Lost and Found!

Today while teaching Aloka, I read a story in her literature book called "Manu's scarf". It sounded very familiar.

Then I figured why. Many many years ago, in 1986 or so, my father in law, Sukumar Shankar, had written a short story called "The Ribbon". It had won an award by CBT and was subsequently published by them. This story in Aloka's book is a rehash of my acchan's short story, replacing the ribbon by a scarf and Mala by Manu!

Life has brought a much loved but forgotten story back to us. What a wonderful feeling to read the story to Aloka and tell her about her brother's multi-talented grandfather!

It also gave me a chance to talk about the ugliness and unfairness of plagiarism with her.

Pleasures of Living in a Small Town near a Famous Cricket Stadium

Pleasures of Living in a Small Town (near a Famous Cricket Stadium):

On the way to pick up Aloka from school, I saw scores of cars, police bus and jeeps, at least a hundred policemen and a couple of (token) policewomen, and quite a few housewives crowding around our local neighborhood mosque. 

Fearing the worst, I stopped to ask about it at a neighborhood shop.

Relief! Pride! That was just the Bangladesh cricket team come to our little village mosque to offer Friday prayers!

The English Doctor!

The first time I taught English to ESL students, I decided to have them act in an English play. It was a mixed class of adults with some of them having participated in plays in Hindi, so I had them write and direct the play themselves. It was a fantastic play, based on a social problem prevalent in our village- alcoholism. The play had good acting and humor, but the most important part was that each participant spoke some English.

Later, while researching the subject, I found several articles on how useful drama is for ESL students. It was a pleasure to see that what I did spontaneously is actually a known technique for ESL teaching.

For my next spoken English class of 12-14 year olds who had come to Himachal for a month, I started with the end in mind, that of an English play at the close of their camp. I didn't expect anyone to learn to speak English in 8 classes, but I wanted them to lose their inhibitions about speaking a "scary" language and have fun while doing it. All the lessons and activities were designed with this in mind.

Given the lack of time, I decided to hand the girls a play instead of writing one with them. I wanted a play in which a large number of students should be able to participate and have fun. I spent several hours searching for one such play and found it on this site http://www.teachingenglishgames.com/eslplays.htm.

The play was about patients going to a rather bad doctor for various illnesses. My colleague Sonika and I acted out the play for them once and helped them choose their particular illnesses. No scripts were handed out because the lines were simple and repetitive. They practiced with us for a couple of times and then a few times on their own.

Here is the end result, as presented by the girls from Nari Gunjan in front of an audience of about 20 people at Aavishkaar campus. There was much laughter and fun, especially with the patient who is vomitting. The girls spoke their lines easily and enjoyed themselves thoroughly! The fact that they had gems for medicines helped! The laughter from the audience shows that the audience had a blast too!



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q5C0cYAkBDE&feature=youtu.be

Gene Therapy!

We just returned from Amritsar this morning where mommy had gone to give a talk on Nature versus Nurture in a genetic engineering conference. 

Later this morning, I decided to wash Aloka's hair, an event that truly tests my patience and good cheer. She complains about everything, the water temperature, the shampoo in her eyes, the cold air in the bathroom, the choice of clothes, the hot air of the hair dryer, just about everything.

So, when she actually showed signs of cooperating while I dried her hair, I was spurred into saying how lovely her hair were and what fun it is for me to dry and comb them. I also added that I wished we could stop fighting about such issues and enjoy the whole process.

She was quiet for a while and then asked if Atreya also fought with me when I used to bathe him. Of course not, I said, he never fought with me on such issues. She said that he didn't fight with you because perhaps you, mom, didn't fight either. For a moment I thought she meant that I was more patient with him, but I asked her to explain. And then she says Atreya didn't fight with me because perhaps he was similar to me when I was a young child (she knows that I was a very pliant kid).

Intrigued, I asked her why that didn't hold for her? Why was she not similar to me as well? Her response floored me. She said that perhaps her Sunita mummy fought with her mother and that's why Aloka fights with me!

This little girl is talking genetics with me! 

We never spoke about her grandmother's presentation on genes to her, but perhaps she had been listening in to my discussions with mommy as I helped pretty up her presentation last week. It is hard to believe, but what else could trigger this thought in her?

I hugged my little child and told her she is as much my child as Atreya and everything that goes on between her and me is between this mother and this daughter. I take responsibility for everything and will not hold Sunita mummy responsible for anything. If we fight, it is solely our problem to deal with, and if we enjoy our togetherness, it is purely our joy. 

There are people who are skeptical of my openness about adoption, but I am telling you, openness that leads to such edgy conversations is way better than the pseudo safety of lies. It is scary, but it is elevating and enriching. 

The Letter from Canada!

I received a birthday card from my mother's brother, Sushil mama, a couple of days after my birthday. It came all the way from Canada, and what a way!

Take a look at the address. The colony Himachal Vikas Pradhikaran doesn't exist, the village Sidhpur is some 3 km away from our village and the pin code is incorrect too. It doesn't even say Dharamshala or Kangra. Just HP! 

How did you conjure up this address Sushil mama! It is a beautiful lie! 

The fact that it reached our side of HP is surprising enough. Is there no other Sidhpur in the entire Himachal Pradesh? 

Once there, the only reason his card made its way to our house is because my mother is so well known in the village and nearby areas. The postal guys recognized her name and corrected the address. Can you imagine this happening in any other place?

This is one of the truest pleasures (and surprises) of living in a small town!!!

Translation: Mere Hum-Nafas by Shakeel Badayuni

There are songs in Urdu and Punjabi that I don't fully understand, but fall in love with them regardless. Not satisfied by just loving them, I spend days trying to understand them fully- it becomes like a challenge. And when I finally get them fully, I want to translate them into the language I know best- English. So, here is the result of one such challenge. The translation is nothing great as compared to the beauty of the original Urdu ghazal, but I think it is good enough to send to my unrequited love!

Mere hum-nafas, mere hum-navaa, mujhe dost banake daGaa na de

mai.n huu.N dard-e-ishq se jaa.N_valab, mujhe zindagii kii duaa na de

Your counting me as a friend, when I consider you my life itself, feels nothing short of a betrayal

This love has brought me to the brink of a beautiful death, don't, oh please don't pray that I stay well. 

Mere daaG-e-dil se hai raushnii, usii raushnii se hai zindagii

mujhe Dar hai aye mere chaaraagar, ye charaaG tuu hii bujhaa na de

It's true that my heart burns, but the light of my burning heart is the only light I know

I am afraid that your kindness may put it out and shroud my world in a dark shadow. 

Mujhe ae chho.D de mere haal par, teraa kyaa bharosaa hai chaaraagar

ye terii nawaazishe muKhtasar, meraa dard aur ba.Daa na de

Leave me to my plight, please, I don't trust your offer of healing

Who knows your cursory sympathy might just increase my suffering. 

Meraa azm itnaa bala.nd hai ke paraaye sholo.n kaa Dar nahii.n

mujhe Khauf aatish-e-gul se hai, ye kahii.n chaman ko jalaa na de

My resolve is very strong, I don't for a moment fear the intentions of an enemy from outside

But I am terrified that my garden will burn to ground by the indifference of the beloved inside.  

Wo uThe hai.n leke khum-o-subuu, arey o ‘Shakeel’ kahaa.N hai tuu

teraa jaam lene ko bazm me.n koii aur haath ba.Daa na de

She (he) has arisen with a filled glass in her (his) hands, where are you oh Shakeel?

Come quick before someone else raises their hand to accept this coveted offering. 

Listen to this beauty here: Begum Akhtar singing this ghazal 

I took some help from this site to understand some tough words: 
https://ekfankaar.wordpress.com/2009/04/11/mere-ham-nafas-mere-ham-navaa/

Like Termites on a Wooden Door

Sometimes, it occurs to me that all this political drama, all our social evils, this patriarchy, this meanness in people, this violence, this exploitation of the weak, these tactics of the power drunk folks - basically all the stuff that gets me worked up and my blood boiling - all this stuff is meaningless as compared to what we as humans are doing to this Earth. 

Really, all that we do to each other is nothing as compared to what we do our planet. Our very existence is the bane of this Earth. 

Nothing we do is of any use to this planet. Nothing. Everything we do destroys it in some way. Everything!

Not even our shit is of any use to this planet, because it is too much and full of poison that we have created and consumed. Hard to believe such a species can exist, which is at one fully exploitative and totally useless. And totally self-absorbed. 

Most evolved...did I hear someone say? Indeed!