Living Magic!

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 2 Comments

How can you not be cured by a medicine called Living Magic! That is what ‘Zinda Tilismat’, translates to! With a name like that, can you wonder that it claims to cure everything from colds to upset stomachs to toothaches, to ‘new’ ailments like swine flu and bird flu? (But no, I haven’t heard of its use in Nipah, I have to admit!)

The ‘wonder drug’ was formulated by Hakim Mohammed Moizuddin Farooqui, way back in 1920, and has been manufactured in the Zinda Tilismath Karkhana in Hyderabad since then. This Unani medicine is basically made from aromatic herbals—mainly eucalyptus, and also some camphor, menthol, thymol, etc. Amazingly, you can apply it externally or ingest it.

The pack seems to have been unchanged for all these 100 years too. It carries a picture of a spear-toting African. The reason, it seems, is that the founder was so impressed by the Siddhi guards of the Nizam that he thought that such a picture on his medicine would give it an association with strength and well-being.

1428BDE4-BC2D-494A-9D66-81395EF8673B

I have no idea if there have been clinical trials on this medicine to substantiate any or all the claims. But can you argue with a sale of 1 crore vials every year?

And the romance of the name! I am ready to be cured of anything with this. And, to its credit, the ingredients cannot do me harm!

As a Hyderabadi for some years, I obviously knew of this magic potion. But as we do with things which are local, I didn’t bother to buy it or try it. Now that I have left Hyderabad and someone reminded me of ZT, I became obsessed with it! So I made some friends buy and send me some. Now I am waiting for some (minor) illness to strike me, so that I may be magically cured.

So I suppose my message is, everything is in a name! An invaluable lesson to product managers (I began my life as one), innovators, company founders, et.al.

–Meena

A Feast for all the Senses

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ Leave a comment

Mango

Mango looks like gift-wrapped sunbeamsIMG_20180608_203804.jpg

Mango sounds like ‘slurp’

Mango smells like only a mango can

Mango tastes like Kesar    (*pick your favourite!)

Mango feels like one can survive the summer after all!

Ah Mangifera indica!

 

About 1,500 varieties of mango are grown in India, including 1,000 commercial varieties. Each of the main varieties of mango has a unique flavour.

* Take your pick!

IMG_20180608_203550.jpg

1. Taimoorlang
2. Husnaara

3. Aabehayat

4. Zawahiri
5. Dussheri
6. Chosa
7. Lucknowi
8. Langra
9. Neelum
10. Rumani
11. Alphonsa
12. Bombay Green (Sarauli)
13. Banganpalli
14. Samar Behest Chausa
15. Fazli 16. Kishenbhog 17. Himsagar 18. Gulabkhas 19. Zardalu 20. Airi   21. Malkurad (Goa) 22. Kesar 23. Rajapuri 24. Jamadar(Gujarat) 25. Beneshan 26. Bangalora
27. Suvarnarekha 28. Mulgoa 29. Raspuri 30. Badami 31. Allampur Beneshan 32. Himayuddin 33. Jehangir 34. Cherukurasam 35. Bathua 36. Bombai 37. Sukul
38. Fernandin 39. Mankurad 40. Vanraj 41. Mundappa 42. Olour 43. Pairi 44. Safeda
45. Raspoonia 46. Mithwa Sundar Shah 47. Mithwa Ghazipur 48. Taimuriya
49. Sharbati Begrain 50. Gilas 51. Nauras 52. Rasgola 53. Hardil-aziz 54. Cherukurasam
55. Peddarasam 56. Totapuri 57. Kothapalli Kobbari 58. Chinna Rasam 59. Cheruku Rasam 60. Pedda Rasam 61. Mallika 62. Ratole 63. Kaju
64. Himayat 65. Khatta Meetha 66. Panchadara Kalasa 67. Manjeera
68. Amrapali 69. Arkapuneet 70. Sindhu

Source: http://www.festivalsofindia.in/mango/varieties.aspx

–Mamata

Matchmaker, Matchmaker….

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 1 Comment

Shared memories are probably what define a community or nation or any grouping.

And one indelible memory shared by millions of Indians is seeing miles and miles of walls painted with:

‘Rishtey hi rishtey

Prof. Arora

Mil to lein’.

Prof. Arora rocked social media before social media was invented!

But this piece is not so much about the ‘world-famous in India’ professor, as about how matches were and are made.

Detail from ‘Matchmaker’: A painting by Nilofer Suleman

1FC2B36C-B161-48B1-8E85-4B144E33018D

 

When we were young (and for centuries before that, I would imagine), it was about

Pushy pishis

Mission-mode mamas

Chatty chachis

Anxious ammammas

Each activating their network of relatives, friends, acquaintances; chatting up people chance-met at weddings or house warmings or whatever; reaching out to guests of their neighbours, sisters in law of their cousins, whoever. But the fundamental strategy was ‘pass the word, pass the word’.

And boy, did it work! Everyone (except the resolutely resistant), did end up getting married.

‘Matchmaker’: Nilofer Suleman

1EBC476B-FA84-4731-AD93-0D1C690EB499

 

And then came a generation where it was considered OK to put up a matrimonial ad in TOI or Hindu or whatever the local dominant newspaper was. This seemed to work fairly OK too.

Today, with so-called efficient networks and all manner of specialized networking sites, that doesn’t seem to be the case anymore. I meet so many 30+ people who are not married. It could be that they don’t want to get married. But I know at least half of them do want to. But they never seem to find the right person. The trick seems to be to find a soulmate in school or college. It seems to get increasingly difficult afterwards.

Then parents come into the picture. And they are pretty clueless!

Which makes me think that we have to find some other means to fix matches. Have no idea what, but maybe go back to real-live human beings as intermediaries, rather than just bits and bytes of information floating in the ether?

—Meena

The Upside-Down Tree

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 1 Comment

A Tree-Tale on the occasion of World Environment Day

I first saw a Baobab tree in Tsavo National Park, on safari in Kenya. With a huge bulging trunk and branches that looked like roots spreading in a wide canopy, it was unlike any tree I had seen. I was intrigued. As I read more about Africa I found that this tree, which was native to Africa, Madagascar, and Australia, played a significant role not only in the ecology, but equally the folklore of these regions.

Across Africa, there seem to be many stories passed on from generation to generation, that explain why the Baboab looks the way it does. One of the most popular, and my favourite one, goes like this.

The first Baobab grew near a small lake, along with many other trees. One day it saw its reflection in the water, and it was shocked. It saw a huge fat trunk covered in bark that looked like the wrinkled hide of an old elephant; small leaves and pale flowers.

Now this Baobob was a complainer. “Why did you make me so ugly?” it asked the Creator. “Why did you make me so big and fat? Why can’t I be tall and slender like the Palm tree?” “Why is my bark so rough and tough? Why can’t I have a smooth trunk like the Mahogany tree?” “And such insignificant flowers, why not bright ones like those of the Tulip tree?”

And the Baobab went on whining and complaining, comparing itself to every other tree, and feeling short-changed in every aspect. Until finally the Creator had enough! In a fit of exasperation, he came down and yanked the Baobab up from its roots, and replanted it upside down! No longer could the Baobab see its reflection, and no longer could it compare and contrast!

But the Creator could not be heartless. The vain whiner had to be taught a lesson, but after all this too was one of his own creations! So the Creator gave the Baobab some special features that would make it one of the most valued of trees for countless other living beings, including humans.

This Tree of Life, as it is called by some tribes in Africa, creates its own ecosystem, as it supports the life of countless creatures, from the giant elephants to the thousands of tiny creatures scurrying in and out of its crevices. Weaver birds nest in its branches and owls and Hornbills roost in its hollows; baboons and warthogs devour the seedpods and the fruit; bush babies and fruit bats drink the nectar and pollinate the flowers. The tree can store hundreds of litres of water in its trunk, an adaptation to the harsh drought conditions of its environment. This water is tapped in dry periods by elephants and Bushmen.

P1130244.JPGEvery part of the tree is valuable for the local communities; its lumber is used for storage, its bark is pounded to make rope, fishnets, mats, baskets, paper and cloth. More recently, its fruit has joined the ranks of international Superfoods–it is known to contain six times as much vitamin C as oranges, twice as much calcium as milk, and plenty of B vitamins, magnesium, iron, phosphorous, and antioxidants.

Baobabs can reach up to 75 feet in height, and the trunk can grow more than 60 feet wide. Humans have used the hollowed trunks for a variety of purposes—from a post office, to a jail, and even a pub!

Baobabs are some of the longest living of trees, believed to live for more than 2000 years!  When they do die, they simply rot from the inside and suddenly collapse, leaving a heap of fibres, and so the local belief is that they do not die at all, but simply disappear!  No wonder the Bushmen call it the Magic tree!

Some years after I returned from Kenya, we visited Diu, an island just off the coast of Gujarat. As we walked around, we were astonished to come across a Baobab tree! Solidly ensconced in majestic, solitary splendour among the Hoka palms and green fields, it brought back memories of our Safari days!  No one seemed to know when and how it came to be there. Thereafter, on our annual Diu trip with the children, we all eagerly looked forward to spending a morning exploring the Baobab. Over the years, as the children grew, it remained a reassuring and comforting presence. This year, the Baobab was introduced by my now-grown daughter to her husband, as an old friend!

IMG-20180519-WA0003.jpg

Happy World Environment Day!

–Mamata

Average is Normal

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 2 Comments

It is that time of the year again. It is the season of Superlatives. Exam results with Beyond Belief percentages, pictures of the Highest Scorers in the papers, magazines listing the Best Colleges, coaching classes advertising Record-breaking Achievers. So many wonder-kids? Are there no ‘average’ children anymore?

Even several years ago, I remember meeting my children’s classmates’ mothers when we were summoned to meet the teachers after the exam results were given. I heard exchanges about the achievements of the respective prodigy—prizes for painting, dancing, skating, swimming and more. Class toppers, school leaders all. I wondered, if every child is so brilliant, are there any simply ordinary children in the class?

I began to have doubts about my own parenting responsibilities and skills. Well, I did try to get the children to go for swimming coaching, largely because their cousins were going too (50% success—my daughter picked it up, and my son did not), dance lessons (my daughter did last a couple of years, but never made it till an arangetram!), and karate (my daughter made it till the first camp, my son till the white-one belt!).  Neither they, nor I, seemed to have the endurance run the gauntlet and emerge a Winner every time!

As parents who followed a relatively laissez-faire style of parenting, our considerations were mainly that the children were given the space to simply be, and blossom as they will. But as they grew, it became increasingly difficult to cope with the expectations of a competitive system. Still we thought that we were managing ok within the larger environment. We got a jolt one fine morning, when our son was denied readmission into Class 11 in the same school he had studied in for 10 years, because he missed the “cut off” by a couple of marks. Imagine the devastation for a fifteen year old. The experience that followed is a story in itself. One of the outcomes was that we decided that we did not wish our daughter (who was even less equipped to cope with a mindlessly competitive system) to go through this. Despite being told that “this is the system, your children and you will need to learn to swim with the tide, or sink”, we actively explored alternatives….and found them.

The children made it through! Today they are in the ‘system’ as it were, without being sucked into its vortex. They may not meet the generally accepted norms of Mainstream Success. (“Settled” so to speak, with six-figure earnings, car and apartment, designation, the skills to compete ruthlessly …and burn out at 35). They are following somewhat unconventional paths; they continue to explore, and discover new passions, new horizons, and new accomplishments. They are rich in experience, life skills, and relationships. They have the confidence to be themselves, and “not just another brick in the wall”.

Perhaps the greatest freedom we can offer our children is to allow them to think differently, and more importantly, to act differently.  Gunter Pauli

peanuts flaws

From Peanuts by Charles Schulz

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.

Rain, rain…

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 2 Comments

The Monsoon is scheduled to hit Kerala today, 29th May. Traditionally, in agriculture-based societies like ours, rain is a welcome phenomenon. Down the ages, music, art, dance, poetry in every part of India have celebrated the rains and the monsoon. There is a raga to bring rain. Lovers long for the rains. Literature celebrates the monsoons.

Even young urbanities, thanks to movies like ‘Lagaan’ will appreciate that rains are the lifeline for agriculture. And let us not forget that is not only the farmers who depend on the rains. The looming food crisis and rising prices of vegetables, fruit and produce has brought home very sharply that ultimately for everyone, it all goes back the land, to those who till the land, and to the rains.
In spite of all this, we urbanites have to admit that we are not happy to see the rains, except for the fact that it brings down temperatures. That could be attributed to two major reasons—(a) lack of preparedness of civic authorities to cope with the rains, and (b) our own increasing inability to put up with even minor inconveniences.
If the rains bring flooding to my street because the storm water drains are not kept in functional order; if manholes left open become death traps for people who are wading through knee deep water; if the roads are potholed and pitted after the rains and never mended; if improperly planned road dividers and badly leveled roads lead to stagnation and chaos—no wonder then that the normal city dweller fears the rainy season. If rains mean uncleared, rotting garbage all over; if rains mean frequent electricity cuts; if rains mean the threat of minor epidemics due to unsanitary conditions—no wonder then that we dislike the rains.
Is there anything unexpected about the rains? They come every year, on a fairly predictable date. The volume of rain is also forecasted—if not accurately, at least better than election results! Then why can our cities not prepare better? Should not every city and town worth its name have a regular plan of action to prepare for the rains? Civic authorities may say they have such plans, but isn’t the proof of the pudding in the eating?
Apart from civic authorities, we as individuals also love our comfort so much, that we cannot stand clothes drying inside the house; we cannot put up with rains disturbing our plans for an open air party; we don’t want the driver or maid to come in half-an-hour late because of the rain.
Rains bring joy; rains bring life to the land; rains are what make the world go round. Let’s bring back the joy of monsoon to our lives.
–Meena

Simple Joys of Summer

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ 1 Comment

Come May, and it was time to begin the summer excursion from Delhi to “home town” Bhavnagar, in Gujarat. This entailed a long hot dusty meter-gauge train trip to Baroda or Ahmedabad, complete with bedrolls, surahis of water and much food carried, and bought from the stations. Some years later when the first Deluxe train with AC sitting coaches was introduced, it was the very height of luxury! One’s best outfits were to be worn en route, and there was much anticipation about choosing comics and magazines from the AH Wheeler stall on the platform. That was only Part 1. Part 2 involved an equally long and hot and dusty onward bus on the state transport or ‘ST’ bus. And then, we were there!

Bhavnagar had the double bonus in that both my paternal and maternal family homes were in the same town…and within a stone’s throw of each other! Two houses, two sets of aunts and uncles, and two sets of cousins! Where was the question of feeling bored, or not knowing what to do next? Most of the morning was spent in doing nothing much, while waiting for one’s turn to have a bath. As the hours rolled from breakfast to lunch, one of the assigned duties was to go up to where the home-grown mangoes were laid out to ripen, and pick the ones for lunch. Another one was digging ice cubes out of the dinosaur-age fridge and making a bucketful of cold water to drink. As one grew older, the duties graduated to squeezing the pulp out of the dozens of mangoes, and learning how to roll chapatis! Replete with mango ras and an array of newly-made pickles it was time for a long siesta, with the gaggle of old and young, lying down from wall to wall in the central room, with the vetiver or khus ‘chicks’ keeping out the glare and keeping us cool. (Another assigned duty was sprinkling water on the chicks).

Post-siesta special outings involved a ghoda gaadi (tonga) ride into the ‘bajaar’ accompanied by an aunt. Walking through the crowded market with halts to buy thread for embroidery, or fabric for summer clothes was indeed an adventure. And then, the delicious process of ‘designing’ one’s own clothes…to be executed by the family tailor who sat at his machine, day after day, in the verandah, whirring out baby-doll pyjamas, ruffled frocks, and basic petticoats and bloomers! (The person whose clothes were being tailored on the day was assigned to ensure that the tailor was kept well supplied with food and water). Talk about bespoke wardrobes!

As soon as the peak heat of the day abated, it was time to walk across to the other house. More cousins, more food and more fun and games….learning to ride the bicycle; pretending to swim in the 6 by 6 feet water tank; trying to get on to the roof with clay tiles (and being scolded by granny); climbing trees, and huffing and puffing up the  hill to the temple…After sunset, when the grand-aunts came by, it was time to sit on the steps and the jhoola, and listen in on the family gossip!

Dinner in the open chowk, all seated in a circle on the wooden paatlas, with much noise and merriment. (Later this evolved into several tables of varying heights put together to form a long dining line). Bedtime involved tying of mosquito nets and making of beds–in the front courtyard or on the flat terrace, depending on which house we were spending the night at. And, falling into a blissful slumber, under the starry sky, after a day well-spent.

And so the summer passed…until it was time to start the trek back. No helicopter parents, no scheduling, no planning, no personality development classes, no activity clubs, no life-coaching, no play dates! We drifted along languorously, and yet every day was packed. A good time it was indeed, to be young!

Last week I visited the home town. Much has changed. Only one of the beloved homes still stands, empty now; but housefuls of memories remain, as fresh as if it were yesterday.

IMG-20180517-WA0001.jpg

–Mamata

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

 

Ode to Libraries

~ millennialmatriarchs ~ Leave a comment

As is probably, by now, evident, the Millennial Matriarchs are bookworms. We grew up with books, and we need books just as much, or more, as we grow older.

The enervating summer afternoons bring back so many memories of the joy of discovering, devouring, savouring, hoarding, exchanging, borrowing, and drowning in books, and more books. And, libraries were the dream destination of summer holidays.

Sharing some eloquent words that describe the power (and perils!) of libraries.

 Don’t Go Into The Library

The library is dangerous–

Don’t go in. If you do

You know what will happen.

It’s like a pet store or a bakery—

Every single time you will come out of there

Holding something in your arms.

Those novels with their big eyes.

And those no-nonsense, all muscle

Greyhounds and Dobermans,

All non-fiction and business,

Cuddly when they are young,

But then the first page is turned.

The doughnut scent of it all, knowledge,

The aroma of coffee being made

In all those books, something for everyone,

The deli offering of civilisation itself.

The library is the book of books,

Its concrete and glass and wood covers

Keeping within them the very big,

Very long story of everything.

The library is dangerous, full

Of answers, if you go inside,

You may not come out

The same person who went in.

Alberto Rios       Contemporary American Chicano poet

–Mamata