Category: Musings

Heaven’s Flower 

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 1 Comment

Re-telling of a tale from Bhagwat Purana about Nyctanthes arbortristis, night-flowering jasmine or parijat, a species of Nyctanthes, native to South–Southeast Asia

(A long-read, this one!)

My parijat tree has just started flowering

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Narada entered Indra’s court. Indra was obviously in a bad mood. All the minor gods and goddesses, apsaras and attendants, ghandarvas and gyaanis looked uneasy. Indra was firing a courtier:

‘How dare you question my decision? Don’t you know that I am Indra, the greatest of the Gods? The ruler of heaven and earth? The warrior before whom the world trembles? Even the Gods listen to me, and you question my wisdom?’ he thundered.

‘Great Indra! I know what a great god and king you are Sir! I do not question your wisdom. I only wanted to give you some information that I thought you might not know,’ said the trembling courtier.

‘Don’t try to act smart. I know all there is to know. My decision stands. Court is dismissed,’ said Indra in his rudest tone.

Narada was worried. ‘Indra’s arrogance is growing beyond limits now. He is rude to one and all. He respects neither age nor wisdom. He doesn’t listen to his well-wishers. If a ruler is so arrogant, it does not bode well for the kingdom. A ruler must be open to criticism as well as praise. He has to listen to all before he takes decisions. And he must be kind and just and fair. Indra has forgotten all this. He needs a lesson.’

Narada in his tension was playing with the flowers he had gathered for his puja. Suddenly he looked down at the flower basket. His eyes sparkled.

‘Ah ha! Two birds with one stone. Two nice people who have become proud and arrogant can be brought back to their senses with one drama!’ There was a smile on Narada’s lips

And when Narada smiled, someone was going to be in trouble!

It was but a jiffy before Narada was over Dwarka.  He smoothly landed in Rukmini’ courtyard. He knew this was the time Krishna would be there.

‘Narayana, Narayana!’ he said—that was his usual greeting.

Krishna and Rukmini welcomed him warmly. But behind Krishna’s smile was a small doubt. What was Narada up to now? He never went anywhere without a purpose!

‘What a privilege that you have come to my house Revered Muni! How may I serve you?’ asked gentle Rukmini, a bit flustered with such an important visitor.

‘I just thought I would visit friends on Earth, Rukmini. And obviously the first of these friends are Krishna and yourself. Just a casual visit, to chat and catch up.’ Narada turned to Krishna casually. ‘Vasudeva, have you seen the flowers of the Parijat tree? The tree that came from the seas during the Manthan, the churning? It has the most beautiful and fragrant flowers! See, so unusual. White petals with a coral stalk.’

Krishna and Rukmini peered at the string of flowers in Narada’s hand. Indeed it was exquisite, unlike any other flower they had ever seen.

‘Oh, how foolish of me! I brought the flowers for you Krishna, and look at me, holding on to them! Here, take this sting of heavenly flowers. Give it to the one you love,’ said Narada with an innocent look, as he handed over the flower to Krishna.

Krishna saw Rukmini looking at the flowers longingly. He knew he had no choice but to give it to her! ‘Here Rukmini, put the flowers in your hair. It will look beautiful.’ Rukmini was thrilled!

Narada stayed chatting about this and that and the other for a good hour. Krishna and Rukmini couldn’t stop laughing at all the stories that he told about the rishis, devas and asuras. All true no doubt, but with a little Narada-masala sprinkled!

‘Oh, it is getting late. I must take your leave Rukmini! I need to visit dear Satyabhama too before it is time for the lamps. Thank you for your hospitality. I will come around again in a few months’, said Narada as he made his way out of Rukmini’s palace.

Rukmini gazed at the flowers in her plait. They were so beautiful—like pearls set in coral! It had such a lovely fragrance. Never had she seen anything like it! “Oh, Indradev should share the flowers of his tree with all. It is so beautiful. If I could get these flowers, I would make garlands every day for you and for the Gods in the temple! Everyone looking at them would be so happy.’

“Yes indeed Rukmini! Beauty should be shared. I wish I could get you more of these flowers. But Indra is very possessive about his tree,’ said Krishna.

In the meantime, Narada was already with Satyabhama. After all, her palace was right next to Rukmini’s. He got as warm a welcome there. Satyabhama set out the most delicious snacks as he regaled her with news and stories.

Just as he was about to take his leave he said: ‘Oh Satyabhama, how rude you much think me, that I have come to visit you without a gift. But I did bring one. It was a string of beautiful parijat flowesr, from Indra’s tree. I gave it to Krishna and told him to give it to his loved one. He gave it to Rukmini.’ With this parting barb, Narada bowed to Satyabhama and disappeared.

It took Satyabhama a few minutes to digest this news. She hadn’t ever seen a parijat flower. But she knew that the tree grew in Indra’s garden and that he wouldn’t give it to anyone. It was heavily guarded. So she knew it must be very special. And Krishna had given the flowers to Rukmini! What was he thinking? Was she not his loved one? Was Rukmini more precious to him? Her eyes blazed with anger.

‘Call Krishna here immediately! I want him here, now!’ she called out to her maids.

They knew better than to dally! With Satyabhama in this mood, they didn’t want to be in the way. Obviously Krishna had done something, let him take the flak!

A breathless maid soon ushered in an apprehensive-looking Krishna. ‘What is it my dear Princess?’ he asked. ‘You look so bothered and flustered. What has happened? Has anyone offended you?’

‘Oh innocent Gopala! Oh intelligent Sumedha! Oh Vasudeva who runs the whole world! Of course you don’t know what’s wrong! Of course you don’t know what has happened and who has offended me!’ began Satyabhama, who had resolved not to tell Krishna what the problem was. But she couldn’t desist! ‘Narada gave you heavenly flowers to give to your loved one and you gave them to Rukmini! So I am not worth such special gifts? I am not the loved one! I am just some stupid ill-tempered girl who must make do with some silks and jewels bought from the local merchants! I am the one who can be ignored and not counted in this household!’

Krishna understood what this was about! His unease at the sight of Narada was borne out.

‘Beautiful Princess! Lovely Satyabhama! How can you talk so? It was just another flower! Rukmini happened to be there, so I gave it to her! See, for you also I have brought so many lovely jasmines and lotuses,’ cajoled Krishna. ‘Don’t you understand, it is just Narada pretending that he gave me something very special, when actually he came to see me with one little string of flowers.’

Satyabhama was not taken in. The argument went on and on, till finally Satyabhama completely lost her temper. ‘Krishna, I have had enough. You gave Rukmini parijat flowers. I want the whole tree. Nothing less will do. That tree had better be planted in my garden in the next week. Otherwise, I will never ever speak to you. Nor eat, nor go out.’

Krishna knew that this was serious. Satyabhama was the sweetest girl, but she was prone to throwing tantrums when she didn’t get her way! And boy, could she be stubborn. He had no way out but to get the tree!

‘OK Satyabhama. Of course if you want it so much, you will get it! Your wish is my command, Princess,’ said the harassed Gopala.

Krishna left immediately for Indralok. He knew he had a tough task ahead. Indra was very possessive about this tree. But Krishna was sure he could convince him. After all, it was not just about Satyabhama. If the tree came to Earth, everyone could enjoy its beauty.

But Krishna was not prepared for the new not-at-all-reasonable Indra! Indra would not even talk civilly to Krishna! ‘No Vasudeva! Sorry! I cannot part with the tree. I got it as my share in the Manthan. It is for me. It is too beautiful to leave Heaven. No other place deserves to have it. I am sorry,’ he told Krishna. And then turned away to talk to his other courtiers and ignored Krishna totally!

Krishna was shocked! This was no way for one god to treat another, for one ruler to behave with another. Even in refusing a request, there must be politeness. And anyway, there was no reason to refuse the request. But Krishna knew how to keep his cool. ‘Is that your last word Indra? My request is reasonable and I have been polite. But don’t you think that you have been both unreasonable and rude?’ he asked.

‘I have every right to refuse the request. You may be a big guy, but you can’t get whatever you want. Thank you for visiting me,’ said the unrepentant Indra, and started to walk out of the court.

‘Indra, you have exceeded all bounds of propriety. You need to be taught a lesson, and I shall do so. Prepare for war!’ said Krishna, cool but firm.

And war there was! A war in which Indra had no chance before the skill, intelligence and technique of Krishna. In no time Indra suffered a humiliating defeat.

And with that humiliation, came good sense! He realized that Krishna had not fought the war to get the tree, but to teach him a lesson for his arrogance. He fell at Krishna’s feet. ‘Jagadisha, forgive me! I understand that I had grown too big for my boots. My pride had gone to my head. I thought that I was so powerful that I could behave as I wanted, do what I liked. But that is not true. No one is above anyone else, and no one is above law. A ruler especially is here to ensure the well-being of all. It will never happen again.’

Krishna was pleased. His mission had been accomplished. The parijat tree was but an excuse. ‘All is well Indra. Rule wisely and kindly. I take my leave now.  All earthly beings and Satyabhama will be so happy with this tree—I thank you.’

As Krishna turned to go, he spied Narada standing in a corner. A smile came to his lips. ‘I take my leave of you also, Kalahapriya!’ he said.

‘Farewell Govinda. Take the tree carefully and plant it as soon as you get to earth. I know a spot where the soil is just right. On the edge of Satyabhama’s garden, right next to the compound wall adjoining Rukmini’s garden is a nice spot.’ He said. ‘And oh! I hope you know, parijat flowers are never picked off the tree. They fall on the ground early in the morning. All you have to do is spread a nice clean cloth on the ground and the flowers will fall on to it. You can tell Princess Rukmini that.’

‘Tell Rukmini? You mean Satyabhama?’ Krishna was confused. But when he saw the gleam in Narada’s eye, he understood. He understood why Narada had asked him to plant the tree near the compound wall next to Rukmini’s garden.

And sure enough, that is what he did! As soon as he returned to earth, he made for Satyabhama’s garden. A triumphant Satyabhama stood beside him as he planted the tree in the spot indicated.

‘Oh Krishna! This is a magic tree from heaven, right? It won’t take time to take root. I think it will start flowering tonight itself.’ She said.

And she was right! She got up early the next morning and she looked out of her window, thrilled to see the tree in her garden. But what she saw the next moment did not please her so well! It was true that the tree stood in her garden, but all the coral-stemmed flowers had fallen into Rukmini’s compound. Rukmini and her maids were picking them up.

And Satyabhama understood Krishna’s message. She had got the tree by throwing tantrums and being unreasonable. But she was not going to get the coveted flowers!  She smiled wryly to herself. Krishna had indeed taught her a lesson! Bad behavior does not pay in the long run!

And in his palace, Krishna smiled. And in the heavens, Narada smiled.

–Meena

Cry, Beloved Blue City 

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 1 Comment

A stranger in India, reading the news in the last few weeks, would think that the most prominent landmark of Jodhpur was a huge prison, dominating the landscape. That the principal function of the city was to host trials for all kinds of ‘celebs’ accused of all types of crimes, and to then house the convicted in its boundaries.

I have lived in Jodhpur for several years, and my family has close ties to the city. None of us had any clue where Jodhpur Jail was. After the news of Salman’s conviction, we had to look up Google to figure out the location.

What we do remember of Jodhpur is the magnificent 550+ year-old Mehrangarh fort, one of the best preserved and best kept monuments in India. When I lived there 30 years ago, we would be greeted by drummers when we entered, and there were some friendly moustached guides who would take us around. They almost became like family, so often did I take visitors to the Fort. (Now there are proper displays and exhibits and shops and what not. Still nice, but not so intimate).

When you look down from the ramparts of the fort, you know why Jodhpur is called the Blue City. And there is also a walking path from the heart of the city up to the fort, which we did a few times as students (on furlough from college, no doubt). And the very unique Jaswant Thada, lined with different coloured translucent marbles, as you came down from the Fort.

Then the Umaid Bhavan Palace, the newest palace in the world, built as a drought-relief work and completed in the ‘40s. Part-hotel, part-museum, part-royal residence and wholly fascinating. Specially the indoor swimming pool lined with mosaics of the zodiac signs. And the huge murals of scenes from the Ramayana, with the heroes and heroines of distinctly Greco-Roman cast of features, done by a Polish painter.

The most interesting was where I had the good fortune to live on the grounds of—the Ratanada Palace, one of the palaces of the royal family, never really inhabited because it seems it wasn’t lucky for them. It was turned over to the Government after Independence and became the Defence Laboratory, a lab under the Defence Research and Development Organization. Imagine a lab in a palace! There were rumours that it was haunted, and ‘jingling ghungroos’ and ‘strange noises’ were sometimes an excuse not to stay too late at work!

The Palace-Lab

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The housing for the Lab scientists was on the palace grounds, in converted elephant and horse stables, garages,  band-house, aloo-khana, etc. So there was the most amazing array of very quaint but probably very uncomfortable houses for the families. I never knew whether we were lucky my father was allotted a proper  house—one that was built for the king’s British pilot, who seems to have lived in true colonial style, in a 14-room bungalow . (The same king, I think, who features in the very interesting movie ‘Zubaida’).

The Pilot’s House

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The food—the mirch wadas, the badi pakodis, the kabuli, the sponge rasgullas, ghewar and the array of sweets. The lassi in which we could stand a spoon, the dal-bhatti-churma, the kachodis.

The people—hospitable, chivalrous, generous, entrepreneurial.

The ‘khamma ghanis’ and the ‘padaro sas’ and the courtesy.

The bandhinis, the leherias, the silver jewellery and the lac bangles.

The  bazaars, the gullies, the bargains.

I want these images to dominate my mindscape and Jodhpur memories. Not the prison and the prisoners!

–Meena

Bibliophile’s Supermarket

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 3 Comments

Know the feeling you get when you walk into your favourite store with gift coupons to be spent on whatever takes your fancy! The delicious sense of anticipation, the excitement of browsing the shelves, the difficult decision making…should you get clothes? Something for the house? Toiletries or accessories? You spend a happy time wandering and comparing before you make up your mind. You go home happy with a bag of goodies–an afternoon well spent!

That is just the feeling I get when I go to a library! Faced with an array of books, what could be more fun than to browse? What do I feel like this month—something light and happy? Something thrilling and gripping? Something serious and profound? A favourite familiar author? Best seller or Booker winner? Decisions, decisions!

This wonderful feeling has been a part of my life ever since I fell in love with books. The B.C. Roy Children’s Reading Room, more familiarly known as Shankar’s Children’s Library—a haven through the hot Delhi summer vacations; Grover’s hole-in-the-wall lending library in the neighbourhood market where one graduated from Archie comics to Mills and Boons! The American Centre library where one discovered the classics and the contemporary.

Moving cities, the first thing one looked for was the nearest library. In Nairobi it took the form of the next-door neighbour’s collection of crime and detective fiction which kept the suspense going! In Ahmedabad it was Raju’s circulating library that provided a menu of “time-pass” options. And now the British Library beckons every month. At the rate of 4-5 books a month, I seem to be running out of books to borrow. Panic!

But till then, every day is World Book Day for me!

–Mamata

Happily Ever After?

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I must confess, I am a regular ad observer! I believe that ads improve my GK as it were! They give me a sneak peek into “what’s hot”, “what’s cool” and where its “raining discounts!” Ads add to my vocabulary, introducing words like Swag (!), and now KDM. Ads paint me a world where the swag and gloss of the PYTs is never to be touched by the seven signs of aging; the housing schemes that promise “paradise on earth”; and dhamaka deals that will make it feel like Diwali every day! The world is your oyster–Just choose, click and add to cart!

Pardon me if I sound like I don’t relate! In fact I don’t want to, in this make-believe air-brushed world, while the mad, bad rest of the world continues to grapple with the daily business of survival–water shortages, spiralling prices, blatant corruption and abuse of power, and the horrors of every kind of atrocity that humankind can unleash.

But I digress. Coming back to the ad ad ad world. A long-time item of my ‘ad education’ is a scan of the Sunday paper’s matrimonial pages (another confession!). This is in some ways a tiny window into what society considers “a suitable match”, and how things are changing (or not). Some years ago girls were ‘wheatish’ complexioned and ‘homely’ (wonderfully Indian use of the word which in British English means cosy and comfortable and in American English means unattractive!) Of course we use it to mean home-loving and, perhaps, skilled in domestic duties! The other attribute highlighted was the “cultured” family background.

A quick look-over of last week’s page revealed that ‘Beautiful, slim, fair’ were the main adjectives used in almost 80 per cent of the ads. Somewhere in the fine print is revealed that the girl is also well-qualified professionally. Another interesting, though curious, point was the highlight on the “successful business family” angle. A case of lucre over culture? On the same page are also some Elite ads in which everyone, without exception, is ‘looking for a like-minded and well-educated/well-read match.’ I would love to know how these very noble-sounding words are interpreted!

On the very same page was the proud announcement by the newspaper that it has started a BooksOverBeauty initiative through which the intention is to change the format of matrimonial ads so as to put education over looks. The paper promises to highlight every ad that puts education first. I am flummoxed—are looks and books so irreconcilable? Does it always have to be one or the other? Are we continuing to reinforce the comic-book stereotype of the frothy beauty vs the geek? I thought we had moved beyond that?

It would be interesting to see how that initiative unfolds. At a time when our society seems to be at the lowest ebb of basic human values and respect for dignity and life, are we merely paying lip service to the notion of respect for women? Or are we merely playing with words? Will the mere order of words change the way we see women, we treat women, and perhaps even how women see themselves?

–Mamata

 

The Seven Signs of Aging. Or Learning from Unexpected Places

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We aged when we aged. And our skin aged along with us. Thank God I was already in my fifties when ads started talking of the ‘seven signs of aging’, which they assured us had to be taken care of in our twenties! Scary if invaluable information! Whoever knew, before these ads?

In spite (or because?) of such life-changing information, ads are not a place where I look to learn from or improve my vocabulary. But a few weeks ago, I saw these large ads for a company which seems to focus on pomegranate-related products (that seems a pretty narrow specialization!). And I saw the word ‘aril’ splashed around. Truthfully, I had never heard this word before. Since the ads talked about jams and syrups and squashes, I thought ‘aril’ was some kind of a product made from the fruit, maybe an exotic kind of pastry.

When I looked up Merriam Webster, I found it defines aril as: ‘an exterior covering or appendage of some seeds (as of the yew) that develops after fertilization as an outgrowth from the ovule stalk.’ In other words, in the context of pomegranates, it seems it means those red pearls I have always called the seeds.

I decided then not to be so cynical, and to try to think of other things I had learnt or should learn from ads.

The business of KDM is surely one of those! Akshaya Tritiya (actually, this festival itself is one I learnt of from ads!!!) seems an appropriate day to share this learning!

In the thousands of jewellery ads we see around us, I have for a few years now, come across the term ‘KDM’ as a major boast and differentiator. Now, as a good Tam, I know about carats—basically that South Indian jewellery is more noble in that our gold is of higher carat! But that is where my knowledge stopped.

After the ‘aril’ experience, I tried to look up KDM (on the web of course). Most sites are very confusing, but at last I think I have it figured out with the help of this site: https://artofgold.in/what-do-hallmark-916-kdm-jewellery-mean/2015/5199, and I quote:

‘The basic process in jewellery crafting is soldering a myriad of intricate gold parts. Without soldering, there is hardly any jewel that can be done. Needless to say this solder should have a melting temperature lower than that of gold, so just the solder melts and joins gold pieces without affecting the gold parts. Earlier this solder was a combination of Gold & Copper. Though there was no particular ratio for this solder, generally it was about 60% gold + 40% copper. Since this alloy was very strong and also easy to make, it was widely used in jewellery making for a long time. But the downside to this solder is that, purity of the solder is only 60%. So when this jewel is melted, quality will be less than 22 carat. This is the reason your old jewels may carry a seal of 22/20 (20 carat represents the melting purity).

To overcome this problem and maintain a high standard of gold purity, cadmium began to be used in place of copper. The advantage being that unlike the traditional gold & copper solder, gold and cadmium can be mixed in a ratio of 92% + 8%. In other words the solder itself has a purity of 92%. This ensured the finesse of jewel remains constant regardless of the amount of solder used. Such jewellery using cadmium began to be widely known as KDM jewellery.

But shortly after the introduction of cadmium, it was banned by BIS as it was found to cause health issues for artisans working with it. After the ban, cadmium was replaced by advanced solders with Zinc and other metals. But the term “KDM” hung on and is still commonly used. So a KDM jewellery means it will have the same purity even when it is melted, as the solder itself has a purity of 92%.’

With my long forgotten Chemistry education, I could make sense of this! And truly educational it is.

Well, one lives and one learns. And most of all I learnt that one can learn unexpected things from unexpected places.

–Meena

 

Helpless

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 3 Comments

The launch of Raghu’s book ‘Return to Jammu’ went well, with lots of discussions and participation from the audience.

But I felt, through the event, a sense of sadness. Why? Because a good part of the book is set in J&K, with places near and like Kathua. And central to the book is a theme of violence against a young girl in communally troubled times.

Apart from feeling anger and outrage, sadness and despair, is there anything we can do? Is there something we can do? Is there nothing we can do?

I am sure all of us have been through this. What do we do? Join rallies, vigils? Write about it? Vent our frustration on social media? Does any of it help?

But I can’t even understand what is happening and why. Is it the depravity of individuals finding justification in ‘causes’? Is it because perpetrators are sure that they will suffer no consequences? Is it because violence like this is becoming more and more common—and when something becomes common, it slowly becomes more and more acceptable?

Is there anything I can do? Something I can do? Or nothing I can do?

How-to-be-Happy Curriculum

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Psyc 157: Psychology and the Good Life is reported to be the most popular course ever offered at Yale University. Within a week of registration being open, nearly one third of Yale undergraduates had signed up for the twice-weekly lectures. What is the course all about?

Basically about teaching college students how to be happy! In an age where “getting there as quickly as you can” and “excelling” are seen to be the key indicators to success, it is sad that young people who are just about entering one of the best phases of their lives—with so many journeys of exploration and discovery ahead of them, need to take a course that teaches them how to lead less stressful, more satisfying lives. Such is the irony of the times we live in.

I think back to my undergraduate days as the most enriching, exciting, and yes, some of happiest years of my life. Ok, so I did not go into the ‘pressure cooker’ of an IIT or a medical college (I was “one of those Arts types”) but I did get into an Indian equivalent of an ‘Ivy League’ college. For someone who had never enjoyed her school years as much as many seemed to have done, stepping into college, was from day one, a joyous journey that lasted three years. It was indeed a time of the opening up of the mind, not just in terms of the curricular, but more so in the extra-curricular. It was the Film Club that opened windows to different ways of seeing; the Hiking Club that opened up unforgettable vistas of nature; it was the invaluable exposure to music and dance and theatre, all of which we always had time for.

Even more precious it was the making of friends that have remained so for almost fifty years! This was the gang for hanging out with in the canteen, with laughs and giggles, and the pouring out of woes. It was the bunking of classes to go see the morning show, or catching a bus to go all the way to centre of town just have a lassi between classes, and the book fairs at which entire wholly satisfying, and oh-so-happy days were to be spent.

College was indeed the cradle for what was later to be described as the “all round development” of the personality, for which today there are Life Coaches and Grooming Gurus (not forgetting the ultimate go-to-Guru Google!).

Sadly college life today sounds different—unhealthy competition; the pressure of justifying the sky-high fees that parents are shelling out; the continuous looking at how to ‘plan’ one’s future career; and the dangerous encroachment of politics into campuses….and news that young people are ‘burning out’ at an age when they should be blossoming into vibrant human beings…What a tragedy indeed!

To top it all we need a Yale Professor to remind us that feelings of happiness are fostered through socialization, exercise, meditation and plenty of sleep! How sad is that?

PS: I am proud to be an LSRite!   (And yes, intercollege rivalry was healthy and produced excellence rather than antagonism).

–Mamata

Proud to be a Mirandian

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The newspapers have announced the results of the higher education survey, and Hey! My alma mater, Miranda House, is right on top there as No. 1 college in India.

Ahead of Stephen’s, ahead of Hindu, ahead of LSR. For those who went to DU, it is obvious why this feels so good. MH, after being queen of the campus in the ‘50s, ‘60s and early ‘70s, went to playing 2nd, 3rd and nth fiddle to these.

It is such a long time that I passed out that it takes an effort to remember what college was like. Lovely old red building and green lawns. A fiercely dedicated and committed faculty at the Chemistry Dept from where I graduated. We had Dr. R. Usha, Mrs. Sunita Narayan, Dr. Popley, Ms. Adarsh Khosla, and many others. Good infra, good labs, no shortage of equipment or reagents.

For some reason, MH students who took Physics as main or subsidiary had to go to the main University Physics Dept for classes. I never quite understood why, and not sure if the situation still persists. But we had no complaints—it was lovely walking across the DU campus, especially in winters, with a riot of flowers blooming in the lovingly tended Univ gardens. And it sure made us feel grown up and important, to go to the Dept for classes!

The saddest thing I think was this paper called ‘History of Science’ a compulsory subject for all Science students across the University. What should have been a fascinating and mind-enlarging foray into understanding the spirit of science and the spirit of enquiry, was reduced to a thin ‘kunji’. I think it is a real loss that generations of students did not take this seriously. But students will be students. Maybe the system should have ensured that it was taught better.

I do remember I enrolled for the NSS, but nothing much ever happened. Of extra-curriculars, I cannot recall much. And anyway, being ‘sciencies’ we were a bit lower down in the pecking order overall, and were probably not included.

But the taste of the college canteen samosas and kaddu sauce (passed off as tomato sauce), remains etched!

I recall an interesting story about the name that my father told me. Apparently the college was named by Sir Maurice Gwyer, who was Vice Chancellor of DU from 1938 to 1950, and who founded MH in 1948. He named the college after his favourite Shakespearean heroine, Miranda of The Tempest!

-Meena

B.Sc (Hons) Chemistry, 1977-1980.

Swimming 101

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 7 Comments

Yes, I am a 101. What is more, I have been at 101 for well over 101 months! And after making close to 101 attempts!
I did try to learn swimming back in the day. If anyone recalls, those of us who did the 11 year ISC (Indian School Certificate), used to have a 7 month break between school and college. Our exams would get over by December, and we could join college only the next July. What a glorious break! While we did our best to do nothing (except read Mills and Boon from the nearby lending libraries), parents were hell bent on sending us here and there, to learn this and that. Not as wide and exotic (and expensive) a menu as today. The staples back in our time were typewriting (yes!!), swimming, a foreign language (usually French), classical music and dance (the last two especially for the Tams). Supplemented by usually-unsuccessful efforts to get us to learn basics of cooking.

Accordingly, I too was shunted to most of the above, including swimming. I showed no talent for physical activities and swimming was no exception. I caught myself a pretty bad infection in a week, and that was the end of that first foray.
I kind of gave up (or did not see a swimming pool) for close on 25 years. But about 15 years ago, when we moved into an apartment block with a pool, the desire to glide like a fish took over. Accordingly, we hunted up a coach and early morning classes started. But the water was cold and Day 4, when I turned my neck in a panic to breathe, it caught. The classes stopped the next day, but the pain persisted for a month!
Next summer, I decided to go to the school down the road which opened up its pool during the vacations for swim lessons. Being in the pool with 15 below-15s did nothing for my ego or my skill. That too ended without much progress.
The year after, using a host of contacts, was able to organize for lessons at the pool of a big club. Slipped and fell on the side. Bruised all limbs and was stiff for a week. End of lessons.
Then we moved to another city and another colony which had a club with a nice pool. Year 1, I did try sincerely and flapped in the water for a month in summer—it was a case of two strokes forward, one stroke back (pun unintended). But next year, there was a dispute between the club management and the residents, and the club closed for the rest of the time we live there.
Then, three years ago, we moved into our permanent home. For the first two years, I just walked around the pool in the society. It was too cold; or there were too many kids; or it was raining; or I was sure I was getting a cold.
Then a week ago, I met a friend on my evening walk. We got to talking of swimming.

‘I can kind of do the back stroke’.
‘Me too’.
‘I can do a few yards of freestyle, but after that, I can’t breathe.’
‘Me neither.’
‘I have tried attending classes many times but the coaches say they can’t teach me anything more. That I know the basics and it’s up to me to practice.’
‘Same here.’

‘Really wish I could swim’.
‘Me too.’
So both of us decided—literally—to take the plunge yesterday.
Dug out our suits (thank god I still fit). And our caps. And towels. And bags.
Landed up at the pool. Showered and were in.
Flapped around a bit. Did a breadth or two of backstroke. Swallowed a lot of water. Felt the chlorine sting our eyes. But did not go too far anywhere.
Got back home. Decided to turn to youtube for a few lessons. Realized I had forgotten to breathe out in the water when I was trying the freestyle.
Now fully charged up. Easy peasy—it looks in the video.
And I have been practicing all day (on land, I have to confess)—blow, blow, blow, breathe in; blow, blow, blow, breathe in.

Today, I shall do it! I shall graduate this time. I shall overcome. I shall glide like a fish.
Do not under-estimate a matriarch.
PS: If I don’t, I won’t be telling you about it!

—Meena

The Cup That Bonded

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 2 Comments

So the newest management mantra is FIKA. This is a Swedish word that roughly translates as drinking coffee, munching homemade goods and spending time with people. In many companies it is mandatory for all workers to have a designated time during the day to sit down and do fika. Most Swedes have Fika several times a day.

Over two decades before Chai pe Charcha became the flavour of the nation, CpC was an integral part of our working day. Twice a day, as the footsteps heralded the bearer of the teas, it was literally and (later) figuratively ‘pens down’. Time to cluster around and “fika” as it were. It was a time for sharing—news and views, happenings and unhappenings (propah English not mandatory, and language khichdi quite delicious!), cribbings and crabbings–and above all, energising. There were snacks too—“hey taste what I baked yesterday,” “oh great, banana chips all the way from home state”, “guess what, I discovered this new naasta shop with 50 flavours of khakhra….”

Tea table became the venue for easing in the newcomers; teasing and ribbing the old-timers; there were no hierarchies and no bosses. The agenda was whatever the mood of the table—sharing, admonishing, admiring, agonising and venting, and yes, laughing a lot.

It was an important support system in so many ways. After just 15 minutes, one returned to one’s desk feeling much better. You weren’t the only one who struggled to keep going as you juggled work and home; your child’s behaviour was not as worrisome as you imagined it was; and yes, in-laws happened to the best of us!

It was not only about chit-chat and food; it was where serious discussions took place—about work and work culture; about the state of the world and the nation; about books read and films seen, people met and to be met. It was where so many “aha” moments happened—the title of a new book; the resource person to invite; the sequence of sessions for the seminar…

The two tea times were the significant watersheds of our daily schedules. I did not realise how much we took this for granted, until I spent three months working from an office in Washington DC. Everyone was so “busy”–each communing with their machines as they sipped their coffees (also from a machine) in silence, and lunch sandwiches in solitary isolation. I craved so much for some human connect and communication, I took myself off, to perhaps some raised eyebrows, to the nearby park to spend 20 minutes watching the world go by. “Time wasted”, my diligent workmates may have thought; “what wasted opportunities to bond” thought I.

It’s not just in a CCD that a lot can happen over a cup of tea!

–Mamata