If Men Could Menstruate - Hindi

 Here is the Hindi translation of the previous piece, done with a lot of effort by Sonika Thakur!

अगर पुरुषों को माहवारी होती तो क्या होता

महिला 1: क्या आपने कभी सोचा है कि अगर पुरुषों को माहवारी होती तो क्या होता?

महिला 2: एक मिनट.... माहवारी! माहवारी तो महामारी की तरह सुनाई देता है,जैसे कि कोई बीमारी हो।

महिला 1: हाँ सच में! मैं कह रही थी कि अगर अचानक कोई जादू हो जाए और माहवारी महिलाओं की बजाये पुरुषों को आने लगे तो?

महिला 2: तब तो माहवारी बेशक एक बहुत ही आकर्षक, मर्दाना, गर्व करने वाली चीज़ बन जायेगी।

महिला 3: हां! पुरुष इस बात पर डींगें हांकेंगे कि उनके पीरियड कितने लम्बे और कितने ज़्यादा चले।

महिला 4: माहवारी का शुरू होना मर्दानगी का सबूत माना जाएगा। लड़के इसे धार्मिक रिवाज़ों और स्टैग पार्टी के रूप में मनाएंगे।

महिला 5: और सेनेटरी पैड्स की तो बात ही मत पूछो! सारे सेनेटरी प्रोडक्ट्स सरकार द्वारा मुफ्त में दिए जायेंगे या टैक्स फ्री होंगे। और पुरुष उन्हें अखबार में छिपा कर तो बिल्कुल नहीं ले जायेंगे!

महिला 6: और न ही काले प्लास्टिक के थैलों में!

महिला 6: दवाइयों की दुकानों पर हे भाई -पैड्स और यारों का यार टेम्पोंस भरे दिखेंगे! आदमियों के लिए कोई “व्हिस्पर” नहीं होगा!

महिला 1: न ही केयरफ्री! न सोफी! न परी!

महिला 2: गलियों के लड़के शेखी बघारेंगे कि, “मैं तो तीन पैड वाला आदमी हूँ।“

महिला 3: अगर उन्हें कोई कहे, “भाई, तुम आज बहुत अच्छे लग रहे हो!” तो वह हाई-फाइव करते हुए कहेंगे........

महिला 2: “हां, भाई, क्यों नहीं, माहवारी का समय जो है! इसी से तो चेहरे पे चमक आती है!” वे यह कह के कभी नहीं छुपाएंगे कि “मैं डाउन हूं” या “महीने का वह समय है!”

महिला 4: अखबारों में ऐसी सुर्खियां होंगी --- “माहवारी वाले पुरुषों में शार्क के हमले का खतरा!” या “जज ने बलात्कारी को मासिक तनाव का हवाला दे कर छोड़ दिया!”

महिला 5: और फिल्मों में क्या होगा ----"खून का रिश्ता” और “ख़ूनी भाई” फिर से सुपरहिट शीर्षक बन जायेंगे! और हीरो होंगे ---- टाइगर श्रॉफ और वरुण धवन!

महिला 6: और सोचिए, पुरुष क्या हर महीने पेट में मरोड़े झेलेंगे? सरकार तो उनके लिए पीरियड का दर्द मिटाने के लिए राष्ट्रीय “दर्द मिटाओ दर्द हटाओ” संस्थान खोल देगी!

महिला 1: बिल्कुल! मेडिकल समुदाय “मेल प्री मेंस्ट्रूअल सिंड्रोम (M-PMS)” पर रिसर्च शुरू कर देगा और बड़े-बड़े इलाज निकाल लेगा।

महिला 2: मुझे तो एक सपोर्ट ग्रुप भी दिख रहा है “माहवारी के मारे मर्द - एम् एम् एम्!”

महिला 3: और देखना! माहवारी की छुट्टी सभी संस्थानों में अनिवार्य हो जायेगी।

महिला 4: और निश्चित तौर पर माहवारी से पीड़ित मर्दों को जल्दी छुट्टी दे दी जायेगी! बेचारे इतनी तकलीफ में कैसे काम करेंगे?

महिला 5: अच्छा! तब शायद महिलायें धार्मिक संस्थानों और सेना में मर्दों से बड़ा योगदान देंगी। क्योंकि उन्हें माहवारी नहीं आएगी!

महिला 6: इसका बिलकुल उल्टा होगा, जानेमन! सेना के आदमी यह ज़ोर देंगे कि पुरुष ही सेना में रह सकते हैं, क्योंकि वे “खून देने” के आदी हैं। वे हीरो होंगे क्योंकि वे हर महीने खून बहाते हैं और दर्द सहते हैं।

महिला 1: धार्मिक कट्टरपंथी कहेंगे कि महिलायें अपवित्र हैं क्योंकि वे हर महीने अपनी अशुद्धियाँ नहीं निकालतीं।

महिला 5: हद्द हो गई यह तो! क्या ये वही चीज़ें नहीं हैं जो वे कहते हैं कि हम महिलायें माहवारी की वजह से नहीं कर सकतीं? यह क्या बात हुई।

महिला 6: बस यही तो बात है। इसमें माहवारी का कोई लेना देना नहीं है। असली मुद्दा तो यह है कि समाज में ज़्यादा ताकतवर कौन है।

महिला 1: अगर माहवारी ताकतवरों को आने लगे, तो माहवारी अचानक एक पॉज़िटिव चीज़ बन जाएगी। तर्क या लॉजिक से इसका कोई लेना देना नहीं है।

महिला 5: तर्क से इसका कोई लेना देना नहीं है?

महिला 2: हाँ, तर्क से इसका कोई लेना देना नहीं है? जैसे कि गोरे लोगों ने सब को विश्वास दिला दिया है कि उनकी गोरी त्वचा उन्हें बाकियों से श्रेष्ठ बनाती है। जबकि वास्तव में गोरी त्वचा….

महिला 3: …. उन्हें यू वी किरणों के प्रति ज़्यादा सेंसिटिव बनाती है और झुर्रियों का कारण बनती हैं। मतलब कि कोई भी गुण सिर्फ इसलिए ज़्यादा मांग में होता है क्योंकि वह ताकतवरों का चिन्ह होता है।

महिला 5: तो तुम यह कह रही हो कि अगर माहवारी महिलाओं की बजाये पुरुषों को आना

शुरू हो जाए, तब भी महिलाओं कि लिए कुछ नहीं बदलेगा। है ना!

महिला 4: बदलेगा!

(सभी औरतें कहेंगी “क्या”?)

महिला 4: यही..… कि हमें अपने बेचारे माहवारी वाले भाइयों, बेटों और पतियों की और ज़्यादा सेवा करनी पड़ेगी!

 

If Men Could Menstruate (English)

If Men Could Menstruate

(6 actors standing facing the audience. While talking they do look at each other and laugh when called for, but their focus is on the audience.)

Woman 1: Have you ever thought what would happen if men could menstruate?

Woman 2: Wait a minute…Menstruate! Why is it called menstruation? Shouldn’t it be “womenstruation”?

All shrug and shake their heads.

Woman 1: I was saying, what if suddenly, magically, men could menstruate and women could not?

Woman 2: Of course, then menstruation would become a desirable, masculine event.

Woman 3: Yes! Men would brag about how long and how much.

Woman 4: The onset of periods would be a proof of manhood. Boys would mark it with religious rituals and stag parties.

Woman 5: Let’s not forget sanitary supplies, ladies! All sanitary supplies would be government funded or at least tax-free. And men certainly wouldn’t be hiding them in newspapers!  

Woman 6: Or black plastic bags!

(All look at each other knowingly and laugh!)

Woman 6: Pharmacies will be filled with Man-pads and Bro-tampons! No “Whisper” for them!

Woman 1 (shrugging delicately): Or Carefree! Or Sofy! Or Paree!

Woman 2: Street guys would brag “I’m a three-pad man. “

Woman 3: If someone said to them “Man, you lookin’ good!”, they would give high fives and say…(Woman 2 and 3 high five at the right time.)

Woman 2: “Yeah, man, it’s period time!” They certainly wouldn’t be using euphemisms like “I’m down” or “It’s that time of the month!”.

Everyone looks at each other and nods!

Woman 4: Newspapers would carry such healines- “SHARK-SCARE THREATENS MENSTRUATING MEN”. Or “JUDGE PARDONS RAPIST, CITING MONTHLY STRESS.”

Woman 5: And what about movies- “Khoon ka Rishta” and “Blood Brothers” would become popular movie titles once again! Starring…Tiger and Varun!

Woman 6: And can you imagine men suffering cramps every month? I bet the Government would fund a National Institute of Dysmenorrhea to stamp out period pain!

Woman 1: Absolutely! The medical community would probably start studying “Male Premenstrual Syndrome (M-PMS)” and come up with all sorts of fancy treatments.

Woman 2: I can see a support group called “Menstrual Men Mm-anonymous- Em Em Em!”

Everyone laughs!

Woman 3: And lo and behold- menstruation leave would be compulsory in all organizations.

Woman 4: And surely, there would be flexible work hours for menstruating men! How can the poor men work in such discomfort?

Woman 5: Okay, maybe then, women will play a bigger role than men in religious organizations and military, because they do not menstruate!

Woman 6: Quite the opposite, my dear! Military men would insist that only men could serve in the Army because they are used to “giving” blood. They would be heroes because they bleed and suffer pain on a monthly basis.

Woman 1: Religious fundamentalists will insist women are impure because they do NOT get rid of their impurities every month! (Said with an eye roll.)

Woman 5: I don’t get it. Aren’t these the very things they say women CANNOT do because they menstruate?

Woman 6: That’s exactly the point. It’s got nothing to do with menstruation per se and everything to do with who is stronger in society.

Woman 1: If menstruation becomes the attribute of the strong, it would suddenly become a positive thing. Logic has nothing to do with it!

Woman 5: Logic has nothing to do with it?

Woman 2: Yes, logic has nothing to do with it. Just as white people have made everyone think that their white skin makes them superior. Actually, the only thing white skin really does is…

Woman 3: …make them more sensitive to UV rays and to wrinkles. You see, an attribute becomes coveted just because it is the attribute of the powerful.

Woman 5: So, what you are saying is, even if menstruation moves to men, nothing will really change for us women, is it!

(Everyone shakes their heads)

Woman 4: Well, something will. Think of all the extra caregiving we will have to do for our poor menstruating brothers, sons and husbands!

Everyone shows frustration! 

I wrote this piece for my FiRST PiCk theatre group, who performed it twice in 2025. It was performed twice again by my Nishtha Sponsorship students in front of an audience of Nishtha funders, supporters and well wishers. 

The piece is derived from a satirical essay written by Gloria Steinem in 1978. I repurposed it as a dialog and Indianized it. You can read the original essay here. 

https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/23293691.2019.1619050

Play- The Red Jacket

I recently converted a children's story I had written last year into a play for young kids. Many things need to be done to convert a story into a play that actors can enact out. Several characters had to be added so that more children could be part of the play. Each character had to have at least a few lines. Each character also had to be given a certain characteristics (pun unintended), such as class clown or empathetic friend. Their lines had to be in line with their characteristics. The key players (mother and Anya) also had to be fleshed out more. Finally, not everything could be converted into dialog, so I had to introduce a Narrator to hold the story together. 

The Red Jacket

Narrator, Anya, Raghav, Shreya, Palak, Mother, Father (only voice)

Scene 1: Narrator, Anya, Mother

Narrator: This is a story of a young girl, Anya. Look at her. Doesn’t she look very pretty in her red jacket? Her favourite uncle had gifted it to her just last week. She loves it so much! So much, that she wears it every day!

Mother: Anya, take off the jacket. It will get dirty. You should wear it when winter sets in properly.

Anya: But mom, what if I…

Mother: No ifs and buts! Take it off now.

Narrator: Do you think Anya took off her jacket? Uh-uh! She kept it on. It was Diwali, and she wanted to look special.

Scene 2: Narrator, Anya, Raghav, Palak, Shreya

Narrator: All the children had gathered in the town park. They played with colourful sparklers, writing their names in the air, and burst noisy crackers. There was so much fun to be had that evening!

(Children playing around the narrrator, bursting crackers and lighting sparklers.)

Raghav: Hey Anya, what is that on your jacket?

Anya: What?

Palak: Is that a hole? Oh no!

Anya (turning around to see): A hole? Where? Where?

Shreya (Pointing to the pocket): There! Could be that sparkler you were holding burnt that hole!

Anya: No, no, no! How could this happen! It’s my favourite jacket. It’s ruined now!

Raghav: It’s just a hole. What’s the big deal! My shirt has so many holes.

Anya:  Oh no! Mummy will get so mad. She had asked me not to wear it today. I should have listened to her and put it away in the cupboard. Oh, what will I do now? I am in big trouble! (Starts crying)

Raghav: Stop crying. It’s not such a big deal.

Palak: Maybe not for you, Raghav. But it’s her favourite jacket. Oh Anya! (Hugging Anya)

Shreya: Don't cry Anya. You said aunty asked you to keep it away. That’s what you should do. Just put it away. Nobody will know.

Palak: Except you!

Raghav (looking at Anya naughtily): And me!

(Everyone looks angrily at Raghav)

Narrator: When Anya got home, the only question in her mind was where to hide the ruined jacket. She had to hide it someplace no one would know. Not the cupboard certainly. Then where? Aah! Under her mattress!

Scene 3: Narrator, Anya, Mother, Father’s voice

Narrator: A month had passed. Anya’s uncle was back in town and the family was going to his house to meet him.

Mother: Anya, wear the red jacket today. Your uncle will be so happy to see you in it.

Anya (saying half-heartedly): Okay, sure. 

(Looks at the audience and makes a sad face and gestures "what to do" with her hands. Then, pretends to look for it in the cupboard). 

Anya: I can’t find it. I don’t know where it is, mummy.

Mother: Have you looked in your cupboard? Don't make me come there and look for it! 

Father’s voice: Everyone, out! Let’s go. We are already late.

Scene 4: Narrator, Anya, Mother

Narrator: Anya thought she had gotten away because everyone was in a hurry. She thought the jacket was forgotten. But her mother had not forgotten. The next day, she called Anya to her room.

Mother: Anya, have you given your red jacket to one of your friends? Tell me honestly!

Anya: What? No! I had kept it in my cupboard when you asked me to put it away.

Mother: It’s not in your cupboard. I checked. Where IS it?

Anya: I don’t know. I can’t find it.

Mother: Then surely you have given it to Palak or Shreya, haven’t you?

Anya: No, I would never do that. That’s my favourite jacket. I would never give away something Arun Uncle gifted me!

Mother: Listen! Either you have it somewhere, or you have given it away. So, which one is it?

(Anya looks very sad. She pulls out the red jacket from under her mattress and brings it to her mother.)

Mother (looking at the hole and feeling it with her fingers): Hmm…so that’s what happened!

Scene 5: Narrator, Anya, Mother, Palak, Shreya, Raghav

Narrator: Anya had expected to be scolded about the dreadful hole, maybe even punished in some way, but to her surprise, nothing of that sort happened. A couple of days later…

Mother: Anya, come here dear.

(Anya comes in, looking sheepish.)

Mother: Here. Here’s your jacket. Put it on.

Narrator: Why is her mother asking her to wear the jacket with a hole? Oh! Where is the hole? Where there was a hole earlier is now an attractive red and yellow flower. The red jacket looks even prettier than before. 

Anya (hugging her mother): Wow! The flower is so pretty! No one can tell there was a hole here. The jacket looks as good as new! Thank you mummy. Thank you, thank you!

(Anya puts on her jacket.)

Narrator: Now, some of you may think this story is about how bad lying to your parents is. But actually, it is about so much more. What do you say kids?

Palak: Sometimes grown-ups have solutions that we children can’t think of.

Shreya: Sometimes, by lying, we lose all the help we could have got just because we were too afraid to tell the truth.

Raghav: And sometimes, it’s okay to have some holes in your clothes!

The Birthday Party

I wrote this piece upon Aloka's English teacher's request. She wanted to show Aloka how two people can write very different descriptions of the same event. 

Aloka turned 18 in October. I can say with certainty that I have organized 18 birthday parties for her. And perhaps four or five for my mother since we returned to India to live with her. And another 10 or more for my son before that. And several more for my dear friend Sonika and even other friends. It is expected in my family- and friend-circles that a birthday party means Puja will organize it. It’s a given.

​​So, this year, when Aloka suggested that she would organize my birthday bash, I was both honoured and scared!

​​Honoured because I didn't think my birthday was that important to her. Scared because I know it is hard work that requires extreme attention to detail to customize it to the occasion. What if the end result doesn’t meet my expectations?

​I gave in because Aloka was now an adult according to a well-known but dubious benchmark of adulthood and was itching to do something serious with the badge. Also, as a mother, it is my job to build her confidence and allow her to take some risks in a safe environment. 

Over the next few days, I dropped some hints about faraway friends I would like to hear from and those I would like to seen on the day. I also mentioned a song I loved, hoping Aloka would get the hint and sing it for me.

The party itself was not a surprise in the true sense of the word because I knew it was happening, but the nitty gritty was unknown to me. Mostly that is. I was tasked with readying a treasure hunt because it was my forte and truly, no one else could do it. Other than that, I was hands off.

Though I did feel a bit left out when I heard Aloka and Sonika whispering to each other or stepping out to go someplace, I kept a dignified front. I focused instead on what I would wear, something I couldn’t care less about on any other day. I even went shopping for clothes a couple of days before the party, something I never do in Dharamshala. All my shopping is usually done if we are in a department store in a foreign land because only they seem to accept that people of my size exist and need good clothes. 

On the D-day, I took time to get dressed and even allowed Aloka to put eye makeup for me, something I normally would refuse vehemently. I chose jewellery carefully, feeling like a social butterfly, which I am anything but. Following Aloka’s clear instructions, I walked downstairs only after I heard some voices, quite unlike what I am used to doing- ushering people in and greeting them at the gate. In short, I totally accepted the role I was being given, that of the queen of Firmly Rooted.

What transpired after that was magical and dreamy, so much so that I don’t recollect the order of events clearly. I remember each of my friends talking about how they met me, or what they like about me. It seemed Aloka had included this requirement in her invitation message to all of them. Normally, faced with compliments, I would change the topic quickly or transfer the attention to others, but the setup didn’t allow that. For over thirty minutes, I heard people say nice things about me and recount events that I never thought they would remember. At the very last of this sharing, Aloka set up her mike and background music, and sang my favourite song so melodiously that it seemed to enter each cell of my body and resonate there.

Somewhere in between, Treasure Hunt had happened, causing a lot of excitement in the guests and a whole lot of chaos in the house. People I considered wallflowers were suddenly leading the show and the confident ones looked lost. Mummy and Mallika, who happened to be two clues themselves, were acting very pricey, making the teams work hard to get the chits. Aloka was also in great demand because she knew what the clues meant. Later, once the game was over, someone came to me to praise the poetry of the treasure hunt clues. It was a first, because children, for whom I usually make the clues, don’t notice such things.

The highlight for me was the video compilation, which included videos from my sweet students laughing and recalling classes and activities done with us over the last few years. How I love and cherish these little innocent human beings! All of them said their favourite activities were the dances I taught- so much for the effort we put in Phonics! There were also videos from my friends from Chennai, Singapore, Brussels and Canada, recalling their memories of our friendship spanning decades and wishing me the best.

Watching the videos, I realised how much effort would have gone into getting them shot and compiled, and getting folks to send their videos. It also explained the strange vanishings of Aloka and Sonika in the middle of the days the last couple of weeks!

I realised that snacks were being passed around and drinks served, without my involvement. It was very refreshing (pun unintended) and freeing that I didn’t have be in and out of the kitchen to make it happen. Someone else was doing the running around, while looking cool as a cucumber! Likewise, the lunch went smoothly and everyone was taken care of by Aloka, Sonika and Mallika, in that order. All I had to do was to chat with my friends and eat!

The cake! What can I say about the cake? It was a representation of my favourite mountain top, Jhatingri, painted on my favourite canvas- food! Not only was it unique looking, with tiny huts and animals and trees and fields, it tasted divine. How much thought and love would have gone into designing and making it!

How the dance started, I don’t really recall. But first my dance group of Aloka, Aradhya, Jahan, Kittu and Vanshika and, of course I, showed off our line dances. Then everyone joined in and the living room was a mad house with teens and octogenarians, and all ages in between, dancing with each other. 

The day ended slowly, with people trickling out as and when they had to. There was no hard stop to the party. There was no hard stop either to my feeling of being loved, honoured and cherished by my friends and mostly by my all-grown-up daughter!

Though I didn’t go into this celebration with a desire to feel special, I have never felt more special than I did on my birthday in 2025!

 

 

A Day in the Life of...

I woke up while it was still dark. I hated getting out of the warm bed, but it had to be done. I had volunteered to cook for the family today because mummy needed to rest. She had been in so much pain last night.

I saw Anuj sleeping soundly in his bed. He wasn't at the dinner table last night. He must have to come in after I was already fast asleep. This was the third night in a row when he hadn't eaten dinner with us. It was for some planning he had to do with his friends for a college festival, he said. As usual, everyone believed whatever he said, and allowed him everything he wanted to do. 

But when it came to me, it was a different story. I wasn't even allowed to stay back at Rohini's to prepare for an exam last month. It was so unfair because it's not as if Rohini and her family are strangers to our family. I had literally begged mummy to let me go, but to no avail. Anuj kept sitting quietly when all this was going on, never once saying a word in my favour. I promised myself I will never forget his "support"! Things had not been the same between us after that incident. 

I entered the freezing kitchen as quietly as I could and spent the next hour making everyone's breakfast and lunch. Before getting ready for college, I peeped inside mummy's room to make sure she was okay. I couldn't see her face, but it seemed she was sleeping soundly. 

The bus was late! I hated being late, but what could I do? The only saving grace was that eight other students from my class took the same bus, so I would not be the only one in trouble with Mahajan sir. Thank God! 

I met Rohini at our usual spot under the tree and we rushed to the class together. Mahajan sir was himself late, so we were spared the lecture about discipline and punctuality. I couldn't help but notice that he didn't apologise for his late arrival. All the rules are meant only for us students, it seems! 

Later, Rohini and I sat together and had our lunch. I told her about Anuj and his late evening meetings. She agreed with me that he could just be partying with his friends in the name of planning. Boys were like that, always misusing their freedom, while we girls were denied even the smallest of liberties. I felt good knowing that there was at least one person who had the same misgivings about him as I. 

She then told me a naughty joke she had heard from her bus mates. I laughed so hard that a few students turned around to look at me. I suddenly became aware of how I sounded and wished I could be more sophisticated, like Shanaya!  

Talk of the devil. Shanaya was walking out of the canteen and coming towards us. Dressed in a flowy kurta and loose pants, with a duppata thrown casually over her shoulders, she was a picture of elegance. As always, there was a retinue of two to three minions walking behind her. Proper princess! 

Rohini stood up. That was the reaction of most people when Shanaya walked by. But not me. I had more dignity than that. She may be the resident beauty queen, but she was no better than the rest of us in every other way. She was certainly no better than me in academics. Hadn't I topped the class twice in a row? 

I pulled Rohini down and tried to distract her. Just then, to my surprise, Shanaya addressed me directly. She asked if Anuj from the boys' college was my brother. When I said yes, she gave me a sickly sweet smile and asked me to give him a message. 

A message? To Anuj? From the princess? For a moment, I was disoriented.  

She then told me to ask Anuj to move the fashion show to the afternoon on the 14th. It was scheduled for the morning, but she was busy then. Thus the request! She then added that it was important that I convey the message to Anuj today itself because the finalised schedule was to be posted first thing tomorrow. 

I nodded despite myself, though later it would occur to me that it was just like her to ask the world to adjust according to her convenience. 14th morning was inconvenient to her, so she wanted the schedule to be changed! As if the fashion show couldn't or shouldn't proceed without Her Majesty! 

After she left, I looked awkwardly at Rohini. Anuj wasn't partying after all. He was actually busy with festival planning! I had let my anger and hurt cloud my judgment about him. 

When I reached home, I saw to my delight that mummy was up and about. She told me that she had been to the doctor and was feeling better after taking the medication. Then she thanked me for helping her out this morning. I couldn't say anything. I hugged her tightly, wiping my eyes dry on her shoulders. 

That night, I stayed up till late so I could talk to Anuj. It was almost midnight when he returned home. He looked surprised when I asked him about the festival, but was quick to share with me the detailed schedule. He also talked about the efforts they were making to make the event different and special. His excitement was infectious. He was especially kicked about the elaborate runway being set up for the fashion show on 14th morning. Hmm...14th! Morning! 

He then suggested that I, the nerdiest nerd, should participate in the Scrabble and Boggle competitions that were to be held in the afternoon on the 14th, soon after the fashion show. 

Of course I agreed. I agreed immediately! 

I wrote this story as a proof to young people (my students of Nishtha and BSA) that we all feel multiple emotions each day- we are just not paying attention to them. An increased emotional vocabulary often means an increased control on reactions to emotions.

It never ceases to surprise me that most of my students are totally unaware of emotional vocabulary beyong Happy, Sad and Angry. In this story, students recognize these emotions: Frustration/annoyance, Compassion, Irritation, Relief, Contentment, Joy, Embarrassment, Regret, Envy, Arrogance, Guilt, Relief, Excitement. 

The One that Got Away!

After six days in Gobi desert and one whole day of driving, we finally reached the Princess camp high up in the Gorkhi Terelj National Park in Mongolia. From dry flat planes to rugged mountains, from browns and grays to gurgling rivulets and lush greens, from 40 degrees to -5 degrees, all in a period of 12 hours! 

The Princess camp was yet another Ger camp, no different from that in Gobi, except that it was freezing cold. There was a large coal heater with the chimney going out from the center of the Ger. Our hosts entered the Ger every few hours to reload the coal to keep us warm, while we tried to sleep. Their intrusion, initially shocking, was very soon welcomed! 

The next day, our guide told us we would be going for a picnic to an old ruin some 10 km away. There were horses for those who wanted to ride, much to the delight of Atreya and Shalini, and an ox-cart for those who couldn't- mom and me. By now it was snowing lightly. We wore sweaters and jackets offered to us by our very maternal hosts, all men by the way, but the cold was bone-chilling. They then trussed mom and me in a blanket each, with a rope tied around us to hold it in place. 

We were then picked up and placed on the ox-cart, the keyword being "on". Our seat was a flat plank of wood that was somehow attached to the yoke around the neck of the large black and white ox. There were no side railing or any back rest. Like everything that was thrown our way in this unusual fascinating country, we took it in our stride. 

A few hundred yards into the rough drive, with no arms free to prop ourselves up, we found ourselves less and less vertical and more and more horizontal on the wooden platform. With snow now drifting onto our faces and mouths, mom and I looked at each other helplessly. No promised beautiful scenery to be seen. All we could see was gray skies and each other's pitiable faces.

Suddenly, there was a jerk and a shout. The wooden platform stood at an odd angle. I managed to get my arms out of the blanket, propped myself up and turned around to see what the commotion was about. Our ox-cart was sans the ox! There was just the wooden plank somehow balanced on the slushy muddy path, with mom and me somehow still on it!

I could see our ox-cart driver running and shouting after the ox who had decided enough was enough. All this while we thought we were uncomfortable, but who knew that the ox was the real victim here, carrying us two through the snow and slush! 

It was a funny site seeing the ox running away, but not more than the site we presented to our horse riding friend and family, who could be heard laughing loudly and calling out to the driver. 

Noticing how precariously we were perched, the driver discontinued the ox chase and returned to help us. With no English-speaking guide nearby to translate for us, it was somehow agreed that he would carry mom on his back across the slushy path where the ox had abandoned us. While he did that, I shook off the blanket, hopped off the cart and made my way gingerly to dry land. No way I would let that man take on the burden of carrying me across, however sturdy he may be! Certainly, he couldn't be sturdier than the ox! 

After making sure we were safe, he once again ran to get the ox back, who was now happily chewing on some dry grass. After much pulling and cajoling, he was brought back to the cart and yoked again. We hopped back on top of the plank, this time with the blankets only loosely wrapped around us. 

I don't remember much of the ruins or the picnic, or the trip back, but this episode from 20 years ago of the ox shaking us off is as fresh in my mind as if it happened just yesterday. 

The ox-cart being readied for us! 

The ox that got away!