Wishing all of you a very happy and happening 2015. And heartfelt thanks for being regular followers of my blog and giving valuable feedback. It has been a very productive blogging year for me and something which gives me immense pleasure, so thanks again for making it happen.
Any form of art has always fascinated me. To do something which affects another other person’s life positively is exhilarating. I mean, we as doctors, try to do it on a regular basis. An illness has a well defined symptomatology, a specific set of diagnostic procedures and finally a text book prescribed treatment. We do tweak the treatment a little based on the individual patient, but we rarely do anything out of the box. But yet, when the patient goes home fine, we feel a sense of pleasure that makes us go on for hours without getting tired. Therefore, I always was fascinated by artists, who can create the same magic, or weave dreams and cause the same effect on a large mass of people with something innovative, new and never thought of before concept. It may be a good book, a new movie, some music or a painting. The way of thinking is so unique that the simplest of the things can transform into something magical.
It is said that great art forms happen when the artist works for himself and not for the masses. When his art is pure, passionate and honest. When it is an expression of what the artist is feeling and what he wants to say to the world. By which, it makes art the only thing where something done for purely selfish purposes gives someone else great amount of solace and pleasure! Strange, isnt it?
This year, one of my new year resolutions was to pursue and attend events which have always been on my wish list but always procrastinated! There are a lot of these, owing to work, kids and a million other things.
And the first in the to do list was to attend Chitra Santhe in Bangalore.
For the uninitiated, Chitra santhe is a programme put up by the famous Chitra Kala Parishat in Bangalore.Chitra kala parishat(CKP) is is an art institution and cultural organisation located in the city ofBangalore, in the state of Karnataka.Its main aim is the promotion of art and culture and it is well known for the various art exhibitions that it conducts both at the state and the National levels. It has very many museums and has the distinction of having paintings of Himalayas by the famous Nicholas Roerich on permanent display(these were donated by the artists son). The institution also has an academic structure where various subjects like visual arts, direction etc are taught.
The best part about it is the ambiance. Even though it is located right in the center of Bangalore, once you enter the campus, the noise of the traffic fades away. There is a large banyan tree encompassing a huge part of the campus below which you invariably see someone or the other engrossed in painting or sketching.
Once a year, CKP hosts a fest where in artists from all over India can come and display their art around the campus and along a one kilometer stretch on the road. This year, we reached the campus quite early to avoid the crowds and found that there were many more who had probably had the same idea! The place was teeming with people and artists. All things art were on display. It was a visual feast.
A few glimpses of chitra santhe:
cloth paintings on display
i liked these best. marker on acrylic by an artist called sunil from bangalore
buddhas..
the center piece
kids coloring away for a competition in the midst of the santhe
I picked the line from the only poem I probably remember from my school days. Robert Frost’s “The road not taken”. The last weekend of this year! Most people are planning new year parties and resolutions for the next year (which as a rule, are made to be broken). Looking back, this year has been super hectic, both professionally and personally. And so, when as a routine,I was thinking about my new year resolutions, the only coherent one was to try and stay alive and healthy till I got really really old and accomplish whatever I wanted to do, in this life time.Never mind the difficulties of walking around with a cane, a bag of meds and a diary full of ambulance numbers,if that is what it takes. Going through the days of life as fast as I used to flip around pages of a novel, I failed to realize that old age, legally, is not very far off into the horizon for me. Its only thirty odd years away. And will descend on me faster than a bullet train, if I do not stop to think where I am going and what I want to do.
I do want my geriatric life(for want of a better word) to be a really enjoyable phase. Most of us work to earn, realize our responsibilities and to do justice to the career that we have chosen. Passion in one’s work and the idea of working to the point of never wanting to take a vacation is acceptable to me, but not in myself. I was unfortunately born with a huge hoard of interests , most of which fascinate me into a point of mad frenzy. When I see a good movie, I fantasize about how it would be to make one,listening to music makes me want to learn the guitar (there have also been a few aborted attempts here), when I read the autobiography of an entrepreneur, I immediately want to turn one, trekking through Ladakh is my dream,organic farming excites me, visiting the ruins of Hampi awakens the historian in me book covers are enough to stoke dreams of becoming an author! That officially makes me hypomanic, but its too late to change.
One of my professors who really enjoys reading had once told me that if God had given him a wish, he would ask for another lifetime meant only for reading! As I am not so sure of being able to hold on to a penance that long for divine grace, I have the near impossible task of making it all happen one life time. And what better time than say 60? When enough dough has been generated to sustain the dreams and medical bills, children settled and no more maths homework to teach and definitely not too old.
The average life expectancy of an Indian is currently about 69 years. There are about 16 percent of Indians beyond the age of 60. Unfortunately, not much has been done for them apart from building retirement homes and gated communities! As any of us, they too have their share of problems which are mostly left unaddressed and conveniently brushed under the carpet.
To most of our elder generation, growing old meant a sense of giving up. Of depending on their children for their sustenance. Of wanting to define their identity by the amount of dependence their grand children had on them. Of waiting for their junior generation to revere them and not undermine their authority. Of worrying about ill health and how much they could rely on us to help them out. Missing their children settled abroad, but having difficulties to adjust to a new atmosphere when they visit them. Of facing the empty nest syndrome. Of becoming soft targets to goons and losing their life prematurely. Of having regular, but boring days. Waiting unconsciously, but willingly for death to come and descend upon them. And feeling almost guilty when someone younger dies.And making decidedly depressing statements like” I wish I can die when I’m healthy” or “ I wonder why God does not decide to take me away fast”. I wondered why it had to be so.
This was the time when I heard a lecture on productive aging and went bingo! If the Government of India has decided that we must retire by 60, and why deny ourselves this pleasure? Around me,I am also seeing a new evolving breed of senior citizens who are changing our perceptions about how old age should be.
Retirement need not necessarily mean sitting and home and doing nothing. New initiatives like the :
Teach India campaign where you teach kids from under privileged back ground for free exist aplenty. I recently read an article about a senior citizen called Rajani Paranjpe, who decided to teach children wherever they were, even on roads and in tea stalls. If they do not come to school, you go to them, being her motto.
One of my close acquaintances who had the knack of parenting and loved kids, started a play school recently.
I read an article in a newspaper which showed a curve of how many famous companies were started by people on the other side of their forties. The examples include Charles Darwin who wrote ‘The origin of the species’ at at 50, Henry Ford, who made his first car model at 45, Rac Kroc who built the Mac Donalds at age 52 and finally Colonel Sanders of the KFC fame, who started at 62! Closer home, Bhaktivedanta Prabhupada, the founder of ISKON which now provides free mid day meals to well over 11 crore children in over 12 lakh schools through the Akshaya patra scheme, started ISKON at age 69! So, entrepreneurship is not only for people in their twenties!
We had a senior citizen in our hometown, who started a home for destitute after he retired.
In the remote village of Baswani in rural malnad, there was a lady called Savitramma,who used to run a unique home for teenage mothers, destitute pregnant women and women with no social or economic support to rely on during pregnancy. Basically anyone pregnant and helpless!She delivers them for free, gives them training as to how to take care of their children and supports them in her home for six to eight months when they can realign their lives. All that they need to do is help is in the chores of household in return for so much!
I read about a couple from India well into their sixties whose love of football has made them travel all over the globe for all world cups!
I have seen people who have opted to stay independently so that they could lead life without obligations. To follow their dreams which were impossible when they were young, because the responsibilities and obligations were many and time and money were short.
If initiatives like these become the order of the day, I would feel that old age would be something to live for and look forward to!. A change in the thinking like this may make us face and accept old age with the grace it deserves.Productivity is sure to rise, and when you get up in the day with a purpose, you get up healthy and with a burst of energy.May more of our seniors embrace such independent, useful and happening lifestyles and show us the way. And may we continue to dream big dreams and plan projects and careers even as we get our senior citizens ID! This new year, lets turn the sixties into the new twenties! There are miles to go and lots to do before we sleep..
My nephew is undergoing a small surgery. My logic understands that the surgery is very small with a hundred percent success rate. We know the surgeon and that he is very reliable and we have already planned his homecoming. But there is this strange feeling the whole day. And it bothers me. There’s a tingling inside of my tummy, alongside a few mandatory butterflies, some strain in my shoulders, a sudden missed heart beat when I am in my OPD, a squeeze in the heart and a strange shiver along my spine when I think of tomorrow. Just the fact that he is undergoing something which is unnatural, increases my level of discomfort. How much ever my logical brain tries to convince itself, my emotions refuse to obey and remain subdued. It irritates me, makes me scared and wants me to delete the whole day and wake up tomorrow morning to find that it is all a dream.
In these terms,December this year, has been a month of such discomforts. Eventful, scary and sad. In the span of one month, I heard of about ten accidents back to back and lost quite a few near and dear ones in the process. Those who survived, are right now still in bad shape. A surgery scheduled in the midst of all this. And just when the dust seemed to have settled, the news of the senseless terrorist attacks in Peshawar!It sort of shook me and dragged the rug from right under my feet!
Here I am, trying to plan my future, our children’s education,my son’s birthday party and what to read this weekend when boom! You are no longer living! It sure is a scary thought. I know I am being morbid, which I should not be, as it is close to Christmas, and new year is just round the corner,blah, blah — but this whole week, thoughts of death and sickness have enveloped me. It was weird writing about this. I had never imagined in the wildest of my dreams that I would one day write about death and the like, but the more I thought, the more there seemed to be things which were queer about how we face death and sickness.
The first thought was: what exactly is it that makes you feel bad when someone suffers or dies?
Well, when you open the newspapers early in the morning, it is quite likely that you hear about at least four to five deaths. Murders, suicides, accidents, sometimes old age and ill health; the reasons are many, but a lot of them attain in death probably what they did not achieve in their lifetime- a mention! But have you ever wondered why it is that we feel bad only for a few people, and not for the rest? The answer, it seems, is a word called empathy. Empathy literally means putting ourselves in someone else’s shoes. I recently read an article in “The Week” about empathy which said that we end up feeling some sort of emotion only towards people who are similar to us in race, ethnicity, religion,education or situation! I was denying this fiercely in my mind, when I realized that I was actually doing what the article said! When I read, hear or see something bad happening to Indians, women, children, mothers, doctors etc.. I end up feeling a little more sadness and a state of understanding, than I do for everything and everyone else. I tried telling myself that I had felt really sad about Philip Hughes death, and so I am empathetic towards all! But when I rationalized, the sadness was more for his parents because they had lost a child and that loss was irreplaceable(this I can understand, because I am a mother!). I felt sad about the Malaysian Airlines tragedy a few months ago, but that was more distanced compassion and sympathy than an acute sense of grief! So you see, the article seemed to be right after all. Maybe to preserve our sanity and a sense of calm, our mind processes only what is similar to our lives and leaves the rest to a mild apathy! Try it on yourself. It is strange, but true.
The second is the aptness of reaction.
Quite a lot of times, professionally and personally, I have been in a slightly uncomfortable position of dealing with the aftermath of death. The consoling of the survivors. Sometimes, I have to go with the oft repeated ‘ It was for the best. He was suffering so badly. At least now he rests in peace’ to ‘ This was so unexpected. I can understand how you must be feeling’ and finally, when I feel most inadequate, just ‘I am so sorry’. But what ever it is that I say, I feel a sense of inadequacy, that I have somehow failed to do my job as a consoler well. I immediately end up thinking of the next few days – how dependent the survivor was on the deceased or vice versa, how their home will seem empty from now on, how photographs or familiar places will bring forth a barrage of memories and emotions –so on until I make myself miserable, and the discomfort becomes mine!
The worst was when I read about the terrorist attacks in Peshawar. I have never blanked out so badly. I really did not know how to react. Any of the dialogues I’m so used to made any sense in that situation. I crossed out emotions in my mind. Anger- no use; shame- I don’t know; sadness-woefully inadequate; fear- but for how long and where?. Basically, empathy failed me. But this horrible discomfort stayed. I could not be myself for the next three days. Then, time slowly eased me back into normalcy. Day by day, the weight on my shoulders and the tightness in my chest when I woke up in the morning eased. I started laughing more normally and became calmer about my children going to school. I used to feel that by consoling the relatives, I was helping them ease their suffering a little bit. But I realized that grieving often is a very lonely process. Kind words help, but do not lessen the grief. As time passes, and life goes on, we learn to live with it and start taking it for granted. That is when it stops hurting, but yet, it does not go away! So, a tight hug and holding on to a bad feeling inside of me,is probably the best way to react! It makes me feel that I am partly bearing the burden of their grief. It is not necessarily an overt, over the top reaction, but one that makes me feel that I have actually done my best.
I have finally made peace with the butterflies in my stomach and my nephew’s surgery. I accept the discomfort and will hopefully understand it better.
I had been to my in laws recently. They stay in a small town near my place. Just a shift of 70 kms or so changes my life quite a lot for the short while that I am there. Back in the city, I am a working mother, living a busy life with children, work and a lot of other assignments. I can make or break my own rules, with not much affecting my life style. I can go out buy a magazine late at night all alone, feed my kids cereal when I feel lazy to cook, talk about individuality and feminism as if they grew in my backyard and be as boisterous as I like. Yes, my work commitments and the pace of life do tire me out, and I often want a break from it. Sometimes, the meandering life, the slow passing of time and the quiet life of a small town attract and tempt me to give it all up and run. But, there is a catch. There, I see around me women who follow traditional gender roles optimally, and I definitely fall short. So, I am confused how I need to be happy.
I have grown up in a generation where education, occupation, freedom and individuality for women(to a certain extent at least) were just becoming commonplace and penetrating into the small towns of India like slow seeping of lava after a volcanic eruption. It made the landscape look different, but only some embraced it while others lived uncomfortably with it. Most, though still kept adjusting. A way of thinking where women/girls were given ‘freedom’ to study according to their will and wish, allowed to make choices regarding their careers, the first few batches of girls for whom higher education was a given rather than a doubt or choice, the first few to be given a chance at a semblance of a courtship after our marriages were already decided upon and arranged (and a lucky few whose choices of spouse were first made by them and later accepted well by the elders) and definitely the first few for whom choice of deciding when to conceive and after how long was decided by work and educational commitments rather than number of years post the marriage and irritating queries from relatives regarding the ‘good news’!
When I was growing up, I took most of these liberties for granted. I thoroughly enjoyed my childhood and college days, read about progress which was much huger than this and felt that this was the way of the world and felt lucky to be born at a time where I could do what I wanted, when I wanted to and that everyone would be accepting and appreciating of this fact.
Off late, I have started being thankful for the privileges that I have got, and definitely do not take them for granted. This is because, I see a lot of my friends, acquaintances and sometimes me leading a life which is not quite there nor here. We seem like the sandwich generation, who are caught between what the old world expects out of us, and the urge to break free of all those shackles without hurting anyone in the process. And, believe me it is exhausting.
Since times immemorial, women had to bear the brunt of everything bad that constitutes traditional. If the husband died, the wife had to be the sati and jump into the fire while the same rule did not apply to men if their spouse died. A boy child’s birth was always auspicious because some traditional text in the past claimed that being cremated by your son apparently led you to heaven (though I would say in recent times, the clamor for the boy child had a lot to do with how much dowry they would fetch!). Households were replete with stories of how mothers sacrificed their share of food or clothing or some such thing which was needed for the children. Women were depicted as being great only if were super sacrificing, always keeping others above their needs and had super human qualities of taking care of and feeding a large horde of relatives when they landed for festivals or functions. All in all, they were supposed to be always gracious and super tired if at all they had to be appreciated! Its okay if you have a personality to match, but I seriously doubt anyone’s ability to be on their best behavior at all times. I have no idea when these women did something to keep themselves happy, in between all this hoo haa.
Though we have changed with times, we still seem cling on to those role models to define ourselves. We want to live a life where we are appreciated for ourselves; both our good as well as not so great qualities which make us as human as the rest of the world. But the society we live in, our ingrained cultural values and well defined role identities make this difficult for us. In the bargain, we have ended up as a generation where we are professionals, but struggle and juggle our work and personal lives, try our best to be loving wives, obedient daughters in law, daughters who try their best to fulfill their parents aspirations not only educationally but also by proving to them that even with double degrees and salaries to match, we still retained those obsolete qualities of maintaining our traditional roles and keeping everyone in the extended family happy! It is a tall order to meet. Even Indira Nooyi, the CEO of Pepsico could not escape these ideologies! In comparison, the men are seemingly oblivious to the turmoil we go through or choose to ignore it completely!
Hence, in my practice and around me, I see a lot of women, who are irritable, frustrated, tired and unhappy! And those, who depressingly believe that this is life and not much can change. We end up taking out our frustrations on our children and friends, coz those are the only ones who we can take for granted!
Sometimes, I feel an Indian woman’s addiction to soaps which show the wily and wicked usurping the limelight is a picturization of what we want to do in our minds, as opposed to what we are actually doing. A defense mechanism by proxy!
I strongly believe that women have an innate strength which can work wonders if put to good use. But this can happen only if we treat ourselves as individuals first, and not ‘girls’. We need to understand that it is not a crime to occasionally take the first bite of ice cream or polish off a whole bar of chocolate before your kid does. We need to make clear rules about handling responsibilities post marriage rather than plan elaborate weddings. We need to learn to pamper ourselves, so we can be happy-and believe me, a happy wife and mother is definitely a better one than a grumpy, spiteful but self sacrificing one. We need to learn to be self sufficient bur accepting of our inadequacies. We should learn to be tradition bound, but only when the tradition seems to make sense to us.
And we need to instill these ideas in our children, so that they do not succumb to the same pressure that we did.
the old and the new.. a Buddha temple between the lake and a skyscraper behind! a view of Colombo
The first thing that stuns you is the amazing natural beauty of the place. And second, the cleanliness. Though the feel of the place is very Indian, there is something distinct about Sri Lanka which endears it to you. The locals are friendly, the cities are clean (even the countryside) and the greenery is a feast for the eyes.
When we planned the trip of four days, we felt that it might be a tad too long, but I was mistaken. The more I saw, the more I wanted to see.
Sri Lanka is called the tear drop of India. Though not one among the most popular destinations for a family to travel as compared to Malaysia, Bali or Hongkong, it definitely has its own charm.It is comparatively unspoiled by consumerism like other tourist spots.
One of the most surprising and great things about Sri Lanka is its cleanliness. Through the trip we saw vast expanses of greenery and fertile land which, though inhabited by people, remained extremely tidy. No overflowing trash cans, no garbage on the roads, no spilling of plastic waste everywhere, no stray animals! This is true even in the most remote of the villages.
Our first stop was Colombo, the earlier capital of Srilanka, before it was shifted to Sri Jayawardhanepura kotte! I know, never heard of the place before, never saw it either! Unfortunately, it was not a part of the itinerary.
Sri Lanka became a democratic republic in 1972, and also at the same time, ditched its old name of Ceylon. ‘Sri Lanka’ apparently means ‘Auspicious Lanka’, which is the name preferred by the locals, with reference to the Ramayana. Apart from Ceylon and Sri Lanka, this small island has many other names like Sinhaladvipa (Lion Island),Ratnadvipa(Island of gems),Tambapanni or copper water (signifying the copper color of the beaches), Zeylan (as called by the Dutch), Serendib(named by the Arabs, from which the word ‘serendipity’ – ‘happy discoveries by chance’ originated). Whew!
Buddha, Buddha everywhere..
Colombo, home to about three million citizens of Sri Lanka, resembles most large cities. Chaotic, lots of traffic and people, with one side laced by long stretch of beach. The influence of Buddhism is seen everywhere. There are Buddhas of all sizes and shapes, gazing serenely at you around every corner. Apparently, Buddhism made an entry into the island in third century BC. The south of the island is populated with the Sinhalese who follow Buddhism,and the north (the infamous Jaffna strip, home to LTTE and Prabhakaran), is populated densely with Tamils.
Pinnewala elephant orphanage, is at half distance between Colombo and Kandy. It is the largest orphanage for captive and handicapped elephants in the whole world. It has to feed about 80 elephants every day, each one of them eating about 100 kilograms of food! The kids enjoyed the thrill of feeding milk in large bottles to elephants.
elephants at Pinnewala, taking a bath break
kids feeding elephants some milk
Kandy is famous for its Buddha tooth temple (Dalada Maligawa). It is home to Sri Lanka’s most revered relic -the tooth of the Buddha, which was smuggled from India in the third century BC. It is said that the tooth is kept on display only when the island is struggling with a bad drought. And every time that the tooth has been opened from its resting place, it pours rain within 24 hours. This has, according to our guide happened thrice in the past twenty three years!
offerings for the Buddha
tea estates, water falls and wonderful weather
a break for tea
Climbing down the mountainside swathed with picturesque tea estates, beautiful and bountiful waterfalls at every turn and vast expanses of farm land filled abundantly with colourful plump veggies, we reached a quaint tea house. It gave us the view of a water fall and had fragrant Sri Lankan tea served in a house with white picket fencing straight out of an Enid Blyton novel and a perfectly manicured garden. Loved it!Tea, samosas and french fries never tasted better! Somehow most of my favorite moments center around food and nature.
In Bentota, at one end there is fresh water..
and one end is the sea
Bentota was one the place we got unlucky. Supposed to be the epicenter of beach tourism and water sports, we were met with a heavy downpour-screeching winds, torrential rain and swaying coconut trees—a little creepy and somewhat scary! What little time we got when the rain subsided was spent on the beautiful, unpolluted beach and building sand castles!
how often do you see a railroad, pavement and highway, next to each other and just jumping distance from the sea???
All in all, Sri Lanka threw us many surprises. I realized there was much more to see in this land filled with contrasts. In times of stress now, I close my eyes and picture the lushness of Sri Lanka and let out sigh of peacefulness.
we somehow zeroed in on this quaint, culturally as we1ll as geographically diverse land.
Philippe Pinel removing physical restraints from a mentally ill woman in La Salpêtrière,France
There are a few illnesses in the world which resemble Voldemort! They exist but cannot be named or accepted. And mental illnesses top this list.Both the patient, as well as relatives, seem to be in a state of denial. In my practice,I have seen a range of behaviors which constitute this stigma. People sitting in front of me, suddenly getting a call on their cell phones, hurriedly pick it up and coolly proceed to tell the caller that they are in a cinema hall or market while making pleading faces at me; patients requesting to be seen urgently because they spotted a fellow villager entering the neurology section of the hospital (which makes him a patient with a respectable illness); or a mother who gets the child to the clinic without informing the father or grandparents!
The word stigma, apparently originated in Greece. In Greek society, stizein was a mark placed on slaves to identify their position in the social structure and to indicate that they were of less value. The modern derivative, stigma, is therefore a distinguishing mark of social disgrace attached to patients in order to identify and to devalue them. Stigma occurs in two different ways. One, wherein the general public, family and friends of the particular patient happen to discriminate the patient, and two, where due to this discrimination the patient himself begins to demotivate and hate himself.
There are box full of myths all over the place about the cause, nature as well as cure of mental illnesses. Hence, patients are feared for their potential violent nature, lack of will power and apparent genetic heritability of the illness. Stigma in any form is obviously painful and causes a lot of stress and loss of confidence in the person, but the amount of stigma faced by women having mental illnesses is really demoralizing.
I had a 25 year old girl, recently married who had had a relapse of psychotic illness(in which she behaved abnormally, got angry, aggressive and tried to assault the mother in law). This girl was our patient for the past two years and was completely stable with medication. Some time ago,the mother cautiously broached the topic of whether they could get her married. As is the custom, I took time to explain to her that it would be better that the prospective groom come for a counseling session; that he be in the knowhow of her illness and how it was quite harmless; that I would try and dispel myths which he may be having. If he did not agree, then it would ok. She could get married to someone understands her illness and still accepts her!
When this was discussed within the family, it was met with strong opposition. The family felt that telling anyone would spell doom, not only for the girl, but for her younger sisters who were also of marriageable age. Hence, the mother carefully un wrapped the medicines from the wrapper, made different boxes and hid it in the girl’s clothing so that she could consume it as stealthily as possible. Unfortunately, post marriage, the girl discovered that the wardrobe given to her was in a landing where anyone could walk in any time, and hence started missing doses to avoid being discovered. This led to a relapse, the groom’s side discovering the tablets and blaming the girls’s side for cheating them.
Now they were sitting in front of me, the sulky husband, the fire brand mother in law to one side, the teary girl in the middle and the defensive mother of the bride to the other! And to take the matter to its logical conclusion, there were about 10 panchayat members who had tagged along!
The boy was unwilling to take her back, the Mom in law said, “If they lied about this, there may be other things too”. The mother who had spent heavily on the wedding, alongside a fat dowry, was livid.“Well, she was fine in our house. It is your fault she is this way. And if you want us to take the girl back, you may as well pay us back all the dowry and expenses of the marriage”. The panchayat members were cajoling, “Think about the girl. Who else will marry her? You have to give her a life. Take her back. She will listen to whatever you say and live like your servant!”(Well, this was supposed to be in support of the girl!)
In between all this, the girl was sitting eyes downcast and teary. It made me feel so low and depressed to imagine how she was facing this. She was unwanted by her own family, a burden which was now someone else’s responsibility. Otherwise, she would have to be kept at home and taken care of unto death. The husband, understandably felt cheated, but looked willing, if not for the mother in law who was already making plans for his second marriage and a second dowry! The panchayat felt that the deed had been done and it was now the girl’s fate to suffer at the hands of a spineless husband, and a tyrant mom in law!
This does not happen to be an individual instance. Whenever men develop a mental illness, we find the parents almost magically find brides for them who are willing to “adjust” to being with a husband suffering from an illness or disability. We have seen instances of husbands convincing wives (who are mentally ill) to agree to their second marriages, wives taking domestic abuse of aggressive, alcoholic husbands with resignation and accept their husband’s infidelity with a pinch of salt. All the while feeling that either their children, or parents or the husband may feel bad if they desert them!
Parents of young girls are devasted when they hear of their child or relative having a mental illness. They take great pains to hide it from near and dear with the fear that they may spread word and spoil her future marriage prospects. All thoughts of education, job etc etc just fly out the window, and the only question that looms large is whether their daughter will get a good husband. Immediately, she becomes a second class citizen.
But reverse the picture, men seem to think that it is impossible to adjust with anything other than perfect. The minute their wives are diagnosed with a mental illness, there are barbed comments, outright disgust and a permission to insult their spouses any which way they please. Everything becomes their fault.I may be over generalizing here, but the ratio of men and families being nice and supportive to women suffering from mental illness is impossibly skewed in the wrong direction.
And the women themselves, in between suffering from an illness that shakes their very core, have to deal with a hostile world. No wonder, many of them relapse repeatedly.
Spreading awareness about mental illnesses, bringing up our girls to develop a sense of self worth, teaching them to fight back and not take crap( I mean, if the husband does accept the girl back, how could she live with him knowing that he did not even stand up to her??) may be over simplified solutions to a very complex problem. We have a long way to go. And a lot of awareness to spread. And a lot of confidence to build. Till then, there are thousands of those who suffer indignity in silence.
The tone of the trip was set by our taxi driver ten minutes into the trip. When asked whether there would be places offering palatable and sort of hygienic food (the hygiene part strictly for the sake of my daughter) along the highway and in the countryside of Punjab, he replied, in a typical Punjabi accent ”Madamji, no one ever goes hungry in Punjab. We love our food and make sure our guests are happily stuffed!You will not find anyone going hungry any part of the day or night!”.We spent three days in Punjab, and came back a couple of kgs heavier and very much happier! I have truly seen food heaven!
Punjab was one of those places I dreamed of visiting since when I was a teenager. Being an avid hindi film buff, the portrayal of Punjab in our movies, the countryside with picturesque mustard fields, the concept of Sikhism, the stories of partition, the joie de vivre and hearty laughter characteristic of Punjabis, their accent and the fact that I have had at least one extremely dear Punjabi friend all through my educational career had made the prospect of visiting Punjab very exciting.
After eating multiple varieties of South Indian made Punjabi looking(but most times, non Punjabi tasting) food in our so called “North Indian restaurants”, I was curious as to how the real non adulterated stuff actually tasted. I am a self confessed foodie, and hence names like baingan ka bharta, sarson ka saag, amritsari dal, halwa……always had more potential to induce drool than say a Ryan Gosling or Hrithik Roshan!And therefore, our driver’s words made me very happy.
Punjab by way of being very close to the border and also being very fertile, has been invaded and influenced by many cultures Greeks to Mughals to the British.Through all this, the ethos, the culture and especially the cuisine of Punjab seems to have retained its uniqueness.
Chandigarh, on first sight looks like an upmarket place where you need to mind your Ps and Qs. Therefore I was pleasantly surprised when we were exploring the city and happened to find that people love street food, and how! Shastri market,in Sector 22, is a mind blowing place. Mind blowing in all senses and in the sheer idea of the stuff involved. The roads are filled with people who are shopping in such a frenzy that you worry whether there would be anything left for you! The street vendors sell everything from cello tape to sweaters to pajamas to hi fi handbags! And in between all the haggling and screaming, people are tucking into varied varieties of street food with shopping bags dangling in one hand and food in the other. There are ATMs between tiny street shops where you draw money, shop, eat and then repeat the cycle! What fun! Through with our small amount of shopping, we decided to try the eating!
punjabi burger
dahi balla
the chana to stuff into the kulcha
punjabi burger
dahi balla
the chana to stuff into the kulcha
channe ke kulche, which has a soft totally non oily kulcha which is cut into half and stuffed with some concoction made out of chanas. Really tangy and yum! There were huge tavas with ragada patties(small boiled potato patties) to be shallow fried and eaten with masala chaat. The sizzle in the tawa, being the added attraction to stand as close to the cart as possible, so you can ward off the mild chill! There were Punjabi burgers, with huge dollops of amul butter in between!You got full just looking! Even boiled American corn had a special masala on it to make it ‘chatpata’!End of the day,I definitely knew how a stuffed turkey would feel, would it be alive!
Next day, we traveled to Amritsar after a hearty breakfast of aloo paranta, daal, curd, pickle and you guessed right, amul butter!
yummy breakfast
multi colored cotton candy,never seen any other than pink till now
yummy breakfast
multi colored cotton candy,never seen any other than pink till now
Amritsar is a place which makes you calm despite the chaos around you.The golden temple is located in the old part of Amritsar whose congested lanes contain tiny but awesome smelling tea stalls and saffron jalebis. Once inside the Golden temple, a sense of awe descends on you. Though it is filled with thousands of people, you do not feel the rush, and there is a sense of calmness which prevails. All the sounds of the external world wash away, and you only get to listen to hymns being sung on the loud speaker.The sparkling white external edifice, the contrast of the gold, the tranquil lake-all make for a wow experience! I have never felt so much at peace before. I can vouch for this, as my usually fidgety daughter was surprisingly quiet for the entire one hour that we stood in line to enter the gurdwara, and meekly agreed to cover her head with the head scarf given(given that on regular days, it’s a battle to even get her dressed for school!).
The prasad in the golden temple consists of a mouth watering halwa made of semolina, sugar and enough ghee almost to drip down your fingers! Any number of times that you ask for the halwa, it is given with equal grace and no zero irritation!The langar of the temple apparently feeds about 30,000 people on any given day! Despite hordes of people sitting and eating their roti, kaali daal and ghee rice, there is no noise or chaos. In a
time where we discriminate based on caste, religion and status,it feels good to see people of all types, colors and faiths sit together and receive their meal with humility and reverence.
Of the two disappointments I had in Punjab, the first was not being able to sit and eat in the langar, because we were short of time to reach the Wagah border and Jallianwallah bagh. Jallianwallah bagh is about 10 minutes distance from the golden temple. The minute you enter, you feel all suffused with a sense of patriotism which you did not know existed in you. One minute sad, and another really thankful for our independence and democracy, however corrupt it may be!
the chatpata chaat corner, a place to sell at least 50 types of saunf to eat after your meal
Outside of this place, there are again loads of street shops selling imli lollipops(tamarind and sugar lollipops), fritters of moong daal and channa, boiled sweet potatoes with a dash of lime juice and lashings of imli and chilli chutney and multiple varieties if bhel puri which seem to be popular. What is amusing is that one the one hand if there are people who are thronging to these vendors and eating, in between all this there is Macdonalds, Dominos and Pizza Hut which are eually crowded and thriving despite the only vegetarian menu. I had no trouble believing that punjabis and the visitors to punjab, do really love food!
We finally had a fantastic meal of true Punjabi food in one of our friend’s home on the last day. A fitting finale to our food, oops good holiday!In a way, probably not getting to see the border or eat at the langar was God’s way of letting us know that we would come back to Punjab again…hungry and hopeful!
yummy tummy.. you stole the words right outta my mouth
donuts in a pattiserrie
and bhel..from rags to riches…for everyone there’s something!
Today, I am feeling nice. And also have a serious case of writing diarrhea (like the verbal kind)! I have wanted to blog for so long, that now I just cant seem to stop writing! It was a hectic week at work, and now the long awaited weekend. So just a light hearted post for the weekend.
All of us have favorites in life. A favorite in my definition is someone or something which has a highly reliable index to get you out of a funk almost always. This morning, I was humming the famous song from the movie “The Sound of Music”, where the governess to the seven children sings a song about how raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens happen to be her favorites. Out of nowhere, I had an inexplicable urge to put down a list of things which constituted my favorites(at least to check out whether they were as poetic as hers were!).
The list of ten was difficult to make because I am notoriously undecided. I feel like including a zilllion things which would probably be irrelevant. So I have cut it down to things which I define as giving me a feeling close to euphoria, some things which calm me down and invigorate me at the same time and do not lose their charm even after being repeatedly used as my favorites. So here goes…
The smell of wet earth after the first shower of monsoon.. wish I could capture that fragrance and store it for a time when I want to feel nice! Wonder why no one has ever thought of a perfume of such a kind!
Drinking cold water after long hours of work/coming back from the market/after exercising.The burst of cold air that cools my face when I open the fridge, and the anticipation of my thirst ending..I feel like Katrina Kaif in the slice ad.. ecstatic!
The smell of wet earth after the first shower of monsoon.. wish I could capture that fragrance and store it for a time when I want to feel nice! Wonder why no one has ever thought of a perfume of such a kind!
3. Palak paneer, rice and coke with a nice mystery read!
4. The first bite of dairy milk silk….yum!
5.The feeling I get when I get to speak to my close friend after a long long time
6. Unexpected but well deserved (I think)praise
7.A particular note of some songs…it may be a line with some lovely lyrics, or the way the singer has worked the words with her voice or a particular line of music which sticks in my mind and remains a favorite. (I have a lot of these,and have a habit of digressing, hence will not elaborate)
8.The smell of a book and bookshops- always!
9.When my children smile in their sleep—I take a lot of pics of these, so I can look at them and feel soppy!
10. When I get lot of traffic on my blog..he, he just kidding… the last one but not the least is when I see nature in its unspoiled state. I would rate this the best. I just love to sit and stare for hours when its rains hard or when I am travelling through jungles. The sense of calm that it gives me is enormous.My troubles just fade away and I get clear headed.
The best part about making the list was that, just remembering all these things have made me slip into a great mood. Therefore thought I will share this with you… do let me know about your favorites too…have a great weekend!
One of the dictionary meanings of pride is “consciousness of one’s own dignity”. Of prejudice is “preconceived opinion that is not based on reason or actual experience”. Well, I am not thinking of reviewing Jane Austen’s famous book by the same name. Nor am I turning to English grammar lessons to fill in my blog posts. The reason why I thought this caption for my post is based on a very relevant experience which I want to share with you.
Recently, we had been to a very hip and hep flea market.The place was filled with people casually strutting in designer clothes, designer shoes, designer sunglasses and selling other forms of designer stuff! After roaming around for quite some time, we sat down in the dining tents. The table next to us had a group of young women close to my age, who, needless to say were one among the designer wear group( not that I have anything against this, but what I wanted to stress upon is the fact that these were definitely people who had basic education,access to social media, television, newspapers and books). One among these had a small child of say about four years, sitting in a pram. Also a part of the entourage were two young servant girls, one to push the pram and one to hold on to all the shopping bags.
The women ordered a large amount of food and started to eat. The mother of the child (rather rudely) called on to the hired help(somehow I find the word “servant”, extremely creepy) to feed her son. As any child of four, the boy was restless in his pram and fussy due to the heat. The girl tried in vain to feed him, but was largely unsuccessful. The mother then asked the girl to chuck all the uneaten food in the waste bin. I cringed, but kept looking. Both the girls looked longingly at the food but did as was instructed. Then the mother gave some money to the girl. I was a little pacified that she was feeding them, but then I realised that she had sent them to buy a bottle of cola. Till everyone finished, both the girls stood next to the table. No one offered them a seat. (There were plenty of chairs around). The girls also did not think of it as out of place.They kept standing till the very end, when the mother and her friends finished, got up and took the child. Then, both the girls sat down on the lawn, opened their small tiffins and ate from them.
I consider myself very just and therefore was suitably upset at this gross injustice. I was fuming when I mentioned this to my husband. He just told me that I was an equal party to the injustice. The least I could do was to get up, take a chair and offer it to the girls.This took me aback. And made me sad. And question my sense of ‘just’ness.
It seemed to me that he was right. We have such deeply ingrained notions of how our domestic help should behave, that even despite all our understanding and education, we subconsciously consider ourselves somehow superior to them. There are small things which almost all of us practice.. eg. Not allowing the domestic help to sit on the sofas, expecting them to wait for us to serve them food which they have cooked for us in the first place, feeding them leftovers which we do not eat ourselves, not giving them a room in the house ( most end up sleeping in halls and corridors or kitchens), and expecting them to wait on our every whim!
And worse, most of our help even believe that this is what they deserve!None of them rebel. Even though we know it is wrong, we allow such things to continue. We excuse ourselves saying that we continue on with this practice because we cannot afford to upset everyone in the extended family(labelled in laws, parents, grannies and the like) or that the maid does not mind or that we have never asked the maid not to sit on the sofa. (But we didn’t ask her to sit on it either!) In the process, we become party to an important human rights violation!
Recent International labour organiztion(ILO) estimates based on national surveys and census in 117 countries, place the number of domestic workers at around 53 million. But experts say that due to the fact that this kind of work is often hidden and unregistered, the total number of domestic workers could be as high as 100 million. The ILO also states that 83% of domestic workers are women and many are migrant workers.In India itself, there are approximately 4.2 million domestic workers.To put things in perspective, this is the population of the whole of Bangalore!
There are no laws to protect their rights, no minimum wages, no minimum or maximum age limit, no freedom to express anger, frustration or any other emotion and no actual definition of what their work does not include!
Even people whom we have chosen to represent our country internationally, have been offenders this way. Though there was a huge hue and cry when IFS officer and doctor Devyani Khobragade was strip searched by the US officials, not many went into the fact that she had in fact committed a fraud by taking a servant disguised as family, probably so she could pay a lesser wage (the excuse being that anything she earns here would be more than what she earned in India), and made her to work really abnormal hours without respite even during times when she was ill! But there were only few protests in Sangeeta Richards favor(that is the maid-I bet not many knew her name either). So getting an education really makes no difference.
This took me back to Arvind Adiga’s “The white tiger” which tells a rags to riches story of a small town boy who works as a hired help. He ends up becoming a goon and exploiting people whom he had served, in spite! In short,he got turned from an decent person into a sociopath!
There is a concept in psychology called “learned helplessness”, which says that when someone is made to face trouble constantly without the sight of an end, over a period of time, the person learns to accept that problem without rebelling or trying to find a solution to it. In short, he becomes a zombie!
Sometimes, I feel that we are responsible for turning our household help into either sociopaths or zombies, just because of our pride and prejudice. No law can help unless the change come from within our hearts to accept them as our equals(sometimes superiors- my help can make better dosa batter than I can ever expect to!)and to give them the dignity that they deserve.
This post was because in my sense of misplaced pride that I, could not interfere in someone else’s affairs, I did gross injustice. If I can reduce the prejudice any one mind, I think I can consider it my repentance!
Inspiration is essential to all of us. When we get up each day to the same old routine of living, we need someone or something to make us enthusiastic, happy and wanting. To me, inspiration always came when I read about women who have braved the odds to make a mark in life. When I would feel low and dejected, reading inspirational life stories worked well as antidepressants. Reading articles on facebook of women who made it big past the age of 35 made me even happier! No, I would not call that feeling happy exactly. But, it was a mixture of anxiety, happiness and hope that maybe I could do more. On talking with a few friends, I realized that a lot of them used the same tactic to go through the drill of a busy working mother life.
So, stories of Malala Yousafzai, J.K.Rowling,Laxmi (the acid attack victim), Sunitha Krishnan(the activist working against child traffiking) and the like were a part of my staple diet.
Lately, I have been realizing that though there are many women who have been celebrated and awarded for their great achievements, there were many more whom we met in our everyday life who do not even realize that they are worthy of such honors.
Long struggling wives of alcoholic patients who suffer domestic abuse, manage work and educate their children, mothers of mentally challenged children who harbor part guilt and part hope that their children may be part of a miracle cure, women who go in for reversal of tubectomies at their families’ behest because one child died ( the trauma of surgery as well as the loss of the child with them to bear), wives of men who live in the middle east who have to live separate from their husbands within days of marriage only to stay with and care for their in laws and children without a thought for their dreams, and so the list goes on.
Early on in my married life, any activity apart from my routine which I undertook would make me crave for attention, a small pat on the back and a golden star to be given by my husband or the benefactor of that deed for the extra effort that I put in. I would put on my martyr act (as though I had sacrificed my all important time without anyone appreciating it)with a long face and all if it were not forthcoming.
In comparison, an average Indian middle class working woman, who apart from working hard in her office or workplace, also manages to take care of a household full of elders and children, cook for them, micro manage finances, socialize, make sure that her children are studying well, perform ritualistic poojas, and manage to balance herself on a two wheeler in a sari with vegetable bags in front and two kids pillion. All this, without feeling that it deserves accolades. It’s all in days work!
This, despite the injustices meted out to them in multiple ways. A household of archaic orthodox rules, a husband who does not speak one loving word, postpartum periods when they have to leave their children with mothers who stay in far off villages to report back to work,handle pestering mothers in law, battling bad vibes from relatives if it happens to be a love marriage(strangely these vibes do not apply to the boy in concern, though he is very much a part of this marriage!) etc, etc..
Hence, nowadays, my inspiration has changed. Every morning I see inspiring faces around me.. from the road sweeping municipality worker to the maid in my house to the women staff in our hospital to the vegetable seller and to all the fantastic women I am related to. All of them seem special and worthy of the highest acclaim in the world. Each has battled their own odds and come out successful and smiling!Now, I don’t have to look far for my daily fix of enthusiasm. Thanks to all the super women around me!
