Category: Inspirations

Snakes Alive!

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 2 Comments

This is the month when many parts of India celebrate Nag Panchami or festival of snakes, by worshipping the Snake God for protection. The many rituals and myths associated with this perpetuate many false perceptions about snakes. This takes me back to my own snake story.IMG_20180830_100525311.jpg

When I started my career as an environmental educator, one of my first close encounters of the wild kind was when we were asked to touch a snake! This was in Sundarvan, a small snake park. The snake was a Red Sand Boa—a non-venomous snake. For someone who was, at that time, far from being a passionate wild-lifer, this was indeed an experience that served to dispel the many myths that one had grown up with. One of these were that snakes were “slimy”, and to be avoided at all costs. The skin of the sand boa felt dry and smooth, and we learnt that most snakes are in fact non-venomous.

And there began my long and fascinating journey in the natural world. A journey along which I had the most wonderful encounters with some of India’s best known naturalists and educators.

One of these was the Snakeman of India Romulus Whitaker.

Not so long after my induction by snakes, Romulus himself came to CEE and fascinated us with snake tales and the importance of breaking the myths that associated snakes with all things creepy and vile, and communicating the vital role of snakes in the ecosystem, especially as friends of farmers because they eat the rats that destroy crops.

A little later, Romulus graciously accepted to write a piece for a book that Meena and I were editing. In this he recounted how he first came to India from New York city when he was 8 years old, and returned a few years later  to make India his home, and herpetology his career. He recalled how “the snake charmers at Juhu Beach in Bombay were my first tutors but it wasn’t long before I outgrew their mixture of magic and nonsense.”

Romulus’s passion for setting the record straight about reptiles has manifested itself in a long and close association with the Irulas, an indigenous tribe of snake catchers of Tamil Nadu who became his friends and mentors; setting up of India’s first Snake Park in 1970 and the Madras Crocodile Bank in 1975 and, in 2005 the Agumbe Rainforest Research Station in Karnataka. These Parks continue to attract and educate millions of visitors every year, and they have also become the base of conservation research projects in many parts of India including the Andaman islands.

His never-ending impulse to show and tell people about reptiles led Romulus to start making documentary films, many of which have won international awards. One of his first films Snakebite tells about how to avoid and treat snakebite. While studying incidents of snakebites in India, Whitaker discovered that numerous lives were lost due to inadequate production and distribution of anti-venom serum. That is when he mobilised the Irula community to form a snake catchers’ cooperative, who under licenses from the Wildlife Department, extract and freeze-dry venom from snakes and sell it to anti-venom producing laboratories before releasing the snakes back into the wild.

In 2018 Romulus was awarded the Padma Shri for nature conservation. In one of the interviews following the award Romulus said “I believe that touching a snake opens people’s minds and changes it forever.” I can totally vouch for that!

Thank you Rom for helping to open a new world, and for being a continuing inspiration!

–Mamata

Bravely Battling the Big C

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 7 Comments

I requested my friend who has resolutely conquered her cancer to share her experiences, and she generously agreed, though it was not easy for her to re-visit this part of her life. And what I realized is that you need 4Cs to battle the Big C: Courage of the person concerned, Caring Family, Compassionate Doctor and a network of Concerned Friends.

I share her story in first person and have the conviction that she has left it behind forever.

–Meena

It’s hard to go down memory lane to the fateful day when I got to know that I had the dreaded C disease. It was so hard to accept that diagnosis and to be able to actually say the word: CANCER!

A17DE18F-B261-4714-B3C5-D772E24CF012

‘Oh my God ! it can’t be happening to me…’ was obviously the first thought.

It took Dr Sarin less than five minutes and a physical examination to deliver the verdict which sealed my fate. But the journey to get to this point was not an easy one. I had been going from pillar to post, from doctor to doctor to doctor in my country of residence for a full year, and nobody so much as even suspected anything this drastic. I used to repeatedly get a ulcer on my left nipple which was not amenable to any treatment –I tried allopathy, homeopathy, ayurveda…you name it! I visited all streams of experts…GP, Dermatologist, Gynaecologist. Finally, as luck would have it, I came across a surgeon who suggested a biopsy, and on getting the result, he suspected something and asked me to go to India immediately.

A friend of mine had taken me for this biopsy. She immediately got into action and contacted her cousin in Delhi who knew a thing or two about doctors there. Though I have my whole family in Delhi and I belong to Delhi, here was a friend in this alien country who helped me to not only find an ACE DOCTOR, but took the pains to ensure I got to see the doctor—from arranging the appointment to everything.. all without my knowledge. She contacted my sisters and gave them the doctor’s contacts and my appointment time.

So Jan 23, 2017..can I ever forget this date !! I met Dr Sarin with 10 of my family members. There were tears and tears and tears all around as Dr Sarin gave her verdict. But I have to say, if ever there was an angel in a doctor’s guise, it was Dr Sarin. She tried to soften the blow as much as possible. Convinced my family that this was the easiest cancer to handle and that it was completely curable. We latched on to every single word she uttered and put our complete faith on her.

My Paget’s disease needed to be dealt with immediately. Straight on, we dived into a whirlpool of tests and more tests! Mercifully Jan 26th was a National holiday, so I got some respite to catch my breath! My surgery was planned for Jan 27th morning. God was surely holding my hand! I say so because I didn’t get time to think about what had hit me, everything was moving so fast (and trust me that’s the best way to go about it!). On Friday morning, I went into the OT. I was constantly praying to my Sai to hold my hand through this ordeal even as I saw doctors and nurses preparing for the operation. Dr Sarin came to me in the pre-surgery room, talked to me and gave me courage. There I saw my Sai Baba on her locket and suddenly I felt that He would work through Dr.Sarin’s hands and cut away my cancer. I was ready for the surgery. Everything went off well ..I was sent home the next day.

While all looked well, the tissues were sent for a detailed exam. On the third day when I went back for check-up, I was shocked to learn that a gene mutation had been found and I needed hormone therapy (Herceptin) for a year to completely take care of my problem. BUT to give that, they had to give me 6 cycles of chemotherapy. OMG! Once again I was in Dr Sarin’s room flooding it with tears. I could not handle the thought of chemotherapy. Apart from everything else, I could not accept the thought of losing hair and becoming bald. And also the fact that I would have to stay back for 4 1/2 months at least, to finish six rounds of the three-weekly chemo sessions.

Then started the second phase of my treatment journey. We had left Delhi about 10 years before this incident. I have two sisters and a brother-in-law living in Delhi and a hoard of school and college friends whom I had been close to. By God’s grace they all came forward and were there for me. They were like my suraksha chakra. I can never thank them enough or do anything to repay their love and support and courage which helped me go through this trial.

For after this, it was never-ending trips to Apollo every Monday and Thursday. I decided to look upon these as my outings! Remember in chemo we have to be confined to a room in the most sanitized atmosphere possible ! Oh God ! how seriously we took it..my US-based sons would send us Dettol wipes in huge dibbas and Chlorex to clean the floor. My husband was quite depressed through it all…he felt sad and guilty as he could not be there with me. But he had a job to keep and cancer is an expensive affair !

My sons would put a positive spin on everything. They’d say ‘Mummy, when will you ever get so much attention in your life? Just take it in your stride and go through it bravely. We have to come out a champ from this ordeal. Sai Baba is with you, providing all support. You have to do your bit by hanging in there.’

And that was true. I had the best doctors treating me. Dr Sarin is nothing less than God for me. Her healing touch was enough to lift my spirits every time I met her. With every passing chemo, she would say, ‘chalo one more done, ab to katam hone wala hai…’, and I would feel happy that we were crawling towards the end, slowly but surely. May God give her long, blessed life! My medical oncologist Dr Manish Singhal, took care of all the side effects so beautifully that I had minimum discomfort (that the minimum is also difficult to handle is another matter!).

Then again, the hardest part was to lose my hair…however much you may be prepare for it, it does make you cry!!!! I lost mine after the second chemo, but again my children had already sent me wigs, so I didn’t have to move around bald. Dr Sarin, Pooja, Dr Parag and my whole family would always pull down my scarf and urge me to have the confidence to move around like that!

I had my whole family rallying around me. My nutrition was being well taken care of..Nariyal pani first thing in the morning, healthy palak parantha for breakfast, anar mid morning etc etc. The whole meal plan was  ‘cooked fresh, fresh, fresh’.

All in all my sisters were a great source of strength for me during my difficult period.The two who were in Delhi physically present with me through it all and with whom I took turns to stay with for months on end and my sister from afar praying for me and cheering me up always!

My sister from Dubai too gave me immense strength through it all.As soon as she heard about my diagnosis,she took the next flight and was by my side for the surgery. Then all through my chemotherapy days she kept sending me beautiful scarves and prayer threads and what have you! Twice more she flew down to spend time with me.She is an excellent cook n as we know during chemo the taste buds really go for a toss .She would prepare yakhni and other delicious stuff that would appeal to my palett.It was a delight to have her around whenever she could make it ! Its because of her prayers and best wishes that I stand strong today !

I used to sleep a lot, something that came naturally to me after every chemo. In each cycle, in the first week, I only slept.  The second week onwards, felt a bit stronger. The third week was the golden week when was all ok. My relatives made a ritual of entertaining me on the day before the next chemo. In the safe period, we would go out for a movie followed by dinner. So in this way, I saw six movies and ate in six plush restaurants to mark my six chemos. Perks of being a patient!!

I felt God all around me, as if He had sent these people to lovingly look after me, and all I had to do was to be a little brave and keep my eye on the light at the end of the tunnel.  I thanked God a million times every day for giving me these people to help me through my most difficult times.

I tried my best not to let myself be dragged down by negative thoughts. I used to always go to the temple on the Apollo premises before going in for chemo. It gave me immense strength. A quirky habit I developed was that I wanted a room facing the temple only. That had become my good omen. After two chemos, they knew i wouldn’t take a room on the other side!

After the six chemos were over, I was finally given the go ahead to go back to my home and country to continue with Herceptin for the rest of the year, and then come back for a check-up. In Feb 2018, my last Herceptin was administered. I flew to India end of March and got my check-up done by Dr Manish Singhal, Dr Parag and my dearest Dr Ramesh Sarin, and got the ALL CLEAR signal.

The relief in my heart is difficult to express in words. When Dr Sarin told me I could have my chemo port removed, I was as unbelieving as I was the day I was told that I needed one!

Thank you, Apollo Hospital!

I love my doctors and I love my family and friends, who with the grace of God, brought me to this day where I have left cancer behind….hopefully forever!

 

 

The Train Reached the Station….

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 1 Comment

And all I could see was fire and smoke! Everything outside seemed to be burning. I could hear cries of ‘Allah ho akbar’ and ‘Hey Ram’. There was not a soul on the platform. We and the other newly married couple from our bogey got down. We didn’t know what to do—we just stood there for a few minutes, with all our luggage. I was holding the ‘chumbu’ that had not fitted into any trunk. My veena, wrapped in old sarees, lay at my feet.  I had no clue what was going on. My husband looked worried, but I did not know what he was worried about. We had thought that athimber (my husband’s sister’s husband) would come to the station to take us home. We had heard that there was some trouble in Delhi, and thought that surely he would have arranged for transport. But there was no one there.

Then a porter appeared. He came to my husband and they started speaking in Hindi. I could only understand a few words of Hindi at that time, so I don’t know what they said.

After a lot of discussion, the porter hurried away and returned with a cart of some kind. We loaded all our luggage onto this. But the veena would not fit in—the neck stuck out. So my husband picked it up. I was still carrying the chumbu.

My husband only said ‘Walk fast. Don’t make a noise’.

I could not understand where we were going. We got down from the sloping end of the platform and crossed some tracks and kept walking along the tracks. They were going so fast, I was finding it difficult. I was hungry—the GT was supposed to have reached at 5 o’clock in the morning, but it had reached at 5 o’clock in the evening.

As we walked along, there were houses on the sides. They all looked the same. It was some colony. We saw not a soul on the way. I could not make out whether anyone lived in the colony or they were all empty houses.

It was difficult to manage all the luggage in the cart as we walked over the uneven ground. There were trunks with clothes. Two holdalls. My mother had tied up vessels and kitchen items in old sarees. Then there were tins with different types of sweets and savories. My father had bought a blue glass jar from his lab supplier because I loved them. My mother had filled it with mixture ordered from the hostel. She told me I could use the bottle later to store something in the kitchen. Suddenly the blue jar fell down and broke. Tears came to my eyes, but I did not dare cry. We just kept walking on.

After about half an hour of walking, the porter stopped the cart near one of the houses. He went to the door and knocked softly. Someone looked out of the window. On seeing the porter, he came to the door and opened it slightly. He was dressed like a watchman.

They whispered to each other. Then the porter signaled to us to take the luggage into the house. The house was full of piles of luggage.  The watchman shifted a few pieces here and there and made some space for our luggage. We brought in the pieces one by one and put them there.

I asked my husband in Tamil: ‘Are we going to leave the luggage here? All the silver vessels are here. How can we leave them?’ My heart was sinking. My mother had bought two large oval plates and two tumblers specially for my coming to my husband’s house for the first time.

He just hissed at me to keep quiet. He took the porter and watchman to a corner, said something to them and gave them lot of money. We walked out.  The veena was in my husband’s hands—it was too big and odd shaped—we could not put it in the room. And for some reason, I was still carrying the chumbu.

When we had walked a few minutes, I saw a huge railway water spout gushing water. I ran to it. Only when I started drinking did I realize how hungry and thirsty I was. I drank and drank. Then we walked on. We had now left behind the colony and were in the city. My husband told me there was a curfew on but it was relaxed for an hour and so we had to hurry and reach home. But I didn’t know what a curfew was.  We walked quietly along the side of the lanes.

And then the horror! A man came running from one direction. There was another man chasing him. He caught up with him, and in front of our eyes, he drove a knife into the first man. Blood spurted out. I was going to scream, but my husband clamped his hand on my mouth. The killer pulled the body and threw it into the gutter on the side of the road and ran away. He had not noticed us.

I asked my husband why that man had killed the other one, what was happening? But he just gestured to me to keep quiet and walked on.

By the time we reached home, it was dark. It was not our house, my husband told me. ‘This is Tagore Road. My sister’s house. Our house is in Lodhi Road—too far away.’

We went in. Our brother-in-law was there and 2 other families who were sheltering there because their own areas were not safe. My sister-in-law and mother-in-law had gone to our house in Lodhi Road to get the house ready for us, but had got stuck there.

The ladies welcomed us and did aarti. One of them said ‘Are you hungry? There is some arisi upma we made in the morning. You can have that’. Never had food tasted so good. But there was not much. Even as we were eating this, the ladies started cooking dinner. There was a murungakka tree in the garden. So they made murungakka sambhar and rice. This was the menu for the next three days, both for lunch and for dinner.

In the night, all the ladies slept in one room. We each would keep a cloth with red chili powder in it, and a heavy stone (ammi) or something like that next to our pillows. The ladies told me that if anyone should come into the house, I should throw the chili powder in their eyes. The men would go out in groups and do rounds of the colony. They had piled up stones and reapers across the lane entrance.

I was fifteen years old at that time. The year was 1947.

–Meena

This is the true story of the day my athai (father’s sister) landed in Delhi as a new bride, in the midst of the Partition.

A Life Too Short: A Tribute to Dr. Vikram Sarabhai

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 7 Comments

Today all of us as Indians, and the whole world in fact, see India as a technological power, a force to reckon with. It is easy for us to be confident of ourselves, our technical prowess, and our growing economic power. But in the ‘40s and ‘50s? We were a fledgling nation, and even food security was an issue. Many around the world wondered whether we would survive as a country, as a democracy. And at such a time, there were some people who had the daring, the vision and the confidence, to dream of being a country that would make a difference. One of them was Vikram Sarabhai.

‘Vikram Sarabhai—A Life’ by Amrita Shah tells this story well. It is a book which made me feel proud as an Indian; which said individuals can make a huge difference; which revealed glimpses of what it takes to build institutions of excellence; and which, most importantly said that it is possible to be a wonderful, warm, caring and very human person, and a high-achiever at the same time.

We look around us today—India is launching rockets for developed countries, it is accepted as a nuclear power, it is on the forefront of the IT revolution. But how did we get here? This book gives us some insights. I think this is an important role that a biography plays—being able to connect the present with the historical context, through the achievements and the legacy of one person.

And the book gives us glimpses of other very extraordinary individuals who played a part in Vikram’s life. The book helps one understand the impact that Ambalal Sarabhai or Kasturbhai Lalbhai or Bhabha had on Sarabhai’s work. But though we catch glimpses of the next generation–Dr Kalam, Mr Seshan, Kiran Karnik or Madhavan Nair—we don’t get an insight into how they, as people and professionals, were impacted by Sarabhai. But that’s probably another book!

The book chronicles well the span and breadth of Sarabhai’s achievements—from pure research to scientific administration; from running a pharmaceutical concern to laying the foundation for management education as we know it today; from market research to bringing in scientific approaches to looking at industrial operations; from space to atomic energy.  But what it does even better is to reveal that he set out on each of these diversified ventures with a clarity of purpose and a remarkably unified approach to seemingly very different issues. Sarabhai knew what he was doing. He was not a vain man, but definitely he had no doubts about his ability to take on the most impossible-seeming jobs—even when older and wiser heads thought otherwise. His charm and charisma, which probably helped him overcome many an obstacle, come through. But what also comes through is that his relationship with people was based on a real sense of caring. He did not set out to charm people for what he could get out of them, but probably ended up charming because he was a warm, caring and joyous person who believed in people and respected them.

Vikram the father, Vikram the husband, Vikram the boss, Vikram the son, Vikram the scientist, Vikram the manager—they are all there. Maybe not in depth but definitely outlined evocatively enough to give one a flavour of the person in his multiple roles.

The book is remarkably non-judgmental and matter-of-fact. Though Ms. Shah says that Vikram Sarabhai was a childhood hero and that is why she set about writing his biography, she seems to have been able to resist the temptation to fuzz not-so-pleasant realities. Whether it is his marriage, or his inability to really assert himself and take a firm stand vis a vis individuals in the Department of Atomic Energy, it is told like it was.

I would like to thank Amrita Shah for this biography. We cannot afford to forget our heroes—and Vikram Sarabhai was certainly one of them.

–Meena

Vikram Sarabhai, A Life by Amrita Shah was published in 2007. It is reviewed today to commemorate Dr. Sarabhai’s birthday which falls on 12 August.

The Millennial Matriarchs both count Ahmedabad as home and have worked in institutions which were part of Vikrambhai’s dream. I had the additional good fortune of living on the campus of IIM Ahmedabad as a faculty-spouse. In a large part, we owe what we are to him, albeit indirectly.

What Say You?

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 4 Comments

When I lived in Kenya, and learnt a little bit of Kiswahili, it was great fun to discover curious words or phrases. One of the best ones was to the local word for curd/yogurt. This was called Mazeevaa Lala—literally “sleeping milk!”

I was reminded of this recently when I chanced upon a Maltese saying My eye went with me, to mean that you have fallen asleep, as not taking your eyes with you would result in a sleepless night!

This is one of the many sayings in a delightful book titled Speaking in Tongues: curious expressions from around the world–a compilation of proverbs, idioms and sayings from different languages of the world, put together by Ella Frances Sanders. What brings the words alive are the accompanying illustrations, also by Ella who describes herself as “a writer out of necessity and an illustrator by accident.”

IMG_20180725_181146775.jpgFrom Finnish to Igbo, Armenian to Yiddish, each double spread presents delectable sayings and drawings that blend the wit and wisdom of the ages while also placing these in their cultural context.

Cannot resist sharing some:

Even the monkeys fall from trees. This well-known Japanese saying reminds that even the best and the cleverest can still make mistakes, and cautioning to keep overconfidence in check!  Perhaps the recent World Cup surprises where the superheroes fell from grace is an apt analogy!

You are my orange half. A Spanish term of endearment that means that someone is your soulmate or love of your life. Not quite sure what is so endearing about an orange, but reminded of the Amul chocolate ads that urged us to “Share it with someone you love!”

Horse horse Tiger tiger. To describe something that is so-so, or neither here nor there. This is a Mandarin expression; its origin lies in a story about a painter who painted a half tiger half horse but nobody bought it as it was neither one nor the other.

To pull someone out of their watermelons. A Romanian idiom that means to drive someone crazy! Not much light on why being in or out of watermelons can be harmful to mental health!

Stop ironing my head. An Armenian way of saying “Stop bugging me!” Popularly used when someone keeps asking irritating questions and won’t leave you alone. In many Indian languages we have our own equivalents in the form of “Don’t eat my head.”

To give a green answer to a blue question. A Tibetan reference to when the answer is completely unrelated to the question asked. Something that people in politics are adept at!

This is just a sampler of the 52 proverbs, expressions and idioms that have been passed on from one generation to another in diverse cultures. Interestingly, they reflect not just diversity, but also the sameness as it were. As I read I immediately thought of similar ones in Hindi and Gujarati, as will surely be the case in all languages. Remember how we had to memorise proverbs in our language subjects in school and what a pain it was? Maybe it is time to revisit these!

A perfect one to end with. To have a head full of crickets. 

IMG_20180725_181247.jpg

How the Spanish describe a mind buzzing with crazy, wonderful ideas, whims, and flights of fantasy…(what some would call nonsense!)

Nicely sums up how I often feel!

–Mamata

A Magical Walk

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 2 Comments

I remember it well—a mere 400 metre walk on our office campus in Ahmedabad. That day we were walking along the path that all of us took regularly; walking along with us was Professor HY Mohan Ram, a member of our Governing Council, who was there for the Council meeting. As we walked, Professor Mohan Ram talked—gently, softly, but with passion and excitement, pointing out plants that we saw every day, but, as we realised, we never really ‘looked at’.

“Look at this one”, he pointed at a plant, “this is Aduso. Its botanical name is Adhatoda vasika which means ‘that which the goat will not touch’. This is what is used for making medicines for cough and cold.” Going just two steps ahead, “You know the cactus, but did you know that there is not a single native cactus in the whole of Asia and Europe? All cactii are from the New World—Mexico, North America and South America.” ”Look at this magnificent neem tree.  Its botanical name Azadirachta indica comes from the Arabic for azad meaning ‘free’ and drakhta meaning ‘tree’. This is thought to be a tree indigenous to India, but there is some doubt if it is originally Indian. It may have originated on the Burma border and come to Bangladesh from there.” “Did you know that Lutyens, when planning the landscaping of Delhi’s roads, planted only native species. Each avenue was planted with one species of fruit tree.” Three steps ahead, we come to the white flower commonly called Chandni. Professor tells us, “Have you noted carefully the arrangement of petals of flowers? Most flower petals are usually in multiples of 3 or 5 (except in the case of the mustard flower).” “Many high school students know this as the shoe flower that they got for dissection in the exams. But why the name shoe flower? Because it is used to polish shoes! Its other name is hibiscus, and is believed to have originated in China.”

IMG_20170822_090553807.jpg

Professor HYM had a fascinating story for every step that we took, drawing attention to the tiniest of flowers that we carelessly trampled underfoot, to the towering culms of bamboo. The path that took us 5-7 minutes to traverse became a magical mystery tour that took close to two hours. Through his eyes the blur of vegetation turned into a veritable treasure trove, with each plant glowing with its own special attributes.

Not long after this visit, Meena and I invited Professor HYM to contribute to a collection of tales of ‘Nature Heroes’ that we were putting together. He graciously agreed, and shared with us some of his journey, experiences and inspirations in a piece titled Reflections of a Botanist.  He writes “I have not pursued any single course. I have done what interests me and not what is in style. I have a deep interest in Indian classical music and photography.”

He concludes the piece with this, “What enlightenment have I received as a student of plant biology? I wish I could be like a tree: deep-rooted and firmly fixed, bearing a lofty bole and a broad canopy, continuously absorbing, synthesizing and renewing, unmindful of stresses and insults, resilient to changes and perpetually giving.”

In the passing away of Professor HY Mohan Ram the world has lost not only a botanist par excellence, but a much loved and respected teacher, researcher, and writer. For us, the Matriarchs, Professor Mohan Ram will always be remembered as a gentle, unassuming guide with a twinkle in his eyes, and a life-long inspiration whose visits to the Centre were like the Open Sesame to a fascinating world of flora.

A page from my notes on the Walk!  (Date 22 August 1998)

IMG_20180620_115125823.jpg

 

–Mamata

Sights That Make Me Smile As I Walk By

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 2 Comments

Our Indian cities don’t have much by way of street art. And what there is, looks typically municipality-commissioned.

Which is why i thought i should share a few examples of street art that ticks all the boxes of what this should be–creative, imaginative, quirky and brilliantly executed.

So I am going to let the pics speak for themselves!

A brilliant 2-level piece, partly on the compound wall, and partly on the building wall. (Note the line across the boy’s shoulder. Below that, is the the portion on the compound wall, and above on the building wall). Yelahanka, Bangalore.

2E61621F-9F75-4954-9F46-955590FBF2F7

Compound wall of a house. Yelahanka, Bangalore.

bd744ad6-bc93-4e87-9255-21e9fbc1be89.jpeg

Discarded dish antenna. GMR Institute of Technology. Rajam, Andhra Pradesh.

04AD7BC1-8698-4AE9-8D94-4A94F29005E2

–Meena

Two BHIMS I am Fan Of

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 2 Comments

The first is the hero of Randamoozham, or The Second Turn, the masterly Malayalam novel by M.T. Vasudevan Nair, based on the Mahabharata. It is told from the perspective of Bhima who never got his due, though he took the brunt of every battle, was the bravest, kept every promise, and made his share of sacrifices. The novel makes one question stereotypes and assumptions. For instance, after reading the book, you will never quite respect Yudhisthra, who comes across as self-righteous and pompous, or admire Arjun, whom we now see as egoistical and pretty focussed on himself.

bhim

It was my friend Ann, knowing of my interest in such take-offs on the epics, who told me about Randamoozham, which she said was the best book she had ever read. After a huge build-up, when I asked her to get me an English translation on her next visit to Kerala, she said she thought there wasn’t one! Anyway she said, she would check –she mentioned that there was a bookseller who sold books on the train, who was very knowledgeable, and he would be the best person to ask. And faithfully, she asked him on her next train trip from Bangalore to Kerala. And oh boy! Did she get an earful! The bookseller took a break from business and lectured her for five whole minutes about the younger generation who did not care to know enough of their mother tongue to read in it; how did they expect to get the real essence of a book written in Malayalam when they read it in English; how could she insult the writing of a master like Vasudevan Nair by even dreaming of reading his masterpiece in English. etc. etc.

Subsequently, several English translations of the book have come out. But the one I love is BHIMSEN by Prem Panicker, shared with me by my friend Unni. It has none of the hiccups and awkwardness that translations from Indian languages to English often suffer.  It is surely a work of love. I am not even sure it is published formally—what I recall is that it was published chapter by chapter on Mr. Panicker’s blog. Prem Panicker, is incidentally a cricket journalist.

(You can access the book on https://prempanicker.wordpress.com/2009/10/05/bhim-complete-and-unabridged/)

The other BHIM I love is the app for money transfer. I am in general very wary of financial transactions through electronic media. And being technologically-challenged, have great difficulty operating most of them. But BHIM is one thing which works like a dream. I routinely pay salaries using BHIM. I use it in shops. Whenever my friends buy anything on my behalf, two clicks and the money is in their account.

So folks, two messages:

Download Bhim the novel, and enjoy the best read in a long time.

Download Bhim the app, and enjoy superlative convenience.

–Meena

P.S. ‘Duryodhana’ by V. Raghunathan, is the re-telling of the Mahabharata from, you guessed it, Duryodhana’s point of view.

Ministry of T

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 2 Comments

It is finding the known in the unknown, and the unknown in the known.

It is mental exhilaration and physical exhaustion.

It is anticipation and satisfaction.

It is memories of things seen and the curiosity to see new things.

8A2CDD6B-77AA-46E4-AEAA-6E2D88B21634

It is re-living old memories and storing up new ones.

It is sinking in comfort, it is roughing it out.

It is pleasant surprises and unpleasant shocks.

It is a camera lost, it is a vision captured in memory.

It is being with the family, it is getting away from the family.

It is being duped by touts, it is being helped by strangers.

It is tasting exotic food, it is finding the familiar dhabha.

It is being a bit bored, it is having a lot of fun.

It is being away from home, it is finding new homes.

It is being out of touch, it is finding new connections.

It is cockroaches in the bathroom, it is squeaky clean sheets.

It is upset stomachs, it is healthy carrot juice.

It is swearing never to travel again, it is booking tickets for the next trip.

Is this just me, or do most people think of travel like this?

 

–Meena