charles painting a Daruma doll's eye!
Pic Courtesy- carpages.co.uk

Here are few teachings of Bodhi Dharma-

"As long as you look for a Buddha somewhere else, you'll never see that your own mind is the Buddha."

"And as long as you're subject to birth and death, you'll never attain enlightenment."

"If we should be blessed by some great reward, such as fame or fortune, it's the fruit of a seed planted by us in the past."

"The ignorant mind, with its infinite afflictions, passions, and evils, is rooted in the three poisons. Greed, anger, and delusion."

"The mind is always present. You just don't see it."

A forgotten history has been now revived and it is indeed great to be a part of the nation to which Dharma belonged to!