MKG–LLB MD(Hon)

“His vocation to be a medical healer was deeper than his vocation to practice law.  He practiced law for about 20 years and then quit forever (though vigorously engaged in politics); his medical healing of sick individuals continued throughout the rest of his life.”

A recent lecture by Dr Mark Lindley at the Sabarmati Ashram in Ahmedabad explored Gandhi’s persona as a healer, and health advisor as well as practitioner. Lindley himself wears many hats! An internationally renowned musicologist, as well as an ecological economist, he is also a Gandhi scholar with particular interest in Gandhi’s views on health.

While I was aware of Gandhi’s strong and passionate views on health, diet and lifestyle, a lot of which can be found in his seminal work Key to Health, Lindley’s talk revealed several new aspects of Gandhi which I felt would be interesting to share.

We all know that Mohandas Gandhi went to England in 1888 when he was 18 years old to study law, under advice from family elders. What is perhaps not as well known is that Gandhi’s own desire was to study medicine there. At that point however, apparently the popular perception that becoming a barrister would be an ‘economically’ more practical choice prevailed.

The idea resurfaced around 1908 after he had already been practising law in South Africa. Gandhi may have felt that he could serve people better by practicing medicine than by practicing law. This time, it was the fact that studying medicine would involve vivisection that led him to reject the idea. During his visit to London in 1909, he wrote to a friend that a certain doctor there “…tells me that in the course of his studies he must have killed about fifty frogs. An examination in physiology without this, he tells me, is not possible. If this is so, I have absolutely no desire to go in for medical studies. I would neither kill a frog, nor use one for dissecting if it has been specially killed [by someone else] for the purpose of dissection.”

Interestingly Gandhi’s writings soon after that visit reflect a radical change of view. In Hind Swaraj which he wrote on board the ship while returning from England in 1909, Gandhi vociferously avers “I was at one time a great lover of medical profession. It was my intention to become a doctor for the sake of my country. I no longer hold that opinion.”

“It is worth considering why we take up the profession of medicine. It is certainly not taken up for the purpose of serving humanity. We become doctors so that we may obtain honours and riches. I have endeavoured to show that there is no real service of humanity in the profession, and that it is injurious to mankind. Doctors make a show of their knowledge, and charge exorbitant fees. …The populace, in its credulity and in the hope of ridding itself of some disease, allows itself to be cheated.”

Reading these lines, 109 years later, I was struck by how much this sounds like some of the concerns about the medical profession today!

As the famous French epigram goes “plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose”, in other words “the more things change, the more they stay the same.”

–Mamata

An Invite and A Sampler

Happy to share the invite to the launch of Raghu’s new book. His first foray into fiction. Set in Ambala, Jammu, IIM-A.

If anyone should be in Bangalore that day, it would be great to see you there!

invite

A sampler from the Book..

‘So one morning, with my infant sister in one arm and my tiny hand in the other, (mother) towed me to the school and spoke to the headmistress, who was gracious enough to let me attend the nursery informally, as I was barely two. From then on I was no longer just Bala, but S. Balan, with an initial of my own, like grown-ups! In those times, the major talents required for entry to the nursery class were demonstration of reasonably good toilet training and the ability to sleep on demand. I was fairly accomplished in both departments, particularly in the latter (a talent I haven’t lost yet). Between bouts of sleep one was expected to eat snacks and play some games. But I turned out to be a master sleeper and happily slumbered through the year – it helped me attain the reputation of being the least troublesome kid in the class. In short, I found the demands of nursery quite manageable.

It was lower kindergarten, or LKG, that held some challenges. At the end of the year, that is, by March 1958, the Class of Nursery relentlessly marched forward to LKG. But the headmistress decided to hold me back as I was too young and sleepy to be promoted. And especially because I had been admitted only informally in the nursery, she thought I could sleep some more in the same classroom before being kicked upstairs. This meant that all my ‘friends’ had moved on and I was to start schooling all over again with some strangers. This was a clear affront to my personal dignity and I had to do something about it. So I bawled even louder than I had when I first wanted to go to school with Urmila.



But boy! Was the LKG syllabus tough! It included the English and Hindi alphabet, quite a few advanced rhymes from the Radiant Reader (nursery rhymes were passé), counting up to twenty and even some addition and subtraction with large numbers like 9 + 8. It seemed as if they had only left out integral calculus. But fortunately they still allowed ample time for sleeping, which was of course my core competence.’

From: Return to Jammu. Harper Collins.

How-to-be-Happy Curriculum

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

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.

A Sad Ending

We are wakened at dawn every day by the melodious duet of the Coucals. The Coucal couple share our little garden, and we watch over each other. The Coucal or Crow Pheasant is a handsome bird; its glossy black body, chestnut wings and long black tail lends it a special dignity and grandeur. After the morning duet of soft whoops and klak-kloks, they join us as we have our morning tea. Sitting amongst orange flowers of the Cordia tree, or flitting across to the Champa tree, they offer a reassuring start to our day. As the day progresses, they descend lower to drink from the water container, as the smaller birds respectfully make way for them. Then as the sun reaches its peak, the omnivorous birds stride confidently across our small patch of lawn, looking for sustenance. Through the rest of the day, they call to each other using an amazing repertoire of calls. We could never have imagined that a single bird could produce such a variety of sounds.

About a month ago we noticed that the Coucal couple were more than usually busy. We saw them flying back and forth all day long, carrying in their beak a strand of the creeper with the white flowers, twigs from the nearby neem tree, long blades of grass and other trailing vegetation. Some days later, having tracked their destination, we discovered that they had made a nest high up in the tangle of our bougainvillea. The nest was very large, and from ground level looked quite messy! Even though we only had a worm’s eye view of their new home; there it was, testimony to the well-coordinated effort of our faithful couple. We were honoured that they liked our garden enough to move on from cooing and courting to setting up home! We were not quite sure when Mrs Coucal decided to start her family in her new home. But we watched and waited eagerly, like anxious grandparents-to-be. We hoped that at least one or two eggs had successfully hatched. While we could not follow all that went on in the nest, we were reassured that the parents were assiduously flying back and forth, this time with morsels in their beaks. It was amazing to see how the couple worked relentlessly and in perfect tandem—getting food, keeping an eye on the nest and around, being alert and protective—all the while calling to each other, with gurgling chuckles and raucous croaks.

Then yesterday we heard a rustling in the dry flowers and leaves piled under the bougainvillea. A closer look revealed a tiny little cluster of black and brown feathers fluttering weakly in the undergrowth. The chick had not yet developed wings strong enough to make it back to the nest. We were very concerned, and felt quite helpless as the anxious parents hovered nearby. We prayed, and tried to see how it could be safe. When we did not see it late last evening, we hoped for the best.

Sadly this morning we saw the still little bundle of feathers. Nature had not meant it to grow into a handsome young Coucal, and to share our garden. Today, the Coucals do not call.

–Mamata

Swimming 101

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

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

Trash Toy Story

The Matriarchs were groomed in the eighties with regard to ideologies, ideals, ideas and their chosen vocation—education and what is today called sustainable development. There were many khadi-clad people who inspired them and several of their generation. One such inspiration was Dr. Arvind Gupta, who received the Padma Shri last week.

Arvind Gupta, an alumnus of IIT Kanpur, has dedicated his life to popularizing science and making science education accessible–through demonstrating how everyday, low-cost materials can be used to teach science. His core belief is that children learn best ‘by touching, feeling, cutting, sticking — pulling things apart, putting them apart..’ and his mission is to empower educators to create simple toys and educational experiments using locally available materials—the ‘Toys from Trash’ approach.

We stand testimony to the fact that adults too find this fascinating—I can recall informal sessions at our Centre, where he would enthrall  all of us with a series demonstrations using drinking straws, balloons, ball-pen refills, match sticks, rubber bands etc., and suddenly things we had learnt years ago in our science classes, made sense at last!

In today’s world, when we increasingly think that quality education means high-tech, high-cost kits and labs and aids, the Padma Shri should in fact reinforce the message that quality education has little to do with money, and much more to do with the ingenuity, creativity and commitment of educators and teachers. A good way to encapsulate his message to educators is his motto:

‘The whole world is a garbage pit
Collect some junk and make a kit.’

Thank you Arvindji, from two people you have inspired!

Meena

PS: Do view his TED Talk: Turning Trash into Toys for learning, rated among the best education related TEDs by many.

 

 

FrogFest

Over 35 years ago, when I spent two years living in Nairobi, my sister Seema, then a young zoology student came to visit. Among the souvenirs she picked up from the local market was a potholder made of cane that was shaped like a frog. After that trip, wherever she went, it was almost as if frogs were jumping out from everywhere, urging to be picked up! Frogs in all materials, shapes, sizes and poses. And so, Seema became a ‘frog collector’! It also made it easy for friends and family to find her a gift. Over the years, the frog artefact collection grew and grew till her house was bursting at the seams with frogs big and small. One day the thought came, how could this be shared with more people, and what would be the purpose of the sharing? Over a couple of years, and a combination of fortuitous circumstances, this idea metamorphosed into FrogFest.

FrogFest began as a brainchild of Seema’s old school friend Aditya Arya whose creative mind has always leapt way ahead of the average plodders and hoppers. Let’s do an exhibition called FrogArt, he said. With his vast experience in photography and exhibit design, he offered to curate the show. That done, it worked out that WWF offered to host the display. This was indeed serendipity! WWF was where Seema began her professional life as a volunteer (while still a college student). What better way to “give back” to an institution that was the first to nurture what became a lifelong passion (as well as vocation) for biodiversity and conservation!

Then came the challenge—how to use the frog artefacts to highlight the larger issues of amphibian conservation; how to creatively bridge the traditional gap between Art and Science? Seema invited me to join the team as co-curator, to apply my experience as an environmental educator. After six months of being steeped in all matters Batrachian (along the way we discovered that the study of frogs was known as Batrachology!) we were ready to launch FrogFest—Celebrating Frogs in Art and Nature.

As the name suggests, FrogFest focuses on the amazingly diverse interpretations of a single element of nature–the frog! It showcases Seema Bhatt’s personal collection of frog artefacts from over 40 countries, including a rendering of frogs in folk art, as well as contemporary art by young artists.

The display of the artefacts and art is supported by a series of panels that highlight the fascinating aspects of frogs, and the conservation significance of frogs in nature. Far from the dusty tomes of academic journals, the visual-rich and reader-friendly panels also offer a peep into the fascinating world of frogs in India and the important initiatives to conserve them.These have been supported and enriched with expert inputs from Dr S.D. Biju and Dr Gururaja, India’s foremost amphibian scientists.

 

The bridge between art and nature is further strengthened by the organisation and display of artefacts. For example, where the panel describes the role of colour in frogs in Nature, there is also a display of nearly a hundred frog artefacts, made from glass, ceramic, clay, stone and more, with vibrant colours, along with a ‘Frogtoid’ that reminds that while artists have let their imagination run riot, nature has bestowed frogs with a colour palette on which their very survival depends (attracting mates, warning predators).

 

With its brilliant interweaving of the facts and fun FrogFest offers a feast for the senses. It also provides food for thought by putting the spotlight on the Frog. At a time when the focus of wildlife conservation is primarily on charismatic ‘megafauna’, there is a dire need to reflect on the conservation of smaller, but equally significant fauna around us. While frogs may not always hit the headlines as the ‘Superstars’ of the grand epic of nature, they are no less fascinating, and indeed, no less important in the Web of Life.

FrogFest is on at WWF India, 172-B Lodi Road, New Delhi till the end of April 2018.

–Mamata

At the Gym

Designer derrieres

And sculpted six-packs

Designer track suits

And funky shoes

Designer keto shakes

And salads and bakes

 

Hunks who could strut into

A wrestling rink

And girls who could walk

On any ramp

 

And then the four or five of us

Desperately battling mid-life bulges

Sagging muscles

Unruly paunches

 

As if that were not enough

I had to overhear this yesterday:
One PYT to another:

‘All the uncles and aunties in my office

Are damn inspired by me, yaar

They all want to start coming to the gym

You know, all those 35-year old ancients.’

 

And I picked up

My 55-year old face and muscles

And slunk out.

 

-Meena Raghunathan

P.S: written a few years ago!