Green (Un)Cover

When I moved in to my current house 10 years ago, the adjoining campus - the backyard of the veterinary university off Mount Road - looked green. It had a rich fauna and flora. I woke up to the sound of deer clashing in friendly matches, kingfisher declaring its presence, woodpecker pecking away, treepie shouting 'cooollldrinks', snakes slithering around and parakeets protesting against its presence.

Today, it is barren as the trees have been cut to make way for the metro office. Though a PIL put a limit to how many trees can be cut, who is keeping track? Yesterday, a peepal tree was cut. The deer were relocated to another venue a couple of years ago. Birds come, but are less in number. God knows where the snake vanished to.

What price development, I wonder.

I know the land I live in also must have been a forest once upon a time. In the immediate past, though, a slum occupied this space.

It pains to think of the havoc man is creating in this world. Delhi apparently is covered by a thick smog, so much that people have been advised to stay indoors. Is Chennai going to go the same way?

What can we as individuals do to reduce the destruction of our environment? Invest in land less? Worry about the future less? Reduce our consumption of material things?

Time to think is past. It is time to act now.

Free and Flying

That leaf clinging to the tree
Struggles hard to break free
To toss and turn in the breeze
Playing, unmindful of who sees

No burdens, no thoughts
Not even that organ called heart
Just sheer joy and glee
Of feeling totally free

Oh to lose these heavy limbs
Not to be burdened by things
To roll and fly as I please
To play, just be, and to tease

Let the wind lend me wings
To drift with no strings
Go mind take some rest
Put all planning under arrest.

Age of Guilt

I smile, what for I wonder
I look around and shudder

Hate, hurt, angst and anger,
Tempers hanging on egos slender

Looting, rape, bullying, murder
Destruction and burning all to cinders

Amidst aplenty lingers hunger
Cruelty, even in love, lingers

Why so much noise and plunder?
Is humanity deep in slumber?

How do we face each other?
Why doesn't guilt tear us asunder?

My hands rise up in surrender
But is there a saviour, I wonder.

Love, and Love

I hide the marks your love leaves on my person
I bury the scars in my heart of love unreturned

My life brims with joy knowing you are near
I shut the door on emptiness of thoughts dear

My life floats in the fragrance of your presence
A whiff of you threatens to shake my very essence

I write with you the chapters of my life
The few words we shared create an epic strife

The journey together, a story of contentment
A life not lived, fighting resentment

Love unspoken, our bond strengthens
In the noise, the silence deepens.

The White Shirt

"Clumsy!" Kavya heard her mother's voice in her ears as she spilled coffee on her shirt. She looked at it in dismay, wondering when she would learn to be less messy. And why did she have to wear white!

The waiter very helpfully offered her tissues. But though she knew she should try to wash off the stain, getting a white shirt wet in a cafe!!!

She controlled the tears of frustration as she paid up and came out. She checked her watch - 10. Her house was in one direction, and her venue for the appointment in another. "Damn!" she thought. There was no time to go back home and change her shirt. She would have to buy another shirt. White shirt. Which idiot thought of making white the uniform at her workplace, she wondered for the nth time!

She looked across the road, wondering if she should just walk into the meeting with the stained white shirt and pretend it was the latest design!

She sighed, knowing that was not going to work. She was about to hail an auto when she realised there was a mall next door. She headed there, thanking gods for this little mercy on her. She entered her favourite shop. She looked for her size in her preferred brand and was disappointed to see they were out of stock. There was S, M and XL but no L.

Reluctantly, she looked for white shirts in other brands, and even in other shops in the mall, giving herself just 10 minutes to complete the survey. She didn't even need so much time. The stores in teh same floor didn't have white shirts. In the next floor, the only store that had didn't have her fit. Either they were too tight in the chest or too loose around the waist.

She recollected her mother's lamentation, "I can never find ready made clothes for you. Why can't you fit the mould?"

Ever since she turned adolescent, she had to opt for tailor made clothes. While for Indian she didn't mind that, getting a good tailor for western wear was a challenge. Now that at the workplace she had to wear western clothes most of the time, shopping was becoming a nightmare. Was it only she who had a problem, she wondered as she finally opted for an L size in an inferior brand and tried to get it to mould to her shape.

She reached the venue 20 minutes late, and not even feeling good about her purchase...

Who decides what a woman's body should be like - the thought wouldn't leave her. Was she abnormal? Was she misshapen? She started looking at herself closely every time she crossed a mirror. She started assessing the expression in the eyes of the people looking at her during conversations. She didn't see ridicule or even surprise in their eyes. Sometimes she even detected admiration and desire...

Then why couldn't she find a simple shirt? She went back, again and again, to try out different western designs and found the same problem. She spoke to her friends, acquaintances, wives of colleagues. It was heartening to know she was not the only one, but she wondered why no one had thought of all the other women who did not fit into the standard sizes.

Finding a solution became her only obsessive thought in the next few days. She searched the web, and all she came up with were tailor names and addresses abroad. Or high end fashion designers...

Her quest took her to e-commerce sites. Nothing much for women, but it gave her an idea.

It took her two years and much talking to her parents to convince them to back her. When she successfully commissioned western wear to fit her shape, she felt liberated. But when she launched a site for women to buy made-to-order wear, she was the first one to order the kind of clothes she had fantasised about all her life!

"My ugly duckling turns a swan," her mother said fondly, kissing her daughter. "Can I order some for myself too?" asked she, surprising Kavya. She thought her mother preferred the regulation uniform she wore. "I never found what I wanted in the shops," her mother confessed and the two had a hearty laugh.

(This story is a creative twist based on an interview I did for a management magazine about a woman who started a portal for customised western wear. It may differ in actual points as I do not know much about the person. The actual article on how her entrepreneurial journey turned out will appear in the next issue of the magazine.)

Armed Against Anger

It was like a battery of bullets being discharged, a sten gun in action. Ta-da-da-da-da she went. Anger bubbled. She felt so wronged at her wishes not being given due respect, of being forced to do something she did not want to year.

Fighting Fears

My seven-year-old started crying whenever we asked him to take bath. He would want me to sit in the adjoining bedroom. This, after two years of taking bath by himself!

Used to the independence of not having to monitor his bath, I fought against his tears and pleas. Anger, cajoling, indifference, nothing worked.

And then I slowly found the reason. A Tamil movie, 'Kanchana', which I thought was a comedy and allowed him to watch in his friend's place, turned out to be a horror-comedy. The ghost comes in the bathroom, and hence his fear!

I tried to fight it through logic. I showed him the pictures of the actor and also how I found him handsome. I told him other stories to distract him. I even made him say Hanuman Chalisa and other slokas.

But while the lip moved, while the ears heard, while the eyes saw, the mind kept returning to the image that had caused the fear in the first place.

This couldn't go on! Bath sessions were becoming a melt down time - too much water in his eyes!

So then, I sat with him in the puja room. I told him to focus on his breath and slowly painted a scene with greenery and lake and serenity. I don't remember how long it took, but the Drama Before the Bath stopped and calmness returned.

It is never too early to teach children to focus on their breathing to deal with troubles of any kind. Solutions may not present themselves in any miraculous fashion. But they will be less stressed about it and that in itself may resolve half the problems.

Soon to follow: Armed Against Anger.
Also read:  The Child-Like Mind