A Moment of Glory

When my friend, my guide to sites that encouraged writing, mailed to me about a competition on a site where one of my novels was already serialised and another is currently running, I thought and almost dismissed the thought of sending in anything. But 'The Circle of Zero', written from a the point of view of a man, contrary to my usual obsession with women and their complicated lives, was lying idle, having been written in 2009/10. So why not, I thought and sent that, not really sure what to expect.

When the mail inviting me for the event came, I had to excuse myself as I was traveling that evening. Then I got a mail telling me I was a winner.

Now that changed everything and after much agonising, I decided to risk going there. Oh what a sweet surprise was in store for me!!! The first prize in Romance!!!!

Of course we were getting late as the event stretched beyond expectations, but when my name was called out and I walked up to receive the prize, it was as if my efforts had finally borne some fruit. Getting published by Pageturn was the first step, but this one was a recognition of a different sort and just gave hope in a new direction.

With hope comes a sense of responsibility - that I continue to write different things and that too, stuff worthy of note or at least consideration.

A Kind Turn

My elder one came home almost everyday with a bird dropping its blessing on her person - her clothes, her hand, her head! Naturally frustrated but philosophical by nature, she asked me in an amused and frustrated tone, "Why is it happening to me, ma?"

"Because you care so much for the birds - you are after me to give them food and you are so sensitive to their plight... It is their way of saying a thanks. They don't have anything else to give, so they drop their blessings on you," I teased her.

A few days later, when riding the scooter with her behind me, I told her, "You know, everyday a loose gravel or sand hits me on my face."

Pat came the reply, "It is the road's way of thanking you for using the scooter instead of the car and causing it less pain."

Quick learner...

Moving Forward

"I look fat!" I complained when my husband showed me this photo. He started cropping it to oblige me but I was already in a dilemma. I had let myself go and it showed. Why hide the fact? After all, people who saw me perform saw me this way!

Just then, my daughter jumped up to see which photo we were discussing. She said, "Amma, it is not how you look but how you danced!"

Stunned at this piece of wisdom, I asked her what she meant. "Grandfather said you were dancing like a teenager, doing the thoppukaranam (sit ups done before Lord Ganesha) with ease."

This pose was at the fag end of the varnam, by when I had already danced for 30 minutes non-stop on stage. I was tired but not out. I went on to do two more items without fatigue overpowering me. I had felt one with myself throughout the show, feeling the emotions flow freely and my feet and hand move agilely. Why then should I apologise for how I looked?

I posted this photo as it is. But I promised myself, next time, I would not give myself any reason to feel embarrassed.

A New Cap to Don

My forays into teaching dance have been entirely due to others' efforts. A neighbour wants her daughter to learn; another is my mother's friend and looking for a teacher; a third - here for a short while... Nothing serious, no long commitments. My own work commitments prevented me from considering teaching seriously - I didn't think I would be able to train others for the long term.

Then, a few years ago, a few of my friends and neighbours requested me again. They overcame my resistance saying - Do it it till you can, share what you will.

A few more joined, but I have kept it to bare minimum due to paucity of time and space. Better to train a few well than spread myself thin.

Then suddenly, another opening, again, not for long term, but more formal. An honour to be part of this. Vazhuvoor style of dance is one of the leading forms, with several famous dancers including Vyjayanthimala Bali, Dr. Padma Subramaniam, Kumari Kamala and her sister and my Guru Rhadha coming from this background. All trained under the legendary, Vazhuvoor Ramaiah Pillai.

Now, Vazhuvoor Ramaiah Pillai's grandchildren are starting a dance school to further his legacy, and my guru deemed it fit to recommend my name along with another of her student's to train the students. Check out: http://www.vazhuvoorars.com/ About us page even has a brief bio
about me!

Keep your doors and windows open. You never know when opportunity will take you by surprise.

And, if you know anyone seeking to learn dance, you are welcome. Classes will be held on weekends, in the mornings.

Loving the Image

"East or west, mommy is the best" declared my daughter. Touched, I smiled. "West or east, mommy is a beast," she added, quite anticlimactically. Then she hastened to correct it but got stuck when the younger one piped in, "West or east, mommy is cheese!"

I notice a sudden sprout in demonstrativeness in an otherwise self-contained child. "Mommy, my head is aching," she rushed into my arms. I held her and kissed her forehead. She chimed, "Mother's hug is a medicine; mother's kiss is a medicine..."

I wondered... I am as small or limited as always. I am as susceptible to the vagaries of physical and emotional swings as before. Patience is in short supply, but suddenly there are vast hidden sources of anger that come within reach at the drop of a hat. I am not so lavish on the 'cuddle' or 'showering love' department. I am 'too busy' to join them in their games, and prefer a book at other times to their nonsensical babble. I am on the lookout for their lazy disobedience and try to keep them on their toes (unsuccessfully, of course) so that they turn out to be 'fine, well-rounded, helpful individuals'.

I try to see from her eyes and all I see is this larger-than-life image she creates of me in her mind. The image that she projects on me, making me more loving and lovable. I see myself in her, and my mother in me.

I know this image may take a beating as she enters her teens, and then grow large again as she faces the world alone. She will see the original for what it is, one day. But if even then she can say, 'East or west...' I may not have done such a bad job after all.

Airing the Room Upstairs

One of the two doors shrank to become the window. A window with the doors wide open.

The other door led to a path that grew and grew. And then, it seemed as if that too would have to be partly closed. But strangely, having opened the door, it was now not a question of whether it was a door or a window. For the path led me on, curving, undulating, zig-zagging, but always moving further and further - sometimes through dry patches, sometimes through lush green vistas, always exciting and wonderful.

The window? That I thought I could peep at the other world from, seemed to be shuttering up and as the day grew into mid morning and afternoon. It seemed that before night fell, the curtains would have to be drawn with not even a hint of light coming in through there.

There were many reasons to close that window forever. The light was weak, the breeze mild. And yet, those were reasons enough to keep it open - light still streamed in, breeze was refreshing still.

How children love to enter a house through unbarred windows! Opportunities find their way in just like that, taking me by surprise. They invigorate me, tease me with endless possibilities and add variety. The window may now not expand now to become a door. But the path takes a life of its own. It may be short or long, but it is there, for me to see, relish and cherish.

I am glad that I kept that window open.

Holding My Little Finger

He would return from work and fill every bucket, every mug with water before it stopped after freshening up and before having his evening tea.
And then he would settle down with the newspaper, immersed in the crossword.
Once in a while, I would need some drawing done and he would help me out with that - drawing the entire thing as I went about my other activities, like playing, play acting, watching TV.
He would tell me bedtime stories - he would be reclining and I would be up vertical and I would have to shake him awake to continue with the story.
He would ask me to sing - his only expectation of me - and I would howl in reply, singing through tears.
And then, we shifted cities, shifted homes. I grew up from a child to an adolescent.
I was shaken from my comfort zone - having known only one home for 10 years, suddenly I was taken to a city my family was familiar with but I wasn't. I left behind my school, my colony and my friends. From wide streets, I was looking at rooftops from my 8th floor balcony and unable to make out any trace of even lanes between the congested houses. I felt friendless and alone.
My first entrance exam in one school came to naught and I panicked, fearing his disapproval. He just smiled. "There are other schools, don't worry."
I made it in the next (and ironically, I would go back to the first school to complete my senior school). I struggled with the new school, passing only provisionally to the next class. Strangely, no fire and brimstone rained on me. Life seemed placid with just gentle cautioning. But despite having two brothers in IIT (one, in fact, doing his IIM by then), my poor performance in 9th went almost without remark.
And I discovered other sides to the man I called father. His broad mindedness, his easy going nature, and his Taurean temper that flared up once in a while, but never at me.
As I grew, he became less of my father and more a friend - a person I could tell my deepest secrets to without being judged.
And, even living away from home several times and now for several years, that bond remains - father remains friend, with whom I share my secrets, my joys and troubles. He is the listener every woman dreams of (he is not that with my mom, I know...), who shares my interests, and encourages me with his childlike wonder at what he considers my achievements.
I can be me with him.
Love you dad, though I often don't say it.

Removing Poison

Just as I stood poised to take the bow, be showered with words of praise, for the applause to come,   few random, unexpected words lodged themselves in my head, making all accolades bitter. The casual remark, not even meant for my ears directly, had pierced through several tongues to reach me. And like Rama's arrow that found its mark on Vali's chest piercing through seven large trees.

And yet, what was it? Though it pins me down to despair, can I pin the speaker to those words? For nebulous and ambiguous, the syllables change, the words change, the very meaning changes as different people hold the words in their tongues before pouring it into another ear, adding their own thoughts, words and syllables to it.

Am I that? That which someone implied? Or that, which others suggested? Or that, which I think I am?

When my very character is not the same, cannot be comprehended wholly, can those fluid words have more weight, more character, be understood better?

How then do I dislodge it? How do I let the bullet not poison my blood, my mind, my very soul? How do I swim above the overwhelming waves of grief and disappointment, smile truly, not just bravely, hold the eye, not shy away, nor accuse nor pity?

I remain I knowing I am this, and that, and sometimes even that other.

I remain I knowing through all this I am one - true to myself, and not untrue to others.

I remain I, letting my breath fan the fire of my soul and burn the garbage.

And it is then that the bullet is burnt, dissolved, dislodged and yet the poison touches me not.

Hiding 18 Hours

"I was trying to call you and cancel the class. I have a very rushed schedule today," the lady said. Her daughter learns dance from my Guru, and I am filling in for my guru in her absence.

The mother is a homeopath. "I just got back and my husband was insistent that I take her today. But on reaching I had to catch up on my household work." Knowing she belongs to a traditional family, I could well understand how demanding managing a clinic, her eight year old daughter and her home which also housed her in-laws would be.

"I am going to the stadium to watch the IPL match today," the girl said enthusiastically.

"Oh, so you will also have to go back and pack dinner also?" I asked the mother sympathetically.

"No, but I have a Sanskrit class to attend," the mother said. That was unexpected. "It is for her," she pointed to her daughter. "She goes for sloka competitions, so I want to train her properly."

"How do you find the time?" I asked, imagining a day that would already be filled with enough responsibilities.

Indeed, before the end of the evening, I was humbled to have met a person with not only great time management skills but also great sense of social responsibility. In the clinic, she uses what free time she gets to make the envelopes and sources the glue from a slum in Pondicherry - she went there to see for herself and order the quantities so that poor families may get some source of income. She works in slums and especially with girls, educating them about hygiene and sanitation when treating them for other illnesses.


And then, when I told her about my interest in psychology in some context, she enthusiastically replied, "I started doing post graduation in psychology after marriage but discontinued because I was pregnant. Now I am thinking of completing it. I have several books on pyschology and love consumer psychology. I even apply it when dealing with my patients. I will get you some of them." I sat with my mouth open in wonder. And then she ended, "I may be writing the exam to get the degree this year."


"How do you manage it?" I asked her.

"My mother hides 18 hours of her time," the little one chirped in. "She spends 6 hours in the clinic and then slowly takes the remaining time little by little to do the things she likes."

What an apt way to save and use time!

A Virtual Address

It was the year 1996/97. The Internet was still in its nascent stages, but an entrepreneur saw into the future and started domain registrations and creating websites. I went to interview him - a rarity back then, as I preferred the anonymity of editing the articles rather than write. During the interview, he told me, "In a few years, you will have a website in your name."

I smiled sceptically, but he continued confidently, "You don't believe me? But you will see... It will happen..." or words to that effect.

When I started this blog, I couldn't help remembering that man. Between then and now, I have changed as any individual does, and not changed in many ways. But the most obvious change is in believing in my own cyber space. Apart from this blog and the inevitable facebook page, I also uploaded one of my novels online http://www.booksie.com/Meera.

A friend recently suggested I should have a website of my own. I am not sure about that - maybe some day I will start seeing his point of view too. But when my third book was announced, I went ahead and created a page for myself as an author on FB: https://www.facebook.com/home.php?ref=logo#!/meerasrikant.author

And that brought that man's words back to me. I don't think that he became a big name in the IT world. But his words have come true. The virtual world does lure us to acquire space there, to give in to the urge that traditionally prompted us to carve our name in a tree or any wooden sruface.

The need to leave our names behind so that others may know we exist.

All In Its Time

I noticed the bud in the rose plant, and my heart beat raced. I expected the rose to bloom the next day and lighten up my balcony with its reddish orange hue. Every day, I see one more bud, but the first one hadn't opened yet, and even after 10 days, all the buds are slowly expanding, ballooning, but are yet to bloom.

I am impatient, but will the flower bloom because of that? I have to find the patience within me if I want to enjoy the flower take its proper shape and emerge in its beautiful, complete form.

So is it with everything in life. Yet we rush, bang our heads and hop up and down to see the result we desire.

I went with an art-based NGO to a government boys home, with the aim to help them find release through various creative art forms. So when I saw a boy who wouldn't participate, I put on my best, motherly smile, took him aside and waited for him to pour his woes to my expansive heart and feel cleansed. When he continued to avoid looking at me and maintained a stubborn silence, I despaired. Reluctantly I had to get back to the room accepting defeat. My eyes were on him the entire day, but his were fixed outside the window.

Next day, he and I ended up in the same room doing some craft work. He did the artwork and clumsy me watched the boys in the background. He was quiet still, but not as withdrawn. I saw him smile and mingle with the other boys his age. He will find his mettle in his own time. Only I, the adult, need the patience to wait and let life take its natural course.

Blessing a Curse to Others?

A three year old boy has been hitting a younger, or at least smaller, girl child. When the girl's mother brought this to the notice of the boy's mother, the latter turned away ignoring the plea that she discipline her son. Then recently, the boy scratched the girl and the girl's mother (GM) caught hold of the boy. Noticing this, the boy's family pounced on the GM accusing her of child abuse! In the exchange of words in two different languages - the GM is a north Indian and the boy's grandmom a Tamilian, the GM finally gave up because she was unable to get through. The boy's father, who can understand English, finally said, "I had this boy after two years of praying in temples. If my son is bothering your daughter, please keep her at home(!)"

When I heard of this, I was shocked. Does having a child late entitle parents to bring up the child without any discipline, especially as a threat to others? I am reminded of stories of Markandeya and Sankaracharya. In both cases, the boys were brought up to be so devout and disciplined that the former in fact got a long life as a blessing, and continued on his path of devotion. In case of Sankaracharya, he voluntarily gave up his earthly life and became a saint.

We don't need to go to such extremes. But what if this little bully ends up on the wrong foot with someone stronger? Will he be spared? Such an instance has happened too earlier. When the parents were unable to discipline another boy - now much older - who was a nuisance, his "friends" cornered him and beat him up... This is not an incidence in some slum, or a movie or a serial. This happened where I live...

Finally, disciplining and bringing up a child well is not just for the benefit of those around, but for the child himself. Unless parents realise that first, their children will soon find themselves isolated, which will further aggravate their aggressive behaviour. But this simple logic seems to defy even the educated...

Even if we cannot do good to others, let us at least learn not to harm others, and teach the same to our children too...

Ripple in Routine

A call last week had me completely floored. The secretary of the sabha where I performed on Feb 19 called me to inform me that I was one of the dancers selected for receiving their 'Best Performer' certification for this year. It was as if all the hard work I had put in for my Feb 19 program was vindicated.

For this program especially, I had put in more effort than in recent years - it was a point I had to prove to myself. And when my performance flowed smoothly, when I looked slimmer than last year, when I was able to sustain my energy throughout... I felt vindicated. This award was like a crowning glory - though it is a small and probably routine affair for the sabha, it was unexpected and the first time for me. And that is what made this moment sweeter.

But strangely, what brought tears to my eyes was when I stepped off the stage after a group photo, my father who had accompanied me, asked me affectionately, "Why were you hidden behind and not in the front for the photo?" I felt like a child again. It was hard to respond to my children like a mother on reaching home.

But I must add here another honour I had received last year. A leading sabha has a wing that brings dancers together for them to take the art form to the poor. After a performance for that wing in the regular forum, I was called. I was flattered at being identified as one of the potential dancers who could be trusted to do this. Though my group of four  have not done anything since then, I am hoping that we will soon resume our endeavour to do this - yet another excuse to dance, what else!

Small Joys

As I waited for my daughter to finish practicing yesterday for a music program this Saturday, another waiting mother informed me, "There is practice on Saturday morning too. I cannot bring my son. In any case, there are 40 children singing. What difference will one voice make?"

Hmmm... I thought. Why do I have to, too? Don't I have enough on my plate already?

So when I was driving back with my eight-year-old daughter, she mentioned something about the program and I casually remarked, "Forty kids. How does it matter if one sings or not."

She replied, "No ma! See we get to sing in such places, and practice! Can we call the grandparents?"

I was chastised immediately and said lamely, "That's the right attitude."

This morning, she chirped around the house happily, "I am so excited. I get selected in all music related things. I am in choir (there is a school choir, which is how she ended up in this program), I am in this program, and I am in the school music programs too!"

They are all by the same teacher... But why spoil her fun, when it makes her eyes shine so!

Am I glad she sometimes does not listen to me!

Anubavangal: இந்தக்காலத்துப்பசங்க!

Anubavangal: இந்தக்காலத்துப்பசங்க!: ஒரு பெரிய தொழிலதபரைப் பேட்டிக் காணச் சென்றிருந்தேன். என்னுடன் மூன்று இளைஞர்களும் இருந்தார்கள். முதலில் அந்த அதிபரை தனியாக சந்தித்து என்ன ப...

Warning Bells

Yesterday's newspaper said:

* Sale of two wheelers in rural areas coming down because of dropping purchasing power.
* Kingfisher plunging into deep sea, and not to catch a fish but to be caught in the net.
* Spicejet - problems

And the other usual stories about not enough medical care reaching people in the rural areas. Not enough schools, infrastructure...etc.

Met a leading academician who has made a name for his mentoring, and he talked of how short sighted government employees were, unable to see the value of rural ventures and making their life hell... Not many would want to get into that segment.
Met a social entrepreneur today who wonders if charity is dying in India.
A full page ad asks for contributions for an old people's home...

And then I see Audis and BMWs and Mercedes on the road.
I see monthly food bills from eating out that can feed entire families for months.
We do charity, no doubt. We do as much as we can... No guilt there.

But the disparity is wide - getting wider. Can the system withstand it? For how long?

If one card topples, it brings the entire pack down.

Any thoughts, anybody, how to stop the shake up?

We Are Our Parents

I stand in the kitchen, shouting at my son. "You know the veggies make you grow tall and strong. How can you make me say it to you everyday!"

Flashback to my childhood, and well into teenage. "Please have this beans. It tastes yummy," my parents and siblings would persuade me, unsuccessfully.

"Greens are important for making your hair grow well," I attack my daughter as she crosses her arms and pouts on seeing palak paneer on her plate.

I can even then remember how I was about greens. For a person whose plate would only accept lady's finger and potatoes, I expect a lot from my children!

"Just spend 10 min doing one subject and you will be fine."

Sigh, I wish I had done that as a kid.

I turn on my children, "You will have children just like you!"

My dad smiles at me and says, "I am glad to see your children are just like you, giving you a hard time."

Anubavangal: Nizhal

Anubavangal: Nizhal: நேற்று ஒரு நடுத்தர வயதான தம்பதியரை சந்திக்கச்சென்றிருந்தேன். அவர்களுடன் பெசிக்கொண்டிருந்தப்போழுது சில பழைய நினைவுகளை அவர்கள் பகிர்ந்துக்கொண்...

Anubavangal: Vaakjaalam - The Word Trap

Anubavangal: Vaakjaalam - The Word Trap: என் மகள் தமிழ் படித்து முடிப்பதற்குள் எனக்கே தமிழ் மறந்து போய் விடும் போல இருக்கிறது. எழுத்துக்கூட்டி படித்தாலும், அந்த வார்த்தைகளே என்ன என்...

Old and New Bonds

My belief is that after a particular age, as we become involved in our professional life, and establish a relationship with our spouse and his/her family, old relationships start taking a backseat. We seldom have the time, even if the inclination is there, to keep up with old bonds. We make acquaintances but rarely friends. In the initial honeymoon period of our marriage and ascending career, this is all that we can manage, and the rest of the world seems redundant.

But as time goes, the new spouse becomes the familiar other half, we are suddenly left with some vacuum within us. Professional growth may be smooth, or may not be. Personal life may have become routine stuff. We discover that however close, there are somethings that a spouse can understand only so much.

And then we feel the need for friends - to let our hair down, to put our feet up, to chill, to pour out, or listen to stories other than our own.

Social media is a blessing in helping reconnect. But even then, no one can take the place of the people we grew up with - be it siblings or friends, and hearing their voices or seeing their faces.

Today is neither Friendship Day, nor Brother/Sister/Mother/Father Day. But every day is all of that. In forming new bonds, don't let go of the old. It is a struggle, but at the end of it, when you can talk to one of these for 10 minutes without worrying about being judged, it is worth that struggle.