Summer Holidays

After the exam mania of March, if you think, a period of relaxation follows, (the kind some of us used to know two or three decades ago) people will look at you strangely perhaps with pity for your slow understanding of the ways of the present world. Today’s parents will insist that they provide their kids better opportunities than themselves. They are ready to shell out a huge sum of money on planning and implementing a series of holiday activities for their kids. Parents’ dream of ‘name and fame’ for their precious children is what drives them to set about holiday plan similar to planning a military operation.

Come March and we can see the city’s parent community abuzz with preparations for the ‘soon to follow’ holidays. Whenever parents meet in the school campus or outside, they will be comparing notes and try to choose among the mushrooming summer camps the best and the most suitable for their wards. For some it will be the need to sharpen their mathematical skills and aptitude; yet others will look out for improvement of social skills; for some parents the norm will be an all round personality development; the list and requirements stretch sky high. You cannot but notice the care and concern of today’s parents. (Ignorant are those who think the parents are over ambitious and pushy?!)

Holidays concern the children, don’t they? Are the kids part of the planning and scheming for the holidays? Or, is the plan part of the package that has to be accepted by the kids as a standard parental provision? Perhaps, within the elite group at the top, the children are so privileged to demand a continental tour or African safari or some such thing. Otherwise, I guess the general practice would be for the parents to make arrangements as ‘responsible parents’.

During holidays, if some of the youngsters go for coaching camps for cricket/ tennis/ table tennis that stretch from early morning to late afternoons nobody finds it strange. It is true that the children would love playing better than their other routine of ‘studying’. I wonder about the objective and attitude of parents who send their kids to such camps. There is always this expectation of some ‘return’ or benefit to result from these activities. As you put the raw material into the machine at the beginning, the crude, undervalued material gets processed and slide down the conveyer belt as a refined, value added finished product, the parents expect a Sachin swinging his bat for a square drive or Leander Paes coming out with a timely forehand return at the end of the camp. (They are realistic and so they do not expect it at the first camp itself but are very definite about it at the end of the third or fourth camp!) Now, tell me, would the children enjoy the games as they should have? There is always the target to reach: a goal to achieve: a dream (never mind even if it is their parents’ dream presented as theirs!) to fulfill. With the Damocles’ sword hanging above their head, the charm and fun of simple playing disappears.

We see a similar situation be it enhancing the artistic abilities or learning to be a dancer or striving to be an ‘all rounder’. Recently, I happened to witness a scene where the agitated mother was trying to find out why her shy son had not come forward and dance with a stage presence and attitude outshining other kids? Remember, her son had attended two summer camps and he must be about eight or nine years old. He likes the fun of letting go and shaking his legs to the music but not keen on being in the limelight, may be. However, the mother would have felt upset when her son was not able to do what some other kids appear to do effortlessly. The child’s achievements are taken as the parents’ achievements, of course??! As a parent, I can perfectly understand the feeling and wish that one wants recognition and appreciation for the children. When it becomes a craving, an obsession that the parents ignore all other things around them and more so about the fears, likes, aptitude and dreams of the kids, it is sad. Am I wrong in thinking they are not our possessions?

As usual, triggered by one incident the mind took off on a roller coaster ride that jumbled all thoughts and tossed them in a heap. One thing stands out, when I see all the so called holiday excitement today. I thank my stars that I am not at the receiving end of those ‘privileges’ as a kid. I hope that I have not handed out a structured but dull holiday package to my children?! On a day when the whole family gets together and travels down the memory lane, It is those spontaneous actions and spending unstructured but quality time together that will forge closer bonds. Perhaps, the people of earlier generation can relate to the situation when I mention those lazy summer afternoons spent in being introduced to the magic world of books or the cousins getting together planning mischief and finding ways to escape the wrath of elders! The lucky ones could remember the time spent in the vast open spaces of the ancestral village and going after those green, tangy mangoes stealthily. Yes…, I can visualise the vigorous nods of some of you. You want now to take the trip to that day in your thatha’s place, go ahead and have fun!

Horrorstruck

This article is not only to express my views but I welcome all who read this to take this as a platform to discuss related issues, answer my questions and allay my fears if you can.

I got an opportunity to watch a film named, ‘The great Indian School Show’ yesterday. The film showcased the efficiency of advanced technology, applied in the day to day activities of a school. The activities themselves provided the dialogue and there were a few interviews conducted with the school Principal, one or two teachers and student leaders.

It may sound harmless and may even be exciting when one looks at the title. A person closely connected to schools and teaching for about two decades, like me would have been eager to view the film. That was how I waited for the film to unwind! But, what did I see on the screen? Frame after frame, the film unfolded scenes of a horror story.

It is about a leading school in the country where CC TVs were set up with about 185 cameras at vantage points to observe each and every class. The film shows a normal day’s activities starting with morning assembly, regular class hours and games periods. A sample of an event celebration like Martyrs’ Day and farewell party for a teacher were also included. One gets a feeling of spending a day in the school. If you think what is strange or unusual in such a film, it is the eerie sensation of some one stealthily creeping behind you and watching you.

The Principal presses a button of his choice and observes the class and asks questions. The people, who were interviewed, without a single exception, praised the usefulness of such a technology. The Principal was very proud that even on a day when he is away he can monitor the activities of his school by linking the system to his laptop. He observed that it is a record of work of the teachers and those who are not sincere and committed to the profession cannot claim otherwise. (Ultimately, opinion about teachers must have hit rock bottom! As a teacher I like to defend fellow teachers but unfortunately the ground reality appears to be otherwise.) How exciting! One can imagine ‘educators with great vision (?) embracing this advanced technology!

Will there be spontaneous exchanges of ideas and learning in a situation where the sub conscious refrain is, “Beware, Big brother is watching”? The film repeatedly showed children walking along the corridor in a solemn way so unlike children. Was it the idea of the film maker to let us draw our conclusion? (There was no commentary.) I felt such a rude shock as a teacher but that was nothing compared to the suffocating emotion I felt when I saw the children walking sedately at the end of the day! A kick here, a bounce there, a loud pat on a friend’s back, a little skip- God, where had all these disappeared?

Imagine a time when more and more schools’ managements are drawn to this monitoring system. The incessant curiosity and abundant imagination characteristic of the child will not have a natural outlet. Like the birds with clipped wings, the children will not be left to be themselves. Is there a worse form of denial of basic right? If constant supervision alone can get work done bring out the best behaviour and establish discipline in the system, how does it reflect on our society? What does it indicate about us as human beings? To think of an entire generation of youth brought up under such a system is the height of horror! If you are a parent/teacher or a person involved in taking care of children, you have the wherewithal to visualise the resulting situation.

There are economic implications, too. To install the system, the above mentioned school had already spent 9.5 lakh rupees approximately. It could have been private capital or some management fund or…., you can go ahead and make a guess! When the camera focus on the corridors with dark corners and cracked walls but with the camera eye watching all who pass long the passage, is the film maker trying to convey something to us? India is a land of paradoxes, so they say!

I honestly cannot make out the intention of the film maker and does he try to convey some message by juxtaposing contrasting aspects in a scene is the question poking at my brain cells annoyingly. I reiterate my request to all of you who read this to get the discussion rolling.

Missed, not found

The eventful life of my Patti had set off a nostalgic travel into the past. My thoughts go whirling like electrons of an atom. It is predominantly so after her death. (My mind refuses the usual connotation of the word, ‘death' as for as she is concerned.) My life as associated with her keeps playing out like a film continuously in my mind, these two months. There, I keep visiting this quaint, laid back place which you can neither call a city, nor list under a village. It is tucked cosily in the foot hills of Kodaikanal.

I remember the bus ride from Madurai to this place. There will be red soil stretching for miles on both sides where some spots would be dry and parched. One can see the blue and purple slopes of Western Ghats in a distance coming along with us. As a small girl I used to be awestruck by the tall, silent mountains, yet fascinated by them. Then there will be grapevines and in certain stretches, betel leaf creepers would be giving out the typical smell. The road gains height at places and reaches a kind of plateau and winds its way down to the plains. In all I used to get the impression of vast open space untouched by human interference. (One need not get excited at such a prospect as I could not behold such a vision when I visited the place two years back.) The mountain ranges sometimes get nearer and the pristine mountain air would energise us if we were to travel by late evenings or early mornings. As we near the town we can see the lush paddy fields and coconut groves besides a few huge sprawling tropical evergreens.

In those days, the bus depot itself had a unique characteristic that we could see simple village folks not yet influenced by the so called 'modern life'. From small villages along the mountain slope, they would come down to sell honey, fruits and other things. Then comes the most thrilling part of taking a ride in a “goda gaadi"- horse drawn cart! One has to master a certain technique or one would slide down. While we used to struggle getting in amidst giggles and scolding, the horse would go chomp, chomp nonchalantly.

With the flick of his wrist, the driver would snap his whip and make a funny noise rolling his tongue and the horse would start its trot. The rhythmic clicking of hooves on the road and the musical clinking of bells tied around the neck of the horse would announce our visit to the entire street. One could feel eyes following the cart.

The street had my father’s ancestral house besides my Patti’s ancestral house. As I walked down the street and turn left, beyond the lush fields, I could see the mountains calling out to me. Wherever I stayed, I could feel the urban restraints slipping away giving place to a wonderful sensation of being enveloped by nature.

Every house had two ‘thinnais’ which served many purposes. I cannot forget the late afternoon activities and rituals connected to the thinnais. My Patti’s mother used to sit there after the coffee session around 3.30 p.m and start directing the women of the household to wash their faces and get dressed. (It is an idea that the women had to freshen up for the evening after their long hours of work.) “It is time for the flower vendors, hurry up” she would urge all the lazy ones. Even during peak summer days, when we opened the tap, cold mountain water would rush out.

The vendors would then come, claiming our attention by their sing song calls. As the ‘combing, plaiting, arranging flowers on the plait’ stage would get to a close, we could hear the tinkling of bells announcing the arrival home of the cattle from their pasture. The mischievous cries of young ones, the warning call of mother cows the shepherd’s clucking tones, the noise raised by cattle’s’ running feet and the dust covering the entire street – if all of them on their own, were to be cherished memories, then the entire scene bathed in the golden rays of setting Sun was so moving!

One may feel this is a highly romanticised ideal rural scene. Perhaps! However what had impressed me and been etched as a fond childhood memory is here in reality. The memory is haunting me as the quaint little place I used to know had disappeared giving way slowly to a township growing like an uncouth monster where nobody seems to have the genuine sense of owning a rich unbroken living tradition.

When I went there recently, seeing such a change gave me such a blow that it was almost physical. I turned towards the mountains, the silent witness (or should I say, ‘silent and helpless victim’?)they appeared to reach out and share in the moment of grief. Now, my Patti as the strong link to the place not being there makes it a profound loss. I have a permanent yearning now for the place it is never to be with occasional glimpses of those beautiful scenes framed in my memory flashes in my mind often that I have an immense yearning for the place it is never to be.

My Toast to a Saga Completed

My Toast to a Saga Completed
My Grand Mother's Obituary

Just 12 years short of 100 and every minute of those 88 years lived with such spirit, resilience and a remarkable sense of acceptance and accommodation (when things go beyond human control). A long life, spanning the very many historical and political upheavals including the second world war, Quit India, Independence, Reform movements and so on… - that is my grand mother's life! This life came to an end last Friday, 15th Feb 2008, but I believe that life goes on without an end in the real sense. I'm proud to be carrying forward at least a few of her ideas, thoughts and values.

I remember those days of my childhood when she appeared to be a 'super woman' in my eyes. The first image that comes to my mind is of a slender and tall woman neatly turned out at any time of the day. The nine yards sari I had rarely seen so artistically draped with not a spec of dirt anywhere after long hours of work was something that never failed to surprise me!

Her early days in themselves were a source of social history of early 20^th century. She had a lucid way of describing things and with eyes for even the minute detail, the stories of her past would bring alive the society of that time (which I seem to appreciate more and more only with age and maturity). Lack of English education was not considered a disadvantage, in fact seen as positive, but she even picked up the skill of reading English. The stress was on acquiring reading, arithmetic skills and learning Sanskrit. As I understand, imbibing the necessary values to become a home maker later and training to be diplomatic and tactful were some aspects emphasised as education for a girl then. My grand mother used to remember her 'periamma' fondly as her guide! There is nothing demeaning in such training as my grand mother emerged as a successful and efficient home maker - a daughter-in-law who had become indispensable, and a wife who was an equal partner. This training had made her truly resourceful and how she faced the challenges that life had thrown at her! She was an immense source of strength and courage for every one around her in the family and particularly me.

My friends in college used to be surprised when I mentioned that I prepared for the paper- 'History of Tamil Literature in the beginning of Modern period' by listening to her. She had a sharp mind and insatiable curiosity to learn till almost the end. Why, for that matter she was ‘Patti’ to that bunch of teens! They would come running to her for her approval of their new jewellery or dress or even their silly jokes!

Her sense of humour and ability to retain a child-like quality had seen her through many a crisis and loss. With a feeling of wonder and joy I recollect those first 22 years of my life spent under her wing. I still remember the time she accompanied my brother and myself to the terrace to teach us the nuances of eating a mango and enjoying the sticky and juicy affair. (If I close my eyes and make a little effort I could hear the giggles of the three of us and even smell the ripe mango.) How can I forget the joy of sharing the thrill of the first rain of the season or the love of reading a Kalki's/Chandilyan's historic novel?

Time management, economy of movement, nutritional diet, effective communication, creative skills - you name any such high sounding modern concepts, she had already perfected them! Her home remedy tips and her knowledge of the indigenous trees and herbs was simply mind boggling!

She was a good judge of human nature and applied that in her every day dealings with others. Innovative and highly imaginative are how I would describe her way of bringing me up. There was never a force used, but her own example and her characteristic anecdotes used to do the trick of instilling values and the ability to appreciate the gains rather than the losses.

I could go on and on as hers was a great life - a saga in fact. I firmly believe in the vedantic principle that it is the physical being that faces death and for the ‘Atman’ there is no death. Further, I sincerely hope that her traits, or at least a few of them, have passed on to us, the women of next generations.