Dreamweaver

Jogwa-The Awakening (2009)

2011-09-17T07:20:00.000-07:00

Rating: *****

Winner of five national film awards, “Jogwa-The awakening” has to be by far one of the best contemporary Marathi movies, in terms of theme, structure, music and acting. At once enlightening and disturbing, Jogwa addresses the issues of latent hypocrisy in Indian society and the human price it demands.

Theme: The movie, directed by Rajiv Patil, produced by Sanjay Krishnaji Patil and based on three novels by Dr Rajan Gavas, is set in a small Karnataka village, steeped in the religious traditions of the goddess ‘Yellama.’ Historically speaking, ‘Yellama’ is another name for ‘Renuka’ – consort of the great sage Jamadagni and mother of Parshuram (an avatar of Vishnu). She is widely revered in Maharashtra and southern Indian states of Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka and Tamil Nadu. There are many temples devoted to her worship and following in a tradition originating aeons ago, there are still many devadasis forced into devoted service to these temples. It is a life of frustration, bondage and sadness and that is in essence what this movie is about. It is also sprinkled with a controversial notion of what defines moral, religious and spiritual boundaries within societies, the hypocrisies which take root in blind, illogical faith and the evil that is inevitably born of it.

Story: Central to the story are two characters – rebellious young man Tayappa is played by Upendra Limaye, while Mukta Barve plays a strong-willed girl called Suli. Both Tayappa and Suli are forced by their families into becoming a Jogta and Jogtin (male and female devotees respectively) to the goddess. Although both initially accept their fates (Tayappa grudgingly and Suli in silent resignation), their inherent free natures soon begin to revolt against the custom and they become increasingly aware of their frustrating lives and need for freedom. In the process, an unwitting, unexpected and seemingly incredulous romance blossoms between the two and this very romance becomes central to the underlying themes of misuse of power, individual rights, religious fanaticism and the real meaning of spirituality.

Limaye has already made his mark as an actor, not only in the Marathi movie genre, but across stage, screen and television spanning Hindi cinema, television serials as well as various south Indian movies. Having worked with notable stage and film directors such as Madhur Bhandarkar, Anant Mahadevan, Vinay Apte, Ram Gopal Verma and Amol Palekar, he has imbibed, experienced and learnt from the very best in the industry and the cumulative effects show in his portrayal of the angry, brooding, sari-clad, bindi-wearing eunuch Tayappa. Barve on the other hand, is a newer entrant into the industry, but has fast-emerged as a promising actress. Although she debuted with the Marathi film Chakwa in 2004, it was Jogwa that put her on the map of the Indian movie world. She apparently spent a lot of time preparing for this role, by studying actual jogtins in rural India and understanding the day-to-day lives of Indian villagers. Her efforts culminate into a delightfully chilling personification of the result of humanity lost in darkness. Priya Berde, Vinay Apte and Kishor Kadam in supporting roles give the movie that extra touch of reality and grimness, so often warranted by a dark creation of this sort.

Music: The music score is average, except for two songs which stand out from the rest. “Jeev Rangala” – a melancholy tune emboldened with poignant words is a combination of pathos and lucid hope which lingers on long after the movie is over. Regionalism does not seem to deter singers in today’s music/film industry. Hariharan and Shreya Ghoshal (both non-Maharashtrians) picked up the Best Male and Female Playback Singer awards at the National Film Festival in 2008, for this very song. The other song worth mentioning is “Lallati Bhandaar” – a traditional Gondhal song. Picturized in rich colours, the song mainly narrates the history of Yellama in a vibrant and endearingly rustic manner.

Overall, Jogwa is a visceral story about the contradictions within society as well as the turbulent turmoils of human nature. It is about the struggle of one man and woman to break the chains of discrimination, sexual slavery and forced servitude, in a bid to find the happiness that has evaded them for so long. The movie sends a message and if you appreciate the candour of a dark movie detailing a grim reality of life, then Jogwa is definitely worth a watch.

-----Shreyasi Majumdar

Viva La Tomatina?

2011-09-16T08:34:00.000-07:00

I recently watched Zindagi Na Mile Dobara. Nice theme. Open air. Freedom. Sense of achievement. The film seemed to have it all and I did like watching it. Its just that when ‘Ik Junoon’ started playing and the entire screen became one large blood red tomato, with a shirtless Hrithik cozying up to Katrina in the midst of it all, I kind of lost my appetite. Seriously.

The movie was attempting to portray a ‘break-the-shackles’ theme via the La Tomatina festival in Spain and all I could do was stare at the screen and think to myself, “How many friggin tomatoes did they waste on this one song?”

I just found out. Over SIXTEEN TONNES of tomatoes were imported for the song. I mean, I had felt queasy earlier on during the movie, but today I feel downright nauseous. Of course, when the Indian version of the ‘La Tomatina’ was announced, my nausea was magnified, alongwith an aching feverishness and a dull headache to go with it. If I knew my country well and if I was well versed with the boisterous/free spirited nature of my countrymen (which I think I am), I was certain that if it was permitted, a ghastly amount of tomatoes would end in SPLAT, just for the heck of it.

Inwardly however, I was also well versed with the logical/practical and humane rationale of the common Indian masses and I was thrilled to note the immensely negative responses that this particular ‘festival’ incurred. People from all over the country blogged, wrote, twittered and emailed about the idiocy of our country following in another’s wasteful footsteps, when we ourselves had so many millions of mouths to feed…Most Indians just could not ‘stomach’ the fact that in a country where 5.6 million children die of malnutrition every year, there were some excitable souls actually enthusiastic about whacking each other with tonnes and tonnes of tomatoes, just because someone else does it.

I read one particular blog where this guy was urging people to attend the festival and buy the tickets from him. He was exceptionally excited about it because he believed that the ‘festival’ would rake in big money by way of tourism and related activities. Huh? The project was still in the pipeline, still to happen, and this guy had already christened it a ‘festival.’ How on earth does something become a national festival before it has even happened? Just because it’s a festival in Spain? Defies logic, if you ask me. Secondly, I did not understand (forgive my ignorance) exactly how boosting tourism a bit justifies wasting lakhs and lakhs of tomatoes in a couple of hours or days?

As it happens in India, the common Indian’s voice is what holds the country together and gives it direction. After hundreds of petitioners urged Bengaluru CM Deve Gowda, online and in person to stop this insaneness (in short), he actually took a stand and directed police officials to intimate the sponsors and organizers that the ‘festival’ will not be allowed this weekend as planned in Mysore and Bengaluru. I also heard that the Delhi police banned the ‘festival’ last month after a series of fervent protests. Apparently the basis for all these protests was that the tomato is a nutritious food item and it is an unjustifiable act to waste it on vulgar entertainment and revelry that would last only a few hours. Given the fact that India has 25% of the world’s hungry poor (World Food Programme), I would say this basis itself stands on solid ground. No point of contention. Apparently, the other basis for the protest was that wasting food in such a way is against Indian ethos. Hats off to that sentiment as well. I can go so far as to say that such mind boggling wastage and the mere attitude behind it, is against the basic moral fibre of HUMANITY. So there.

This is one of the few times, when an Indian politician has done me proud. I can be candid in saying that D Gowda’s stand makes me extremely happy. As for those youngsters and other individuals who believe that happiness can be found in smashing tomatoes into each other’s faces while DJ’s rock the floor with whoopee music, I sincerely hope that the next malnutritioned child or nursing mother you come across, makes you see the world for what it is and not for the bubble you wish to live in.

As for film makers, I hope this makes you realize just how important a role you play in influencing the mind of a nation. Take responsibility for it, I will say no more.

Viva la Tomatina? No way! Viva Le Aam Indian Junta!!!

------------Shreyasi Majumdar

Unfettered in Shackles

2011-09-16T01:06:00.000-07:00

The mind rambles on,

In crystal clarity & jumbled incoherency

Assaulted by a wave of possibilities

Free within-ever expanding

Caged without

Restrained and limited, the mind whirls

A merciless juggernaut

Demolishing impossibilities

Conceiving sensations, begetting dreams,

Spawning ideas, birthing fresh hopes

Witness to its true identity

The Adam of creation, the Manu of ALL,

The mind struggles, strains to express,

Lodged in a web delusion

Encumbered by responsibility, weighed down by habit,

Handicapped by cannots and shrouded in shouldnots

Cuffed and chained in panoramic wisdom

The mind perceives, the mind exists

Unfettered in shackles, the mind persists.

-----Shreyasi Majumdar

We Walked Lonely Roads, You & I

2011-09-13T18:45:00.000-07:00

We walked lonely roads, you and I

Trudging along, striding strong, through hopeful dawn and evensong

On lonely roads, that stretched for miles,

We treaded through tears, celebrated smiles

Painted by the GREAT COMPELLOR

Every turn, a different colour

Splashed with solitude piquant, two lone souls in a grand courante

We walked lonely roads, you and I

When mist descended in foggy haze, His brilliance set our souls ablaze

With fiery faith in trepid hearts, we stood alone so far apart

As trepidity turned to indignation

HIS love became our sole consolation

The fog lifted, we welcomed the sun

Our paths converged, we emerged as one

We had walked lonely roads, you and I

But now we walk a single path, free from sorrow, free from wrath

Flowers bloom under our feet as testament to our completeness

The outside world is irrelevant,

So we turn within to the eternal sextant

Strong winds may buffet my tender heart, joy as we know it may depart

But bliss bubbles through, in timeless dance

On this winding road in this vast expanse

We walk together, you and I

We walk hand in hand, on this road- a rampart

bridging eternity. O Flame of my heart,

It will end someday. New roads will be charted

To be trod on again, alone, once we’ve parted.

And so it goes, with these well-travelled roads

Time belongs to no one, it is merely borrowed

But whenever I walk on a lone road again,

I will watch the horizon for my ‘forever friend’

Keep a weather eye on the horizon for me

and I will emerge from the womb of eternity

Toward each other, we’ll be drawn as before

by a love that ignites us and pulls us ashore

We will walk yet another road together, alone no more, you and I.

-----------Shreyasi Majumdar

Thane S.P.C.A. Quarterly Newsletter (April-July 2011)

2011-08-21T18:23:00.000-07:00

Editorial – From the Horse's Mouth

BLACK MAGIC – DARK TIMES FOR ANIMALS

Photo Credit: TRAFFIC INDIA

These are dark times indeed. 'Civilization' continues to progress at a breakneck speed and the human brain performs to hitherto unimaginable capacities. Unfortunately, many human hearts and minds are still enslaved by desires – born out of greed, vanity or revenge. When conventional methods fail to achieve these ends, man turns to unexplainable, yet apparently effective means. And Black Magic happens. More often than not, even in an increasingly modernized society such as India, black magic pervades the common man's life and yes, in the process, animals are hurt.

In July, Thane S.P.C.A. had an unlikely visitor – a gravely injured Olive Ridley turtle. The species is a sparkling representative of all that is awe-inspiring in India's marine wildlife. This particular animal was found lying injured on a village coast – 20 km off Daman beach. Three of its limbs were reduced to stubs – an obvious result of human action. Initially, this was attributed to propellers of fishing trawlers, but later, more sinister facts surfaced, which changed opinions. 'Oliver', as he came to be known, was brought all the way to Thane S.P.C.A's hospital, where he was provided the necessary medication, environment and nutrition. Within a few days of care and shelter, Oliver was much better, but with so many injuries sustained to his limbs and carapace, it was evident that he would never be able to live in the sea again.

Soon after, another Olive Ridley – this time a female who was named Olivia, was found stranded on Juhu Beach and was brought to Thane S.P.C.A. with similar injuries. She was released into the sea soon after, since she was in a fairly stable condition. However, she surfaced a few days later with much more serious injuries – a partial break in the plastron and her left flipper severed (undoubtedly by human action) at the humerus. That is when suspicions were aroused and it came to light that Olive Ridley turtles, among other species of these amphibians, are reportedly, widely used in black magic rituals, not only in Mumbai and surrounding areas, but country-wide.

The flipper doesn't stop there. Other species, such as snakes, chickens and owls, often fall prey to blind superstitions and the dark arts.

It is common belief that being in possession of a sand boa is good for business. Some people also go to the extent of saying that if a sand boa is kept next to a mirror, it is bound to crack and be the harbringer of good news. Obviously not for the snake. In January 2011, TOI reported that the Ulhasnagar crime branch had arrested three people for smuggling a sand boa in an attempt to sell it to three tantriks for Rs 10 lakhs. In October 2009, the TOI reported that the Pune rural police had rescued a sand boa and a turtle from two people who were allegedly attempting to sell them to black magic practitioners. Seven other middlemen and six prospective customers were also arrested. Then Superintendent of police, was quoted to have said that the suspects were planning to sell the sand boa for Rs 50 lakhs and the turtle for Rs 20 lakhs! Evidently, the trade is a lucrative one and also, one that obviously needs immediate looking into by the authorities.

Owls also have always been a source of much fascination in magical folklore and one would think that Harry Potter's owl Hedwig, would have boosted right thinking among movie buffs and HP fans alike. However, in common Indian society, owls continue to be exploited for their apparent importance in black magic.

Tantriks regularly use owls and their body parts in 'sacred' ceremonies. Important owl body parts attributed to effective black magic, include skull, bones, claws, blood, eyes, beak, liver, kidney, meat and eggshells. Some owl species with extra tufts of feathers near their ears are supposed to be more magical than others and therefore in greater demand.

The worst time in the life of an Indian owl, is mid-October to mid-November. This auspicious period of Diwali and Lakshmi puja, spells doom for these nocturnal creatures, who are known to be associated with Lakshmi-the goddess of wealth and prosperity. As such, they are sacrificed during this time in the false belief that sacrificing an owl brings wealth, good luck and prosperity.

They are often caught with bamboo poles, nets and other such traps and during this time, wealth does come to bird catchers who receive anywhere between Rs 10,000-20,000 for every bird caught.

Late last year, Shri Jairam Ramesh, Hon. Minister of Environment and Forests, India, launched TRAFFIC India's report titled 'Imperilled Custodians of the Night: A Study on Illegal Trade, Trapping and Use of Owls in India', authored by Abrar Ahmed, as per reports. According to the reports, owls are used in the live bird trade for many other purposes as well. They are used in street performances, slaughtered for their meat and taxidermy, their body parts used in folk medicines and their feathers/claws in headgear. Often live owls are used as bait/decoys, to acquire other bird species.

According to the Wildlife (Protection) Act of 1972, exploiting Indian owl populations via hunting and trading is strictly prohibited, but the trade process continues nevertheless, unabated. Of the 30 owl species recorded in India, 15 are allegedly used in the domestic live bird trade spread across the country. In fact, black magic has pushed many of these 15 species to the brink of extinction.

So the next time you witness/participate in or hear of a black magic ritual involving the use of animals, STOP IT. As an Indian citizen, you have every right to bring these barbaric ceremonies to light. And as a sentient human being, it is your duty to do so.

Stay alert and spread the word. Walk the walk and talk the talk. Do your bit to bring light and spread a message of deep spirituality, not religious blindness, so that the darkness of black magic can be dispelled and our animals can breathe freely again.

Best,

Shreyasi Majumdar

(Editor)

A Child of Two Nations – a Child of the World

2011-08-09T19:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Singapore celebrated its 46th birthday. It was as usual a big hoopla and rightfully so – the nation has come a long way. In fact, it has moved in leaps and bounds and now stands as a shining testament to a lifetime of hard work and discipline enforced by Minister Mentor Lee Kuan Yew and his contemporaries. The small island, invisible on the physical atlas, glaringly stands out in terms of law enforcement, wildlife conservation, human rights, economic growth and architectural grandeur, among other things.

I watched the National Day Parade and the grand celebrations and fireworks on television last night. I saw the majestic fireworks as millions of lit up Singaporean faces, proved the point: the average Singaporean is proud of his country and is proud to call himself Singaporean. And then the entire gathering stood up to sing the country’s national anthem. I was fascinated by the words and I was astonished that I never before took notice of the composition. The words go:

Mari kita rakyat Singapura

Sama-sama menuju bahagia

Cita-cita kita yang mulia

Berjaya Singapura

Marilah kita bersatu

Dengan semangat yang baru

Semua kita berseru

Majulah Singapura

Majulah Singapura

Marilah kita bersatu

Dengan semangat yang baru

Semua kita berseru

Majulah Singapura

Majulah Singapura

This is of course the anthem in Malay, the only official language in which it may be sung by law. However, translations do exist in the three other official languages – English, Mandarin and Tamil. Here is the English transliteration:

Come, fellow Singaporeans

Let us progress towards happiness together

May our noble aspiration bring

Singapore success

Come, let us unite

In a new spirit

Let our voices soar as one

Onward Singapore

Onward Singapore

Come, let us unite

In a new spirit

Let our voices soar as one

Onward Singapore

Onward Singapore

There it was – simple and sweet – Onward Singapore. To think that the leaders of this nation have taken these words so literally and lived by them, taking the country forward and forward, with each passing year, never looking back with anything but pride in its rich multicultural history and unity in diversity.

The Singapore National Pledge is an oath of allegiance to the nation and when the pledge moment arrived, it gave me goose bumps. Just the fact that one nation – a veritable melting pot of global cultures, could unite in one voice and say the words: “We, the citizens of Singapore, pledge ourselves as one united people, regardless of race, language or religion, to build a democratic society based on justice and equality so as to achieve happiness, prosperity and progress for our nation,” was enough to bring a tear to my eye.

The sheer simplicity and intensity of the pledge made me feel the power of the human race once more.

I am as emotional as the average person and as an Indian by birth, I love my country passionately. Its diversity of cultures (not seen anywhere else in the world), the unity in this diversity, its brilliant flora and fauna, rich spiritual legacies, intelligent minds and kind hearts, have always made me love India with a passion that is often witnessed in conjunction with shared histories and memories and sense of belonging. I love India. And now I have come to love Singapore. India gave me life and Singapore gave me peace. India gave me family and Singapore gave me second chances. India taught me values and Singapore taught me to stand on my own two feet. India taught me tolerance and Singapore taught me to be proud of who I am. In my initial years in Singapore, I often lashed out at it, to give vent to separation anxieties born out of leaving the country of my birth and childhood. But Singapore only smiled at me and welcomed me with no grudge whatsoever. As India has been my mother, so is Singapore now. I am now a child of two nations and proud of it. With two mothers, I could not be luckier.

As nature has it, there is divinity to be found everywhere, if one but looks for it. Corruption and law-breaking is rife in India. Singapore is materialistic. Yet, I have loved God in both places, hence, they both are special to me. And sometimes, when I close my eyes and go inward, I see a world without borders, I hear one world anthem and one global pledge arising from the hearts of millions of God’s children who are striving day and night to preserve the beauty of this planet – God’s unique gift to us. At such times, I join in the pledge of allegiance to this world, where there are no races, no creeds, no castes, no religions, no languages – nothing but LOVE. At such times I melt into that ONE ocean and become a child of the world.

--------------Shreyasi Majumdar

I’m Afraid

2011-07-13T00:36:00.000-07:00

For a while, I have been feeling a strange, disconcerting fear within. I have not been able to put my finger on it, but I knew up until now, that it has to do with a sense of insecurity-about the future mainly. It’s like how you feel in the pit of your stomach when you have an exam coming up in a week and you have absolutely no idea how it’s going to turn out for you. I try to look ahead into the belly of the future and I see – darkness. Oblivion. I believe now that it has mainly to do with what I hear TODAY, in the noon of NOW.

Let me be succinct – both to myself and to you. There is no need for complex intrigue, when lucidity is a perfectly viable option. I fear for myself in the future world which seems to be hovering in some kind of bizarre, deepening hopelessness, with us cutting away at its heart and stripping it of its resources. Our ancestors have seen many wars including two on a global level. I do not worry that there will be a third. I doubt there can be another world war, when countries will be struggling to survive, thanks to the emptiness of the mother’s exhausted abundance.

I just read that a study conducted in November, 2006, came to the conclusion that we will, in all probability, be bereft of seafood by 2048. Hm. According to the average life expectancies of my generation, I should be 65 years old. Thankfully, I am a vegetarian and I do not need seafood to sustain myself. But what of the sea itself? What of the ecology of the oceans that depend on the various invertebrate and vertebrate marine species for survival. Then of course, there’s global warming and thousands of species being pushed into extinction every year. Yes, I will be 65 years old and if I live till 80, I will witness the slow murder of the planet I call home – even as I see it happening steadily today.

Yes, I am afraid and I have reason to be.

And then I wonder, what the world be like in 2100 A.D. or in 3000 A.D. Will it be as advanced as science fiction writers envision a futuristic society to be? Will mankind finally see common sense and begin to live in moderation and let the world breathe again? Will mankind finally understand the HUMONGOUS responsibility on its shoulders to protect and preserve? Will mankind finally shed the power hungry idea of a universe in which he alone resides to plunder, pillage and exploit everything else? Or will the world finally be reduced to ashes in a fiery wave - an apocalyptic climax, finally pushing man to extinction?

I don’t know. All I do know is what I see today. I’m afraid.

-----Shreyasi M

The Trumpet - Thane S.P.C.A. Quarterly Newsletter (January-March 2011)

2011-06-15T22:54:00.000-07:00

Editorial - From the Horse's Mouth

The Other Demon

“The activist is not the man who says the river is dirty. The activist is the man who cleans up the river.” ~Ross Perot

Maybe it’s time to really hear what Perot is trying to say. He is a businessman and usually people like that are normally concerned with the ‘other’ kind of green stuff. But Ross is spot on.

We talk about animal welfare and lobby against animal cruelty – a noble task indeed in a world ravaged by corruption, greed and political power games. We are however, so engulfed by actual acts of cruelty that we often overlook the other demon that threatens the lives of so many animals and humans directly and indirectly – pollution. It’s everywhere. You look around and there is always something polluting your field of vision. Thin plastic bags are the worst culprits, but there are others with equal polluting potency. For example, do we think about the thicker plastic bags which we bring home from malls regularly? What about tetra packs, polypet storage containers, cosmetic containers and aluminium/plastic foils – all of which have become an inseparable part of urban living?

There comes a time in all our lives, when we have to think for ourselves and not just follow the crowds blindly. Choices must be made and the kind of choices we make, determine not only who we are as individuals, but also what we are contributing to the earth of the future. Sure, we won’t be around forever, but think about it this way – someone will.

Keep your car’s PUC updated and use unleaded petrol to do your bit in the reduction of air pollution – something that affects not just humans in cities, but also urban animals. Sound pollution also is far more sinister than is publicized – especially for animals and birds. Their hearing sensitivities are far finer tuned than ours are, so the next time you want to buy loud firecrackers for Diwali or an India-Pakistan cricket match –DON’T.

In fact, the next time you want to buy anything, make the right choice.

Choose companies which are eco-friendly and animal friendly, before you buy anything – and don’t worry there are plenty of such firms to choose from. Take The Body Shop for instance. It provides its customers with biodegradable bags which become one with soil within a year’s time. The company is also endorsed by animal protection groups worldwide, because of its humane approach to cosmetics.

That’s right! The company does not test on animals and by purchasing a product from them, you become a part of the crusade as well-it’s that simple! Amway and Star Bazaar are other examples of companies that believe in, practice and advocate sustainable living.

Make an informed decision, buy products with degradable bags and containers and ensure that an animal won’t choke to death on account of your purchase. When you’re travelling by train or car, refrain from dumping garbage and plastic bags into rivers and creeks and in your own way, become a hero for the life thriving in these water bodies. Carry your own bags to the marketplace and refuse plastic bags whenever you can. Keep your neighborhood clean and don’t wait for the garbage to pile up. Try composting at home and if you can, try community composting - it works!

Ruminate over what Perot says. Don’t just talk about the dirty river – clean it up! Be an animal welfare crusader and environmental activist in your own right. Make some differences and bring about changes – after all it begins with you!

Thank you!!!

For Thane S.P.C.A

Shreyasi Majumdar

(Editor)

From the Horse’s Mouth-December 2010 edition (The Trumpet)

2010-12-19T09:00:00.000-08:00

“If slaughterhouses had glass walls, everyone would be a vegetarian.”

~Paul McCartney

It’s official. The world is gradually yet steadily morphing into a more vegan oriented society. What better news to take with us into the New Year? I promote veganism, because it is not only the MOST compassionate choice to make in the coming year, but also the healthiest. And in your heart of hearts you know it too.

It’s been proclaimed for years – a full-fledged vegetarian diet is the most beneficial for the human system. Dr Hean Yee, Head, Cardiovascular Medicine at Alexandria Hospital in Singapore was quoted to have said, “Humans are natural herbivores: we get heart disease when we eat meat.”

Crisp and lucid.

Dr Baxter Montgomery, a leading cardiologist in Houston, also strongly promotes the health benefits of a vegan diet. “By getting a patient on a plant-based diet and getting her completely off animal flesh, it was possible to reverse her Type 2 diabetes,” Montgomery says, speaking of one of the many patients he has treated for diabetes in a similar way. “Eventually even insulin injections were no longer needed.”

Meanwhile, reviews for Melanie Joy’s latest book “Why We Love Dogs, Eat Pigs, and Wear Cows: An Introduction to Carnism” are out. And they’re vibrant with praise.

Says one editorial review “She uses her factory farm–to–table narrative to buttress her real thesis: meat-eating or carnism, is an oppressive ideology as noxious as racism. Joy casts meat eating as genocide, comparable to the Holocaust, and factory farming on a par with the American enslavement of Africans.”

And the sad part is that factory farming is actually ‘intensive animal agriculture’ – a system of livestock production and slaughter, rife with cruelty that most of us are not only ignorant about, but also incapable of witnessing. Dairy production, the meat industry and poultry farming are all blatant examples of human exploitation at its most extreme.

Take the time out to rethink your lifestyle. Think about the origins of the milk you drink, the meat you consume and the eggs you devour. And if you still can’t grasp the gravity of the situation, put yourself in the place of a chicken about to be killed brutally after being debeaked, defeathered and skinned alive.

For the benefit of all and sundry, the Vegetarian Society of Singapore, along with fellow animal welfare organizations, have shared with us a video on ‘The Intelligence and Emotions of our Fellow Animals’ which was also shown at the recently concluded India, South and West Asia Vegetarian Congress held at Bangalore, from 30 October-1 November. The link to the video: http://www.vegetarian-society.org/node/1488 . Seeing the video may help you to understand our fellow animals better and have a glimpse of their complex emotional states too.

Spread the word. Animals are not ours to exploit. They are living beings in their own right and deserve to be appreciated and respected, not beaten, skinned, scalded, slashed, experimented on, eaten or worn. Make a statement in the coming year. Take a stand. And don’t hesitate to share this with your friends and family. Even one changed heart in ten, calls for a celebration.

I sincerely hope you have had a compassion-filled, cruelty-free 2010. If you have, then be assured that the blessings of all the animals you have supported are with you. I also pray that 2011 is equally enlightening, healthy and animal friendly for you.

Happy holidays and a very happy New Year too.

For Thane S.P.C.A.,

Shreyasi Majumdar
(Editor)

Narang Uncle

2010-12-18T01:41:00.000-08:00

December 2010

“We must write to Narang uncle…it’s been ages since we heard from him,” Sushil said to me this morning over a cup of tea.

“Yeah I know. The last mail I received from him was months ago. I’ll drop him a line soon,” I replied.

That was our conversation in the morning.

Sometimes, life has an eerie way of handing you coincidences, which seem more pre-ordained than usual. Many people believe that there are no such things as coincidences. Whatever may be the case, some incidents seem finely orchestrated and that’s exactly what happened that evening. On our evening stroll around the block with Kishmish, we met aunty – Narang uncle’s wife.

**************************************************************************************
April 2010

Sushil was the first to make Narang uncle’s acquaintance. Kishu and Sushil were heading out for their morning walk one sunny day in April, when Sushil saw an elderly gentleman strolling towards him. In his characteristic good humour, my husband flashed his 1,000 watt smile and greeted the gentleman with a bright namaste. The gentleman returned his greeting with an equally bright countenance and a strange yet beautiful friendship was born.

“Kindred spirits meet unsought

Like an alchemy of thought”

It turned out that uncle, along with his wife, was visiting his son, daughter-in-law and grandson, all three of whom lived in the very same condominium as Sushil and I. Weird. We had never had the chance to befriend these contemporaries of ours, who had made a home next to ours, but Narang uncle-a visitor who belonged to a generation completely alien to our own- had quickly become a friend. In fact, uncle often mentioned how it was a breath of fresh air to meet (Sushil) in a place where such spontaneous meetings are few and far between.

As it was, Sushil used to meet uncle on his morning walks with Kishu, every other day and have a lot of informal chats with him. In fact, uncle even came over a couple of times, but I unfortunately, used to have to rush to office in the early mornings, which is why, I was never there when he came home. However, Sushil urged him to come home on a weekend morning for breakfast and that’s when I first met uncle.

Kishu barked his characteristic barks when the doorbell rang at 8:30 am sharp. That was when Narang uncle had said he would be here and his punctuality was testament to the same virtue I have witnessed in so many people belonging to his generation.

Sushil opened the door and there he was! The tiny elderly man standing before me, was generally well dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of trousers, with eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm. The bright red cap on his head couldn’t overshadow his even more striking smile, which was also missing a front tooth.

As he took off his trainers and entered my house with a warm greeting, I noticed an air of sweetness and genuinity surrounding my guest. There was definitely something very different about him, although I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time.

“Towards each other they are led

Guided by an unseen thread

Of accident or passing chance

Caught in webs of circumstance”

As we enjoyed a relaxed morning with poha and tea, we spoke of many things. Uncle told us stories about the India Pakistan partition and the human trauma it entailed. He spoke of memories of Lahore, where he spent his childhood with his parents and brother. During the days of the partitiion, his brother, who wa sin the Indian military service at the time, was posted in Delhi.

He recounted the terrible days that followed the partition – how his father was separated from them, finding himself in Amrtisar, while his wife and young son were left behind in Lahore. Hard times were what uncle remembered the most. Memories of his mother hiding her jewellery beneath the floor of their home in Lahore in the hope of a sure shot return, were embellished in his mind.

“Most families had to do that during those days,” he said. Even though it was a long time ago and he had lived a cheerful life since then, there was a hint of sadness in his voice when he spoke to us of those days. “Hindus who came to India from Pakistan, also found similar pots of buried jewellery in the houses of the Muslims who had to leave everything and go to Pakistan. There was tremendous sorrow on both sides and religion had little to do with those sorrows.”

This was coming from a person who had witnessed these sorrows firsthand. He had lived a peaceful life in a beautiful place, seen his home uprooted, his family dispersed, his family’s money lost to a strange time and events.

But life goes on. By a stroke of luck, his mother found his father in Mumbai (then Bombay) and the family was reunited. They rebuilt their lives brick by brick and life became livable soon after.

Uncle also told us of his marriage to aunty and his first job as a trainee at Mahindra & Mahindra in Mumbai. “I earned a small amount in those days, but I worked my way up bit by bit,” the jolly man went on. “And I just retired as one of the Chief Accountants at the company.”

He went home after chai and breakfast, but we kept meeting every now and then during the course of the month. And slowly, I began to realize what it was that made him different. He was happy. And genuinely so. He brimmed with the joy that his heart felt and it was visible in his very countenance. What made him so happy, I still don’t know. But I think he made it a point to be happy no matter what.

I heard him say on more than one occasion, “My wife and I have a lovely home in Kandivili, with a small garden. I have had a lovely marriage and have three beautiful children all grown up and settled in their own lives, with children of their own. What more can a man want? I am content.”

Honesty was also a virtue clearly inbuilt into his system. He told us about his early days as an accountant and how he had never failed to tally his balance sheets in his entire career. “Except for that one time I remember, when the figures were just not matching and I was falling short by a couple of hundred Rupees,” he narrated. “I worked all day trying to figure it out and late into the night. But it still didn’t tally. So I finally paid for it myself. They later found the evasive money in a drawer. Somebody had left it there by mistake.”

Apart from the visible joy, he was also brimming with an energy that was also hard to define. Over chai, one evening, he told us of his daily routine, which was pretty amazing to us, but apparently no big deal to him. “I rise at six in the mornings and have a cup of tea, after which I take a walk. I then teach Hindi at a neighboring coaching class, come back have lunch, rest for a bit, have another cup of tea and then leave in the early evening for another bout of teaching before returning home in the late evening for another walk, dinner, prayers and sleep,” he narrated. “I have been doing this for years now.”

Even in Singapore, he was not the kind to sit around at home in his kurta watching tv. He would set out on his own, visiting different places in the city and enhancing his knowledge of the place in itself. He was especially interested in the places of worship that dot the garden city – various Hindu temples, churches and Sikh Gurudwaras. That was what first gave us a hint of his inherent spiritual nature. And that was when I realized that spirituality was what had drawn us close to each other in the first place. We were kindred spirits, children of the same God.

“Kindred spirits souls in tune

Come together late or soon

Like notes that harmonize when played

And thus affinities are made”

Sushil had realized this further back, when uncle had first come home, talked to him about God and prayed at the altar that graces our house. The same spirituality struck a chord somewhere deep inside both of them.

He often spoke to us about God, his relationship with God and how he loved to visit temples and pray there. This was different from his wife’s form of worship, but he was content in knowing that she had her own ways with God and he his. What struck us most, was his willingness to learn and his humility to ask for learning. We told him about the path that we follow, our guru and paramgurus, our relationship with God and the Raja Yoga path to God realization. He showed keen interest in what we had to say and we passed him some of the books that helped guide us on our spiritual journey. Narang uncle accepted them respectfully. He prayed at our altar again.

And then he left.

We didn’t hear from him in a while. He got involved with his own family obligations, as we did with work. One morning we were sitting on our verandah, when we saw Narang uncle walk by-cap, t-shirt and toothless grin intact. He waved to us and said that he would like to come by one evening before he went back to India. He wanted to return our books and meet us once before he left.

He did come by as promised on the evening before the day of his departure. We had our evening tea, as we spoke about so many things, that I cannot even recall today. But what I do recall is uncle’s face lighting up as we spoke of God and the many paths to God, including the path Sushil and I have set out on. I also remember the winds howling away and beating against our windows as a storm raged outside the house.

The heavy downpour had come suddenly in its characteristic Singaporean fashion and it was not the kind to stop in a few minutes. Narang uncle had already stayed beyond his ‘allotted’ time and told us that it was time for him to go. Sushil left accompanied him home with an umbrella and just as he was leaving, Narang uncle said, “I’m so sorry to have troubled you. You didn’t need to come so far just for me.” Sushil smiled in spite of himself, since uncle’s son’s house was only a block away. “That’s perfectly fine uncle. It was an absolute pleasure meeting you,” he said.

“I want to thank you so much for the books and everything you told me about your path and your Guru,” Narang uncle said. He was so very grateful to Sushil for having had the chance to learn about the path. The genuine humility being shown by this 70 year old experienced man towards a 37 year old, was graceful. It was sheer joy to witness. “I will definitely go back to Mumbai and check out the centre in Wadala,” he went on referring to the Mumbai chapter of the organization that we belong to.

“Please do that uncle. I have your mail address and you have Shreyasi’s. Please do keep in touch. I hope we see you in Singapore soon,” Sushil said.

“Who knows what fate decides? One never knows what’s going to happen tomorrow. If destiny wishes it, then we will definitely meet again,” uncle responded.

They said their goodbyes and Narang uncle left for Mumbai the next day.

“And lifelong friendships come about

Time alone can work it out

Two in tune in time will meet

And life will edge towards being complete”

~ Anonymous

**************************************************************************************

December 2010

“Aunty, how have you been? It’s been a long time since we saw you’ll. How is Narang uncle?” we asked aunty all at once.

The stout lady’s face clouded. “You didn’t hear? Your uncle passed away. Suddenly. In fact it was so sudden, that I still cannot believe it. Nobody in the family can.”

We stood there in stunned silence for what seemed like hours. Then I finally spoke. “When did this happen?”

“15th of October in the morning,” aunty said with a faraway look in her eyes. The pain and the grief of her lost companion were evident.

I felt like somebody had socked me in the stomach with a heavy object. I celebrated my 27th birthday on that very day. And while I was celebrating here with friends and having a jolly time overall, Narang uncle had already peacefully departed from this mortal encasing.

“How did it happen?” Sushil and I asked almost at once. “Uncle seemed to be in such good health. He was so energetic and so active….”

“It’s very strange. I still don’t understand it. Your uncle woke up as usual in the morning and prepared tea for us. He gave me my tea and was ready to go for his morning walk, when he suddenly started feeling unwell and asked me to take him to the doctor. I grabbed my purse and rushed to get an auto rickshaw. The nursing home is just a few feet away from our house. He even directed the rickshaw driver to the clinic and then just collapsed on my shoulder.”

We listened in shocked silence as she went on.

“He was gone before we could even enter the clinic gate. They wheeled him in and conducted some tests, but within minutes they told me that my husband was no more. It was unreal. I still can’t believe it.”

After speaking to her a while about all these happenings, we told her that it was a wise decision on her part to come and live with her son for a while.

“Yes, and now my daughter wants me to come to Dubai to live with her too. But you know what? I don’t feel like going anywhere. I just want to go back to the house where your uncle used to live. I want to be with his memories. I still feel like he will come walking back into the house any minute for his tea or tell me he is going to teach. You know what the funny thing is? We were both supposed to come to Singapore in November. He often spoke about you both and he would have met you if he would have made it here. But this was a dark Diwali for all of us. I still cannot believe it.”

Aunty was obviously distraught, so we left her to deal with her grief. But Narang uncle’s words kept ringing in my head. “If destiny wills it, we will definitely meet again.”

Maybe we, being the mortal humans that we are, tend to view life in a very finite, linear fashion. But every fibre of my being tells me that life is not just the bridge between birth and death. Life to me is spirit itself-an individual soul’s journey-not through time and space, but through the vastness that goes far beyond the finite limitations of time and space.

Friends do not meet ‘just like that’. Remember what I said about coincidences? Many people believe that there are no such things as coincidences. I’m one of them. I don’t believe in luck or in ‘accidents’. The journey of the spirit encompasses much much more. And two souls – kindred spirits, who meet unsought on this plane, have very possibly met before and will very possibly meet again. Who knows? We do not drive this journey. But we can certainly enjoy it and thrill in the experiences that the divine hand throws our way.

All the same I am glad we met you, Narang uncle. Your honesty, openness, humility, love of life, and inner joy touched our hearts. And there was more. THAT left a lasting impression-an indelible mark on our lives, for which we are grateful.

**************************************************************************************
May 17 2010

From: Chandramohan Narang <narangsir@yahoo.com >

To: majumdarshreyasi@yahoo.com

Hi Shreyasi & Sushil,

with the blessings of God & your wishes myself and my wife have

reached Mumbai safely. I remember u very much. May God bless both of u. bye.

Love to kismis.

Best Wishes.

From Narang.

**************************************************************************************
--------------Shreyasi Majumdar

The Many Faces of Art

2010-08-31T01:24:00.000-07:00

For some ‘as-yet’ inscrutable reason, whenever I step into a library or a book store, I find myself inevitably heading towards the ‘how to’ sections, ladled with a weird zombie-like fascination which I have yet to explain to myself. While most people in the vicinity try out the latest sci-fi/ horror/ romance/ thriller/ travel sections, I usually hang around the ‘writing’ section and get acquainted with the latest in what literary geniuses have to say about the art of the written word.

But more often than not, I also find myself being pulled towards the culinary arts corner as well as the various other ‘artistic’ sections dealing with sculpting, painting, drawing, sketching, playing the piano or the guitar or the drums, working the needle, clothesmaking, dollmaking, beading, jewellery making, quilting, crocheting, cartooning, doodling, origami and flower arranging – to begin with. I guess, the inherent creative streak of humankind has a certain mesmerizing power over me and I always give into the hypnotic pull.

On one such occasion, while I was surreptitiously lurking through the papercraft/metallic works section of BORDERS – one of the most popular bookstores and one of my favorite haunts in Singapore, I stumbled across a white book which appeared at a distance to be dotted by various colours. I believe on hindsight that the colourful nature of the book elicited the initial interest (colours-especially many in the same place, have always been fascinating to me) and got me to stop my general lurking. I sat myself on the floor of the store and looked down at the book in my hand. Among the various brightly coloured fantastical clay creatures adorning the book’s cover page, I managed to notice some words like ‘polymer clay’ and ‘mythical creatures’. They got my attention. I leafed through the book, and page after page fascinated me, as I realized that ‘drops’ and ‘snakes’ of clay could be worked to create such wonders as these. Of course I had to try it. The book was bought and the fascinated cemented into an obsession (often happens to me).

I went through as much information as I could online, about the various different kinds of polymer clay, the companies which manufacture the clay, the stores in singapore which carry them, the different polymer clay artists in singapore and their creations, the tools needed to sculpt the clay, the mixed media required for embellishments and a lot lot more…it has been and continues to be an enriching experience.

I managed to purchase some clay in the basic colours and began some projects. The process of creating the gnomes and fairies etc was exhilarating and before a week was up I already had nearly ten figurines up and ready. That’s when it struck me-it was not the polymer clay that had given me the rush (it was just a medium). It was in fact the act of creating something beautiful from a lump of clay-that was what I took to. And I think, if I were to dabble with other creative media, I’d feel the same way.

Why is one so fascinated with beauty? Why is one so taken with making something out of nothing? What is it about creating that leaves the brain befuddled with overflowing ideas? It has all got to do with the god-like emotions that run through any artist both during and after the creative process. After all, God did create everything. He happens to be the master artist and we, fragments of the very same God. Indubitably, the artistic sentiment, the joy of creating, lies in our very souls. A chef, a writer, a painter, a musician or a clayer – its all about creating – that is who we are.

Of course, if one thinks about it, creating is not just limited to artists in the conventional term. A medical practitioner who comes up with a revolutionary surgical technique, a molecular biologist or biochemist who discovers a cure for lymphomas, a businessman who invents brand new strategies to take his business to new heights or a software developer who works his wonders with the virtual world – they’re all artists – everyone of them.

We live our lives every day, dream our dreams and fight our struggles. And more often than not, we work the magic each and every day of our lives without even knowing that we do. If only we were to observe our creative potentials from without, if only we could be more perceptive to our divine natures and if only we could notice the many faces of art – ah! Life would be so much more meaningful then.

--------------Shreyasi Majumdar

Slow and Steady Wins the Race? Not Always……

2010-07-07T22:28:00.000-07:00

It has been hammered into our brains since the impressionable age of five. We have been told the story numerous times-brainwashed even. And Aesop has emerged a genius.

Well most of Aesop’s life has been a myth and even though I have always loved his moral-laced fables, I must, absolutely and categorically disagree with this one. The tortoise doesn’t always win. In fact, most often the hare does and the tortoise comes trudging along slowly, steadily and gradually to cross the finishing line in a sad second. That is one of life’s not-so-savory facts and Aesop, somewhere in his brilliant spate of storytelling, forgot to consider the one blatant possibility-what if the hare hadn’t taken a break to rest?

As a child, this very thought used to give me some rather sleepless nights. The tortoise you see was a big favorite of mine. And obviously so, since the hare was arrogant and vain and proud and overconfident-a stark contrast to the lumbering tortoise, heavily burdened and yet dignified with a sense of challenge forged with the unmistakably honorable traits of confidence and humility. Who in his right mind would vote for the hare and who in his senses wouldn’t love the tortoise?

As the story goes, the hare, with his lithe body and long, fast legs, keeps boasting about his speed and the tortoise, tired of listening to the vainglorious banter, challenges the hare to a race. Amused with the tortoise’s cheek and surprised at the audacity of the futile challenge, the hare-gloating over the prospects of an easy win, accepts it. The race begins and obviously the hare is off to a flying start, with the tortoise traipsing behind at his usual calm, slow and steady pace. The hare, with overconfidence leaking out of his long bunny ears, decides to take a break, since the ‘footslogging tortoise is too slow to catch up’. He figures he can rest a while before he resumes and he firmly believes that he can still finish first. But he sleeps longer than intended, by which time, the tortoise has already passed him and plodded over to the finish line. The hare wakes up defeated and his ego shattered into a million pieces.

Wonderful story isn’t it? And kudos to Aesop for bringing to light such a valid point in such a lucid manner-haste makes waste. Catering to a task with a steady pace and calmness of mind will always get it done effectively. True story.

But the question I asked a as child is pertinent even today. What if the hare hadn’t taken the break? What if he had just kept running? He would still be faster than the tortoise and would inevitably win the race by a long shot. Maybe the real moral of the story is not actually that the slow and steady runner always wins the race, but something more to the tune of ‘pride comes before fall’ or ‘overconfidence gets you nowhere’ or ‘vanity is the quicksand of reason’ or some such cliché. These would make more sense with respect to this particular story than the whole ‘slow and steady winning the race’ quip.

Besides a race is a race is a race. Some win and some lose, but almost everyone wants to be in on it. Ambition is a crazed driver and every race and participant in the race is spurred by ambition varying in form and degree. Everything I see around me is a competition or race of some sort and I’m surrounded by people running and competing. Be it a queue to get the Toto lottery ticket for the weekly bonanza or the rush to get into the 7:49 train to Joo Koon. Always the struggle to be one up over another, always an effort to move to the head of the line, a constant need go with the flow and in the process get out there and win win win! We are hardwired right from the tender age of 3 (when we’re enrolled into kindergarten in a bid to get some real life training before real life begins) to get into the race and brainwashed with a sense of foreboding doom if we were to ever fall out of the race or even think of moving against the flow. Rebellious, free-thinking people have done just that and many have survived gloriously, but the masses continue to do what has been done for ages. Run.

Note here, that this is in no way a judgment about people who wish to be in the race. I myself have been in many, even though I have always rebelled against it and finally let myself go free. Kind of like Manny the wooly mammoth from Ice Age, who decides to walk against the flow of numerous creatures migrating to the south. But, yes I do not judge-as a rule. In fact I deeply respect everyone in the race and their efforts to get ahead in life. They shoulder their responsibilities effectively and work hard and there is absolutely no replacement for hard work. My respect for them will always remain deep and genuine. It’s just that I chose a different path, because of the way I’m built within.

I have a very poignant memory of a conversation with a friend in my early teens, which in many ways strengthened my resolution to travel my own path despite the fact that everyone else’s paths were different.

We were in our first year in junior degree college and we were in the middle of our mid-term exams. We met up after the physics exam and started talking about how we thought we might have fared.

It would be important to note at this point that I am not a very big fan of Physics as a subject (although cosmology and space science holds me spell bound) and I said in a non-committal manner, “I think I’ll make the pass-mark. Ok who’s up for ice-cream?”

This friend of mine, who has always been an ambition-crazed, success-obsessed individual was aghast, “Oh shut up!!! I couldn’t answer the last question. It was worth FOUR ENTIRE MARKS.”

“So? I’m sure you’ll make up for it the next time,” I said trying to soothe his troubled brow and nudging him towards the ice cream stall.

“No you don’t understannnnnnddddd,” he said in despair. “I’M OUT OF THE RAT RACE MAN, I’M out of the race, how will I ever get back in?” He moaned all the way home and I lost out on a perfectly good vanilla chocolate ripple. Sigh.

I didn’t say anything at the time, but I sure was glad that I was out of the rat race. I don’t even think I wanted to be in the rat race ever. I have always abhorred the idea of going where everyone’s going and I’ve always wanted to do the exact opposite of what everyone’s doing. It’s nothing to be proud of, it’s just the radical part of me. And not surprisingly it has very rarely worked to my advantage. My friend got back into the rat race and witnessed success after success and success and is now a very rich, successful engineer in the US of A, poised for many many more successes to come.

I on the other hand am a penniless writer, but enjoying every minute of it. After all, as I figure it, if I’m not in the rat race, I may not be conventionally successful, but at least I’m happy knowing I’m my own person and not a rat.

I spoke to my friend recently and he finally disclosed to me, his unhappiness with his long struggle to win. It had taken its toll. I asked him to take it easy and do what makes him happy now instead of being forced to constantly act to stay on top of things. He agreed. But I know he won’t be able to do it. His system is not made for it. If he’s not racing against a worthy competitor or winning some accolade or the other, he’ll suffocate. To him, competition is like the air he breathes and more often than not he competes with himself, when there’s nothing else to struggle against. To add to that, the seduction of money and success is too strong a lure and very difficult to break away from. But I wish him success in whatever he chooses to do.

As for me, I continue to do my thing and live for God and Guru. I have my own challenges and so many aspects about the beauty of life excite me. The glory of languages and the power of well-connected words, trees and flowers, forests and animals, oceans and mountains, art in any form, be it culinary or poetic, musical or created with a paintbrush, all the fiery, humble, hardworking and driven people working ceaselessly to make this world a better place for all of us, simple joys and many laughs-I live for them all.

I have long stopped any and all efforts to run with society (in general) and God has been kind to me, in that He has provided me with whatever I need and lessened my desires.

I am neither the hare, nor am I the tortoise. And I am certainly not a rat. I’m just plain and simple me. Watching the race, loving all, and living life.

Love to all,

Shreyasi

Light at the End of the Tunnel

2010-07-06T20:45:00.000-07:00

It is indeed surreal sometimes-how something stares you in the face-blatantly, clear as day and yet ignorance in all its wondrous effectiveness shields it from plain sight. The signs are always there, the voices speak constantly-the loudest one being that of the conscience, which I have grown to believe, is the ‘spirit of the soul’ so to speak. The signs light up like neon every now and then, brighter and brighter with each passing year of ignorant pleasure living.

The voices grow louder and louder till they boom away like jungle drums in the dense and convoluted jungles of the mind. They increase in intensity, but we choose to turn away from the signs, snuff out the voices and forge ahead, even as we rise in pig headedness and tomfoolery, servants to the Mayic wonder and slaves to the five senses-not even acknowledging the presence of the sixth.

And then they stop. The signs wither away and crumble to dust. The neon lights become fainter and fainter till they’re indistinguishable from the darkness they once lit up. And the voices….the voices fade away into an inner sanctum which even Maya cannot penetrate. And suddenly the sound of silence envelops you, as the all encapsulating darkness lights up the dream path to self destruction that you have chosen to tread. You rejoice as you walk along the said path undeterred and ‘uncompromised’. You service your senses and live for the moment. After all, what else is there to live for but the moment, right? Yesterday is long gone and tomorrow is too far away. What good comes of mulling over the past and wondering about the future when you have a perfectly livable NOW?

If only time was that amiable a friend. Actually, it would be wrong to judge time. It in no way judges us. It only accompanies us on our various journeys and whether it turns out to be a friend or foe, is actually very much what we make of it.

If you want to know what got me pondering over what some would call ‘abstract notions’ such as these, it actually has to do with some very personal bitter experiences I have had the good fortune to encounter recently. The experience surprisingly coincided with a conversation with a very close friend.

This friend of mine is a commodities trader by profession. He buys stuff from international markets and sells them at higher prices in India AND MAKES A TON OF MONEY IN THE PROCESS. But of course, life has not been all hunky dory for him. In fact our recent conversation was actually about the difficult situations life has been handing him lately. With a mother, father and 87 year old grandmother, all of whom have taken ill suddenly in the past few days, my malaria-stricken friend has also been incapacitated enough to not be able to handle everything. “I will recover with time, but what I see in my parents scares me,” he tells me. “If only they had taken care of their bodies and minds in their youth, they would have had such a healthier and happier old age.” If only they had listened to those voices before the silence and taken heed of the flashing neon signs before they faded away into oblivion. If only.

Of course, there are chain smokers who go through life lit up and yet die safe in their beds, healthy and happy at the ripe old age of 99. And I have also known people who have led strictly disciplined, vegetarian, exercised, meditated, moderate, smoke, alchohol and stress-free lives, only ending up developing terminal cancer at the ridiculously young age of 40. And of course, one can’t rule out freak accidents which take a shot at pretty much anyone from the ages of 2-80. Karma takes the upper hand. There are no punishments or rewards-only consequences. And so it goes on and on till liberation from the Mayic cycle is achieved.

But as a general rule, listening to the voices and taking heed of the signs helps. And that, I can safely say, is a proven fact.

So my friend and I concluded that it’s time we started acknowledging the voices and the signs, which thankfully are still quite vivid-yet. He has agreed to quit his drinking binges, make his work more stress-free, exercise and meditate. And I have made promised to myself to get my life back-my health, my emotions and my peace of mind and soul. And I intend to do that with proper eating, exercise, writing a lot, spending time with my family but more with myself and God and being mentally and physically active and above all, to be true to the spiritual path that I follow and all will be well.

Ultimately, my only solace lies in God. My Guru came to me one day many years ago with that flashing sign and his voice spoke to me through so many others devotees who have followed his teachings and found the bliss that awaits me too someday. He was the light at the end of the long dark tunnel that I was travelling through blindly and aimlessly. It was a flame burning bright actually, and when one finds such glorious light, one may attempt to douse it with ego consciousness over and over again-as I and many others (I’m sure) have done on the path. But the burning spark persists. My Guru has promised to never give up on me-even though I have strayed not one, but multiple times.

And one day, you realize that the flame is the real deal and the darkness and the ego and the tunnel are all a dream. And then you taste the fire, savor it and nurture it till one day it becomes a roaring raging fire of God-conscious bliss and when it consumes you completely, there is no turning back.

I am aware of the light at the end of the tunnel. I have passed through the tunnel and as predicted, I, veiled with ego consciousness and attachment to worldly attributes, have attempted to sometimes ignore and sometimes extinguish the flame altogether. But it seems to burn brighter than before. The time has come to acknowledge it and grow with it and I await the day, when the flame becomes a raging fire and the fire and I are one.

For my beloved Guru, whose divine love is unparalleled,

Twinky.

Yes! I Quit my Job and No! I’m Not with Child

2010-06-28T01:45:00.000-07:00

I haven’t been blogging much recently. In fact, apart from writing my daily news articles on steel and raw materials and my freelance business stories, I really haven’t done any ‘writing for myself’ (as I call it) for the past couple of months or so. Life on the work front and home front has been hectic-and at times choc-a-bloc full. I’m not complaining.

Although, every time I take these intermittent breaks from blogging, I get cranky. And this time, the break lasted a couple of months at least and crankiness had begun leaking out of my ears and fingertips to say the least. Added to that, was the added pressure of keeping the home machinery chugging along smoothly, not to mention the various ‘consequences of unhealthy living’ banging away at my body and mind. “This has to stop,” I told myself. “I need a break.”

So I took the decision in late May and very bravely tendered my resignation. Even as I was handing in my papers to my surprised superiors, I realized just how much I’d miss my job and the wonderful people I had the privilege to serve with since January 2008, when I had first joined the company.

It was a fledgling firm then and I witnessed the little thing jump by leaps and bounds from a 5 – person venture to a full-fledged 11 – person wing ding since – and growing. In fact, we just moved from a 9-seater office space with a conference room cum video studio to a luxurious 20-seater office space with two meeting rooms, a conference room, a stocked up pantry and a dedicated AV studio. If those aren’t the signs of prosperity, then my wholesome ideas of the blessings of Hotei’s (Happy Buddha) big belly and Ru-Yi Bowl of Plenty are sadly misplaced.

In spite of the promising nature of my work and the company, the responsibilities I had and the professional growth guaranteed at this job, I decided to do what some people would call ‘throwing it away’ and what I would call ‘taking a break’. What I didn’t realize was that since a beautiful, smart, young, promising, business journalist such as myself (erm….) in the prime of my career (erm… again) is quitting her job, it naturally means only one of two things – She’s secured employment elsewhere or she’s pregnant.

I’m not – really! But people have unabashedly jumped to the conclusion that since I’m quitting a job for no apparent reason whatsoever, it must either be because I have managed to land a better, more well-paying offer someplace else or (hold your breath) because I’m with child. Hm.

I have a rather large address book, with nearly 300 contacts, who have me helped cover the south Asian steel territory in many small but educational steps. Not only are they business contacts, but some of them have become very close friends. (I know its unbelievable, but sharing personal details with people about rebar, scrap and hot rolled coil markets daily for two and a half years, friendships are bound to mushroom.)

And sometimes, said friends also get on one’s nerves.

Here are excerpts from some of the farewell conversations I had with a few close trader friends:

1) Friend: Hi Shreyasi, what’s news on billet prices this week?

Me: Grim. I hear they’ve been dropping all through last week. Speaking of grim, I wanted to tell you, I resigned my commission at battleground SBB.

Friend: WATTTTT??? Where are you going???? How come you didn’t tell me earlier???? Which company have you joined???? When did you resign??? When’s your last day there????

Me: (Clearly touched with the concern and interest in my life) Breathe man breathe. I’m not going to any company. I resigned end May. Will be working here till the end of July.

Friend: Wat? You’re not joining another company? Then what….(lightbulb flashes!) ohhhhhh now I get it…is there some good news you want to break to me? Hmmmmm (I could literally see the eyebrows dancing even though it was a telephonic conversation)

Me: (smirking) I just did bro. I’m leaving. That’s the good news…and as for what you’re thinking…no chance right now.

2) Me: Hey what’s up? Long time no see.

Friend: Yeah was wondering where you’d disappeared. Thought you’d left the company.

Me: Well, actually now that you mention it, I did. I resigned end May.

Friend: You don’t say!!! Why? You got a job elsewhere? (this seems to be the big favourite.)

Me: Nah. Just wanted to take a break.

Friend: Really? Nine-month break is it? Hyuk hyuk hyuk

Me: (Silence)

3) Me: Hello there. Was researching iron ore prices today so thought I’d give you a tinkle. Were there any transactions last week?

Friend: Yeah a couple. Hey did you know that abc illegally sold xyz’s material to lmnop (*for want of better names) on a fake LC? (We just love gossip, don't we?)

Me: Really! Geez. Talk about wildness in the market. Hey btw, I also wanted to tell you, I resigned. Will be leaving end July.

Friend: Really? Goodness! Did cdef (read: rival company) finally see sense and hire you?

Me: (Laffing) no no. I’m just taking a six-month break. Doctor’s orders (oops that was my mistake. Shouldn’t have mentioned the doctor)

Friend: aaaahhh ok ok…expanding the family eh? Good good about time.

Me: er…no the only thing expanding is me and I need to get back into shape. Family will consist of me, hubby and dog for a long time now.

Friend: ah ok ok. Well don’t worry…I won’t tell anyone you’re leaving. This is strictly between you and me. My lips are sealed. ZZZip.

(The next morning, every one knew)

4) Friend: Hi. Sent you an e-mail earlier. Did you receive it?

Me: Yes yes, sorry I couldn’t reply right away, was drowning in videoing and handing-over stuff.

Friend: Handing over? Why? Where r u going?

Me: oh you didn’t know? I had sent you a mail informing you that I’m leaving the company. I resigned in May.

Friend: Why? Were they brutal to you? (the lesser known ‘were they brutal to you' question)

Me: Oh no no! they’ve been lovely. In fact I’m really going to miss them.

Friend: Oh so you’ve joined another company…. (was wondering when that was coming)

Me: Nope. (succinct)

Friend: Ohhh I know I know I know!!! You’re pregnant! (I think he was high on sugar that day...could have been ganja too...I'll never know)

Me: (Testily) No I’m not pregnant. I have no wish to be pregnant. I never was pregnant and I don’t hope to be pregnant for quite some time at least (read forever). I’m clumsy with babies and clueless with kids. I have enough on my hands to bother about without adding on a helpless child to the jing bang. So NO I’M NOT PREGNANT. I JUST NEED A BREAK.

Friend: Gee. Why so irritable? Hormones huh? tee hee hee....

Me: sigh.

5) Me: Hi, you busy?

Friend: For you? Never! (he’s a chivalrous guy…or at least pretends to be one)

Me: Just wanted to tell you that I resigned and will be out of here by end July.

Friend: Whaa??? Have you…

Me: (Cutting him short) No I have not joined some other company.

Friend: so did they…

Me: fire me? Were mean to me? Subject me to abject humiliation and mental & emotional agony? No. they were lovely. Always have been.

Friend: But then, why? Are you…

Me: No I’m not. I don’t have anything growing inside of me. I’m not with child. I’m not craving for a baby. I'm not looking to pass on the family name. I’m not expanding my family. I’m not pregnant.

Friend: oh … uh… why …? Then?

Me: (smiling to myself…I had finally conquered the conventional thought process) I’m on a break.

For some reason, people seem incapable of thinking beyond these things as possible reasons for a tired individual to want to leave his/her job. In fact quitting for any reason other than those mentioned above can be downright sacrilegious to most people except for the derelict few who accord greater priorities to other things.

But, quitting a job can entail so much more - such as (but not limited to) wanting to spend time with one’s family,attempting to improve oneself personally, mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually or simply directing one's attention to searching for that one avenue which one wants to follow with wholehearted passion and thrill.

I hope I'm not coming down too hard on my friends. I really don't mean to. They're really a swell bunch of people and I'm very grateful to have known them in the course of these few years. In fact I hope I can stay in touch with them post SBB too.

They’re good people and spurred by a set, smooth running society which despises too much change– they too are driven by conventional thought. This is not a character judgment. I respect them and their opinions and truly care for them – no matter how much I abhor convention as a rule.

It’s true. I abhor blind convention of any sort. And sometimes, unknowingly I fall prey to it myself. But then again, I am a contradiction in person. I love some traditions and rituals, which do not necessarily hurt willful thinking or anyone else for that matter.

You, see, it’s all about the balance. I balance. Therefore, I am.

Cheerfully yours,

Shreyasi (Twinky)

Basic Tenets of Business Writing

2010-04-21T02:31:00.000-07:00

Author: Shreyasi Majumdar

‘Arduous’, ‘tenuous’, ‘sterile’ and ‘downright boring’ are some of the terms which tend to pop up in our mind when we think of business writing. Although a memo or a presentation may sound run-on-the-mill and dull with respect to more popular forms of writing such as fiction and poetry, ‘official writing’ does in fact warrant immense creativity and is equally important in today’s finance-ruled day and age.

What is business writing and what does it entail?

Writing is broadly classified into fiction and non-fiction writing. Similarly, business writing is categorized into two genres: writing ABOUT business – business journalism and writing FOR business – business writing.

Business journalism (or financial journalism), involves tracking, recording, analyzing, interpreting and presenting information pertaining to the economic world. Stock market news, commodity markets, personal finance, local and international retail landscape, reports on SME’s, strategic corporate announcements and more fall under this gamut.

On the other hand, business writing is simply that – writing for business. Business writing is a generic term used for both internal and external communication flow of an organisation. It includes (but is not limited to) newsletters, official correspondence, emails, memos and business proposals. The scope of business writing also includes statistical, analytical and corporate overview reports, feasibility/research reports, power point presentations, press releases, marketing brochures, copywriting, technical writing, blogging and tasks as mundane as filling out job applications and structuring resumes.

Business writing tips

Business writing sounds simple enough.

But, why is it that we often fail to produce good quality, well-structured presentations? Why do we have trouble conveying issues by mail? What sets apart one press release from the next? What should we do to jazz up the advertisements and brochures lying around?

Identify your audience: Knowing your target readers will enable you to chart out the information specific to your audience, use the right language for them and formulate the most effective ways of eliciting the desired response from them.

Stick to the point. Remember, no matter who your target readers are, they are intelligent people in the finance and business world and can figure out fluff from the real deal. So restrain yourself from beating around the bush.

Keep it simple. Your readers are busy people, who do not have much time to go through details and intricacies. As such, leave out unnecessary jargon and keep your work as concise and lucid as possible. Also, if you have a varied reader base, try not to be too technical or industry specific.

Get the interest charged up: especially in case of advertisements or marketing material. If you want to sell a product, it is necessary to hold your reader’s interest, with a tone persuasive enough to encourage them to purchase the service or product you have to offer.

Call to action. An oft forgotten and forsaken aspect of writing up a business proposal or marketing brochure is an absence for a “call to action” in the material. Your reader has heard of your business plan or he loves your product. But what next? Do not leave him out on a limb. Give him something to hang on to – a next step to take the venture/deal/purchase forward.

Focus: Another important thing to keep in mind is – it is not about you. If you are preparing a power point presentation or a press release, keep the tone of the writing directed towards the person who is reading it. Do not give in to the temptation of flooding the piece with your or your company’s credentials and achievements. Stay away from the “Me’s” and “I’s” and focus on the “You’s”.

Lastly and of course of prime importance, is the spell check. No matter how good you are at what you do, first impressions always count. A complete and thorough grammar and spell check is imperative and highly recommended before submission of the final write up, be it a blog post, a copy written article, a feature for the Financial Times or a memo.

Business writing does not need to be a routine task. Researching and structuring a business story or work place communication, requires as much skill and patience as any other kind of writing – and if you manage to do it well, you deserve a pat on the ‘business’ back.

The Art of 'Question'- How to Conduct a Good Journalistic Interview

2010-04-21T02:27:00.000-07:00

Most people would agree to the general idea that “journalism”, apart from other things, is all about creativity. I couldn’t agree more. What could be more pleasing to a journalist’s soul than a well-rounded, unbiased, and beautifully crafted piece of writing after long hours of arduous research?

But what seems to escape most writers, is the fact that central to any journalist’s life and career, is his/her ability to conduct productive and insightful interviews with the right people in an ethical and fluid manner. In fact, a journalist’s interviewing skills could make or break the story (and his/her career too!).

Here are a few pointers for polishing your general journalistic interviewing skills. These guidelines served me well in my time as a correspondent and they can make life a tad bit easier for the newbie writer, wanting to make a mark in the journalistic world.

1) Select interviewees with care: You have a certain picture in your head about the way your article is going to turn out. So before you start the whole process of the “interview”, make sure you have selected “interviewees” best suited to the subject at hand. Asking a chocolatier about Miso soup, won't really get you anywhere.

2) Make appointments: A lot of budding journalists tend to make the rookie mistake of landing up at an interviewee’s door and expecting to be entertained with top-notch answers to his/her questions. That is simply not done. Respect your interviewee's value for time. Make sure you call beforehand and make an appointment with your interviewee before you meet him. Even if you are a business journalist with daily deadlines, ensure that your “source” is alright with talking to you when you call. If not, ask him/her for a suitable time and call back accordingly.

3) Find a good location: You'd be amazed to find out just how quickly the most tight-lipped person can turn around, given comfortable surroundings. The nearest Barista may not be the ideal location to meet with your contact and get him talking. Why not try his home? Or his office? This trick may not get you the whole story, but will definitely open avenues for a warmer and more open relationship with your knowledgeable new friend -doorways to more meaningful interviews in the future!

4) Be punctual: When you do manage to get a suitable appointment with your contact, make sure you stick to the appointment time. Do not make excuses about traffic, your dog swallowing your car keys, or the house setting itself on fire. No one likes tardiness and your failure to be on time will be bad for your reputation. So be alert and stay aware of the tick-tocks.

5) Research, research, and then research some more: Good journalists will have an in-depth knowledge of the case in hand, before they actually set out to ask the questions. It is therefore imperative that you do your homework before your interview. Make sure you are well versed with the facts before the interview instead of fumbling with details while conducting it.

6) Prepare your questions: When you are clear about the basic outline of your story, jot down all possible questions you can think of that related to the topic. Make sure the answers to the questions are not of the obvious kind. Also ensure that your questions are well researched, intelligent, and worth answering. Of equal importance is the need to prioritize your questions so that at least the most relevant ones get answered even if the peripheral ones don't.

7) Make sure rules of interview are clear: Before the interview begins, make sure both you and your interviewee are clear about the rules underlying the process. For e.g., your interviewee should know well in advance about the basic structure of the topic at hand, some of the fundamental questions that need to be answered, and most importantly, what goes “on record” and what doesn't.

8) “There is no such thing as a stupid question”: Wrong! Interviewees do not like being asked questions which insult their intelligence. So if you are about to ask a question which could turn out to be a veritable faux pas, -check yourself! Take a step back, think about the question again, rephrase it if necessary, and then present it more intelligently.

9) Side with open-ended questions: This approach works wonderfully, especially if your interviewee is the type of person who has to be goaded into “talking”. It is best to stay away from questions to which answers could be a simple “yes” or a “no”. Instead, begin your questions with phrases such as “could you describe...” or “what do you think of...”or even “tell us about....” Occasional prompting is bound to elicit detailed responses that are more pertinent to your topic and interviewee's persona.

10) Be confident: Even if the person you are about to interview has a formidable persona that leaves you gasping for breath, trust in yourself and your capabilities - enough to appear confident about “owning” that very room and the interview in itself. Work at developing a combination of humility and confidence and you can't lose.

It would be safe to say that not only does journalism stir up the professional’s creative juices, it also happens to be a very noble profession. Being a journalist entails responsibility - to the media industry, to the audience, and to the journalist him/herself. It is not an easy task. As was well mentioned in a certain superhero flick –“With great power comes great responsibility.”

So each journo must strive to get the facts right, to conduct himself/herself ethically, professionally and openly, and to successfully engage his/her audience in the “reality” as it stands.

Incorporate these strategies into your regular interviewing techniques and watch the quality of your reporting go from “good” to “better” to “awesome”. Happy interviewing!

- About the writer:

Shreyasi is a full time business journalist with a London-headquartered steel information company. She currently covers the South Asian steel and raw materials industry from Singapore. Her daily work as South Asia correspondent involves talking to lots of interesting professionals in the steel and steel making raw materials industry, writing daily news articles about the major market and other trends in the happening world of ferrous dreams. She specializes in the iron ore export market to China. When not working, she spends her time reading voraciously, visiting the local libraries, writing freelance about any topic under the sun (whatever catches her fancy), dabbling in the culinary arts, meditating, sitting by the ocean watching the waves, singing, swimming and spending lots of quality time with her husband and dog. She loves animals only second to God and her family and is passionate about wildlife, environment and animal welfare issues. She is also specially inclined towards learning as much as she can about spirituality, cosmology and mysteries of civilizations long gone.

There’s Something About Dadu....

2010-04-06T23:24:00.000-07:00

Dadu turned 76 yesterday. Most people (and I sometimes) find it rather unbelievable, that I actually have a grandfather who is 49 years older to me. Well he is. He married young, had a daughter, his daughter married young and had me within a year of marriage. The result? A 76 year old grandfather of a 27 year old granddaughter – both living it up and loving life immensely!

My childhood memories are ample–and memories of my grandfather go back as far as I can remember. We have always been a small, closely knit family and as such, my grandparents have been an integral part of my life. But I think I’m going to admit it. Of the four grandparents I’ve had, I was accustomed to categorizing them in order of preference. Dadu was always my favourite and ranked highest on my list of grandparents. After him, the categories were rather blurred. I mean I loved them all dearly, but I think I have always loved Dadu the most – no hurt intended to the dearly departed paternal Dadda and Thamma and my adorable Dida. I never questioned this classification, it just happened. And I continue to be as fond of him as I used to-possibly more so now since I know him better. I can’t help it. There’s just something about Dadu.

My scattered memories of childhood, youth and adulthood all have Dadu featuring prominently in them in the fortunate intermittent moments which I managed to spend with him. My earliest recollection of him dates back twenty years. No wait, more than twenty.

Dadu and Dida are pucca Kolkata people, having spent their entire lives there. Pre-retirement, Dadu invested a major portion of his working years with the Punjab National Bank in Kolkata. As such, he was often subject to transfers within the city and due to this, Dadu, Dida and Mom moved around Kolkata quite a lot.

My earliest recollection of Dadu’s home in Kolkata was this HUGE (by my standards) standalone bungalow, replete with a small garden at the back. I still remember the characteristic fragrance so typical to a Kolkata home, wafting in and out of the house. I remember the blue wooden doors and windows, the stone stairwell which connected our home to the landlady’s above, the adjoining sunny bedroom complete with mosquito netting, suitcases tucked away and attached devotion-imbued altar, the dining room with the dark, simple, wooden dining table and four chairs, the sparsely attired kitchen which like a mythical Greek jar, always had something for the hungry and the squeaking water pump outside the house.

What I remember most about the house though, is the corner table located to the right of the opening main wooden door, and more importantly Dadu’s green helmet which used to always sit on it, like an alert sentinel guarding the gates of a palace. Dadu used to drive a Bajaj scooter, riding which, was the highlight of all my early Kolkata visits. In those days Amul had designated milk outlets all over the city. During my visit, every morning, Dadu, astride the faithful Bajaj and with me standing guard in front of the seat, holding the handles, would head off to the nearby Amul milk dispensary. I used to revel in walking up to one of the taps, inserting the coin into the slot, placing the container under the tap and watching it eagerly as it filled with the precious liquid. I never remember doing that in Mumbai (which was Bombay then). My eyes light up even now, whenever I think of these little outings with Dadu, the grand old Bajaj scooter and the katoris filled with milk. Such simplicity! Such peace! Such wonderful memories!

My grandfather used to love narrating stories, while he put me to bed each night. Stories of his youth as a football player and how he cracked his bones during a game, grisly macabre stories of ghosts like how the banana tree shadow on the glass window was actually a forlorn dead bride waiting for her husband in the afterworld, anecdotes from his childhood when his father remarried and how his step mother tortured him, cross border stories of the partition, roots which go back to Chittagong in Bangladesh and how the partition tore the country asunder leaving indelible scars on the affected families forever, his meeting with Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose and stories of how as a children, Dadu with his friends, pelted stones at British officers from their terraces during the Independence struggle. Oh and yes, I remember him vividly on some nights when he would snuggle into the sheets, tuck in the mosquito net and sing me haunting lullabies like “dol dol dol, tol pal tol, chol bhashi shob kichu taiga.”

In the day times, I would keep him preoccupied with my obscenely naughty behavior. I remember lying him down bare chested on the bed, sitting on top of him and plucking out his chest hair one by one. I would be thrilled and there wouldn’t be a peep from him. (Surely, one who has silently endured pain such as this, to keep his granddaughter constructively or destructively in this instance occupied in such a manner, surely deserves the top spot in the said granddaughter’s affections). And then there would be the incessant visits to the Kolkata Zoo and the markets and the parks with the bunny rabbits running free and the green valley where mountains spanned the horizon till as far as the eye could see.

Leaving Kolkata would always be a veritable tear-jerker. I hated leaving Dadu and Dida (especially Dadu) for my lonely life in Bombay. An avid lover of stars and space, Dadu would educate me about the Saptarishi and other constellations, about the moon and the sun and the planets and the solar systems and all of this fueled what later became an awe-filled obsession about the cosmos, our origins and fundamental questions like where our place in the universe really is.

A continuous learner at heart, he was always reading and telling me about various plants and their fruits and flowers, interspersed with fictitious tales related to the botanical individuals in question. He has always been a man of books-driven by the written word and the awe of research.

In the later years, Dadu shifted to another house, which I remember for the tea served with animal shaped biscuits, visits to the Victoria Memorial and the famous market place at Park Street where they sold the spiral multi-coloured candy, the colouring books which would keep me occupied in the afternoons, the kitchen which continued to be as sparse as always and the lone singer in the flat opposite Dadu’s, who inspite of sporting a rather hoarse singing voice, kept at his riyaz day and night, much to the chagrin of the neighbours.

After a stint at this place, Dadu decided to shift to Bombay (Mira-Road to be specific), to be close to us. We selected the apartment, they came to Bombay bag and baggage in hand and Dida in her characteristic way made the house a home-a veritable heaven free of clutter, imbued with simple living. But a Kolkata person will be just that-a Kolkata person. Sure enough, they soon began yearning for their beloved city of joy and before we knew it, the house was sold and they had headed back to the city where they had lived their lives.

Now Dadu and Dida stay at Birati-close to Dum Dum Airport and by God’s grace I have been able to visit them more often in the past two years than I have been able to in the past 15 years.

And yes, as I said earlier, there’s something about Dadu. If I were to define him I’d find it difficult and easy at the same time. For he is one of the simplest, most uncomplicated individuals I have ever had the good fortune of coming across. He has no hang ups about life and money to him is just something one buys ‘Mishti Doi’ with. He seems to grow handomser each passing year and I have come to believe that this is not due to the sharpness of his physical features. This kind of handsomeness is brought on by beauty of personality, by many years of wisdom and by the light of respect that only a truly pure soul can warrant. And I can say without a doubt, that he is one of the most respected gentlemen in his circle. He LOVES his newspapers, holds no grudges and bears no one any ill will (except corrupt politicians who he detests witha vengenance).

He makes a joke of everything, he LOVES it when his family is close to him and his face darkens with equal intensity when it is time for them to leave. He revels in the sunlight and the rain, in the purity of love, in the joy of sitting in his verandah or walking amidst the trees. He refuses to call himself religious, but he participates with renewed vigour in every pujo every year. Underneath the façade of his “I don’t want to live anymore in this polluted world” routine, he lives each day with such positivity and infuses such brightness into each moment, that it becomes seemingly impossible not to love and adore him for who he is. That is how he braved and overcame the cancer that had threatened him with a sinister foreboding so many years ago and that is how he has braved pretty much everything in life.

Dadu just had laser surgery for cataracts in both his eyes and his vision is now as good as it can get. But I’d say his mind is sharper and his tummy larger (he’s a foodie, I treat him to butter cakes, parathas and sizzlers on the sly whenever I have the chance) now that he’s 76.

And yes, he really digs the astronomical telescope Sushil and I presented him recently.

What can I say? There’s just something about Dadu.

----------Shreyasi M

Thank You, Tree

2010-04-02T22:39:00.000-07:00

There is a man I know, who is closer to the earth than most others. One could even call this man a child of the earth. Deeply, passionately in love with everything the Mother has to offer – this earth baby is as unbiased towards everything living, as a mother is towards her many children. I have seen him remove crawling snails from paved cement paths, lest wheels or feet crush them. I have watched as he gazed longingly at trees for hours at end, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze-the same breeze that later kissed him on the cheek before passing by to other pastures. I have observed him speaking volumes with the verbose sparrows and mynahs which frequent his earthy home each day. I have noticed the awe inspired look on his face as and when he comes across earthworms in his flower pots or butterflies on his flowers. With renewed amazement everytime he comes across a dragonfly or a spider, his pristine view of the world never ceases to touch my heart. The gentleness with which he caresses a dog, the care with which he tends to his garden plants, the pain he feels if anyone hurts an animal even unwittingly, his unbounded joy when seasonal fruits burst into the world – they all convince me that this man is like no other – at least no other that I have known.

When grey clouds gather overhead and the sky begins its gallant rumblings, he steps into a world of his own. And oh! When the first monsoon showers grace the earth, his joy knows no bounds. When all the world tries to shelter itself from the downpours, this man in all exuberance jumps onto his bike and cycles in the rain. When the bicycle tyres gasp for air, he lunges forward on foot-drinking in each drop of the rain with all five senses – possibly even more.

And yes, when the sun shines bright in the sky and the world is aglow with its radiance and when people cringe in the heat and beg for respite, the sun child breaks into a benevolent and devotional smile. He offers himself to the sun's rays, as a devotee would to the Lord above, soaking in all its goodness till he's saturated. And then he drenches himself in the sun's good light some more.

When there is some space in the day left over from the turmoils of earning the daily bread, this man walks familiar roads with his favourite canine who is indeed more than his child. He walks the road which leads to the oceans, for after a day's hard work, what better therapy than the soft sounds of the waves beating against the seasoned shores? What better respite than sitting by the sea's many waters and water creatures, on the sand-the coarseness of which is so much better than the vagaries of life? What better way to spend his hours than staring out not AT but INTO the horizon – looking through the many ships scattered on the waters into the warming vastness and openness of space which his heart always yearns for?

And of course, one cannot forget the mountains – that one singular creation of the Lord above which is unparalled in almost every way to any other – a genius of the Mighty Mind. Even during the day, amidst the loud chaos of life, he searches for the silence of the hills and the vastness of the mountains and it fills him with a strange combination of yearning and contentment – yearning to visit those snow-clad and green layered peaks – reminders that the beauty of God's creations still persist and contentment at being able to revel in these dreams and visit his mountains even as he goes through the day's money making drudgery. In his mountains, he finds the much desired peace for aren't mountains the gateway to paradise? Where else have ancient Himalayan yogis attained nirvana? Where else can one feel as close to the Maker than at the zenith of existence?

This man roams his neighbourhood and enjoys the trees, their fruits and flowers, the creatures that have a complete social system in these settings, marvelling at the tiniest of ants and largest of cetaceans.

One day, I spoke to this man, when the sun had finished lighting the world for the day and had retired into the horizon. As we sat in his verandah, relished pepper tea and watched the leaves sway in the distance, he asked me if I had seen the jamrul tree outside the house. I had in fact seen it and throughout the years, very often had been priviledged to partake of some of the fruits strewn on the carpet of grass underneath. So, I answered in the affirmative. He nodded his head and repeated the question, stressing on whether I had seen the tree lately. “Oh no,” I told my friend, “I haven't – I've not had the chance to go around to that side of the house – way too busy with work and all you know.” He nodded appreciatively again and sipped his tea some more. “I've just seen it, it's jamrul season and the tree has exploded into bright pink jamruls,” he said. I could sense the awe filled excitement in his voice. “I have never seen it like this before, I kept staring at it.” What could I say? He had taken the time to witness a miracle and I hadn't. It was unfortunate for me. But what he said next, hit me like a boulder in the dark. “I just stood there and thanked it,” he said. What? He thanked a tree? Was I hearing things? “I thanked the tree-not for the ample fruit it bore to cater to someone's relish, but just for being the beautiful life it was,” he said. “I thanked it profusely for being a tree and for letting me witness the glory of God in it.”

Such is the power of love for God. When you love God, love for all of God's creatures enters your heart uninvited and stays there for good, growing each day till you feel that you can't really hold that love in you anymore. Every now and then, this man gives me a glimpse of such undiluted love. And I thank God for him. For you see, this man happens to be the one gift from God most precious to me – my husband.

---------Shreyasi Majumdar.

Beyond Borders

2010-03-24T09:05:00.000-07:00

The world has shrunk. I partook of dinner tonight with a bunch of people so drastically different from each other in so many ways-yet completely at ease. They were from different countries; they spoke different languages and had varied career paths. And yet, conversation at dinner was so easy going, so happy and so very insightful-it made me realise this-the world has definitely shrunk.

As a child, I remember prancing around in the monsoon rains which battered Mumbai from June-September every year. Like clockwork, the rains would start around 15th June and finish before the October heat came creeping in. There was so much constancy in something as mundane as the monsoons, that it brought a strange security to my heart. One cycle would end and the other would begin and before a year had passed by, the rains would be at my doorstep again-beckoning me into its refreshing buoyancy and filling me with unparalleled joy.

But now I notice a distinct change in all weather patterns. Rainfall happens every year, but now it has a mind of its own. Like the world, it too has changed. Like the world, the weather too follows its own schedule-surprising the people of this world at every turn.

Everything about the world has changed-whether for the better or the worse is not for me to judge. But yes, drastic changes have taken place in Gaia’s every nuance . The child playing in the rain could only dream of the faraway lands beyond the seas-places she could only visit in her wildest imaginations. After all, flying anywhere was no mean task. Maybe I was living in my own little shell because of whatever challenges life had placed my way. Maybe I was too scared to actually venture out. But the dreams were always there-accompanied by the knowledge of the difficulty in achieving those dreams. As mentioned, air tickets were expensive, there were only a few flights plying in and out of the country-travel to foreign lands and meeting exotic people were luxuries beyond my reach.

And then the world changed. Somehow, I reached Singapore. And then, everything was different. Slowly and surely, more airline companies came into the picture and before I knew it, airplanes were crowding the skies. Flights to hitherto obscure and unreachable places, suddenly spurted into the scene. International business even between small time traders started booming and flight ticket prices became hilariously reasonable. People who could not even think of air travel quickly became frequent flyers and started earning flying miles too!

And since I started reporting for SBB, I started realizing just how small my world was earlier and just how much my horizons had expanded. And THE world as a whole was becoming smaller and smaller with every new technological advance and every fresh international business venture. At every conference I have attended so far, in India and abroad, I have come across Indians, Americans, Middle Easterners, Australians, Italians, Japanese, Koreans and Chinese delegates intermingling with each other as if there was no race, religion, country, culture or language separating them at all. To them, everyone was a brother born of the same mother business. They were all out there to get a job done and o that common ground-everyone was a friend.

And tonight, it hit me-the wonderful weirdness of this phenomenon came crashing through to me. An SBB training programme in Singapore had just concluded for the day, and being a Singapore –based employee, I had to attend the dinner. So away I went-tonnes of business cards in hand. While I ate dinner, I chatted away with a French lady based in London, an Australian steel procurer who came to Singapore to learn about the industry, another Australian trader based in Shanghai who was very proud of her global friend circle which included but was not limited to Americans, Britishers, Italians, Germans, Shanghainese, other Chinese, Australians and Indians, a Chinese trader with a totally American accent, another Chinese trader who was totally Chinese in every way (accent included) and a quirky Spaniard who now lives in Shanghai with her French boyfriend and speaks over seven world languages. Added to this odd group, were my colleagues-a Chinese origin Singaporean, a Singaporean of Indian origin and an Indian who is now a Singaporean permanent resident. And this was just one table!

Suffice it to say, we had a lot to talk about. Everyone was so awed with the pot pourri of cultures at our table and there was eagerness all around to know more about them. We spoke of how Catalonian Spanish differ from other Spanish people and the constant silent warring between their egos, of how Spaniards are bad at languages as a rule, about the wonders of the French Riviera and the seafood delights in that part of the world, about one lady’s travels to Germany and how she gained 8 kilograms in a month gorging on German bakery produce and cream layered cakes. We debated on the non functional heating elements in Shanghai winters, compared it with winters in Russia and how much of a welcome break any cold would be from the heaty drudgery of Singapore. We marvelled at Singapore’s vibrant city life and colourful activity and spoke about how Russian Babushka dolls (stacked one inside the other) are actually called Matrioshkas. We went on drifting effortlessly and excitedly from one topic to another, till all curiosity was quenched for the time being. Even so, I had many more questions to ask....so much representative of the world was at my dinner table-surely one dinner would not be enough to know it all! But I had to rush back home to my boys, so I exchanged cards with my tablemates and said my goodbyes.

Earlier, I used to find it useful and easy to classify my experiences, but of late, I have begun to find the exercise a bit too futile. Lately my experiences are so vague and varied, yet so meaningful, I can’t peg them as “this” or “that”. This was one such. I made new friends from at least five different countries in a matter of an hour and some of these individuals I will probably be in touch with for my business stories. Some of them will fade away, as all things inevitably do with time. But for today, just for today, the world has become much smaller for me. I have leapt across territorial boundaries over seasonal vegetables and strawberry flan and I have travelled to other countries on fork and spoon.

A truly magical world this has become-shrunken and small. Where possibilities abound and limits are unheard of. Where people and lives have moved beyond all traditional hurdles-including themselves. Beyond oceans, beyond mountains, beyond skies, beyond land. Beyond music, beyond silence, beyond work and beyond business-with open minds and faith in dreams-beyond difference-BEYOND BORDERS.

-----Shreyasi M

Thank God for my Maid (an Expat's latest dependancy)

2010-03-19T10:58:00.000-07:00

If I were to ask myself a few years back “Do I need a maid?”, I'd have told myself that I was a complete idiot even asking a question like that. After all, I'm in another country- a rather expensive one at that. And the extra cost of having a maid is totally unjustified at any point of time....or is it? And what about my incessant need for independence? What was to become of that? I DEFINITELY DID NOT NEED A MAID – now or ever! I was self reliant! I was independent! I was monetarily wary! And despite all the piling housework, I was happy-happy doing it my way. Mr Sinatra would have been proud of me!

But somehow, to my utter dismay, times seem to have changed rather quickly and so had circumstances. Time and tide and all that. A month ago I started introspecting and questioning the very fundamentals of my existence. That's when the “maid” issue started ringing in my head like an unwanted yet necessary gong. Was it true that I couldn't cope anymore? Was it true that the long arduous hours going into business journalism were sapping my emotional and mental strength? Was it true that my household chores were being seriously neglected while I turned a blind eye to the ghastly reality of things?

The time had come to face the truth. I was a busy woman and yes, sometimes way too busy to attend to things at home at the appropriate times. I had barely enough time to cook two square nutritious meals a day – leave alone the mopping and washing among other things. Sadly, I agreed to the fact that I needed help. Grudgingly I agreed to get someone else on board the Shreyasi ship. You see, I am painfully aware of dust or dirt in any form. I am super sensitive to uncleanliness of any kind and a disorganized home is something that sends shivers down my spine-the kind people get when they watch 'Poltergueist' at 1 am. In fact, when I go on one of my whirlwind cleaning sprees (which sometimes last a day at a time), the husband and the dog slowly steer clear and stay away till I'm done...which is why the prospect of getting someone else to “clean” was enough to make hubby wash his hands off the whole affair while the dog was content growling in disapproval.

Anyway, I still maintained that a full time maid would be way too expensive for us at this juncture. Although it is common practice for most families (expat and local) here to have maids living with them, I was never very comfortable with the idea. I am a fairly private person, I value my space and am content to work harder than others and having my space to myself. Also at this juncture, we don't have separate quarters for a live-in maid, so I decided to settle on the next best thing. I decided to look out for part time help-something extremely rare on the island. I looked everywhere and turned to every possible source for a part time maid, but to no avail. Just when I was beginning to take it as a sign from the Lord above, for me to “get my act together and take care of my own home”, my neighbour called and suggested her own part time helper. And I thought I knew God's will. Go figure.

Her name was Tilu-the maid's, not my neighbour's and she was vouched for in every possible way that one can be vouched for. She was allegedly punctual, her habits unquestionably clean, her social life indubitable, her work was apparently par excellence and her rates were far lower than average standards here. There was God's sign if I ever knew one. I called Tilu that very day and she agreed to work for me Saturdays for a minimum of three hours. I couldn't ask for more. She was hired.

I was decidedly anxious the first time she came into work. I'm kind of territorial about my home and also I have been particularly proud of my cleansing conquests. I mollified myself with the fact that I would now have more time on the weekends to do what I love most – cook, spend time with the family and write. But I still kept wondering if it would work or was it all just a very bad idea from the start.

The whole thing was obviously a family affair. Calls from in laws and parents in Mumbai and grand parents in Kolkata started pouring in from the fated Saturday morning. Maid advice was hurtled at me like large boulders and there was a premonition of dread across the miles connecting the three cities-all unfounded of course.

A smiling Tilu turned up at exactly 1:30 pm-the time we had decided on. “That's a good start,” I told myself. I am super-punctual myself and therefore highly regard others who are too. Tilu doesn't believe in wasting time with dilly dallying or small talk. She came in, changed into her work clothes and immediately got down to business. I began ordering her around-telling her what to do, where to source cleaning material from, how to organize things and where to stack stuff, but it wasn't long before I realized that the only thing benefitting from the charade was my own ego. She didn't need me (although she was nice enough not to say it to my face). She was a one-woman machine. And I watched open mouthed as I saw the house being transformed bit by bit as the minutes rolled by. As I stood there like some weird, baited and stranded angler fish, Tilu washed the piled up dishes, scrubbed the kitchen counters, cleaned the stained shelves (inside and out), arranged the vessels, dusted the piano and the furniture in all the rooms, swept the floor, mopped the floor, cleaned the big french glass windows, scrubbed the verandah and hosed it down thoroughly, ironed the clothes for the week and finally finished off with the bathroom. By 4:30 pm, my bathroom was sparkling, the bedroom was tidied, the altar was cleaned and organized, clothes were ironed, the living room was glittering and the verandah was suitable for a sleepover! And all this before the customary 5'o clock chai!

I was stumped. I was happy. But at the same time, I stood there forlorn – a poor, defeated, wreck of a woman. I-who had prided myself on my top notch household maintenance-was suddenly second best. Tilu stood victorious. Although-she laughed through it all, took her pay (which was more than due to her) and promised to return the next week. It was all seemingly mundane to her. And to me it was a miracle in disguise. Tilu was a maestro and I accepted it honourably.

In fact, such was my acceptance of the famed defeat that I allowed myself to actually look forward to her coming the next week. By the time Friday evening had arrived, I was already looking to see her welcome face at 1:30 the next day. And sure enough, she was there-big smile on her weary face-all ready to get into action. And I let her. This time I promised myself to let her do her thing and not get in her way. I shut up and sat with my regular newspaper cuttings, while she went around from one chore to the next. I had just finished my week's worth of papers, when I saw her dressed and ready to leave. Her job was done-and well done at that.

Last week, I finally realized just how dependant I had become on this tiny little Nepali woman who had left behind a husband and three children in Kathmandu to smilingly do the very work which I had come to think of as too mundane to waste my time with. I woke up on Saturday to a pile of dirty dishes and a house that had been systematically disorganized through the week by two people and a dog who did not have the energy to care. And something inside of me shrieked “OH MY GOD IS TILU COMING TODAY?”-the anxiety levels were distinct since I didnt know where to begin cleaning and where to end. At 1:00 pm I made the frantic call. “Tilu will you be coming today?” and pat came the reply which had the combined effect of three sedatives taken simultaneously, “Yes Ma'am reaching in half an hour.” Crisp yet effective.

I heaved a sigh of relief and that's when it hit me-my utter and total dependance on this girl who till a month ago had been only a face I saw occasionally.

But now circumstances have changed. Tilu has become a part of my Saturday life and a very important one at that. Not only because I depend on her to clean and organize my home and prepare it for the turmoil of the coming week, but also because her presence reminds me of so many things we take for granted in life-the wondrousness of being with loved ones and the pain of being away from them, learning to live and survive in seemingly impossible situations, smiling through this kind of survival, being chirpy and curious about everything that life has to offer, loving life the way it is instead of asking for more and most importantly, working hard and being proud of it.

Its Friday night as I write this and tomorrow Tilu will grace my home again. We often speak about Laxmi in the form of the wives and daughters of our homes. But rarely do we acknowledge the presence of Laxmi in the average household help who keeps Laxmi where she belongs-within our homes and our hearts-when we ourselves become too busy to do so.

I am a self reliant, independant ex patriot. And I say it now- Thank God for My Maid!

-----------Shreyasi M.

Home is Where the Heart is......and Vice Versa As it Goes...

2010-03-09T19:44:00.002-08:00

For five years I have struggled. Struggled to make my peace with being away from the land that I love beyond measure. Struggled with the invisible yet ever strengthening umbilical cord that binds me to my country and the city of my birth. And every year of those five I spent struggling, I have been unhappy.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Singapore. There are somethings here which I would like to change with all my heart and soul. But unfortunately I can’t. Even so, Singapore has been wonderful. The peace and quiet, the inimitable adherence to the sanctity of the law, the affluence and the desire to maintain beauty at every corner.....I would never deny that I have been taken by these aspects of Singapore. And I respect the government and the people for making and maintaining the country in the way they have.

Then why have I been so distressed? Why the longing for something which I have left behind (that too for a seemingly better place)? I have been living and surviving in Singapore, but to my utter dismay, I haven’t been thriving...at least not emotionally. The longing still fills me as it always has ever since I set foot in the glamorously beautiful Changi airport.

When I first left Mumbai for Singapore, I was welcomed with open arms by the garden city. I had friends, I was the impeccable hostess, my marriage had begun here and it was all so lovely. I remember leaving with a lingering heartache, but the excitement that often accompanies hopes and dreams of a new life, overshadowed the pain.
However the lingering ache still lingered. I thought it would pass (as Zen promised me), but it didn’t. Infact the aching only got worse as the years passed. Had Zen philosophy failed me hopelessly? I couldn’t bring myself to believe it. “Zen teachings cannot go this wrong,” I told myself. “Maybe its just the hormones.”

As time passed, my marriage, my husband, my home and my family here have become central to my existence. Nothing else matters now to me as much as they do. Over the years, I have found solace in my husband’s mirthful laughter, his companionship, his warmth and his love. I have found joy in the abundance of selfless love that my dog showers on me every single day. My boys and my home have kept me sane in this alien country. I am anchored in my trust for my Guru....that has kept me going.

But the underlying ache lingers on. I cannot deny it. That would mean escaping from the inevitable. And I cannot accept it. That would be heartbreaking. I am stuck in limbo....in some kind of freakish twilight zone, where I can only stay in suspended animation and mechanically watch the goings on. Feeling the pain in its totality, in the knowledge that time away from the people I love the most, is like gold trickling away through my open fingers-that would be unbearable. But ignoring it, keeping it tucked away in some weird reservoir in the depths of my heart...that will surely do me no good in the long run.

This cannot continue. There has to be an end to this abomination of what people would call a life. My mother tells me, “find your happiness wherever you are, don’t wait for it to come to you.” Mum’s right I guess. But what do I do if my single largest source of happiness and relief is being close to her? How do I explain to my feeble mind that spending lazy Sunday afternoons with my father has been one of the most poignant moments of my life?

I contemplate. I analyze. I introspect. And I keep going around in circles...always coming back to that one point...Mumbai. I want to be in Mumbai. I will be HAPPIEST in Mumbai.

And then it hits me. Its never going to be the same again. Life has moved ahead and people in my life have moved on with theirs. Guruji’s words keep ringing in my ears... “Be so unruffled inside that no external changes affect you.” That is what I must unfalteringly work towards. I have to find my happiness here. In Singapore. Maybe I have been giving it more morbidity than it really warrants...maybe its time to shake of the despondency that envelops me. My parents will ALWAYS be with me. Wherever I go or wherever life takes them, my love for them only grows every day. Then how does physical distance matter? Maybe I have to train my mind to understand the underlying logic behind all of God’s cosmic drama. There is no you and me and him and her. There is only Self. If that is the case I am one with everything. That would make "distance"as we know it-an unreal shadow. That would make "here" "there" an "everywhere".

I know it will not be easy. Being steeped in maya never is for the soul. But I will begin to try to find my happiness where I am. My heart is in Mumbai and my mind had begun to make my heart believe that my happiness also lay there. Of course it does and there will never be any denying it. But I happiness is one commodity that appears to be boundless if I let it. Then so be it - happy in Mumbai and happy in Singapore. That is what I shall strive towards. No more despairing. A little longing maybe but I will not permit it to affect my inner peace. No more denying myself that which is due to me- Long overdue.

My heart is in Mumbai. With my parents, in the land of my birth, in the country most beloved to me. And they say home is where the heart is. Therefore pearls of logic demand that my home is Mumbai. But situation demands a second home from me. Singapore. My home is here too...with my husband and my dog and my friends and my beloved Guru...my life. I have made it a home and I intend to keep it that way. My heart is where my home is. I choose to be happy. Here and now. Right here.

-------------------------Shreyasi M.

The God of Small Things

2010-01-07T21:29:00.000-08:00

In haunting “wisdom” people say
“There is no God there never was”
Dawkins, Edison, Asimov, Crick
Castro, Hemingway, Sagan, Shaw
Einstein, Zappa, Hepburn, Frost,
Jolie, Allen, Joel, Reeves
And many more in every way
Believe in proof and need a cause
To decide if God’s the one to pick
Or just a theory with blatant flaw?
A new way found or old path lost?
Reality or dream perceived?

To me of course God is as true
As everything I touch and see
And hear and taste and feel inside
Every day through day and night
Ever with my soul as one,
Never separate, always close
With everything I think and do
My conscience wanders, unfettered, free,
It touches that great hand which guides
And then I feel that strength, that might,
That splendor marked by thousand suns,
Which no mortal does dare oppose

I point no fingers, make no complaint
And yet I urge you-Look beyond
By looking inwards deep within
That very God who rides upon
A little joy and endless bliss
I’m certain you will see it brings.
He knows both sinner & lofty saint
He WAS before time saw its dawn
Beyond the dual - piety and sin
Cosmic spirit, from sight withdrawn,
Yet ever present in the soul's soft kiss,
At once the God of very small things.
-----------------Shreyasi M.

Where is the horizon?

2009-11-20T08:22:00.000-08:00

Where is the horizon?
Where has it gone?
My ocean used to be water
Water, water and more water
Till as far as the eyes could see
The lord of day and night,
The horizon would dictate,
Where and when the sun would sink into darkness
In my part of the world
And
Where the sun would rise
On the other side of the world,
Till beyond the end of the world,
Where blue skies
Would touch the waters
And clouds,
Fuzzy and plain alike
Would meet the seas
I would sit on my sands
And revel in my ocean
And thrill in the vastness
Which seemed to go on forever
And ever and ever and ever
Hours and hours of fascinating dreams
And days on end,
Dreamily imagining,
Thinking, creating worlds,
lands and people and creatures beyond that line
They called the horizon
Today,
I look for the horizon,
But it is gone
Seemingly overtaken,
Unfamiliar and jarring,
Ferries,
Ships,
Cruise and cargo,
Boats,
Patrol and fishing
Humongous numbers
Varied shapes and sizes
Spanning the width and the breadth
Of this island’s oceans
And casting their silhouettes,
On my once free waters.
My endless oceans
Are now ended
The world has been mapped,
Trade overtakes it
Money is made,
My sea is lost
What use is the sand to me now?
Why do I still sit here
And watch the “horizon”?
Do I still believe
That someday
I will see my oceans again?
Do I still believe,
That these waters will be mine again?
Do I still believe,
That the horizon
In all its beauty,
Its mystery and magic,
Will be uncovered once more?

-------Shreyasi M

The Time to be Happy

2009-11-19T03:35:00.000-08:00

What is happiness really? Most people would say that it’s a feeling of joy within when something wonderful happens-“wonderful” being relative of course. Then what is joy? Why, it’s the happy happy feeling inside when something wonderful happens. Kind of makes your head spin as you go round and round in circles-doesn’t it? Then what IS happiness? I personally have never found a way to define intangibles like this-simply because they cannot be defined as much as they may warrant a definition.

I guess, happiness, joy, whatever you’d like to call it, holds a different meaning for different people. But the closest I have gotten to defining happiness is, “The warm glowing feeling in my heart when something wonderful happens”. This usually covers most aspects of happiness, give or take a few. It certainly applies to me. I literally physically feel it in my heart. This doesn’t apply to other more negative intangibles such as envy, jealousy, anger etc. But love and joy-oh yes definitely in the heart.

I felt it well up in my heart, the first time I got my tiny Christmas tree and when Santa “wrote” me a letter. I felt it whnever I confided in my mother and EVERYTIME my father came home from work. I felt it when Cleo came into my life and when I wrote daily e-mails to my boyfriend who later became my husband. I felt it on the day I married my “e-mail” man and the moment I stepped into my “home” in Singapore. I felt it when I baked my first imperfect cake and my first lasagna for my husband. I felt it when I put up the lights on my Christmas tree and around my Puja altar. I definitely felt it when I found my Guru. Through all of these experiences, I KNEW happiness. Simply because I had felt it in my heart.

Someone recently sent me one of those forwards, which I usually find too cheesy to keep. I usually trash such mails. But some of these forwards are real gems. And this one was one such. It was titled “Happiness”. The moment I saw the title I went, “Oh no! Not again!” I must have received at least a 1,000 odd “happiness” e-mails in my entire internet-educated life. I was about to trash this one too, but something stopped me and I opened the attachment anyway.

The power point presentation spoke about happiness in general and how we wait around for the perfect situation, in order to be happy. Its true. We all do that. When I was a kid, I was waiting to go to school. When I was in school, I got fed up of studying and answering childish exams-I wanted to grow up and go to college. When I was in college I was unhappy with the system and wanted to get it over with and start working and earning the moolah. Now that I’m working and getting paid for it, I ache to go back to academics – to learn all the things I’d love to- English literature, creative writing, French, Sanskrit, Mandarin and a host of other languages-but I have to work. I’m sure if I keep at it with this mindset; I’m going to be sad at 50, wanting to be relaxed in the golden daysof reitrement. When I’m retired, I will reminisce about the wonderful the bygone days when there used to be so much to do and so much to keep me occupied with. And when I breathe my last, I will die unhappy about the fact that in the eternal search for happiness, I’ve never really been happy.

I have experienced this early on and its only after finding my Guru, that things have changed for me. Now I know that I will not die an unhappy 90 year old woman, because I will choose to be happy. But there are so many people who go through life exactly this way-looking, searching but never finding. Is there a way to override this serious anomaly in our otherwise near perfect lives? Is there a way to be happy at all times? OF COURSE! The only way to do it to be happy every minute of every day, no matter what the situation. You have to make yourself happy. You have to live by the maxim “Happiness is a voyage and not a destination”.

We’ve heard about it, we all have. But it is ever so difficult to practice it in real life. There are always disappointments. Failures galore. Negativities bombard us from all sides. How does one remain happy through this barrage of sadness the world so readily offers. Simple. By always realizing that the world has much good to offer too.

Being happy is a state of mind. It is a matter of choice. My mum always says to me, “When you wake up in the morning-you have two choices- You can be happy and rise to meet the sun or you can drown yourself in sorrow. There is no other choice.”

When you witness something which saddens you, the only way to overcome that is to feel the experience, but not attach yourself to it. Let it pass. When you witness an injustice, by all means stand up and fight for it. But do not be attached to it. Leave the fruits of all your actions to the ONE hand that manages it all. Do your job and leave the rest to him. You have responsibilities. Shoulder them. Act to manage them. But do not attach yourself to them.

Your state of mind is your own. People and situations will always try to disrupt the natural equilibrium which is the nature of spirit. That is the way of Maya. Do not be subject to it. Do not yield. Impregnate your day with positive thoughts and watch environments change around you.

I end with a song I used to listen to as a child. It is a child’s song with what seem like childish lyrics. But the poignant words apply to each and every day that we live and survive in this harsh world. It goes like this:

The time to be happy is now
And the place to be happy is here
And the way to be happy
Is to make someone happy
And we’ll have a little heaven right here.

That’s the song. And it pretty much says it all, I think. Be happy NOW.

------Shreyasi M

Lucky’s Bob

2009-11-18T07:25:00.000-08:00

I see him lying there on his side- frozen and unmoving. So very different from the Lucky I used to know. There is a deathly silence within the small animal clinic on East Coast Road. Even the normally cheerful vines and general shrubbery around the cottage, fail to bring cheer on this particular evening. Bob is nowhere to be found. He has disappeared- I am told that he has gone to the temple in Bukit Merah to pray for Lucky. But I know that the reason he has gone, is to escape from the hideous yet ultimate fact-Lucky is no more. Fiona’s sobs from within, echoed through the clinic’s waiting area and the surgery and recuperation room behind. I put my arm around her, but I can offer no comfort. The pain that one experiences on losing a loved one-human or animal-is intense. The wound is almost physical in nature. It runs deep, take time to heal and always leaves a scar.

Fiona’s tears flow unhindered. She bares her heart-her feelings for Lucky even as she is surrounded by us- mere strangers. For where there is loss, the presence of a stranger does not matter. The heart aches anyhow-irrespective of the ambient environment. I move over to the other side of the table and see the little collie-mix lying peacefully, eyes half closed, jaw shut tight, his wisps of brown and white hair moving in the breeze. The monsoon season has arrived in Singapore, and it has been raining all day. There has been a definite chill in the air-so uncharacteristic of the Singapore heat and humidity. But the shivers I feel running up and down my spine cannot be attributed to the deviation from tropical climate. It is the chill brought on by death. More so, the cold that hits you, with the sudden death of someone close to you.

Fiona keeps running her hand through his soft hair and over his round little head. Anshul dada stands aside in humble silence as Sushil fondles Lucky’s tail- that soft fluff of a tail so used to furious wagging accompanied with enthusiastic barking. Well almost barking. Lucky didn’t have a voice box when Bob rescued him. He was an abandoned dog (he had some skin issues, which Bob cured completely as time went by) and his voice box had been surgically removed-we believe it was done by his previous owners who may have found his barking too much to take. I never ever heard Lucky bark, but by George! He would try his best. We used to sit in our balcony and watch the kids go crazy in the grass or at the poolside. And Lucky would be there- going round and round in crazy circles with the kids- wheezing away to glory, trying his best to bark. I remember we could never help smiling to ourselves, watching the kids get so accustomed to Lucky’s mirth and zest for life. He was their pal and now he is gone.

I stroke his head and touch his teeny black nose. His nose is rubbery to the touch, but still wet and cold, just like it used to be when he was alive. Such a shy fellow he was, with us adults. He used to be so scared of committing himself to us totally, but we kept trying. What used to strike us most was his absolute devotion to Bob. Wherever Bob went, Lucky would be somewhere at his feet. Bob never needed a leash for him.

I hold Lucky’s paws and feel the 13-year old pads on his paws. In a flash I recollect the first time Bob brought him to our house, after he had rescued him, almost a year back. Lucky was sick, recovering from some skin and stomach issues, but Bob was taking good care of him, just like he does for all his other animals. Bob had said, “I can’t keep him with me, I have so many cats-I’ll try and find him a home soon.” That “soon” never came and Lucky became Bob’s own. The two were inseparable.

When Lucky got sick the last time and had to be sent in for a massive 5-hr surgery (vets found cancerous masses in his intestine, in his pancreas and stones in his gall bladder and kidney), Bob, Sushil, Fiona and I stood near the elevator talking about Lucky. We talked about what a wonderful dog he was and Fiona regaled us with stories of Lucky’s insane jealous streak and how she had been sleeping on the sofa lately coz Lucky would monopolize her side of the bed and refuse to give it up! “Sometimes, we mock hug and Lucky brings the house down with his growling and wheeze-barking!” Bob said. He had just been to the Gurudwara praying for Lucky’s speedy recovery from the surgery and had come to know from one of the priests that Lucky would be re-incarnated as a human in his next life. Such was Bob’s love for a dog, who had made a solid place in his heart. We kept boosting his morale, but the tough guy is such a softie, we could see him breaking down. I remember a poignant thing he said one day to us. I said, “Lucky is really ‘lucky’ to have found you Bob, you have given him such a good life.” To this Bob replied, “I’m the lucky one-what he has given me is priceless.”

Lucky began recuperating well from the surgery, but after frolicking for a couple of days, he developed a high temperature. His tired 13-year old body couldn’t handle it and he finally left his mortal cage this evening.

As I sit here and watch Sushil and Fiona mourning his insensate body, Bob prays hard in the temple for Lucky’s peaceful journey upwards. The tears well up in my eyes and a lump grows in my throat- I realize just how special this dog was and how many lives he touched ever so briefly and ever so deeply. The transportation is here and Lucky will be moved to the main hospital tonight, where he will be cremated with all dignity. Tomorrow his ashes will be handed over to the two humans who doted on him and will always feel his absence. As Fiona kisses Lucky goodbye and Sushil pays his last respects, I turn to look at him one last time. "Finally peaceful"-is what comes to mind. I stroke his head, kiss him goodbye and steer Fiona out of the room into an empty night.

As far as I can tell, Lucky and Bob were not just dog and master, they were two souls, instantly attracted to each other and acknowledged by both. There was a joy in their togetherness, which I see in Sushil and Kishmish. I have very rarely come across that kind of bonding between an animal and a human. But I’m sure there are plenty of such beautiful animal-human relationships in the world-happy in their own little lives.

I do know one thing. Lucky wasn’t Bob’s dog. Bob was Lucky’s human. He had wrapped Bob around his tiny little paws and in that one short year, he loved Bob for a lifetime. Lucky’s Bob. Bob's Lucky. Lucky Lucky Bob. Lucky Lucky "Lucky".

------Shreyasi Majumdar.

TELL ME WHY

2009-11-17T07:39:00.000-08:00

Its more of a rhetorical question really.The kind of question suicide cult members would throw out into the universe before finally deciding to plunge to their deaths or Hara Kiri themselves.

Fortunately, its also the title of a song that I recently heard, sung by a singer that I recently got to know of, and I was visibly impressed by his vocal talent (I sang the song for days after I first heard it-hubby went insane trying to get me to stop).

The man goes by the name Declan John Galbraith. Well, he’s a young man now, but when he first sang the song that I have fallen for, he was only a wee little child. Buckteeth and everything. The single was released on 9 December 2002- just a few days before his 11th birthday. And from what I hear, it became an instant hit (I would be surprised if it didn’t). I admit; I wasn’t really aware of the existence of a child by the name of Declan Galbraith, leave alone the fact that he sang so well. I came to know of him only when my dad sent me an e-mail with an attachment titled “Tell me why.wmv”. He specifically mentioned in the e-mail, “I think you’ll really like this song”. I thought this was one of his gag e-mails. I mean, why would anyone title their song, “Tell me why”? Even Enrique Iglesias’ depressing 2002 single in which the above words frequently appear, was titled “Love to see you cry”. The fact that it reached the Top 40 in 12 countries, is worrying to say the least. Sure, Iglesias is a good singer and has a smooth voice and the music was fine etc etc. But the song revolved around the central theme which had to do with a man’s fascination for his girlfriend’s tears. If I was his girlfriend, I’d have left him long back (no offence at all to Iglesias crazy chicks!) But then that’s just my opinion. I’m sure it must have had a certain something to have gotten so famous in such a short while.

Coming back to Galbraith’s “Tell me why” and what drew me to it, I think most importantly it was the openness with which he sang. I know, lots of singers, including child artists, sing openly and wonderfully and I’m not in any way denying it. Its just that the moment Declan began the song with “In my dream, children sing, a song of love for every boy and girl…” I knew this was not a gag mail or a joke video. There was this 11 year old boy swaying to the music like a grown up boy band singer would do, his face wreathed in the emotions of the song that he was singing. Quirky brown hair, big intelligent eyes and what appeared to me to be very endearing buckteeth, the boy had a charm that instantly drew me to his voice and kept me listening to the song.

As the video progressed, Declan’s singing became more and more intense, flanked on both sides by horrific and extremely saddening pictures of undernourished children and child workers to name a few. His voice began to shiver with a steady monotone (that’s the best way I could explain it despite the apparent oxymoron) as the song progressed and he shook his head every time he sang “I just don’t understand when somebody needs somebody, we don’t give a helping hand…tell me why”. Oriented towards the myopic society we live in, driven by our own increasing desires and not our needs, he tried to get the message across by crooning about the dreams of a child and what he really sees- broken homes, polluted environments, dying oceans, abused animals and humans alike and people hesitant to share/help/think about things and people other than themselves.

The look on Galbraith’s face and the questioning tone in his voice, when he says “Every day, I ask myself, what will I have to do to be a man?” it almost seems like an open ended question directed to every child growing up in this world. Does one become a man just by thinking about one self and one’s immediate circle and exploiting resources for that purpose? Or does becoming a man entail something deeper, worth more effort, to reap greater fruits?

Galbraith moved on to a higher pitch of “Tell me why” which made me go wooohoo! I involuntarily began singing at his pitch and my husband started worrying about waking the neighbours. It was 1 am after all. But I really didn’t care. I sang with him and I sang with his chorus of White-robed kids. I sang about children reared to fight wars. I sang about our dying oceans and our massacred dolphins, I sang about our burning forests and our depleting tiger populations. Declan’s melodious voice, which had a genuine honest ring to it, the haunting music and the abrasively real words of the song, struck a raw nerve somewhere inside. And before I knew it Declan ended the song on another open ended “WHY WHY!” and I was a fan of what I had only thought to be a gag e-mail in the beginning.

Declan has Irish and Scottish blood, his grandfather played in a band, he himself plays a number of instruments, has the voice of an angel and has had quite a few songs released, including three singles, “Tell me why-2002”, “Love of my Life-2007” and “Ego You-2007” as well as three albums, “Declan 2002”, “Thank You-2002” and “You and me-2007”. Going through you tube, I also found that he re sang some famous songs like “An angel”, “Nights in white satin” and “My girl”. It will not come as a surprise too that he is a pretty famous icon in China, especially for the children and many of his songs are included in the educational curriculum to help Chinese kids learn English better. Now that’s an achievement if you ask me!

By the looks of it, the boy has it all going for him and lady luck seems to be favouring him.

For all you people, who did not know about Declan Galbraith, do a random Google search and listen to his songs-they’re all available on You Tube, like everything else in this world is. For those of you who do know him and are fans, he now lives in Rochester near Kent and wil be going easy on the music for a while.

Although he loves singing to live audiences, he recently announced on his official forum that “he will not be committing to long tours in the near future, but he is available to consider doing occasional one-off gigs”. He is also currently taking a break from recording a new album, but it is reported that he is working on material for more new albums. So have no fear, there’s more Declan coming up for those who wait.

Till then, I strongly recommend a few more repetitions of “Tell me why”- if not for Declan, then at least to remind yourself of MJ’s “Heal the world” and to “feel a lil bit” about the world you live in.

Cheers,

Shreyasi

Embrace the Tick-Tock

2009-11-16T21:43:00.000-08:00

(Written for my dad when he turned 50)

I well up with sadness,
And turn to the clock
My heart goes lub dub dub
My thoughts run amuck
If I could just turn back
This thing they call time
And retrieve all those moments
Explicitly mine,
When I was your daughter
None else mattered then
And you were my hero
A gem among men
The songs that we sang
And the games that we played
My very first bike ride
Just memories decayed?
For you were but thirty
And I was but five
Both vibrant and growing
So very alive
We faced our hardships
And firm like a rock
You weathered them bravely
The witness-that clock!
I always stood by you
And wished I’d done more
To make you as happy
As you were before
But such are the ways
Of the thing they call time
It seems like a moment
But life whizzes by
Now you are fifty
And I’m twenty five
Both vibrant and growing
Still so much alive
I suddenly get it
It comes in a flash
Why am I hasty?
I shouldn’t be rash
Why must I force
The clock at its best?
It’s the start of an era
Put your feet up and rest
You’ve spent an entire
Life time for me
Roles now reversed
Unfettered, YOU’RE FREE!
My father, my friend,
You’re always with me
Then why force the clock?
Why not let it run free?
Let’s leave out the bad times
And re-live the good
Let’s now live our lives
Like we really should
Now more than my hero,
With passage of time
You’re my friend and confidant
My partner in crime 
You don’t have to fight life
Embrace the tick tock
There’s much happiness promised
Just trust in the CLOCK!

------Twinky.

Of Best Friends and Timelessness (For Shalu and Willy)

2009-11-14T10:48:00.000-08:00

“The most beautiful discovery true friends make is that they can grow separately without growing apart.” ~Elisabeth Foley

I do not have gazillion great pals. What I do have are numerous acquaintances spread all over the globe, a few good friends I exchange warm “hellos” and “how dos” with, on and off and fewer great buddies who I love with all my heart, but don’t have the good fortune of keeping in touch with as often as I’d like to. But I can safely boast of a handful of absolutely fantastic pals (and I do not mean this in an academic way), who know me as intimately as only best pals can- friends in the true sense of the word. My relationships with these people go a long way back and somehow instead of growing apart (as people normally do with increasing distance and passing time), I have actually gotten closer to them than I would have ever expected. This doesn’t mean that I chat with them night and day and see them every other week. Far from it. But what I feel for them goes beyond the physical limitations of time and space.

“Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.” ~Oprah Winfrey

I will not name the gazillion acquaintances (who wouldn’t really care two hoots were I to fall off the face of this earth) since that would not only be a repugnant waste of time, but also not central to the theme of what I am about to say. I will mention two people though who through the many years of knowing me, continue to remain the two friends closest to my heart. I will not nominate either as my “best” friend, since I love them both equally and attributing the “best” tag to either one of them would not be justified. Of course there are others who probably know me better and are closer to me, such as my both my parents, my husband, my Cleo and most importantly, my beloved divine guru. But I want to speak of the people who are not my immediate family and yet, almost as close. Therefore, I talk of Shalini and Wilson- my best friends.

Shalini:

“It is the friends you can call up at 4 a.m. that matter.” ~Marlene Dietrich

“Shalu” as I have been calling her for as many years as I care to remember, has always been my “best friend” in the traditional sense of the word and veritably the only “girl” pal I’ve ever had- both for the longest period of time ever. And yes, she has also been the only friend I ever got used to calling at abominable hours in the day (and night) and I was never uncomfortable doing it.

We got to know each other when we both moved to Jangid Complex, a combination of housing societies which has evolved over time with a life force of its own. I had moved in from Santacruz and Shalu had moved in from another housing society within Mira-Road. We were both thrown into each other’s lives along with a bunch of other fresh faces and confused characters, with whom we grew up in Jangid. I went to school with a few of them (my gang pal Sujith springs instantly to mind), although shalu’s schooling happened elsewhere. Even though we spent the majority of our daytimes apart, we got to know each other better during our designated playtimes in the evenings (we were allowed to play after school for an hour or so before heading home for grub and homework). I remember so many evenings spent playing what would now seem silly games like Lagori, Dubba I Spy, Saankli and Kho Kho to name a few. We were especially good at Kabbaddi and somehow…in the boys vs girls kabbaddi matches, Shalu and I would often be playing on the boys team. Don’t ask…why that used to happen is a mystery that has eluded me all these years and still does. I was always the tomboy, while she was more balanced in her ways. I used to float around aimlessly in worn blue jeans pants and baggy t-shirts, while she would alternate between skirt-top pieces and pant-shirt ensembles. We became especially famous (or infamous-depending upon one’s point of view) among the entire group of kids belonging to our age group. We came to be known as “one of the guys!” the “Gangsta girls!” all in all the opinion that used to follow us wherever we went was, “Cool Girls! Great fun! Lekin Panga Nahin Lene Ka!!!!”

Soon, we began spending more time together when we got to the ninth grade and enrolled in the same coaching class for the ninth and tenth grade school and board exams. We began attending the classes together and the regular norm was that I’d take my cycle to her place –three buildings away, then we both would cycle down to Sukh Sagar Classes (Yep that was the name of the place where we and a few other distressed characters spent a bulk of the frustrating early teenage years). I would always be amazed at how Shalu was able to cycle so skillfully in a skirt. She would be equally comfortable cycling in pants and also in salwar suits!!!!! I used to be a spaz with anything other than my regular Jeans-t-shirt apparel! And Shalu has more than once (that’s an understatement) been critical of my dismal wardrobe.

“A friend can tell you things you don't want to tell yourself.” ~Frances Ward Weller

I must admit-my wardrobe has never been something I’ve been proud of…only something that I’ve been extremely comfortable with. And I would have continued to live in that comfort zone oblivious to the surrounding environment and what is required to be worn in certain situations-had it not been for Shalu. In fact, my mother and Shalu used to kind of gang up together (individually of course) and tell me off about my depressing and dysfunctional wardrobe situation. Slowly but surely, they got through my thick headedness and my choice of clothing has significantly improved since then (at least I think so), although the old fashion sense keeps creeping in every now and then (and I must say I love it when that happens). Of course, being a business correspondent I have had to make some rather unsavory changes to my clothing- so hurrah! Shalu (and mom) emerge victorious.

Of course, clothing is not the only thing Shalu has been critical of. She has systematically dissected my life and my personality and critically analyzed it and not hesitated to mince her words when it boiled down to the nitty gritties. I have also always acted similarly when it came to her life and her personality traits and the funny thing is, it began most naturally for both us. Even funnier is the fact that neither of us ever thought it weird on misplaced and we have always been brutally open with each other when it came down to the finer points. Funniest of it all is the fact that neither of us ever felt hurt or misjudged. In fact all we ever felt was a sense of gratitude that we both have someone to point out things about us that we ourselves would not care to perceive consciously. I personally am thankful that Shalu told me off in the past and continues to do so even today when millions of miles and time differences separate us.

“A friend accepts us as we are yet helps us to be what we should.” ~Author Unknown

Just as we have been critical of each other, we have also been appreciative of each other’s positive traits and achievements. She particularly has always been emphatic about her pride in who I have been and become, the person that I am within, the things I have managed to achieve (there’s not much…really!) and most importantly- she has always spoken of how important I am to her. Don’t get me wrong. I am not her ONLY friend. Shalu is the kind of person who naturally tends to have the limelight focused on her (whether or not she voluntarily makes it happen) and she has been very lucky to have had a very good set of friends all through her life. But she says (and I know she means it) that I have always been her BEST friend. That goes for me definitely, since I have never had the HUGE circles of friends that she has been blessed with. I have always been the “different” one- the one with the weird traits and funny ideas, the one who doesn’t always “fit in”. Thankfully, that didn’t matter to Shalu and she accepted me with all my weirdness. For that I am grateful.

“You can always tell a real friend when you've made a fool of yourself and he doesn't feel you've done a permanent job.” ~Laurence J. Peter

Shalu and I used to talk about everything. Multitudinous topics would float through the air- sometimes over the phone; sometimes in the day over a plateful of her mum’s Vada Pav (I used to compete with her brother to finish the most vada pavs in fifteen minutes-of course I won more often than not) and often late into the night when we used to have our regular sudy-overs and sleep-overs. Our talks were never girly. In fact they used to be the exact opposite. We never gossiped- we mostly talked about the future. What life would be like when we were 30, 40, 50 etc, what kind of guys we would marry, where we would be living thirty years from then etc. We used to chat about our prevailing lives, the weirdness of the change that inevitably accompanies adolescence, the trials and tribulations our respective families were going through- stuff like that. Of course boyfriends were a HOT topic of discussion. Considering the fact that I was hopeless and had never had any boyfriends, and she had already had a couple, it usually used to be a monologue- Shalu giving me expert details about what we thought we knew about “relationships” and me listening with rapt attention to the “love guru”. We used to share almost all aspects of our lives. And what we didn’t share, we didn’t question each other about. We respected the other’s privacy which has always been a sacrosanct aspect of our relationship. But when either wants to talk, the other is there. Even now.

“A friend is the one who comes in when the whole world has gone out.” ~Grace Pulpit

I have had my fair share of troubled waters. I have been through enough nightmares to last me a lifetime. Cancer has ravaged my home, broken my family and depleted our financial, physical and emotional resources. My teenage years were fraught with financial problems, unemployment, hard work, struggles, sickness and many painful tragedies. I do not care to relive them as I have finally managed to come to terms with the fact that these are but ebbs and flows that come through every life at every turn. What I will never forget though, is the strength I found in God during those tumultuous years, the deepened love and kinship between me and my parents, the timeless companionship of a dog who was more human than animal, and lastly, the support and love of a friend who was by my side as humongous tsunamis threatened to engulf my life. Shalini lulled me to sleep when my grandmother's last cancer induced coma robbed the sleep from my eyes. She cycled with me the next day to procure the required stuff for my grandmother’s last rites. That was the first time I stared death in the face and she was the one friend who stood by me when I did. She was with me when my grandfather died and just being able to talk to her about distressful monetary situations, was a relief in itself. We laughed together when our SSC results were announced and we were cried together when leukemia threatened to take one of our best friends away from us. We went our separate ways through college- she went on to become an engineer and I graduated with a Life Sciences degree- but we never grew apart despite the different lives we had begun to lead. Even when her family decided to move far away to Navi Mumbai (that was a big blow to me), our relationship never changed…even though our telephonic conversations reduced in frequency as time went by. When I fell in love for the first time in my life, Shalu was the first person to know about it, and as my whirlwind romance progressed and culminated in marriage, Shalu was there by my side. When I completed the saath feres with my new husband, seeing her happy face was a joy in itself- a testament to all that we’d been through and to the hope that good times were finally here. The day I left Jangid, to go to Singapore, to a new home and new life, Shalu was there to bid me farewell. She knew things would be different and she didn’t hesitate to give me the biggest bear hug she’s ever given me and she didn’t hesitate to let the tears flow freely (we rarely cried in each other’s presence). I saw her one time after that when I visited India. It was like old times, sitting on her bed, eating sev puri and chatting away to glory as if hardly any time had passed. I still remember telling her about the wonders of married life and listening to her about how much she would like to have a mangal sutra “just like Twinky’s”.

"Good friends are like the stars- you don't always see them, but you know they are there" ~Author Unkown

I have not seen Shalu in a long time now. I don’t even recall when I saw her last. After I moved to Singapore and began fighting my own battles here, Shalu moved to Infosys in Chandigarh (North India) and then whooshed off to Germany where she still is. Lives have become busy. The world has become more competitive than it used to be during the simple days of Sukh Sagar. Responsibilities have piled up and ambitions are making their presence felt more and more as the days go by. As such, Shalu and I don’t speak as frequently as we used to or would like to. We call each other once in six or seven months (she does mostly) either on special occasions or simply because one of us needs to or wants to talk. Surprisingly, every time I answer the phone or hear her at the other end of the line, it’s as if she was still three buildings away and no time had passed at all. I have had that experience with only one other friend and I must admit- it is a joy in itself. And I don't mean to be dramatic. Time normally stops when two people meet/talk after ages. With Shalu and me, time just continues moving at the lazy pace it used to- more than 11 years ago.

You believed in me when I myself did not,
You trusted me- with your secrets, your fears, your loves and your despairs,
You stood by me, when I needed a friend
And you stuck with me, when I had found the ground beneath my feet.
You lauded my aspirations
And you urged me on to realize my dreams,
And when my priorities altered,
So did my dreams,
And you spurred me on to realize my new dreams.
Years have gone by and things have changed,
But memories of our friendship never grow stale.
The candid talks and the vada pavs,
The daal batis and the sev puris from Gupta’s,
Your mathematical prowess and my way with words,
Prompt and expressive birthday cards,
Friendship bands, with Disney characters on them,
Your eyes lighting up with pride every time I sang,
Your fashion tips for me-
Teaching me about eyeliners and lip liners,
Lipsticks and nailpaints,
Through all the years of studying together, planning together
Dreaming of green sequined dresses and Harrison ford,
Discussing Indian nerds and certain Filipino jerks,
Watching movies and playing Monopoly,
Sifting through boyfriends galore,
In the eternal search for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow,
You were the friend on my youth
And I pray that 50 years from now,
When time has wrinkled our faces,
Scarred our hearts, fulfilled our dreams and satisfied our souls,
You will be my best friend still.

“Yesterday brought the beginning, tomorrow brings the end, and somewhere in the middle, we became the best of friends.” ~Author Unknown

Wilson:

"You meet people who forget you. You forget people you meet. But sometimes you meet those people you can't forget. Those are your real 'friends'" ~Author Unknown

If I had to write a short story about my friendship with Wilson, I’d probably call it “Lost and Found (that it was never Lost)”- I know its cheesy and I can probably do better with the way I title my stories, but nothing could describe my relationship with Wilson any better.

I first met Wilson Picardo (aka Willy) in junior college. I had just enrolled in Bhavan’s College, Andheri West, and found to my delight that another girl from Mira-Road, had also enrolled into the same course and as such we could travel together. Shruti Kand was her name and she used to live a few blocks away from Jangid Complex- the place where I lived for nearly ten years of my adult life. It was Shruti who introduced me to two of her school friends-Jay and Wilson and the four of us kind of ganged up and started travelling together to college and back. Shruti and I had many classes in common, so we spent a great deal of time together during college hours, while Jay and Willy attended different (mathematics oriented) classes. However, we still used to make it a point to meet during lunch breaks (or bunked classes) to hang out together. Before we knew it, we became fast friends and started calling ourselves Guns n Roses (the boys were crazy about guns and other violent behaviors and we girls LOVED flowers-I know-it gets cheesier). Somehow, Wilson and I shared a special bond (FYI, we both used to be nerdy characters with messed up lives) and the friendship that developed between us was more different than anything I have come across ever. Willy and I used to stick around with each other more frequently than the rest of the gang. I used to be a frustratingly consistent tomboy during those days. I was rebellious about everything and I hated convention from the bottom of my heart (still do). And Willy used to be the eternally myopic pessimist. He used to love going around with his zanily dry sense of humor-pouring cold water on the general cheerful state of the world. I wasn’t the type who used to have boyfriends and Willy used to be the evergreen lover boy- eternally on the girl hunt brigade. Together we made a great team.

“True friendship is never serene.” ~Marie de Rabutin-Chantal

In fact within a few months of meeting each other, we made an ominous pact. One day we sat together in the small tea shop outside the college, stuffing ourselves with samosa pavs and sev puris, when Wilson commented about the bleak future he foresaw for both of us- relationship wise. The conversation was brief. It went something like this.

“Shreyasi, I don’t have a girlfriend yet, I’m depressed.”

“Uh huh.” I grunted- mouth full of pav.

“Apna kya hoga samba?”

“Kya hoga? Nachenge Khayenge, Ghumenge, Firenge, Aish Karenge aur kya?” I had begun acting Ghulamish and effectively started getting on his nerves.

“Dude we have to think of something, we need a backup plan of some sort, we can’t just hang around without any insurance for the future.”

“Uh huh,” I grunted again.

“Will you quit hogging?”

“Hmmm.” I shoveled in some more food. Dammit it had been a long day.

“I think,” he sighed. “If by the time we’re 40 and neither of us are married/ engaged or about to be married or engaged- which I think has a high probability of happening the way we’re going, we should get together.”

I choked. And I gagged. But it didn’t matter. The immortal words were spoken and the tea-store keeper was witness to it (I don’t think he cared either way). From that moment on, I became Willy’s backup girlfriend-ready to spring into action, should bachelor hood or spinsterhood devour our destinies. Unfortunately that wasn’t valid for very long. I got married in 2004. I still remain Willy’s back up though-for moral support during the tough times, if not anything else.

Disclaimer:- The abovementioned conversation may have been doctored by the authoress a wee bit- please attribute it to long gone days or long-term memory loss on the part of the authoress.

“Friendship isn't a big thing - it's a million little things.” ~Author Unknown

Those two years we spent at Bhavan’s were the most significant for our friendship. In fact those two years were FUNDAMENTAL to our friendship. Lots of trials had come my way and hanging out with Wilson took a load off my shoulders. Although I never spoke to him of my troubles (he used to be so morbid, I didn’t want to add to his morbidity), we shared other aspects of our lives, which made the companionship a whole lot deeper. I still remember us lounging around in the temple inside Bhavan’s, under the Banyan trees, or walking around the campus, in the gardens, strolling through the back area making faces at the khadoos cashiers , wandering out into the race course, or meandering through the buildings housing the biology, chemistry and physics laboratories and the psychology/language classes. Sometimes we used to just sit on the washed out stone chairs and gossip about random people passing by. Wilson often used to slap me on the back and go, “Hey check out that babe yaar.” Or “Sahi item hai re- Intro kara na.” It used to be very annoying- especially since I had told him a million times that I wasn’t friends with every Sita, Gita and Neena in college and that I hardly knew my own classmates.

Soon, Wilson fell in love with a common friend of ours, and our time together declined. I am thankful though, since she seemed to infuse some stability in his wandering ways and some positivity into his despicably negative mindset. We still chatted randomly over the phone and also met up in college sometimes.

“A true friend is one who thinks you are a good egg even if you are half-cracked.” ~Author Unknown

This rings very true in my case. I believe I have been a half-cracked egg for a long time now. I wasn’t born like that, but I have brought over some past life tendencies and of course, the crazy world around me didn’t do my cracked-ness any good. Thankfully, Willy was just as cracked up as I was (possibly even more) and that was fine by me. Having a similarly oriented person as a friend always helps one- especially if one is a chronic misfit in conventional society. We used to be misfits together. Wilson had a rather depressing view of life though. I remember one day Shruti, Jay, Wilson and I were holed up together in my room, listening to music, chatting, snacking and doing the general oddities that teenagers do, when we started talking about dreams and wishes. The general question going around was, “If you had one wish, what would you ask for?” Shruti, being the eternal peacelover that she has always been, asked for world peace and universal love. I asked for one chance to sing a duet with Ronan Keating. (duh! just like me to waste a wish on a singer, but I’d still wish for him…or one evening alone on an island with Johnny Depp...sigh!) Jay asked for a limitless credit card I believe (he was always the smart one). Then we turned to Wilson, our eyes shining with childish grins and hopeful faith. He said, “I’d like to be left on the moon to die alone in space.”

I think that was the end of the conversation for that day.

We all went back feeling as if we had just slipped and fallen into 32 feet of glacial ice. But it was this very peculiar characteristic about Wilson that we all found so very endearing. We adored him for his wistful demeanor and general dry humor. I at least always loved spending time with him…possibly because my humor has always been similarly dry and it was like finding a kindred spirit in him : - ).

I do remember the Christmases at his place though. He lived with his parents and sister in a small house- as small as mine, but they always made time and space for a Christmas tree and a lovely nativity scene near the TV. I always thought his mum and dad were adorable, though Willy was perpetually at war with his sister. Now I know how much he loves her. I remember a few Christmases I spent at his place. I remember the smell of freshly baked Goan rum fruit cakes and the marshmallows! Ah! The marshmallows and little colored cookies used to be lovely. There used to be shiny trinkets on the tree and baby Jesus and all the angels, shepherds, wise men, Mary and Joseph would be lit up. I can imagine how much Wilson must be missing Christmases at home. I do too.

“There is no distance too far between best friends, for friendship gives wings to the heart.” ~Author Unknown

I haven’t seen Willy in ages. I can’t even begin to count the years. Wilson went off to engineering college and then to work in the USA, while I got married, came to Singapore and set up shop here. For a few years I lost all contact with him. No telephone calls or messages, no emails. It was as if he had vanished off the face of the earth. Completely disappeared off the Shreyasi radar. I had seriously thought at the time, that I had lost my ex back up boyfriend and one of my best friends.

However, one day a year back, the internet in its own magical way, helped me find Willy. It was all quite sudden. Somehow, Willy appeared “online” in my address book on gtalk and I said hi and we got to talking. It was like finding a $100 note in your pocket when you didn’t know it was there. I was thrilled. I had “lost” my best friend and I had “found” him again. It was only after we had chatted online for almost 45 minutes, I realized that I had never lost him in the first place. He was always there and our friendship was surprisingly intact. In fact, when we talked, it was as if we were picking up from where we left off so many many years ago and it made perfect sense- there was nothing out of the ordinary. He was still Willy and I was still Shreyasi and our relationship was still the same. There is a certain joy in that continuity amidst so much tumultuous change that I find hard to express.

“The friendship that can cease has never been real.” ~Saint Jerome, church father & saint (374 AD - 419 AD)

Wilson and I still live at the opposite ends of the planet. I wake up when he is drifting into deep slumber and when I’m done with my day, he gets ready to battle out a new day. Time differences and the incredibly huge distance between us do not make it possible for us to talk as often as we’d like to, but somehow, we make time to “chat” online. Messengers and social networking sites have been a boon and I can safely say, I’m back in touch with Willy after almost a decade. And it feels great!

Wilson knows me for my idiosyncrasies and he, like Shalu has accepted me for what I am. He is proud of the person I have become and I am of him. He has a more positive, bright attitude towards life now than he used to earlier and he has become a survivor. Life has taught him a lot, as it has done to me and we both have grown separately with individual lessons. But we haven’t grown apart. In fact we’re closer now than we used to be in college.

Willy, I don’t have an poem for you- not yet. Probably because I don’t yet have the words to describe exactly how wonderful it has been to be your friend. Of finding you when I thought I never would. And of knowing that you’ll be around for a while now. But I’d like to refresh your memory about something you had written in my slam book many years back during our frolicking fun loving college days. You said, “Thank you Shreyasi for being my best friend. I know there will be many ups and downs in our relationship,we will have our differences,but I want our friendship to last the test of time. Thanks for putting up with a crab like me.”

I know you meant that and see? our friendship has lasted through time...just like you wanted. As for putting up with a crab like you is concerned, I did it effectively in the past and I will be around to do it again. I promise.

“True friendship is seen through the heart not through the eyes.” ~Unknown

----------------Shreyasi (Twinky)

The Spinach Advantage - Why Popeye Has an Edge

2009-11-11T08:45:00.000-08:00

“I don't like spinach, and I'm glad I don't, because if I liked it I'd eat it, and I just hate it.” Clarence Darrow said this (In response to what- I’m unsure of), but a large majority of the food connoisseurs of the world would agree in unison with Clarence- probably with emphatic head nodding and nose wrinkling too. I don’t think I’d blame them. Spinach is not exactly meant to be a gastronomic delight- but if one was to weigh its virtues against its effect on the taste buds- then I must admit, the pros far outweigh the cons. It is one hell of a great input for the body’s overall well being and its goodness reinforces the validity of the reasons for Popeye’s immense success as the muscle popping cartoon action figure that he continues to be even today!

The large triangular (or oval shaped) leaves of the plant, a Chenopoid species of the Amaranthaceae family, is classified into three basic types aka Savoy-with the dark green and crinkly leaves, the Flat leaf spinach and the hybrid Semi Savoy variety with slightly crinkly leaves.

Spinach is well stocked up on the much coveted Vitamin A- an essential nutrient most well known as the driving force behind strong eyesight. The Recommended Daily Intake (RDI) of Vitamin A for a healthy female aged 19-70 years of age ranges between 770-3,000 mg, while the RDI for men in the same age group is 700-3,000mg.According to Nutrition Data, 1 cup of raw spinach, equivalent to 30g of the leaves in weight, accounts for a whopping 56% of Vitamin A, followed by 14% Vitamin C, while it boasts an absolute absence of trans fat, saturated fat and cholesterol. Weight loss aficionados-there’s a cue good enough for you to start stocking up on the not so savoury, but highly nutritious leafy vegetable.

Apart from the Vitamins, the same serving of raw spinach would contain around 5% iron- a very rich source of the mineral like most other leafy vegetables and extremely useful for non-vegetarians who do not have access to Iron in the traditional meats and minces. In fact according to the US agriculture department, a 180g serving of boiled spinach contains nearly 6.5 mg Iron, while a 170g ground hamburger patty would contain only 4.5mg- a mere trifle. This does definitely promote vegetarianism to an extent if one thinks about it carefully.

Popeye owes his famous muscles and strong public persona to the iron content in the humble tins of spinach that seem to magically appear out of nowhere wherever he goes. Although it is a relatively little known fact that the corncob smoking, pipe-tooting sailor with the anchor tattoos and characteristic receding hairline, exists because of a sheer miscalculation. In 1870, Dr E Von Wolf published a study which claimed (mistakenly I presume), that spinach contained 10 times the iron content when compared to other leafy veggies. Next on the time line, the spinach toting baggily appareled sea farer appeared in the first daily comic strip Thimble Theatre, after which he gained his own little strip in 1937. It was not until 1939, that some German scientists conducted further study on the apparent “wonder plant” and came to the conclusion that it contains only 1/10th the amount of iron that Wolfe claimed earlier. After that, such wide publication and circulation of Popeye strips came to a crashing halt. However, despite the nutritional discrepancy, Popeye continues to be one of the world’s most favorite animated sailors and he continues to regale his fans with his funny-muscle antics and fresh methods of saving his eternally distressed damsel-his “Goyle”.

Although the cartoon character’s loyal fan following did have a role to play in the strips unusual timelessness, the readers’ acknowledgement of the foodstuff which was the only tangible “reality” in Popeye’s world and the subconscious knowledge of the wholesome goodness of the unsavory vegetable, definitely had an impact on the general psyche, adding to the cartoon’s popularity.

Also, according to some other sources, the initial analysis by Wolf, was done on 1 kg powdered spinach, but spinach being 90% water (yeah! There’s something you didn’t know!) which portrayed spinach as having an iron content of around 3.5mg/ 100g- 10 times lesser (as proven by the German scientists) than Wolf’s figure. However, even 3.5mg Fe/100 g of spinach is a big quantity, but this quantity alone does not make spinach as pronounced a power food as it is, since all the oxalic acid it contains, interferes with Iron uptake. It is the other minerals like Vitamins B1, 2, 6, E and K and other components such as Calcium, Biotin and Niacin apart from the above-mentioned constituents, which make spinach the proudly nutritious vegetable that it is accepted as today.

Spinach has been the cause of some misadventures such as the 2006 E.coli outbreak in the USA due to infected spinach packets in grocery stores (caused 5 deaths) and the 2007 USA Salmonella outbreak also attributed to around 8,000 affected cartons of spinach. However, on the whole, it has been a fairly benevolent and largely nutritious vegetable, which is highly recommended as a part of the daily diet.

Going over the value of the nutrients available in spinach, Vitamin A, which is also found in cantaloupe melons, kale, and papaya, is important for the maintenance of good vision as well as in other relatively external physical attributes such as skin health, bone metabolism and in anti-oxidant activity. Other than that, it also plays a part on the molecular and cellular level, in gene transcription, immune function, Haematopoiesis and embryonic development.

Vitamin C also acts as a strong antioxidant, lessens oxidative stress, and on the molecular level acts as as substrate for an enzyme called Ascorbate Peroxidase. It also acts as an enzyme cofactor- essential for important for essential biochemical reactions and the synthesis of collagen which suffers during a Vitamin C deficiency, causes the much hyped deficiency disease called Scurvy.

Vitamins of the B Group, are responsible for the smooth functioning of metabolic activitites, healthy skin and muscle tone, enhancement of the immune and nervous system as well as promotion of cell growth and functioning. All B Vitamins have been known to reduce the chances of being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer- but only when ingested in the RAW form and not as a tablet.

The main purpose of Vitamin K in human nutrition is its role in blood coagulation via Prothrombin. K has also been lauded for its potential role in bone health and has been studied in relation to treating Alzheimer’s disease and cancer.

Nutritional calcium is a critical element for many bodily functions, such as bone growth and maintenance, muscle and nerve control, blood clotting, and blood pressure regulation. Meanwhile, α-Tocopherol present in Vitamin E, helps protect cell membranes from rapid oxidation processes.

So all in all, it is pretty evident that spinach is one of the POWERFOODS that play a quintessential role in good health. It also goes to show that Popeye was no mean sailor with a taste for random greens, but he KNEW about the overall nutritional boost available in a neat little tin of spinach. So if you’ve outgrown Popeye comics, then just be mature about it and incorporate spinach into your regular diet. And if you’re a child (in years or at heart) and enjoy reading of Popeye’s various exploits, go a step further and listen to what your mum always has to say – Eat your Spinach!

------------Shreyasi M.

The Power of ‘Namaste’

2009-11-10T09:21:00.000-08:00

“I honor the place in you,

in which the entire universe dwells.

I honor the place in you,

which is of love, of truth, of light, and of peace.

I honor the place in you where,

if you are in that place in you,

and I am in that place in me,

there is only one of us.”
----Ram Dass

Its beauty lies not in the enunciation or composition, but in the core meaning of the word itself. Derived from the “Sandhi” (or joining) of two individual Sanskrit words ‘Namah’ and ‘te’, Namaste literally means “I bow to you”. Breaking it up further, Na meaning ‘not’ and Mah meaning ‘mine’ come together as ‘Not mine.’ This in essence has to do with the acknowledgement of the fact that there is no ‘I’ or ‘Me’, but only eternal spirit. The actual meaning of the word (relatively unknown to the west), has to do with the divinity encased in a human form acknowledging another. It is often associated with a hand gesture wherein hands joined together with fingers pointing upwards are held close to the chest (heart chakra-the seat of human emotion) while the head is bowed slightly in reverence. The wordless gesture in itself means ‘namaste’ and does not necessarily have to be accompanied by the word. Either as a ‘Mantra’ (word) or ‘Mudra’ (gesture) or combined, it expresses the same thing-one of the highest forms of respect for the divinity contained and expressed in another human being.

Used commonly in most south Asian countries including Nepal, some parts of Pakistan and Sri Lanka, it is so extensively used in India that one can safely say that it is synonymous with Indian culture in more ways than one. In fact, I’d go a step further to say that Namaste is integral to the Indian way of life-which is expressed best in one concept- non attachment to the ego. Almost every Indian concept encapsulates this one core philosophy. A simple example would be the common Indian saying ‘Atithi Devo Bhavah’ – which literally means “Guest is God”. The importance attached to hospitality in every Indian household-is well known-irrespective of the race, religion, caste or creed of the host or the guest. A person standing on the threshold of an Indian door is ALWAYS welcomed in with complete reverence, without any thought of self comfort or convenience. When there is a guest to be attended to, all efforts converge into making him comfortable and providing him with everything he needs (sometimes even with things he doesn’t). The concept of the divine spark in everything living is so burned into an Indian’s existence, that relative non attachment to the ego is a natural consequence. Another prime example would be a Vedic saying which when translated to plain English, goes to say that “It is one’s duty only to perform the action to the best of one’s abilities and never to be attached to the action or the fruit of the action thereof.” It makes a lot of sense and in the long run, saves the person from a lot of high blood pressure issues, agony, grief, tension and heartache. ‘Love selflessly and divinely without expecting anything from the one you love’-another basic Indian tenet. This non-attachment to one self and supreme devotion/reverence for the ONE SELF is what a Namaste symbolizes. Explained simplistically, Namaste signifies ‘The spirit in me bows to the SAME spirit in you.’

There can be a number of other interpretations for Namaste-all of which are correct. In essence, it is symbolic of ONENESS. So it can be taken to mean the removal of all the duality that we see in creation-good, bad, right, wrong, light, dark, truth, falsehood, birth, death-everything. In many ways it represents the absence of “two” in the mighty Mayic cycle of creation and the presence of only “one” in absolute spirit. One aspect of such duality in particular is that of husband and wife complementing each other’s existence while they work together as one unit to reach the ultimate goal of self-realization. Marriage is supposed to be one of the holiest of institutions meant for combined spiritual progress between two entities possessing the male and female aspects of God. This “Oneness” may be another representation of Namaste. The gesture itself holds significant meaning, if one considers the five fingers of one hand to correspond to the five physical senses which drive the karmic cycle, while the other five signify the five organs of knowledge of the human SELF. Then Namaste would essentially mean, knowledge and karma coming together as One, which would mean the performance of action guided by right knowledge.

A synonym for Namaste is ‘Namaskar’ or ‘Namaskaram’-all of them always taken seriously when uttered with complete and absolute respect-even when spoken to a stranger. The gesture has become so idealized by the average Indian, that even a picture of a person with bowed head and folded hands is immediately attributed to India. Inevitably. Universally. And very much to my delight and pride.

In my work as a business correspondent, I come across different people from various countries and I revel in talking to them and gaining a better insight into the industry that I cover. However, when I speak to my Indian business contacts/friends (no matter where they are located in the world), I somehow always begin my sentences with an enthusiastic ‘Namaste’. And I immediately find myself smiling in spite of myself. The person at the other end of the line (or face to face), always responds with a Namaste-even if he/she is not a particularly amicable mood. And more often than not, the Namaste breaks the ice and enables a longer and friendlier conversation than I would expect to have, had I begun with a simple “Hello”. The fact that I am a fellow Indian shows itself clear as day with that first Namaste and it creates a kind of common ground for further talks/chats and general give and take of information. I once called a contact in Shanghai, who held a very senior position in an Indian iron ore mining company in Goa. When I spoke to him for the first time, after the regular Namaste, Kaise hai aap?(How are you?) The conversation went smoothly, and every call I made to him after that, the interaction between us became smoother and friendlier. When I was in Shanghai with my editor for a conference, we met up with the abovementioned friend from the mining company, who quickly got chatting with my editor. After a long hearty chat about Goan iron ore export prices to China, my editor concluded by thanking him for taking the time to talk to me whenever I called him. To my pleasant surprise, he turned to my editor and said, “Shreyasi always greets me with a warm Namaste whenever she calls me. As a fellow Indian, how can I refuse to help her?” Suffice it to say that my boss was satisfied that I was making good contacts as a warm loving human being, while I was upbeat the entire day owing to the one statement made by a business contact who has now become a good friend-thanks to the one “warm Namaste”.

That is what Namaste can do. It has the ability to bind, to create a sense of oneness and to invoke respect, humility and warmth in people (even apparent strangers) and the supreme divinity of the ONE intangible, yet ever present SPIRIT. That is why it was a part of ancient Indian culture and that is why it continues to be used by Indians today. Its timelessness is its virtue and in its simplicity lies its significance. That is the power of Namaste, the magic of India and the completeness of Spirit.
---------Shreyasi M

It All Boils Down to Hainanese Chicken Rice

2009-11-08T22:51:00.000-08:00

Ever since I’ve stepped foot in Singapore, I have heard emphatic references to the famous Singaporean Chicken Rice-better known in local terms as Hainanese Chicken Rice. In accordance with the name, it originated in the small Chinese province of Hainan-a bunch of islands off the southern coast of China. The funny thing is that the Hainanese populace has little or no inkling about the Singaporean version of their local gastronomic delight. The Hainanese Chicken Rice sold and ravenously devoured in the tiny garden city of Singapore, has become synonymous with Singaporean culture itself.

First popularized in Singapore in the mid 1900’s by a certain ambitious Mr. Moh Lee Twee, Hainanese Chicken Rice – which in Singapore contains elements of Hainanese and Cantonese cuisines as well as a certain unique South Asian touch to it- has become a symbol of the Singaporean way of life. There are many things which represent Singapore aptly-The majestic Merlion, the immensely popular food courts, the mouth-watering Malaysian Nasi Lemak, the use of ‘LAH’ as often as one would normally use ‘a’, ‘the’ or ‘an’ in a single sentence, and more recently the much hyped Singapore Flyer-to name a few. But I have never come across a Singaporean symbol as integral to its culture as the Hainanese Chicken Rice.

Being a vegetarian myself, I have never tasted the dish. But the adoring look a Singaporean exhibits whenever he/she even so much as mentions the delicacy, has been enough to prove to me that it is downright delicious. It has also proved to me one thing beyond doubt-Singaporeans adore their chicken rice. They swear by it. It is unofficially the ‘national dish’ of the country and rightfully so-considering the immense fan following it boasts. The importance Singaporeans attach to the daily serving of Chicken Rice, is evident in their constant use of the dish as a yardstick for measuring most other aspects of their lives. Especially finance and the management of money matters-which plays a big role in the typical Singaporean mindset (This is a rich country, but the cost of living being so high, the local people always try and find ways and means to save money at every turn.) I have frequently heard such comparisons from the people here-not once, not twice, but on numerous occasions.

The first time I came across the commonplace relation between chicken rice and money, was a few years back, when I was a student in the National University of Singapore. I was heading downstairs with a couple of my lab mates (yes I used to be a lab rat back then-much to my disdain), to the Biological Sciences canteen-for some grub after a hard morning of slaving over PCR techniques. I went and got myself some food from an Indian stall (I must admit, we are a rather unadventurous lot when it comes to food), while the two guys I was with, got their individual servings-one helped himself to fish and chips while the other stacked up on a BIG plate of chicken rice in all its oily broth-filled goodness. As we sat down to lunch, the fish n chips guy asked my Chicken devouring friend how much the rice cost him. That one question was enough to fuel a conversation which continued all afternoon. It included comparisons with the Chicken Rice prices in the departments of engineering, psychiatry, medicine, humanities and economics, an inter-university comparison as well as a comparison with chicken rice at local stalls in varied locations ranging from Hougang, to Pair Ris to Jurong and City Hall. They also talked about how the price of the local delight has oscillated over the past five months and then went on to discuss the option of having to go to Hainan to eat chicken rice someday. As I sat there chewing on my sad little Roti Prata and Channa, I listened to them quietly-while the enormity of the whole Chicken Rice scenario slowly sunk in. I must admit, I had never in my wildest dreams thought that two people could be so emphatically verbose about something as down to earth and simple as a bowl of chicken cooked with ginger and garlic, with accompanying broth dunked flavorful sticky rice.

After that I came across a number of people who would inadvertently introduce Chicken Rice in a conversation, which otherwise one would never expect to have Chicken Rice in it. It amazed me-and still does. The devotion which these people have towards a simple food preparation, which has become not only a cult symbol for the average Singaporean, but an integral part of his life as well-goes to show just how much this dish is revered in this part of the world.

The most recent conversation I had about Chicken Rice was with a cabbie not many days ago. I was in a cab en route to Little India for a variety of reasons I will not bore you with (at least not right now), and was attempting to read Jerome K Jerome’s obnoxiously humorous “Three Men in a Boat” (I sometimes am starved for wit and need to turn to masters like Jerome for a spoonful of magic). However my cab driver was this rotund jovial fellow (unlike the numerous acerbic and moody drivers I have had the good fortune of coming across) who for some reason found in me the perfect sounding board for all kinds of local news and his personal woes alike. He regaled me with Singaporean politics and wildlife and gave me several important pointers (“Don’t take the road to Suntec City tomorrow Ma’am-all roads will be closed due to the APEC meeting”).

Then suddenly he went all rigid (it was kind of scary especially when he started pointing to what looked like a ghostly object in the forest fire fog) and started screaming almost manically “You see there madam? Prestige company-Black Chrysler taxi-neber neber take.” He had succeeded in rousing my interest.

“What? Why not? What’s wrong with the Chrysler?”

“You don’t know…wah! So expensive lah. Many many more dollar than normal Comfort or City Cab.”

“Can’t be too much of a difference,” I insisted.

“No, I tell you lor. I tell all my passenger. Neber neber take Prestige Chrysler. They cheat you, you know? I know one woman who take Chrysler from Suntec all the way to Jurong yah and had to pay 40 ober dollar you know?”

“You have GOT to be kidding me,” I exclaimed. Suntec to Jurong would cost a maximum of $25, to the best of my knowledge. I was listening intently and Jerome was taking a serious beating.

“I tell you leh…we charge first km 3 dollar-they start with $3.30 you know! 30 cents more wah! Cannot cannot,” he continued just as excitedly as before (in fact his face had turned a slight tinge of red). “You go ten km like this lor-you pay 3 dollars more you know- COST OF ONE WHOLE PLATE OF CHICKEN RICE WAH! 40 kms like this you can get 4 plates of chicken rice you know for same money lor!”

By this time, Jerome’s witty humor was tucked away well and safe in my bag, while I listened to this good natured driver, trying to economize my life. I was in awe of the simplicity of this person who pretty much represented the average common man-not only in Singapore, but in every major world economy. He went on to instruct me to never hail Chrysler cabs-even when in queue at a taxi stand or at the airport. He was trying his best to inform me of the real danger posed by the monstrous machines in black and in his own little way, he was trying to save my hard earned money. He was making sure I had enough for a plate of chicken rice always-even four, if push came to shove.

The incident not only re-iterated my opinion of the Singaporean’s love for Chicken Rice, but also opened my eyes to the daily struggle that an average local here has to go through to survive. It is a hard life-despite the manicured gardens, clean roadsides and the awfully rich golf-playing, diamond buying section of society. For the average Singaporean, the reality lies not in the country’s world economic rankings, but being able to live happily within a tough system which gives a lot but also takes its fair share. For the average struggling, loving, HDB-inhabiting, food court visiting, and soul searching Singaporean, it all boils down to the value of a plate of Hainanese Chicken Rice.

-----------------Shreyasi Majumdar.

Generating Article Ideas- 20 Strategies that Work!

2009-11-08T07:47:00.000-08:00

Ever faced a block while looking for new things to write about? Ever wondered whether this is the oft-heard of writer’s block or something even more malicious? Ever felt as if this was the end of your brilliant present or future career as an article writer? Have no fear and certainly don’t fret! Although not exactly classified as a writer’s block, this particular situation can get even more frustrating than the former since the words are just aching to spurt out onto paper. At some point of time or the other, ALL article writers face a wall trying to locate and generate new ideas for their articles. Submission deadlines make the situation all the more worse. However there are ways and means to keep producing beautifully worded pieces of art, even when the creativity streak is running thin. Here are some of the strategies that work well for most people:-

1) Research- This is the first course of action any article write turns to, whenever in need for new ideas. In fact thorough and intense research is the pillar of any writer’s career. And I think it’s safe to say that it’s the most productive way to get a new title for your story. Years ago, research would probably entail scouring through truckloads of books and interviewing people. In today’s day and age, apart from books, magazines and interviews, research can involve a whole gamut of avenues-a major chunk of which is contributed by the internet- a wonder of modern times. The amount of information available in cyber world is immense to say the least. Simply scouring through Wikipedia and the various cross links that it provides, can be enough to help you come up with new ideas for your articles. Apart from this, ezines, article directories and content sites can provide enough food for thought to last you till your next dry spell. If you’re still dissatisfied and hungry for more, search for random topics on any functional search engine such as Google, Ask Jeeves and Dogpile. To check out what the rest of the world is searching for, websites like Yahoo Buzz!, Google Zeitgeist, Google Trends, MSN Search Insider and Dogpile Search Spy are wonderfully addictive. To find out what other people have to say, sign up on Yahoo Groups or Google Groups or alternately search blogs on Technorati, Craigslist and the like. Other websites such as Digg, Reddit, Fark, Slashdot and Metafilter, are information packed services that allow users to share, post and comment on links on various news items and random information sources- a definite ‘must try’ for someone looking for ideas.

2) Google alerts- As a journalist myself, I could not be stronger in my recommendation of this tool as a brilliant source of new article ideas. I can safely say that leads for around 70% of the business articles I have written so far, have originated from Google alerts. If you’re looking for information on a particular topic, sign up for Google alerts for that topic at a frequency of your choice (daily, weekly etc). Also, News Now is a great website for a collection of up to date news information, so add the webpage in your favourites list and go through it whenever you have a spare moment.

3) Maintain a journal- Journaling can be a fascinating way to scoop out new ideas from events that have already happened in your past. Make note of incidences, observations and feelings on a daily or weekly basis in your journal, and when you feel your head going blank as far as ideas are concerned, go through what you’ve noted in your journal. You’ll be surprised at what you find. You’ll probably be even more surprised with the voluminous stories that emerge simply from your own personal life experiences.

4) Observe- If you have decided to write-either as a hobby or as a full time source of living, you will have to learn to hone your observation powers to the point where they are absolutely razor sharp. Nothing should escape your field of vision. Even the slightest details-even ones which may be in the background-are worthy of you attention. These could be about a situation, a person’s physical description, what you may think he/she is like, some sign you saw on a store board-it could be just about anything that strikes you as noteworthy. Keep a notebook with you to document your observations wherever you go(wherever it’s possible to carry a pocket sized notebook with you) and turn to these observations when you’re at your desk hunting for article ideas. The number of stories which will emerge in your mind as a result of the observations will never cease to amaze you and you will be thankful for that little notebook which has proved more than handy to many writers in the past.

5) Absorb and regurgitate- Similar to point number 4, with a change in only the slightest aspect. Often you will not have the note book handy with you. For these moments, make sure you are able to absorb your surrounding environment or the situation of interest like a sponge. Pay close attention to details when someone is speaking to you. Listen to every word he/she is telling you especially if he/she is knowledgeable about the topic of interest. If you are at a zoo and wish to write something about a pangolin, make sure you read and absorb everything written/described in the pangolin enclosure. When you get back to the handy notebook, regurgitate what you have absorbed. Always make sure that at the end of the day, your handy notebook has everything written down in black and white. No matter how strong your observation and absorption prowess, it is dangerous for a writer to only trust his/her memory and instinct.

6) Go for a walk- One of the most common cures for the writer’s block-taking a break. Writers-especially freelancers are often racing against time-working round the clock to meet submission deadlines. Frequently a writer’s mind is crowded with the assignments on hand and the situation only worsens when he runs out of writing ideas. The best temporary way to deal with this is to drop your writing for an hour or two, go take a walk out in the sun (or in the rain-whichever suits you better) and let your mind wander. Once you get back, more often than not, the short rest and recreation period will have jolted your mind back into churning out the good ideas.

7) Eat healthy and exercise- More of a generic panacea for most troubles, this is a suggestion I would make for all your writing issues. Having a healthy body and mind, not only eases your writing, helps you create new ideas and increases your energy levels to cope with the chaos, but also contributes significantly to improve your writing over time. Try it. It works.

8) Don’t hesitate to talk- As a writer; you must never hesitate to talk to family, friends or even strangers as the situation demands. If you do have a fear of asking questions, get over it! Writing entails frequent question-answer and quizzing sessions-but more often than not, turning to one’s own family and friends for their opinions, can help generate ideas like you wouldn’t believe. Never undermine the importance of any small question or opinion. You never know which viewpoint would give you your next prize-worthy article idea.

9) Re-visit your archives- Your archive of previously written articles (published and unpublished) can prove to be a goldmine of information for new ones. Always keep a copy of everything you’ve written in the past and scan through your file of past articles every now and then to brainstorm for new ideas.

10) Re-read unproductive queries- Apart from maintaining a history of all your previous articles also ensure that you maintain a separate record of all the query letters you’ve sent to various publications, which were returned unaccepted. There is always a thing or two to be learnt from failures and definitely new storylines to be unearthed from returned queries.

11) Keep track of historical milestones- History has a great lot to teach and definitely a lot more to contribute for the future. Maintaining a diary or record of all historical milestones-local, national, personal or otherwise, will inevitably prove useful someday when you’re at your desk, scratching your head in frustration trying to search for things to write about.

12) Maintain a ‘cuttings’ file- Once you have finished reading your newspapers, magazines and old books, cut out articles, teasers and anything else which strikes you as interesting. File them away in a folder under different sub-sections according to genre. When you go through the file in the future, you are bound to see something that catches your eye and gets your brain whirring again.

13) Post regular surveys- Use your blog, web page or web site to post surveys, polls and questionnaires for your guest visitors-to get an inkling about their opinions. Having diverse viewpoints helps one maintain an openness of mind which is essential to good writing. Additionally, inputs from different people provide a definite pool of ideas for new articles and stories.

14) Localize a national trend and vice versa- It could be fashion, it could be political or it could be a plain and simple employment scenario. Whatever it is, if its happening on a national level, you could draw some parallels with the local situation (could be a town, district, or your backyard gully). Alternately a localised incident or trend could be magnified and explored on a nationalistic level, thereby giving it wider exposure. You can take it further and rope in the international scenario too if you are really into it. All in all, keep your eyes open to happenings local, national and international, your mind open to ideas and your creativity on full steam.

15) Social networking sites- Social networking is the buzzword these days and what better method of churning out new ideas than flowing with the huge cyber population and interacting with it? If you don’t have an account on social networking sites such as Orkut, Facebook or Hi5, then my strong advice to you would be to go ahead and get one. Possibly on as many such sites as possible. If you wish to interact on a more professional level, with people from various fields and occupations, LinkedIn is the way to go. In a nutshell, social networking allows you to come face to face with a large populace and numerous thoughts and minds-thereby giving you access to more new ideas for your article or other writing activities.

16) Online bookstores- The internet is bursting at the seams with details and websites of publishers, writers and book sellers. The next time you’re online attempting to search for article ideas, hunt for online bookstores (eg. Amazon) and look at their bestselling lists. You can also look for websites of actual bookstores and check the bestselling lists there. Alternately visit these bookstores and scour through their top published works. Also look for publisher’s online and go through what they have to provide and watch the ideas surface as you reach for your pen (or keyboard).

17) Classic Classifieds- Advertisements and classifieds in newspapers, magazines or even specific journals, can be a treasure trove for new article ideas. Imagine looking through the JOBS section in a newspaper and coming across an advertisement looking for a marine mammal research specialist. You could think of ten topics on the spot including different types of marine mammals, the kind of research marine mammal experts conduct, marine mammal locations worldwide and in your vicinity, endangered species, conservation activities-the list could go on and on.

18) Miscellaneous sources– A wide range of other miscellaneous sources for new article ideas include bumper stickers, church catalogues, press releases and greeting cards to name a few. To cite an example, I once passed a car, that had a bumper sticker which read, “This car is magic-Just watch the petrol disappear” I immediately got to thinking about petrol as a sparse natural resource and managed to pen down an article on the subject once I got back to my desk. Greeting cards-which attend to nearly every emotion, celebration and event these days, can also prove to be exemplary sources for new ideas. Keeping track of regular church catalogues and subscribing to some sort of PR wire for regular press release news alerts also increase your chances substantially of coming up with new things to write about.

19) Wordtracker- Keyword Wordtracker is an SEO (Search Engine Optimization) genre free tool which allows you to locate and access the top 100 searches related to the keyword you use in the tool. The best part about this tool is that you not only get access to an array of search results related to your topic of interest, but also see if anyone else (and how many people) is searching for the same thing and structure/direct your article according to the traffic your keyword receives. Wordtracker is a rather user friendly tool. You simply have to visit freekeywords.tracker.com , enter your desired keyword and click on the ‘Hit Me’ tab.

20) Mind mapping- Wikipedia defines a ‘mind map’ as “a diagram used to represent words, ideas, tasks, or other items linked to and arranged around a central key word or idea.” According to Wiki, mind maps are most useful when it comes to generating, visualizing, structuring and classifying ideas, among other things. As such, it would be prudent to say that mind mapping and brainstorming over a central key subject, can provide many branches of thought and ideas, which could very well culminate in a well rounded article.

All the above-mentioned points are strategies that work either individually or in permutations for different writers. Ultimately it all boils down to what suits YOU and what gets YOUR creative juices flowing unhindered. I would suggest that struggling article writers begin by trying out all the above-mentioned methods and then figure out patterns and combinations unique to their own system of working. Who knows? You may also develop a new strategy along the way. No matter what the situation, do not give up on yourself and your writing. Remember-There is ALWAYS something waiting to be discovered; there is ALWAYS something to write about. What matters is how well you search, how much you find and how strongly you believe. Happy writing!
---------Shreyasi Majumdar

For the Goodness of a Tater – 9 Potato Myths Busted!

2009-11-08T00:44:00.000-08:00

If I had a penny for every time someone told me to “Beware of the potato”, I’d be a rich woman by now. The legendary tuber has long been a victim of misunderstanding. Since the late 1500’s up until today the potato has been condemned for a variety of reasons. In 1580, noted explorer Sir Walter Raleigh brought back some potato plants from the Americas to Ireland and gifted some to Queen Elizabeth I. Unfortunately, the Queen’s palace cooks were not very well versed with the funny-looking tuber and instead of cooking the potatoes, they boiled the stems and leaves before presenting it to the court at mealtime. For those of you who are ignorant of the potato plant’s more sinister characteristics, it contains toxic compounds called glycoalkaloids, majority of which are concentrated in the leaves and stems of the plant. As such, all those who consumed the boiled preparation, fell deathly ill and consequently, potatoes were banned from the Queen’s court.

Following this, malicious rumors seemed to follow the unfortunate tuber to whichever part of the world it was introduced. In France, for instance, the potato was attributed with near demonic status and accused of causing vile diseases ranging from leprosy to syphilis as well as being responsible for sterility and unhindered sexuality alike. The potato became so infamous gradually, that in a certain French town, an announcement was made to the effect that the potato being detrimental to human, animal and soil health, its cultivation be stopped immediately.

Modern times have found other reasons to malign the benevolent vegetable. Even though the potato is one of the foods people delight in most nowadays, a diet-driven and health-crazy society today points out that the potato, being extremely rich in starch, can hardly boast any other kind of nutritional value. People today, are so caught up in the anti-carbohydrate, zero-calorie, diabetes-free-life campaign, that they fail to see the potato for what it really is – a highly nutritious vegetable, which when prepared and eaten in the right way and in the correct quantities, tends to help more often than hurt.

According to a United Nations report, the global potato production reached a high of 315 million tonnes in 2006 and today, nearly 1/3rd of the global production can be attributed to China and India-two of the world’s most populous countries. According to sources, on an average a world citizen consumes around 33kg (73 lbs) of potatoes-yearly! In fact, the average American consumes nearly 140 lbs per year while Germans eat around 200 lbs annually! Although there are some basic standard kinds of potatoes, 4,000 different varieties are cultivated worldwide. The potato was also the first vegetable to be grown in space in 1995, with the aim of feeding astronauts and future space colonies! Given the efforts required to grow so many kinds of potatoes and the production and consumption volumes worldwide, it is hard to think of the tater as a malignant, poisonous vegetable poised to kill with syphilis or obesity. And as it turns out, the potato is anything but! Here’s a list of some common potato myths that trouble people even today.

Myth 1: The potato is not a vegetable
The potato, although a tuberous root, is classified as a vegetable in the Food Guide Pyramid. However, it is also sometimes referred to as an edible root or a tuber. The potato is an important part of the total recommended daily servings of vegetables. One medium-size potato counts as one cup of starchy vegetables.

Myth 2: Potatoes are fattening
Nutritionally speaking, a potato is about 80% water and 20% solid and pretty much as stocked up on nutritional value as one might expect from any normal vegetable. A raw or baked potato with skin normally contains 100 calories, 22g carbohydrates, 3g of protein and NO fat! I bet that’s wonderful news to all the diet-stricken people out in the world who have been told that eating potatoes is suicide for a weight loss program. This is totally untrue if it is eaten in all its goodness-baked, mashed, boiled, roasted, steamed or stewed. Although a potato looks big, fleshy and downright dangerous to the Atkins devotee, it will in itself not contribute much to one’s weight gain, owing to the large water content in it. However, a potato with the additional butter or sour cream topping, served as chips/fries or baked with cheese will not only hamper weight loss, it WILL contribute to weight gain as well as cholesterol and blood sugar issues. While a simple baked potato would boast not more than 100 calories and no fat, a small packet of French fries would easily account for around 210 calories in addition to extra fat.

Myth 3: Potato chips are vegetables
Although this common potato myth opines that potato chips and crisps count as vegetables in the food guide pyramid, this is totally misleading. The blatant fact of the matter is that although potatoes in their raw form are classified in the vegetable group, potato chips which contain almost 61% fat are not.

Myth 4: Potatoes contain simple carbohydrates
Potatoes contain complex carbohydrates, which are absolutely essential for the energy needs of the body and brain. Most of these carbs are present in the forms of starch. A portion of this starch which is resistant to digestion by enzymes in the stomach and small intestine, reach the large intestine almost intact and provides the body with its much required fiber needs.

Myth 5: Carbohydrates are the only nutrients available in a potato
A medium sized raw white potato or baked in skin, is also a powerhouse of other nutrients. It typically contains almost 35% of Vitamin C, 20% Vitamin B6, 15% Iodine and 10% each of Copper, Iron and Niacin, 8% each of Folic Acid, Phosphorous and Magnesium, 4% of Thiamin and Zinc and traces of Vitamin A. During the Alaskan Klondike gold rush in the late 1800’s, potatoes were so highly valued by miners for their Vitamin C content, that they were traded for gold. So much for busting Myth number 5!

Myth 6: All of a potato’s nutrients lie in its skin
Although most of its protein content is concentrated within its thin layer of skin, all the other nutrients are evenly distributed across the skin and body of the potato. So go ahead and enjoy the yummy goodness of the entire spud!

Myth 7: Potatoes have no anti-oxidants
Although there are no approved claims of anti-oxidants in potatoes, certain research studies in the recent years do state that potatoes have a high probability of containing anti oxidants such as but not limited to Anthocyanin and Carotenoids(apart from the established richness in Vitamin C).

Myth 8: Potatoes taste nice only when cooked according to high-fat recipes.
Try an Indian potato curry with boiled potatoes and spice. If you’re not into Asian cuisine, try topping a baked potato with salsa or low fat sour cream or even low fat cheese. Bake potatoes without cheese in tomato sauce with a hint or garlic and herbs served with steamed veggies or asparagus on the side. Alternately grill them with tarragon leaves and other herbs. The avenues are multitudinous-creativity waiting to be explored. All with the same end-result- a yummy low fat, high carb, nutrition-packed meal waiting to be devoured!

Myth 9: White potatoes are bad for you-eat sweet potatoes instead!
Wrong. A sweet potato, fried and served with cheese, would be just as bad as regular fries. The goodness of a vegetable-any vegetable- depends on the method of preparation and the quantity of consumption. Although both contain the same number of calories on average, the sweet potato has been known to contain lesser starch, more vitamin C, and almost thrice the amount of Beta Carotene in a white potato. However if sugar is a consideration, the white variety would win hands on due to the higher sugar content in a sweet potato. Therefore it would ideally be safe to say that raw white potatoes and sweet potatoes complement each other nutritionally and neither is “bad” for the body.

As long as the potatoes you consume are cooked in fat-free ways and a long as you substitute the side servings of cheese, bacon bits, sour cream and creamy sauce with green veggies, corn and carrots, be rest assured of a good, enjoyable, healthy meal. So go ahead and enjoy your taters the way they should be enjoyed-guilt free and risk free!

----Shreyasi Majumdar

Shuttlecock Woes: A Layman's Guide to Common Badminton Injuries

2009-11-04T07:36:00.000-08:00

A rather common opinion about badminton is that it is one of the safest games possible-a fun, family game innocent of malice and devoid of any real danger of injury. Such notions are highly probable, given the immense popularity of the game worldwide, as entertainment for children during playtime as well as a serious Olympic sport.

However, contrary to popular opinion, badminton players are also prone to injury-some so intense in nature that they may take months to heal completely.

According to one study conducted by a Denmark-based group of doctors and published in 2006, badminton injuries occur at an average rate of 2.9/person every 1000 hours of play time.

Despite being a non-contact sport, where there is no physical contact between the opposing players, badminton injuries happen frequently-mostly due to over use of certain parts of the body and sometimes because of accidents happening suddenly and painfully. Mostly they occur in players who wear the wrong shoes, do not warm-up, warm-up more than required, sport bad technique, are overweight or generally unfit. Injuries are witnessed in players who have not indulged in sport for a while as well as in seasoned players who have overused body parts such as wrists, ankles, knees and elbows to name a few.

Acute/Accidental injuries:

Ankle Sprains- Although still wanting in detailed statistical studies, some research papers have shown that on an average, ankle sprains constitute more than half of all reported badminton injuries. An ankles sprain can be described as the stretching and or tearing of ligaments and muscles in the ankle. In extreme cases, there may also be damage to tendons, bones and other joint tissues. The resulting bleeding within tissues can cause sudden edema and swelling of the ankle, which in third degree sprains, often takes more than 6 months to heal completely. Ankle sprains are accidental in 99% of the incidences and happen when the player lands on his partner’s foot or on the floor with his own foot turned inwards, outwards or flexed. The extremely quick directional changes required during badminton, often cause the feet to roll over or twist, resulting in a sprained ankle. Fatigue, extra body weight and shoes with more than normal ‘grip’ are frequent contributors to such injuries.

Meniscus Tear- This also goes by the layman-friendly alias ‘Torn Cartilage Knee Injury’ and is as painful as a sprained ankle. During the intricate footwork required during a badminton game, the meniscus or cartilage, which provides a soft cushioning between the thigh and shin bones, sometimes ruptures, causing pain in the joint-line of the knee, swelling and inability to flex the leg completely. This may sometimes also be accompanied by an injured or totally ruptured ligament, which increases the pain factor and healing time. Normally, the swelling and pain settles down easily for most people. However for some sportspersons, the knee can become prone to knee locking or ‘giving way’, in which case, surgery is required.

Muscle Strain- Unexpected movements, such as a sudden overhead smash, may put muscles in various parts of the body under pressure, thereby causing a disruption of fibres in the affected muscle. This can result in pain, swelling, bruising and in extreme case, loss of function. Muscles commonly affected are the hamstring, knee, shoulder and calf, to name a few.

Ocular hurt- A Malaysian study reportedly called badminton the ‘sport which presented the greatest ocular hazard in Malaysia’. Another Canadian study backed up these claims saying that 30-58% of all eye injuries in Canada caused by raquet sports were attributed to badminton. This may seem funny to a layman, since a shuttlecock looks anything but devious, with its lightweight feathery appearance, compared to the heavier balls used in tennis and squash. Although the frequency of eye injuries on an average is more in squash than in badminton, the latter does account for injuries which are greater in severity. This is partly because the bottom round of the shuttlecock fits into the eye orbit and also because of the extremely high speeds achieved during badminton. Badminton is widely considered to be the fastest raquet sport in the world and shuttlecocks have been known to reach speeds of more than 300 km/hour. On 25 September 2009, Malaysia’s Tan Boon Heong set the international smash record of 421 km/hour in the men’s double’s category at the Japan Open 2009. This is 1/3rd the speed of sound at sea level, so one can imagine the effect of a shuttlecock travelling at that speed and hitting one’s eye. It would be painful to say the least.

Fractures- Fractures are fairly rare in badminton, although some have been reported. They normally happen when another player’s raquet hits a player’s arm or leg or if the player himself falls down heavily or if another player missteps and falls/steps on him/her.

Chronic/overuse injuries:

Achilles Tendonitis- Loosely defined, Achilles Tendonitis or Achilles Tendonipathy is an inflammation of the heel cord of the foot. In reference to badminton, it can be described as a chronic degenerative change in the Achilles Tendon (a cord of inelastic tissue connecting bone and muscle running from heel to calf) occurring due to repetitive jumping and running, worsened by poor warm-up techniques. More common as one ages, it also tends to worsen with activity.

Tennis Elbow- Do not be mislead by the nomenclature of this particular injury. Tennis Elbow is often seen in sports other than tennis and very frequently among badminton players. The injury, known as Lateral Epicondylosis among the medical fraternity, is a chronic overuse injury which occurs due to the inflammation of the tendons of the forearm on the outer part of the elbow. Players who indulge in repetitive backhand strikes are often subject to Tennis Elbows. Change of grip size, lack of recovery and excess stretching tend to make them worse.

Golfer’s Elbow- This particular injury is similar to Tennis Elbow in mostly all respects except for the location of the injury. While Tennis Elbow causes inflammation on the outer part of the elbow, Golfer’s Elbow usually occurs on the inner side of the elbow with the pain sometimes radiating along the forearm. It is also a chronic degenerative problem, mainly caused by an overuse of the wrist.

Jumper’s Knee- As the name suggests, this injury often comes on due to repeated jumping on hard surfaces. Known in medical terms as Patellar Tendonitis, the Patella Tendon located below the knee cap is affected over a long period of jumping and landing during badminton. Activity normally worsens the tendon damage and a rupture may sometimes follow with lack of rest

Rotator cuff injury- The most prominent shoulder injury to affect badminton players over time, typically a rotator cuff injury is brought on over time by repeated stress to the shoulder area while playing overhead shots in badminton. It usually begins as a lingering irritation in the shoulder known as an ‘impingement syndrome’, which if left uncared for, worsens to develop partial tears in the rotator cuff muscles. Further activity and stress can cause a complete tear in one or more muscles in the area.

Sacroiliac Joint Dysfunction- The Sacroiliac Joint connects the sacrum at the base of the spine to the ilium of the pelvic region. Continuous badminton playing with low core stability causes an anatomic issue in this joint, which results in chronic lower back pain. The condition is known as Sacroiliac Joint Dysfunction and affected players are advised to refer a physician for a complete evaluation of the condition.

Neck sprains- Focusing on the shuttlecock for long durations and turning one’s neck accordingly in various directions, can cause the neck to be extended beyond the normal angles, especially while playing smashes and strikes around the head, thereby causing neck sprains.

Cramps- A cramp can be described in a badminton player as a sudden and intense pain caused mainly in the leg area due to major loss of fluid, overheating of the muscle and fatigue. Although the suddenness of a cramp could warrant it to be placed in the “acute injury” category, it is considered to be a chronic injury, since it happens after playing badminton for a long time.

Abrasions and blisters- Common yet less malignant as compared to the rest of the above-mentioned conditions, abrasions occur mostly on the hands and knees due to direct contact with hard surfaces when the player falls or scratches himself. Blisters occur due to pus or fluid formation under the skin caused by extended periods of gripping a racquet, an abrasion not being cleaned or healed properly and heels or toes being continually encased in shoes or being in direct contact with a hard surface for long periods.

Prevention and cure:

It would be wise to adhere to the oft heard rule in the exercise arena “You don’t get fit to play a sport, you play a sport to get fit!” Therefore it is advisable for badminton players of all ages and levels to take a few important pre-game precautionary measures, which include but are not limited to increasing fitness levels, better nutrition, decreasing weight, getting the proper shoes, grips and other attire, warming-up before playing and improving playing technique.

One cannot stress enough the importance of a good warm-up session before and cool-down session after a heavy game of badminton. A typical warm-up should include about 5-10 minutes of gentle jogging , spot walking or skipping, followed by short stretches of 30 seconds each, slightly longer stretches on the tighter muscles ending with stretches for certain individual muscle groups like shoulder, hamstring etc. If the player wishes, he/she may also follow this with certain specific exercise drills such as push-ups, sit-ups and the like. Stretching releases tension within muscles, allows freer movement and circulation and not only prepares the body for heavy-duty badminton, but also the mind. Begin the game with around 5-20 minutes of gentle shots with your partner and then gradually increase the pace and tempo of your game. Ideally one must end a game with cool down exercises and stretches too.

Shoes and grips especially are of utmost importance in preventing ankle and elbow injuries respectively. Gripping a racquet too hard or long can bring on a Tennis Elbow, while wearing heavy grip non supportive shoes cause ankle sprains and Achilles Tendonitis.

To prevent elbow issues, take extra care to buy a good quality racquet which fits precisely into the palm of your hand. Turn your racquet into a powerful, injury-preventing instrument by adding more grip to the handle, taking care not to add too much to disrupt the racquet balance. For those of you, who already have suffered from Tennis Elbows before, it would make sense to wear a Tennis Elbow Compression Strap, which works by reducing tension on the elbow tendons.
Badminton requires the player to slide across the court and hence it would be a good idea to get shoes which have a good arch support, shock absorbers to prevent injury to the ankle, heel cups to keep the heel protected and special soles which do not provide much room for friction with the ground below. Take care to buy a shoe which has a combination of these qualities in order to be assured of all rounded protection. Never wear jogging or basketball shoes for your badminton game and make sure you keep a pair of good badminton shoes aside meant solely for badminton.
A few other recommended products for badminton injuries include orthotics and insoles, knee and Achilles straps, ankle braces, shoulder supports and blister socks.

To prevent eye injuries, many research scientists recommend that certified plastic polycarbonate glasses be worn by beginners and experienced badminton players alike.

Lastly, as a generic rule, make sure you are always well stocked up on water or isotonic sports drinks, especially while playing badminton in hot weather, since like all other sports, badminton too tends to sap the fluids and cause dehydration.

When a badminton injury has already happened, quick and correct procedures are essential for a speedy cure. In case of acute injuries like sudden sprains, strains and tears, the first step towards healing is correct diagnosis. This must be followed by the rest, ice, compression and elevation protocol which is absolutely necessary for recovery. Special care must be taken to keep weight off the injured area and lengthy periods of rehabilitation are a must. In case of a sprained ankle a removable plastic cast walker may be necessary to provide the required support. Tennis Elbows can usually be alleviated by rest and ice therapy, but in the more severe cases, pain relief and anti inflammatory medication and sometimes corticosteroid injections are required. Golfer’s Elbow on the other hand is usually treated with tape, elbow guards, manual therapy and stretching. When Achilles Tendonitis occurs, ice packs are normally helpful, but a minimum rest period of three months is required for the body to produce the collagen tissue in order to repair the injured tendon.

Sounds scary? It doesn’t have to be! Badminton can continue to be a fun sport for all those who have even a smidgen of interest in it. The fear of injury need not come into the picture at all, if the necessary precautions are taken and if players choose to keep themselves intelligently informed about the protocols to be followed- in case of injury.

Keep the shuttlecock flying fearlessly and treat yourself to an injury-free badminton blast!

------Shreyasi M

10 Reasons NOT to become a writer

2009-10-31T21:25:00.000-07:00

Yes you read correctly. The word “NOT” is too clear to go unnoticed. Scanning random articles on the internet, on ‘writing’, I came across lots of pieces wherein I was being goaded into ‘101’ ways to write effectively or being told about its top ‘25’ benefits and sometimes also being reminded about the ‘few’ essentials to keep in mind if I was to build a profitable writing career for myself. While all of that was very good advice( I also love sharing my own experiences with “how-to” articles like these), I think first and foremost, an aspiring write MUST answer the most fundamental question – “WHY DO I WANT TO WRITE?”

I thought of and listed below a few reasons why many budding writers take up writing in the first place and if you answer ‘yes’ to any of these, then either re-think your answers, choose not to answer the questions, lie to yourself or re-visit the whole writing business idea. I’m not exaggerating.

1) I LOVE Shakespeare and want to be like him someday: Heady goal! And good to know that you aim high, but if becoming a splitting image of the famous bard is the ONLY reason driving you to take up writing as a career, think again! It takes a LOT of natural talent to be like William S and also, he lived in a time when there was only the pen (although that has trials of its own)! No TV’s no radios, not as much competition as one would have to face these days (not undermining his capabilities in any way…I’m a BIG Shakespeare fan myself). But you have to be realistic. Morphing into a modern day Shakespeare is possible, but very difficult and you have got to have a reason stronger than that.

2) I want to be famous: A stylized version of the abovementioned point with many more connotations and possibilities. And a high probability of the same end result. There is a famous spiritual concept which essentially says that one must not be attached to the fruit of one’s actions, but only perform the action (to the best of his abilities). All aspiring writers should make this the mantra of their lives. And this applies to basically everything in life. Whatever you do, if you do it just for the sake of attaining fame, you probably won’t get famous at all and even if you do, it won’t last and even if it does last, there will be a part of you which will always know that you didn’t do justice to your work.

3) I want to get rich: A subset of point number 2. And equally disastrous. I would be wrong in saying that writers don’t get rich. Dan Brown and JK Rowling among others would raise their legendary eyebrows if they heard me make an absurd statement like that. It is a known fact that lots of novelists, short story writers, biographers and even freelance writers have made plenty of money, thanks to lots of efforts, time, luck, more time and a lot more effort. But I doubt they started out with that aim in mind. I firmly believe they began writing because of sheer love for the art. If you want to make money, get a high paying IT job, become an investment banker, go to a French culinary school and become a world famous chef, but do not get into writing solely because you want to get rich. For most writers, writing is a time consuming, low paying (at least in the initial years) and sometimes heart breaking affair. So think again.

4) I used to write in school: Yeah? So? If you really think that having written a few poems in school and a handful of funny short stories in college are enough to make you a published writer overnight, I’m sorry to burst your little bubble. It doesn’t work. Writing is a skill that has to be honed and sharpened each and every day. It doesn’t just “come” to you overnight. It takes a LOT of hard work, a LOT of time, MANY rejection letters and a good many years of patience and undying faith in your abilities and aspirations. To those who go through these trials by fire, and still emerge victorious with a stronger determination, I wish you all the luck! You are on your way to becoming successful writers.

5) I’m fed up of my day job: Woah! That sounds like something that 90% of the world’s working population is saying at this very moment. If everyone with a boring job quit their work to retreat into the solitude of their homes to become writers, not only would the world become a much quieter place, but at the same time, there’d be chaos on every level of the global economy! Most people who currently hold a day job, but WANT to write, are usually advised to continue writing on the side and I must say, that is VERY sound advice. To such budding writers, I would say, “Get a foothold in the business, get your bearings and when you feel financially stable and emotionally independent, quit your job and take up writing full time-but until then have a steady source of income to feed your dreams of becoming a writer.” To the rest of you guys who want to write because you hate your jobs, I’d say, “Don’t do it! You’re making the biggest mistake of your life.”

6) I want to make my family proud: Neil Armstrong’s family was proud! But he wasn’t a writer; he just helped mankind take the metaphorical giant leap. My family’s proud of me and I’ve never even set foot in a rocket ship-neither am I another Chetan Bhagat (yet). If you want to make your family and friends proud of you, then do fantastically well at something you’re really good at or alternatively something that you are passionate about. Don’t use writing as an excuse to sort your life at every turn. Do what you want to do. And the pride will emerge unhindered.

7) I like to express myself this way: This is one of the most common reasons people want to spend their time writing. And I agree, it’s one of the best ways to let one self go. There are few mediums of expression that work as well as writing does. However, I staunchly believe that this alone is not a reason to turn to writing as a career. It may be a good reason for some people, but on an average a freelance writer has to spend hours researching markets and stories, structuring, editing etc. For the daily grind in a freelancer’s life, there is usually little space for expression. However, with creative writing it does help, but to reach a stage where creative writing is profitable for you and where you are known well enough, it takes time. So if you want to write simply for expression, do it as a hobby. If you want to turn it into a full-fledged career option, rethink, revise and review the strategy.

8) I want to see my name in print: Lots of people don’t really want to get famous, but they harbor a dominant fascination to see their names in print-either under an article in a newspaper, a filler in a magazine or on the back portion of a hard cover novel with one of those pictures of the author in a philosophical pose, finger on the chin and a faraway look in the eyes. Lovely thought. Very romantic idea. But not the right way to go about doing it. Wanting to see your name in black and white may be the motivation and the drive you need to keep working at it and churning out material in bundles. But very often in such a case, where ambition alone fuels work, the quality of the work suffers. And once the trained eye of your audience (or editor as may be the case) begins to see the difference, you literally fall in popularity and may find it very difficult to pick yourself up again. My advice would be to write as well as you can. And again, the name in print will follow.

9) I have a luxurious ‘work from home’ dream: Ah! The age old desire for the perfect job. Flexible work hours, wake up when you want to and sleep whenever you wish, go to work in your pajamas, be your own boss, have a beautiful study with a mahogany/oak desk, a little green lamp on the side, surrounded by carved wooden cabinets stuffed with books, glass window overlooking a lake...watching the swans while you type. It’s amazing how Hollywood movies imprint themselves on our minds and weave their ways into our dreams. The scenario I painted for you is the average dream of just about every second writer you’ll ever hope to come across. It’s the Universal Dream of writers worldwide (I dream of the oak desk too!) However it takes significant accomplishment to get the desk and even more efforts to get a room big enough to hold the humongous quantities of books. Don’t even get me started on the amount of work you’ll have to put in to get the swans! There are hundreds of thousands of writers worldwide and each one has to put in his fair share of struggles and strife to earn a comfortable living. You will too, in all probability, so keep your goals realistic.

10) I love books and I love to read: That’s wonderful! Devour as much as you can get. But I have to tell you, that just loving the smell of a new hard cover book, or the rustic look of an antique one, loving to read or being fascinated with libraries and book collections, are indeed pre-requisites to becoming a good writer, but not reason enough to decide to be one in the first place. Every writer must read. He/she must incorporate as much of reading into his/her lifestyle as the writing. But if you drop everything to write, just because you visit your local library every two seconds, you may find out along the way that you’re either not good at writing or you just don’t like it as much as reading books. So if you love to read, do so by all means. Just don’t let that motivate you into switching to a full-time writing career. It may do you more harm than good.

I know that by now, I must have deflated your enthusiasm for the writing arena almost completely and my sincerest apologies if I did. That was not the intention. My aim in sharing these thoughts with you was to enable you to get a clearer picture of what YOU want from a writing career. For me it boils down to just one simple truth. I LOVE TO WRITE. And that’s why I’m doing it. And NOTHING compares with the satisfaction I feel after I’ve completed a well rounded article, poem or story.

I firmly believe that if one is passionate about something, one should go after it as if one’s life depended on it. If writing is your passion, if your head is exploding with ideas, if you see alphabets doing little jigs in front of your eyes, if you dream at night about things that you immediately turn into possible storylines, then by all means go ahead and write!

If you want to become a writer simply because you LOVE to write and have even a smidgen of faith in your capabilities, go for it! I wish you luck!

----Shreyasi M.

2 States – The Common Love Story Retold Uncommonly

2009-10-31T10:05:00.000-07:00

People have told me that Chetan Bhagat has outdone himself in his new book “2 States-The Story of my Marriage”. I wouldn’t know about that. This is his first book I read. But I do know that he has done an absolutely outstanding job in dissecting the psyche of the modern day Indian middle class family and brilliantly narrating in fiction the very real issues that people go through when inter caste/creed/religious/state marriages take place. Relationships are built. Lives are turned upside down. Humongous efforts are made to bring about even a semblance of acceptance. Relationships are broken. Sometimes they stay broken and sometimes (thankfully) things get sorted out and in the end love triumphs, as Bhagat’s characters in 2 States witnessed.

The book very cleverly begins with the protagonist of the story – a Punjabi boy called Krish Malhotra, in a shrink’s office, doing a class Devdas act, trying desperately to come to terms with the apparent loss of the love of his life- a Tamilian Brahmin girl called Ananya Swaminathan. It then goes into flashback mode, where the love story begins “where all love stories begin”- with Krish and Ananya meeting for the very first time at the mess counter of the IIMA, where they both are fellow student-each with ambitions of their own and the ambitions driven by their own reasons.

Krish, who shares a horribly impaired relationship with his father, also has to deal with an overprotective overzealous mother, who wants him to marry the first Punjabi girl that comes his way, strapped with a fleet of cars, house and money as dowry. The Malhotra family is as dysfunctional as any family can get, with Mr and Mrs Malhotra on non-speaking terms, Mr Malhotra with a fiery temper and unhindered rage and Mrs Malhotra’s large numbers of interfering relatives.

The vivacious and bold Ananya on the other hand, comes from a typical conventional, well educated and education hungry Tamilian Brahmin family in Chennai, completely contrasting to her rebellious, outgoing, personality. Born to a quiet, reserved father, she is closest to him, while she and her mother share a frustrating albeit interesting relationship. She also has a bookworm of a sibling, whose only aim in life seems to be to become more of a bookworm and possibly graduate from the top ranking institutions in the country.

Amidst tumultuous family issues, irate professors, truckloads of study material and raging hormones, the two meet, fall in love over many conversations, study periods, chicken and lots of chai. As they graduate and accept their respective placements, their relationship progresses to one of complete commitment but corresponding non-acceptance from the respective families.

Bhagat then plunges into knitting and weaving his way through their respective lives and the various attempts they both make to please the other’s family. After lots of emotional upheavals and a breakup, he wonderfully gives the story a turn that I definitely wasn’t expecting. Suffice it to say, the novel ends in a happy Tamil-Punjabi marriage-a freakish North meets South scenario, which brings a warm feeling to the heart and a smile to the face.

As an author, Chetan Bhagat has taken risks with some language that may not go well with the oldies, but then the book is aimed at the youth of India anyways. And they relate to him. He has fast become a youth icon and his attempts to bring about a change in the narrow mindset among our people, his entreating to young Indians to marry outside their caste to promote the feeling of Indian-ness and not be bound to one’s own caste, promises some very positive change in the county. Based on his own life, Bhagat has been fairly brave by not restraining himself in his assertions about the sexual romps of youth and his sarcasms about the Punjabi and Tamil communities, as well as his own parents, in-laws and Citibank (hahaha). But this is the very reason for the original story which has a genuine, honest touch to it. That is something every reader appreciates.

To sum it up, I can safely say that once I picked up the book, I could not put it down and read it at one go. I now hope to read his previous works -Five Point Someone, One night@the call centre and 3 mistakes of my life-all of which made him a bestselling writer.

Carry on Chetan! Your faithful audience awaits.

------Shreyasi M.

Animal Instincts - To Love, Protect and Cherish

2009-10-12T22:13:00.000-07:00

We are all animals. Bipedal humans, crawling lizards and insects, quadruped canines and felines, graceful cetaceans...All of us are living breathing sentient creations of the one Master Hand...Who then is Man to differentiate? to categorize?

Sure man has a complex brain and is highest on the earthly evolutionary plane...but that doesnt give him the authority over the others and it definitely doesnt change the fact that all sentient beings FEEL and emote. A 21 year old adolescent facing the final stages of burkitts leukaemia moans and screams in pain and agony caused by tha various procedures he has to go through to buy him a few more days. In much the same way, the eyes of a terror stricken goat en route to slaughter or having his throat cut slowly while the others watch, or the rapid movements of the crescograph when a leaf is torn off a plant.....they all point to the same thing. WE ALL FEEL PAIN.

Since I was little, I have been fascinated by animal life in all its varied forms and beauty and the fascination grows each day. And with it, the sense of fairplay and equanimity that is so deeply ingrained in me, surfaces more and more each day while I witness the gruesome injustice that is meted out to our companions. However I also find solace in knwoing that there are so many out there like me, who love animals for what they are, for their sakes alone, who are fighting tooth and nail to get them justice, who are fighting multitudinous odds each day to heal the hurt and prevent the pain.

Selfless veterinarians, honest wildlife officials and the many many many field workers who are out there silently protecting and soothing our animal friends.I am not devoid of hope. On the contrary I live in hope. Hope of a more joyous future, when there will be love among all life's creatures...not just among humans. when children will grow up to become conscientious human beings and treat animals and all other forms of life with the much deserved respect, awe and admiration.

The Circumambient Cetacean (TCC) was started as a tribute to my mother, but I now honor all the honorable men and women like her who are out there loving and working for animals. God bless you all. For people like my mother, my father, Dr and Mrs Chariar, and the many many more who strive day in and out to protect and serve this cause, I LIVE IN HOPE.

-----Twinky.

Wind Beneath My Wings

2009-10-12T22:10:00.000-07:00

(I had written this for Papa on his 50th birthday in 2007...)

Ok, this blog is for dad, cause yesterday he stepped into his fiftieth year and Id like to take this opportunity to shed some light on this man who is my father.For as long as I can remember, I had a pedestal in my head, and on that pedestal stood my father. From the time when I was a little girl, to this day, so many things have changed. People have come and gone, people have grown older, homes have been shifted and hearts have been broken. Momentous victories, bits and pieces of sorrow...all the ingredients that shape life, I can safely say, we've had a fair share of it all.

But the one thing that has remained unchanged, the rock of gibraltar within my head, unmoved and unshaken...the pedestal with the man standing on it. And somehow the pedestal has grown taller, and seems to shine with more brilliance than it ever has, as time has gone by.
My father has had his share of anguish, hardship, and heartache...he has had to go through trials by fire and has gotten scorched along the way. He has faced hard times , betrayal and all the basic drama played out in life. Yet till today, the image of him hasnt changed to all who have met him and known him. Always standing straight no matter what the situation, walking straight, disciplined, organized, meticulous, he is the epitome of graceful aging(although i must say he doesnt look it). He is one of the most gifted artists I have ever met, and he gives personality to his creativity in everyday life , from designing the interior of our house to designing and building the animal hospital building and premises. Seldom have I seen a person so awed by beauty. His need for harmony and beauty shows in everything he does. More than anything else, his immense willpower, his love for home and hearth, his sense of responsibility, his support towards his family and his roleplay as husband and father, have never ceased to awe me.
And of course he loves elephants ... all elephants that ever walked the earth...big ones, baby ones, african, asian...if its an elephant, dad loves it.

For my father, I have in my heart immense respect, and even more love. There is none like him and there never will be. Someday god willing, he will be able to live life on his terms, paint his pictures and spend leisure time with his animals. Till then and even afterwards may God bless you papa. And Happy birthday to you. You have been the wind beneath my wings. You have egged me on to find my dreams in the face of all adversity and you have shown me that there is no substitute for hard work and will power. For that I am grateful. I love you more each day. Through lifetimes I will love you and seek you out and then one day we will know each other in God.

---------Your Apple now and always,

Twinky.

Darpoke-The Courageous (In Memoriam)

2009-10-12T22:04:00.000-07:00

As a kid, I used to love watching Courage on Cartoon Network. As a matter of fact I still do.
For those ignorant “adults” out there, Courage is the world’s timidest, most cowardly animated dog there ever was, who has been entrusted by his creators, the sole responsibility of saving his elderly humans-Muriel and Eustace from the paranormal elements that continuously buffet their simplistic existence.

He somehow always wins. Sigh! The wonders of being a toon, is that everything always works out for you. Whether you’re thrown into a burning ball of fire, or squashed under a cement loaded truck, hosed with toxic acid, or shredded into a million pieces by a furiously revolving set of knives, you can put the pieces back together or just re-inflate yourself and voila! You’re whole again.Unfortunately it doesn’t work that way in the real world. A tiny little stone can change your life forever-especially if you’re an animal, and more so a stray. Such was the fate that befell one of the most beloved dogs we knew-Darpoke.Darpoke (meaning cowardly) was nothing like the toon Courage. He was first brought to the Thane S.P.C.A three years back, in a chauffeur driven dashing white Hyundai sedan. His anguished human explained nearly in tears that he was a stray from a posh housing colony in Bandra East, and a rickshaw had allegedly run over his leg injuring it badly. Since then he was out to bite all auto drivers. The lady was afraid that this characteristic would urge people to stone him, beat him or even worse kill him. Moreover his injured paw was healing very slowly and was emitting a distinct odour. Such is human behaviour. A fowl smell or unsightly existence, can very easily make a man resort to killing or some such brutal behaviour. The life of an animal is just not worth the ugliness and stench!We, at Thane SPCA, took him in, christened him Darpoke and so began his journey with us, as a resident animal.

His existence among us and the other animals was one of joy and many laughs, but unfortunately wasn’t meant to be long enough. His leg was cured soon enough, but his life was nearing its completion.Darpoke was a dog of changeable characteristics. I still have no clue, why he was named Darpoke in the first place. He seemed very courageous. Also, he loved being petted and took it upon himself to boss over the other animals by day and guard the hospital by night. He was a robust animal and grew in girth day by day; lapping up whatever meal was provided to him. Within a short period of time, he became trapezium shaped, which made him all the more adorable (fat dog syndrome). He was so protective about his food, that he never allowed other animals anywhere near it. This possessiveness took its toll one day.A few months back, he was relishing a lazy meal consisting of rice, lentil and vegetables when Sony, the resident baby donkey trotted by. The whiff of the nicely prepared lunch was tempting enough for Sony, to temporarily develop carnivorous tendencies. Craving the khichdi, she approached Darpoke’s bowl with care and slowly tried to inch her way through, when Darpoke whipped around, bared his fangs and growled at her in his usual scary bossy way. Sony, in her characteristic calm manner, returned to her stall and spoke no more of the incident.Later that afternoon, Darpoke was enjoying his daily noon siesta, basking in the sun, when Sony trotted up behind him, nonchalantly catching a blade of grass here and there. Before the hospital staff could even catch on to what she was planning, she had already kicked him as hard as she could square in the middle of his head! Darpoke had finally met his match in the little donkey and was woozy and trembly for around two months. Her kick had so much pizzazz in it that everyone was of the opinion that Darpoke was finished. But his spirit was still strong, and Dr Chariar’s veterinary skills sharp as ever. Two months of treatment, and the giddy dog was back to normal on his own four paws, bossy and hungry as usual.

But as they say, fate is a very determined lady. One can escape her grip once, even twice, but not every time. Destiny had decided that Darpoke was to go, and so it was to be.One day some children were playing out side the hospital premises. Weird as children’s games are, these particular two decided to play with little stones, by throwing them at each other. I guess the point of the game was to not get hit. Neither got hit but. Darpoke did. Apparently someone saw the stone fly in, and hit him, but never in our wildest dreams did we imagine losing Darpoke to a child’s harmless game.We won’t ever know whether it was the kick or the stone that caused Darpoke to suffer elaborate cranial and cerebral brain injuries. Extensive swelling on one side of his head disfigured his face and he lost perception of space and time. He would often go round and round in circles for what would seem an interminable amount of time, before finally flopping down on the floor. His appetite dropped along with his weight. Soon he was only a shadow of his formal ruddy self.As days passed he grew thinner and thinner, lost his eyesight and hearing, and did not care to be petted and loved like he used to. But he was loved all the same, and each time Darpoke winced in pain, each one of us cried for him. But something we saw in him also renewed the hope that often lies dormant within our fickle human minds and brittle hearts. It was his courage. His courage to live another day and fight to get there.It’s amazing how he survived so many days with such severe injuries. It’s as if there was a spark within that refused to be extinguished. Something that kept the life flame burning strong. So much so, that even after Dr Chariar pronounced him as terminally ill, he often showed signs of improvement. Even in his the mentally unbalanced state, he would growl at other animals if they got too close to his food bowl. He even barked at a stranger outside the hospital one day. Every day that he lived after the injury was tantamount to a miracle.I remember, even in the last few days, he seemed to be improving. In the end he had started bleeding internally and we winced every time he bled though his orifices. But he fought hard and long for more than two months. Many a time, unable to bear the extent of his suffering, hospital staff considered euthanizing him-something they resorted to only as an extreme measure. But his indomitable will to live stayed the needle. Dr Shellar even went so far as to try a new medicine on him in a final effort to save his life. But Darpoke was too far gone. He was leaning on his courage…purely his courage to live.On the last day, I was told that he ate a full meal-something he had always loved doing, and passed away peacefully in his sleep.I believe that he finished his final meal, by the sheer strength of his will power. He did what he wanted to do, what he had always reveled in. And then, when he didn’t want to hold on any longer, he decided to let go.

Mary Ann Radmacher said-Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying “I will try again tomorrow”. And Darpoke did just that. Contrary to his name, he faced every sunrise with a renewed will to live each day and see another. He couldn’t roar like he used to do in his hay days. But he was always roaring inside.He will be cremated tomorrow, with all the respect that should be accorded a hero and a loved one. His was a battle that he had to fight alone, and he died fighting gloriously. As someone said, a ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for. Darpoke wasn’t meant for a cushy life. His was an example of the struggle that all strays have to face, and it exemplified the right attitude with which one must ideally confront “life’s” various faces. To love, to be resilient, to stand up for what holds right an true, and to be courageous-these were the life lessons he taught us.If you are one to believe in reincarnation and karma, then know that Darpoke is bound for a more evolved state of life, wherein he will be able to express his unique personality beautifully and consequently evolve further.

And if you are one to believe in a permanent afterlife, know this-He is healthy and happy, in a world much like our own, but devoid of the pain and anguish that our plane holds. He is with all the other animals that we have loved and lost, and he has everything he ever wanted. Love, friends that he can boss around and yes of course, a magical food bowl that’s always full.Rest in Peace Darpoke. We will miss you.

In fond remembrance,

Twinky

CNY Singapura Style!!!

2009-10-12T21:59:00.000-07:00

(From the SBB archives...I had written this in February 2008, for the Chinese New year Celebrations, and it was published in the monthly company newsletter.)

SBB staffers in Singapore heralded the new Year of the Rat with much gusto and a lot of yummy grub. Suffice it to say that a five course lunch and Yu Sheng “Toss Up”, later, we are satisfied at having begun the News Year with wonderful people and are expecting tonnes of prosperity coming our way... steel wise!!!

Singapore is a melting pot of global cultures. Indians, Chinese, Malays, Indonesians, Europeans, all seem to effortlessly harmonize their lifestyles in the garden city. Different ways of life have been modified over the years to build up a singular culture uniquely Singaporean. As such, one can imagine that Chinese New Year (CNY) celebrations are not “exactly” like those in mainland China. A shining example is the seventh day of CNY called Ren Ri or Human Day. It is also known as the common man's birthday and is celebrated, especially in Singapore and Malaysia, by getting together to eat the abovementioned Yu Sheng, a flavourful and colourful raw fish salad. The name Yu Sheng means 'raw fish' but a different enunciation of the same words has another meaning of 'abundant life'. So eating 'abundant life' at the start of the New Year is expected to bring abundance and prosperity throughout the year. This ceremony has become so popular that it is now held right through the Chinese New Year celebrations.

So since Singaporean SBB’ers weren’t working through CNY right till Tuesday, Anna, head enthusiast of the group arranged for a CNY lunch party on Wednesday. Keeping my vegetarian preferences in mind, Linda, the lubricant that keeps SBB Singapore running smoothly, very kindly sought out a Chinese vegetarian restaurant “Linghzi” and booked the meal a day earlier. Terry, jovial as ever, a congested Chris (thanks to the super cold environment we work in) and me, rode out there in Terry’s very sassy blue car. When we reached there we saw ourselves at a classy place, filled with vegetarian Singaporeans celebrating the New Year with much vigour. Anna appeared a few minutes later, with a fresh flu and zest for life reduced in no way. We drank chrysanthemum tea and talked about a number of things ranging from the priciest cars in Singapore, to the time taken to travel to Johor Bahru in Malaysia, the meanings of CNY traditions and the effectiveness of acupuncture on weight loss.

In the meanwhile, Linda called us to announce that she had lost her way and was trudging here through mean traffic. Anyway, no harm done, since we kept the Yu Sheng aside till she arrived. After she joined us, hassled, but smiling, we tossed the Yu Sheng while a waitress made a prosperity recital in Chinese. And then we dug in.

I don’t know the exact names of what we ate, but I do remember I’ve never seen so much food on my table at one mealtime. It truly signified incoming wealth and abundance. We heartily waded through fish and meat made of tofu, a birds nest soup, stir fried vegetables with mushrooms, and olive rice and washed it all down with a brilliant dessert comprising of mango milk, with sago and grapefruit.

We followed this with a visit to Anna’s house and met some of her family, including her daughter, her overjoyed dog, and three very curious guinea pigs. I also tasted some CNY pineapple tarts, but it was Anna’s Hong Bao to us, that made my day. We would have stayed longer, but unfortunately, stories were waiting to be written and sales were waiting to be completed. So we said our goodbyes and trudged back to the office.

It sure was fun, dining and laughing with these people, who apart from being my colleagues, are fast becoming very good friends. I not only pray but foresee very good times ahead for the individuals, who make the company what it is, and as such, wish all of SBB from the bottom of my heart - Gong Xi Fa Cai!!!

----Shreyasi(Twinky)Majumdar

Bloodthirsty God

2009-10-12T21:49:00.000-07:00

(This is a letter I wrote to MS Dhoni is response to his slaughter of a baby goat in early 2008. It’s also on my animal blog TCC, in case anyone wants to read it there...)
Dear Mr. Dhoni,

I am one of millions of people who have been shocked and hurt by your act of slaughter of a baby goat in Ranchi. I wish to express some thoughts to you as the voice of the millions.

I am a Hindu by birth just like you. I have always been spiritually inclined and I always depend on the great light of God for everything. But I have always drawn the boundary between faith and fanaticism.

To what lengths does one go to for success? Do you really believe that you can achieve success by pleasing God with the blood of an innocent creature? Do you really believe that you can get what you want by inflicting pain on a dumb mute baby animal? Do you really believe the God we worship is that bloodthirsty an entity? Don’t you realize that what God wants from you, is for you to sacrifice the vices within you? The anger, the vanity, the ego! That is what God wants from all of us.

In a country, where Mahatma Gandhi used to say that our society is judged by the way it treats its animals; where Mahavatars have always preached ahimsa; where Krishna, Christ and Mohammed have taught us to bestow love and kindness upon all of Gods creations, what you have done totally contradicts what our country stands for! What religion stands for! What Hinduism really stands for!

You have achieved the pinnacle of success, with the sweat of your brow and by the Grace of God. For that we laud you. Every Indian holds his breath when a cricketer like you goes out into the field. Sportsmen like you are the pride of our nation. But what you have done has not made us proud...in fact it has left a bitter taste in our mouths.

Dear Mr. Dhoni, with great power comes great responsibility. You surely know that. This is not just some line from a cheesy superhero flick! You have the power to influence the youth of India. You have a responsibility to show them that the true meaning of life is not how much one succeeds in material life, but how much one can grow internally, how much one can love ones fellow beings and how much one can be in tune with God.

Do the right thing. Tell people that every animal has the right to God’s good earth. And no one especially a celebrity such as yourself, has the right to resort to murder for his own end. That is not God’s wish.

Awaiting a response from you,

The youth of India.

Lub Dub and a Quantum leap

2009-10-12T21:42:00.000-07:00

Animal abuse is very broad in context and it would not do the field of study justice to laconically define it by representative phenomena or isolated incidences. We as a people are aware of the ill-treatment and exploitation of our mute counterparts as is portrayed to us by the various forms of media, that we are exposed to in everyday life. Newspapers are habituated to depict the world of injustice and unfairness as it is, both in human and non human terms. And as awareness grows, newspapers become more and more liable to bring out horrific stories about the wrongdoings meted out to animals, the laws that protect them, and the near futile attempts by lawmakers and officials to implement those laws and right those wrongs in the midst of red tapism and corruption.

However as is the case with most aspects of life some aspects of animal welfare are more intensely highlighted than others, and our scope of vision and consequent opinions remain limited to that which is illustrated to us. It sometimes takes a harsh life altering incident to open one's eyes to the hitherto unobvious facts. Such an incident occurred a few years back with me and it was instrumental in broadening my perspectives of animals and their sensitivities, emotions and pain. I have always been a tad bit more sensitive to an animal's emotive capabilities. I have more often than not, been able to relate to an individual animal's needs and prevalent moods, and handle the animal accordingly. I have always felt a strong bond with all animals irrespective of species or size and have many years of animal handling experience behind me. Even so, I can safely say that nothing had prepared me for that which I experienced in July 2001 and very little can erase the memory from my mind.

I was studying in the second year of junior college in Bhavans college, Andheri. My subjects were physics, chemistry and biology and I had to attend practical sessions as an ensuing part of my curriculum. I still remember that bright sunny day when we headed out for our biology practical class. We were an enthusiastic bunch as are teenagers in the prime of life, ready to take on what the world has to offer, and ready to devour any bit of knowledge that came our way. Our professor rounded us up at the dissection table, and much to my consternation, I found a large frog lying there. I vividly remember his hands stretched back and tied above his head, while his legs were stretched below and tied similarly. His face was upturned and his eyes half closed. In that position, I could have sworn he resembled a human being. He could easily pass off as dead, except for the conspicuous lub dubs in his chest that gave him away. We were informed that he had been chloroformed, so that we could observe the procedure without being disturbed by sudden movements. Every one watched in pregnant silence as the educationist demonstrated with dexterity, the correct method of cutting into the body.

With apprehension I watched as she held a fold of skin on the stomach with a pair of scissors, and my heart skipped a beat at the first snip. Aghast I watched as the scissor made it’s way through the v shaped opening right upto the neck and I felt numb as she widened the opening academically explaining to us the different organs, their placements and their functions. I did not hear the boy next to me fall unconscious to the floor, I could not hear what the professor was saying, I was aware of the lub dub alone, now more prominent than before. Suddenly out of nothing, the chloroform wore off and the frog awoke from it’s stupor. I felt insensate at the time, but from the flailing of his hands and the obvious agony on his face, I could feel a measure of his pain. The knot in my throat became tighter as more chloroform was hurriedly administered and thankfully he drifted back into blissful unconsciousness. After that we were shown the various organs of the body as she took them out one by one and kept them on the table next to the animal. It was like taking a machine apart. Only I knew that putting it back wouldn’t help. Through it all, the lub dub went on in the background like some melancholy symphony, that was still sustaining life as long as it could. And finally the source of the sound was detached from the body and shown to us. It went on beating for a while before the beats became irregular and then stopped.A law was passed the year after, that prohibits the use of live animals such as frogs, rabbits etc. For academic purposes at the junior college level. I was thankful for that, but something within me changed after that incident. For a moment in that lab, my consciousness had become one with that of the animal in front of me. His distress was my agony. Every time he hurt, I felt the pain. Every twinge, every spasm, every throb and every pang that frog experienced, I felt too and from that occurrence, I can vouch for this - The pain was extensive, the suffering was immense and the indignity was real.

Vivisection has come to be one of the foremost causes of animal abuse. The case of the Silver Spring monkeys and the Brown Dog affair are blaring examples of the barbarism that man can come down to in the name of science. There are many arguments and cross arguments as to the limitations, laws and ethics concerning vivisection. Pages can be filled. Books could be written. All I know is that, life cannot be quantified as less or more important, because any animal that feels pain, should be given the right to live, protect itself, and if it cannot do so, we as the so called "intelligent" race should offer protection in lieu thereof. We must draw the boundaries between hope for mankind and torture to the friends of mankind.That little frog los t it’s god given right to leap freely, once the lub dubs of his heart were rudely terminated without his consent. But my perspectives about an animal's rights, it’s life and our roles as their friends and consequent protectors, took a quantum leap. My life will never be the same again. Neither will I.

------------- Shreyasi Majumdar.

A moment...a lifetime...

2009-10-12T21:29:00.000-07:00

(Here’s another on Onyx-the first animal I was privileged to come close in contact with...published this on TCC on 18 February 2008)

I was like any other child my age. Nah! To say that would be unfair to the children of my time and they certainly wouldn’t agree to it. They loved me and respected me for who I was, but they also appreciated the inherent differences in my nature. I was very different. I used to look for happiness in very non conventional things. For eg. I when I was 12 years old, and my friends would be playing kabbaddi out in the garden, I’d be knee deep deep in the sewer system, rescuing a bunch of drowing puppies.While my friends attended birthday parties, I’d spend time on the roads, chatting up a sombre cow, while she munched at her pace. I was always an animal person, born that way and encouraged all the more by my animal crazy mother, who was in turn influenced by her mother.Suffice it to say, the craze runs in the family.

Both of us revelled in the variety of animals that came our way in the sunny, green little outskirts of Mira-Road. We had a crow visiting us every morning ritually. He was extremely demanding in that he would eat only Wibs white bread, sometimes with butter spread on it. He used to eat right out of my hand. We have nursed injured sparrows and pigeons riddled with fowl pox. We have seen a hawk with clipped wings, grow healthy again. We have had our share of dogs and cats of all shapes and sizes, malnutritioned, abused, or abandoned.We have also had to deal with a fair amount of loss of animal lives. But the first animal ever to touch us deep deep within and leave an impression was a certain little kitten. His name was Onyx.

I was the only offspring of my parents, but I had never felt the urge or need to have a sibling with whom I could share my life experiences. But I certainly wanted to share my personal space and my deepest emotions with an animal of my own. However we had just moved into the new house, and we weren’t in the position to handle the responsibility of an animal. For you see, taking care of an animal, especially a baby animal, is a lot of hard work and requires high levels of commitment.

When we settled in, however, my father decided that it was time, for me to be able to interact one on one with an animal of my own. They both thought it would be beneficial to my psyche and to my growth as a person, and it would be wonderful to give an animal a genuine home. So the three of us drove down to the Bombay S.P.C.A. to look for animals up for adoption. I was twelve at that time and completely in awe as we entered the sprawling grounds of the hospital cum animal shelter. For me it was like being in heaven. There were animals EVERYWHERE!!!

Donkeys, horses, cows, buffaloes, goats, sheep, dogs, cats, monkeys, elephants and even a lion! Everywhere I turned there were familiar faces and smiling countenances. It was wonderful being there and seeing the good work being done. Watching God’s work in action always gives me goose bumps. This was magnified in the case of the S.P.C.A, since very few people care about sparing second thoughts to animals and their problems.

We headed straight for the office. We were greeted by some office staff, three very fat cats and one painfully lazy dog. They resided in the office itself and their every need, including food, water, occasional treats and medication, was catered to by the staff. They were adored there, didn’t have to lift a paw...In short they were living the good life!

We asked around for the adoption list and were immediately directed to a section of the hospital where a mother cat had just died after giving birth to five tiny kittens. They were up for adoption. I still remember how my heart pounded with anticipation of owning my very first pet. Visions of all the fun time we’d spend together, were floating around in my head. Before I knew it, we were there beholding the tiniest scrawniest, dirtiest little kittens I have ever had the good fortune to come across. Naturally my mother and I were thrilled, though my father with his sharp logical mind was having serious doubts. But we had our hearts set on a little orangish-brown and white little guy and before we knew it, the veterinary examination was done, the shots had been administered, the papers signed, and before I could say “Jumpin Jackflash!” I was the proud owner of the little creature in my hand. We had brought a basket along for him, so we put him in there and drove off into the sunset with joy in our hearts for the newest member of the family. We came home and christened him Onyx, in celebration of his beautiful onyx coloured body. And so began our momentous experiences with our first home animal.

Onyx was sickly when he came in to stay with us. That was expected since he had been deprived of the much needed immunoglobulins of his mother’s milk. However within a day or two he looked healthier and started incorporating himself into the family. He got used to sitting at our feet and rubbing himself against my father’s legs when we sat at the dinner table. Sometimes he would sit on the table itself. He was allowed to, because he was rapidly wrapping us around his retractable claws. J He used to watch my mother in the kitchen while she prepared meals, and she often said she could spend hours watching the range of whimsical expressions on his little face.

He loved his basket and used to sleep in it at night. Sometimes though, he would crawl into my bed and curl up with me while I slept. He also loved to study with me. I vividly remember sitting at my study table one day, trying to learn the names of the iron producing regions of the world and Onyx was sitting on the table right it front of me. He had this brown ribbed piece of cloth that was his version of a bed, and I had to stretch it out in front of me so that his highness would be comfortable. He soon decided to empty the contents of his bowels beside my book, so the rest of my time was spent disinfecting and de odorizing my study area! All the while he watched me, with the famous quizzical expression dotting his face. Needless to say I didn’t learn much about iron or jute of cotton that day, but I definitely learnt a bit more about what makes a cat tick!
Onyx became a source of joy for all of us. He used to clamber onto mom’s shoulder while she walked around the house. He used to watch tv with us, and play games with us. We had never had such a personal experience with a cat before and as such, he opened a new door to our understanding of the feline behavioural patterns. He was a fairly vocal cat and used to hide under the almirahs and meow till we searched him out. It was a funny kind of game for him.
Our dismay and worry therefore became apparent, when he started behaving funnily after about five to six days. He used to skip his meals, and meow into the night sometimes. I remember putting him in my knapsack and driving him on my bike over to the vet’s place. But whatever was wrong with him remained undetected. The symptoms kept getting worse though, and it came to a point where we had to close ourselves off in another room to escape the agonising wails emanating from his basket. It was too much for us to take. He was just a baby and babies shouldn’t have to suffer so much. On the tenth day, Onyx was so ill, he could barely get up from his basket. My father decided to take him back to the S.P.CA. and get him hospitalized there, so that he could receive better treatment.

When it was time for him to go, my mother and I held his limp body close to us for a while and said our goodbyes. We assured him that all would be well and that we wanted him back home soon, up and about with his whims and quirks keeping us in splits again. Then we gently placed him in his pink basket and watched tearfully as my father drove off.

We had a serious dinner that day and didn’t speak much. It was our first experience with parting. And parting with an animal close to you is so much more difficult than human parting. A man can say goodbye and be assured that he is still loved. An animal has no words to express what he feels. He just hopes his humans understand and love him always.

We slept fitfully that night and the whole of the next day we waited for some kind of favourable news from the hospital. It never came. A call did come in, in the evening, informing us of the demise of our beloved baby Onyx. He apparently had some kind of infection and because of his size and lack of immunity, he didn’t make it. They wanted to know whether we would come to collect his body. But his death had broken us within and we did not have the courage to face her soulless body. We asked the hospital to complete the cremation and spread the ashes over a tree in the hospital premises. And that was the end of our journey with Onyx.

The experience taught us a lot though. We became closer as a family, and animals and animal welfare became a common ground of understanding for the three of us. Onyx taught us that it is possible to find fun and joy in the smallest of God’s creatures, and it is possible to feel infinite love for an infinitesimally small life. It may sound cliche, but we learnt from him, that size really has nothing to do with love; it’s the heartbeat within that counts! Though Onyx’s heart stopped beating, we feel his heartbeats in our own even today.

It took time for us to get over the loss of our beloved little cat. My mother cried herself to sleep for three days. My father sat quietly in a corner for some days till things normalized a bit. And I having had my first experience with death, refused to face it for some time. I kept hearing his voice under the almirah and kept seeing his phantom hovering over my geography book-with the same whimsical look that was so unique to him.

We all got over it though, we still remember him with the same love and fondess. We have had a few other animal pets after that. We have been able to deal with human and animal loss with more courage after Onyx and we have learnt that losing one animal, doesn’t mean that we can’t bestow love on another. Yes indeed, we have come a long way since Onyx and his nuances.
But it is incredible! The indelible impression left by a tiny little cat on the three of us will follow us and teach us for a long time now. We were touched by an angel for a moment and will feel his embrace for a lifetime.

-----In fond remembrance, Twinky.

Restrained Freedom – Life on a leash

2009-10-12T02:44:00.000-07:00

(Another TCC entry made on 17 Feb 2008...a spur of the moment outpouring of my feelings on animal rights and society’s attitude towards animals in general.)

For a while now,I have questioned society’s attitude towards animals. It has been of immense interest to me since I learnt of Mahatma Gandhi’s quote “A society is judged by the way it treats it’s animals” After careful study of the human animal relationship, I have come to believe that there is much truth in the great soul’s words. It is more probable than not, that our ambitions, our feelings and emotions, our turmoils within and without, are all mirrored in our behaviour towards our “nonspeaking” counterparts. And as all other aspects of human behaviour go, I have tried to paint a picture of the human animal bonds and breaks, in the various shades of grey that tint it in real life.

Creatures, of all shapes and sizes have been sharing our world and our lives with us, since time immemorial. The earliest known fossil of a modern day cockroach appeared in the Cretaceous era (145 million years ago). Compared to this, the appearance of anatomically modern humans in the Pliocene epoch, some 3.6 million years ago, seems to fade into the historical limelight rightly accorded to the roaches. Also they are one of the hardiest species prevalent on planet Earth. Which of us great humans are capable of remaining active for a month without food (barring Yogis), or being able to survive on limited resources like glue from the back of a postage stamp? They are also known to have a much higher radiation resistance than the “higher vertebrates”, and a popular saying goes that in an event of a nuclear disaster, “cockroaches will inherit the earth” on account of their relative unaffectedness with radiation. Not only cockroaches, but all members of class insecta, comprising a million described species and nearly 30 million undescribed species, account for 90% of life on this planet. In light of this fact, insects should command more respect from the human world than is presently warranted to them - if not for anything else, then at least for their ability of make their presence known as a species. We certainly did that to ourselves.

However, few people actually interest themselves in the study of insects. And many of the entomologists that do are spurred by their curiosity of the creatures’ habits and biology, and very often in order to find out how WE can benefit from something that nature has bestowed them with. Very rarely do we come across people like Joanne Elizabeth Lauck, author of “Voice of the infinite in the small-Revisioning the insect human relationship” take an open minded approach towards insects and treat them with love, not spite, in their hearts. Ultimately it all boils down to what man perceives as externally attractive. The principle that applies to a man’s perception of a woman or vice versa, also applies to human perception of an insect. In poetry and fairy tales of all kinds, references to beautiful butterflies and even sparkling beetles sometimes, are fairly abundant. How often does one come across favourable stories about cockroaches, or ugly bugs with large eyes and waving antennae. These genres of insects are more “aptly” promoted as villainous aliens or mutated beings preparing to take over the world as unassuming humans go on with their lives without a clue as to what lies in store for them. Similar portrayals have featured reptiles and worms of all sorts.

We teach our children about the inner beauty of god’s creations, but we do everything in our power to convince them otherwise, by unloading on their impressionable minds, our inherent vehement fear of insects, and encouraging such opinions by allowing exposure to different kinds of media that do more harm than good in our very human centric society. What drives us to do this? Prominent differences among our two species which gives rise to an illogical fear? Inclination towards conventional standards of beauty and complete disregard for other handsome characteristics that define individuals-human or animal? Or is it a false vanity produced by our apparent evolution to the top of the food chain?

For a moment let’s cast aside the insect aspect of this debate, on grounds of too much difference between the species and a consequent inability to tolerate their existence. Sadly even when we turn our attention to animals belonging to other species, much closer to humans, and with the ability to feel with very much the same intensity, a range of human emotions, we witness similar intolerances there. Not only intolerance but a flagrant need to assert the human superiority by blatant abuse and torture of trusting and sometimes harmless creatures. Some animals like snakes have been rumoured so strongly to be harmful and have been encouraged to be murdered on sight, without second thought, it reminds one of dangerous wanted criminals who have been ordered to be shot at sight. Incidentally, most cases of snake bites on humans, have happened because the snake was incited to do so by poking or some other such show of gallantry. Like all misconceptions, it is difficult to kill those such as this, and in the long run the hapless animal suffers a violent and sometimes painful death.

Cruelty to animals is visible in all strata of society, be it high end or more low profile. Parrots being caged by fortune tellers in an effort to extract money from clueless travellers by having their fortunes told by a psychic parrot, is cruelty. Monkeys and bears being captured from their natural habitats and made to perform for public entertainment is cruelty. Dogs and cocks being gladiatorized against each other, to satisfy our innant violent instincts, is cruelty. Buying dogs in large numbers to herald in the Chinese year of the Dog, and then abandoning them only to be rescued by local SPCA’s and euthanized because of the sheer numbers of abandoned animals, is cruelty. Shunting electrodes in a monkeys head for experimental observations is cruelty.

Throwing acid on a stray puppy “just for kicks” is cruelty. Traumatizing animals by slaughtering others, in their presence, and then killing them painfully, for the meat industry, is not only cruelty but a heinous crime. Caging majestic creatures of the wild like lions and tigers for circus performances is cruelty and humiliating at that. Chaining a wild elephant to the ground and beating him constantly till he “breaks”, is cruelty. Rounding up dolphins in a lagoon, so that they can be shot and hunted, is abhorrent cruelty. These are but instances which make up the tip of the iceberg. There is so much more vicious cruelty recorded in the annals of history and also taking place at this very moment. And these have nothing to do with the insect world, but with mammals and other animals with a spine. Then why does this happen? Is it because man is himself spineless enough to be unable to admit, that he isn’t the only superior most “wonderful” creation that God made in seven days? That he doesn’t have sole power over everything that isn’t him? Maybe. Though I fail to understand the underlying cause for such violence, and torture.

After coming to Singapore and rescuing a dog from certain euthanasia in the local SPCA, i have had the opportunity to observe the life of an animal in a rich, perfectly civilised and almost mechanised law abiding country. And I did not like what I observed. My husband and I always pictured ourselves with a dog walking freely next to us, sniffing around when he wants, what he wants, however he wants-free to go wherever he wants and come back home with us once his outing is over. Sadly whenever we walk our very independent dog (who grew up free on the streets of Singapore), we have to abide by the law of the country that says “dogs must be leashed in public places” My Singaporean dog, has had just one or two free runs on the beach. That too with us standing by apprehensive and ready to pounce on the leash in case someone comes too close. He has never been able to “walk”-a free boy with his mum and dad. We do our best to make him feel loved at home, take him out for long strolls on the beach and large enclosed places, we spend time sitting with him on the grass under the stars, while he carries on his serene observations of people and animals walking by and sometimes a funny bug that climbs onto his leg. But the leash is always there. We feel a tug inside our hearts when we have to play running games with him on the leash.

No matter what we do he will always be a wild spirit inside. He was meant to be like that and I’m proud that he is the way he is. If only society was a little liberal and open-minded, maybe he wouldn’t have to be leashed up always.

I have often thought about the reason why animals have to be restrained and not allowed to be themselves in this society. Is it because we are too scared to be close to them in case they attack? Is it because we have become so selfish that we don’t feel the need to accord them their share of god’s good earth? Or is it because, in chasing after wealth and success in the society we created, we have so far removed ourselves from nature and the multitudinous animals that make this world what it is, that we fail to feel any kinship with them at all? I believe it is all three. The former two reasons stem from the root cause which is the latter. And if that is the case, then we have set ourselves on a path to destruction as a race. We must learn to be proud of the fact that we were made to live in harmony with all of God’s creations and not as a separate entity. By cutting ourselves off from our counterparts, and by trampling them underfoot in a series of destructive actions, we are only debilitating ourselves as a species. A pianist will still exist in body, if his fingers are cut off, but his piano won’t make music anymore. He will have to earn a livelihood doing something that is not his passion, and being uninterested in what he does, the fires inside will die out and he will pass into obscurity as a person. It is certain then, that if we have to make music as a whole, we have to learn to harmonize our melodies with those of our fellow creatures.

There are many breaks in the human-animal relationship. But there are a few glimmers of hope too. For there are a few of our race, who act both with heart and head. They love and think without restraint and as a result are able to bestow the much deserved love on animals of all genres, and receive bountifuls from them. They rescue and aid animals in need, heal their wounds, when they have been hurt, physically and scarred emotionally, they work selflessly to conserve the fast vanishing habitats of a myriad wild animals, they educate our young about the importance of animals and why we should love them for their own sake, not for ours, why they should be respected for their own sake and why they should be protected from the evil that society loves to shower so very often. Such people are heroes in our troubled times, and give me much hope for our future. For where animals are not treated as equals, there is hardly a future at all.

The love of an animal holds immense power. It has to power to soothe in the toughest of times, and is given selflessly, without the expectation of receiving in return. It is folly top shun a storehouse of love and energy like this. Let us not make this folly. Let us not be restrained in our thoughts and actions. Let us break free of those bonds and cleave any that we may have placed on our animal friends. Let us establish them in their rightful positions as God’s creatures much as we are. Let us go out there, throw caution to the wind, and love our animals with all the love that is waiting to be set free from our hearts. Let us take off that leash and cast it into the wilderness. We have no use for it, for you see, in the words of the good Dr. Herriot, The Lord God Made us All!

----------------Shreyasi M.

The King is Dead!!! Long Live the King!!!

2009-10-12T02:39:00.000-07:00

(Another entry from TCC written on 13 Feb 2008 and widely appreciated by many. A tribute to Mastaan-the King who lived and died in Jangid Complex-my home for many years.)

Here I am, seated at the white marble table in my balcony. The rich melancholy notes of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata come wafting at me. Strong Singaporean winds buffet against the window, much like the myriad emotions that seem to be buffeting against my heart unrestrained. He was the king. In every possible way. Cherished by a small community of people and loved for what he was. And that was a lot.

It was a long time ago, fourteen years almost, and the details are a bit fuzzy. I was a schoolgirl then, wild eyed with wonder at god’s multitudinous creatures and their quirks. I had just begun to probe into the personalities of different kinds of animals, and suffice it to say I was at such an impressionable age, that encounters with the wonderful creatures would mould the way I perceived them, for many years to come. And as luck would have it, two of the most delightful animals crossed my path, my pet dog Cleopatra, and her stray counterpart-Mastaan.

Mastu as we affectionately called him was born a good year before Cleo. He was the very first dog that I closely interacted with and as a consequence learnt a lot from him. He was born a perfectly white fellow, affable and vivacious in nature, abounding in energy. He could run like the wind and he loved to playfully boss over his siblings whenever he got the chance. He was alert and attentive at all times; especially at night and woe betide the wayward rag picker who decided to go about his business in the dead of the night. Mastu would bring the building down with his incessant barking. A fantastic watchdog, he soon gained everybody’s favour as he grew in size and age. As is the case with human centric societies everywhere, a few residents raised issues about mastu being there and suggested that he be relocated elsewhere or be euthanized. But when mum clicked a picture in the afternoon, clearly showing mastu wide awake and watchful, while the watchman slept soundly, and showed it to them, it was unanimously agreed that he should remain there for security reasons at the least. And soon he had everybody eating out of his hands.

One thing I distinctly remember about Mastu, is his acute distaste for baths. He was such a lovely milk white colour, that when he started to turn gray owing to layers of dirt and mud accumulated over time, his “humans” entertained the idea of “cleaning” him. So the watchman and I got him into my father’s garage. Mastu came along unquestioningly.

Obviously he didn’t foresee the vicious plans hatching in our heads. I went upstairs and got the bucket, shampoo and brush, while Bahadur, the watchman tied him up in the garage. Everything was going so smoothly, we were thrilled at the prospect of having a clean mastu again. But alas! As soon as the first drop of water touched him, mastu wailed out for the dead and kept wailing till we gave up. We let him loose and he darted off. When he had run a considerable distance, he turned and defiantly looked back at us as we looked on haplessly. We had lost. Mastu had character and he had scruples, of which getting dirty was a rather strong one and he would do all to protect his god given birthright of staying dirty. We resigned ourselves to his strength of personality, and never ventured to clean him ever again. He remained a wondrously dirty dog right till the very end.

Mastu had some quirks to his personality that could safely be attributed to his unique individuality. He used to stay mostly with Bahadur for the first few years, in the guardhouse. He had a gunny bag for a bead and a small bowl for food and water. We used to often see him moving around with the sack in his mouth, when he wanted to sleep elsewhere. Sometimes in the garage, sometimes in the building lobby and sometimes smack in the middle of the road. He would faithfully bring his gunny bag along spread it out on his chosen place of siesta, go round and round on it and then settle down on it comfortably. He used to translocate his bowl in a similar fashion whenever he wanted to go someplace other than the guardhouse.

A year after mastu was born, we got Cleo. If I had my way, I would have gotten mastu home too, but unlike the diminutive individual that Cleo was, Mastu was a wild free soul. He could never be leashed, tied up or taken for walks. Mastu was the kind that would TAKE a person for a walk, always leading the way. A born leader, he would never accept being second best, or playing second fiddle to anyone, human or animal.

Cleo, Mastu and I grew up together. Even though mastu was an unfettered soul, he never hesitated to spend good quality time with me and Cleo when we were out. Cleo’s friendly, open nature, enabled them to become kindred spirits, and they always remained good friends. Even when Cleo suffered from arthritis and could no longer run with mastu the way she could before, he would nonetheless spend time with her, when we came downstairs for a breath of fresh air. He never bossed over her, like he did the other dogs. He was always soft and gentle, big brotherly to an extent with Cleo.

Mastu grew up to become a handsome young chap and was beginning to become quite the ladies man. We figured the best thing to do, with the unhindered growth in stray dog populations, would be to get mastu sterilized. So on the fateful day, we put him into my dad’s car and drove off to my mother’s newly opened animal shelter and hospital. He was not happy when we put him in the cage there, but it was only a matter of three days, so we said our goodbyes, promised him he’d be fine and left. I still remember the look on his face. I felt like I’d betrayed him, but I knew it was for his own good, and it was something that had to be done. The surgery successfully over, mastu was brought back home three days later, but he refused to look at or speak to me. It was only after a lot of cajoling that I managed to get him to be friends with me again.

But after the sterilization, as it happens with a lot of dogs, mastu became a changed boy. Like his teenage human counterparts, mastu was rather thin and very juvenile in his behaviour, till before the surgery. A few months after the surgery, we were delighted to see mastu completely calmed down, gaining the much needed pounds and even more lovable than before. He slowly stopped caring about anything other than his meals, his sleep and being adored by all and sundry, and that encouraged his exponential weight gain. Soon he became a cylindrical dog with a penchant for stopping traffic on the road on account of his siestas. Let me throw some enlightenment on this peculiar trait that Mastu developed. He began to enjoy basking in the sunlight smack dab in the middle of the road. Small cars and two wheelers would maneuver and find a way out, but large family cars and trucks would have to stop. They would honk and holler till their voices went hoarse, but as was characteristic to mastu, he wouldn’t care. He would refuse to budge. Ultimately, we observed very often, that the drivers would have to dismount, physically pick him up (a daunting task indeed) and move him to the side of the road, utter a few expletives and move on. Surprisingly, no one bothered to admonish him for his lack of sentiment toward hapless drivers. Rather, these displays of laziness made people love the quirky fellow all the more.

Mastu never scrounged for food a single day in his life. His meals would appear as if by magic from the buildings, that housed him namely Krishna and Gangotri. Meat in all forms, biryani, chapattis and even deserts sometimes, would be compulsorily kept aside for him, or the leftovers given to him. Either way, he was content living the good life with the comfortable home, lavish food, humans who loved him and the freedom to bark (on rare occasions, when he felt like it) at a passing doodhwalla or gaswalla.

Mastu’s whole life was spent here in these two buildings and he became a part of the community. People doted on him and any aberrant behaviour on his part was not hidden from us, because it was reported immediately by one resident or the other. I have been privy to questions about his health, his weight, his appetite, his behaviour and his social life, from people of all age groups ranging from tiny little 5 year olds to concerned elderly residents.

Mastu saw me go through school, through Junior College and through Degree College. He witnessed my whirlwind romance, which was shadowed by the untimely and gut wrenchingly painful demise of our friend and companion, Cleo. When I drove off to get married, he was there, sitting regally in the middle of the road, watching. And when I left for Singapore with my husband, he was there, stoic and sombre. I had his best wishes when I left for the foreign land, and I still remember that the person I was most pained to leave behind apart from my parents, was him. Every time I visited he was there, in the same position, unmoved and content, happy to see me. Of course he had matured much by then, he was quieter and reserved and lesser prone to a show of affections, but an occasional lick on my face and a wag of the tail, assured me that our mutual affections were unaltered.Suddenly on one of my trips back home, I noticed a dramatic change in Mastu’s girth. He was thin and very quiet and didn’t want to move much. And somehow I felt this was not because of the laziness that he was accustomed to. This was different, and not something I had seen in mastu ever before. A number of uneasy thoughts popped into my head, but I discarded them almost immediately. It wasn’t possible that something was wrong with him. He was a stray from the roads. They’re the strongest of the lot, and mastu was a particularly hard headed survivor. He would not easily succumb to anything, of that I was sure. So I just left it at that and came back to Singapore with the nagging thoughts safely tucked away at the back of my mind. But my subsequent trips confirmed my suspicions, till finally on my last trip he was almost skin and bones. I couldn’t discard the fears anymore. Mum and I made it a point to ensure that he gets wholesome food, and we even had him hospitalized at mum’s new animal hospital. His diagnosis was very vague and the doctors couldn’t really make out what was wrong with him. They brought him back to his homestead, where he seemed to have bouts of recovery followed by extreme weakness.

I witnessed his health fail more and more. He seemed to be in a lot of pain, but unfortunately there wasn’t much more I could do than feed him, love him and pray. But I noticed through it all that he remained a fighter. He couldn’t get up when I put his food bowl in front of him, so he used to pick it up with his teeth, empty the contents on the floor and then lap it up. Ingenious fellow he was and very assertive right till the end. The other dogs always bowed down to his greatness, even when he was but a skeleton, and they never even tried to venture in and have a go at his food.

On my last trip home, I spent a considerable amount of energy with my mum, trying to get him up and moving. But the old boy had no strength left in his tired bones. So on the last day before I left, I went and talked to him, and asked him to get well soon. I sat with him for a bit and then with a heavy heart, walked away. I left the next evening for Singapore, but as I drove off I saw him there, sitting in the building looking just about as handsome as I’d ever seen him. Regal and serious, on his gunny bag, with his food bowl in front of him.

Once I got back, I got enmeshed in the various responsibilities that life hands one often, but I kept careful tab via phone and email on the status of my friend’s health. Much to my disappointment, he just kept getting worse. Finally he had to be hospitalized. The doctors now diagnosed that a certain kind of bacteria that eats up muscle mass, had been flourishing in his body for a long time. And he was just too tired fighting it. He also probably had a slip disc, because there was hardly any muscle to support his spine. He used to be in pain, and sometimes one would see tears streaming down his face, on account of the pain, but he would as always deal with it. Even in the hospital he preferred to bask in the sunlight, and he used to wait for my mother’s phone call. She would be put on the speaker phone and my mother would talk to him and he would listen to her voice and apparently like it a lot.

Day before yesterday, he was up and about in the morning, and seemed to be fine. He ate and sat down in the sun for his usual sunbath. Dad was just about to call in the afternoon, to talk to him, but before he could they got a call form the hospital, that Mastu’s condition was suddenly deteriorating. He was gone before dad could reach the hospital and say his goodbyes.

When I heard the news, I cried. I cried like I had cried when my grandparents died, and when Cleo died. The feeling of loss was the same. They brought him back home from the hospital. Everyone was in tears. Normally animals that die in the hospital are cremated or handed over to the municipal authorities for proper disposal. But that was unthinkable in Mastu’s case. He had lived his whole life there and it was agreed that he should be put to rest there too. So a grave was dug for him in between two bottle palms, in the garden facing my parents’ house. Mrs. Irani who had catered to Mastu’s every need as if he was her own, brought flowers for him, amidst a sea of tears. And Mastu-the King of Jangid and of the hearts of all the people and animals who knew and loved him, was laid to rest with all the respect, admiration and grief that is accorded to a loved one who passes on.

A red bougainvillea plant will be planted on Mastu’s grave in memory of the wonderful soul that he was. He touched so many lives without them knowing it. He definitely taught me a thing or two about life. Love openly and with abandon, live by the highest standards, compete with no one but yourself, succumb to nothing that life hands you, and be your own person. That’s what I learnt from the cherubic white little puppy, the adolescent skinny dog and the grand old somber chap that he later became.

When I first thought of penning down something in memory of Mastaan, all I could see was a blank page on my screen. I doubted I could get even a page out, since I wanted the story to be perfect. But that’s something else Mastu taught me. Nothing in life is perfect, but a lot of things are nearly there. And one should do is grab the opportunity that life gives us, go after what one wants with complete conviction and live life to the fullest in doing so. So I started to write and I think this piece justly encompasses all aspects of his life. I will grieve his loss for a long time to come. He was a friend of my childhood, a companion of my youth. However, I came across a few thoughts on the aspects of death and found something that has cheered me infinitely. To everyone out there, who misses Mastu, or their own, whom they have loved and lost to death, I have a little poem written by Mary Frye, that I would like to share with you.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!

Long live the King!

----Your friend always, Twinky.

Ah! Meng – Yi Lu Ping An Lah!

2009-10-12T02:32:00.000-07:00

(This entry dtd 12 Feb 2008, is from my blog site-The Circumambient Cetacean (TCC), named after the hyperactive dolphin called Splash, who whizzed in and out of my life like a breeze whizzing through some leaves. He inspired me to start writing the blog, dedicated to animals and to my mother Shakuntala Majumdar. This current piece is about the life story of the famous Orang-utan from the Singapore Zoo-Ah Meng.)

Ah Meng...she was presumably the most famous orang-utan in the world, a worthy representative of Singapore, an icon of her time, irreplaceable and priceless. And she died of old age on the 8th of Feb this year. Ironically Chinese all over the world were celebrating the beginning of the Chinese New Year, the much awaited year of the rat, that day.

I didn't know her personally, but I did have the good fortune to visit her twice, once with my grandparents and the second time with my parents. Images of her are still vividly clear in my head. Stoic and dignified, like any grand matriarch should be, she used to sit there sometimes in her enclosure and outside in the mornings, when some fortunate visitors, tourists and Singaporeans alike, were allowed to have breakfast with her and her grandchildren.

As is the case with animals of all sizes and shapes, she had the ability to elicit in her human visitors, awe, excitement, enthusiasm, and curiosity, about such prominent ape human similarities.

Ah Meng's life history goes back many years, 48 to be precise, when she was smuggled from Indonesia into the island city and kept as an illegal pet for many years, until she was rescued by a local veterinarian. She was eleven years old then and being one of the critically endangered Sumatran orangs, she was housed at the Singapore Zoo. Thus she made the Zoo her home in 1971, and since then has been the head of a fast growing clan. She had two sons - Hsing Hsing and Satria, and three daughters, Medan, Hong Bao, and Sayang, as well as six grandchildren.
Her rise to fame was apparent when she became the poster girl of the Singapore Zoo. Pictures of her have been used in Singapore's tourism advertisements worldwide. She has also been featured in over 30 travel films and more than 300 articles. Some of the foreign dignitaries and celebrities that visited Ah Meng included Prince Philip and Michael Jackson. The Zoo' Breakfast with the Orang-utans primely featuring Ah Meng, was very well received. The Zoo greatly increased public awareness about the endangered species through this interactive programme.

Apart from the obvious fame, Ah Meng's life has been dotted with interesting events, some of them not so fortunate. In August 1978, a visitor to the Zoo threw a sharp metal object at her, causing a gash on her cheek. In March 1982, during the shooting of a promotional video at Mac Ritchie Reservoir, Ah Meng climbed a tree and stayed there for three nights. On her way down, she fell seven storeys and broke her right arm.

Some stories about her life have been hilarious though, and portray the innate human side of the girl. In March 1992, Ah Meng became jealous that her long-time keeper, Alagappasamy Chellaiyah (in the photograph kissing ah meng), paid attention to a female research student studying orang-utan behaviour. The orang unhesitatingly attacked the girl.

The Singapore Tourism Promotion Board conferred on Ah Meng a "Special Tourism Ambassador" award in recognition of her contribution towards tourism in Singapore. She was the first non-human recipient of the award. She received a certificate and a stack of bananas. :-)

As she aged, her public appearances became less frequent for fear of subjecting her to stress.

And then she died suddenly, leaving the whole of Singapore and much of the world in shock.

A memorial service was held for Ah Meng on the 10th of February in front of 4000 visitors. A fitting tribute indeed to someone who influenced so many lives personally and aided the fiery cause of conservation of her kind. A bronze statue of the same size as Ah Meng was also unveiled. Just goes to show how important she was to everybody, and what a mark she left behind, considering that the normal procedure for any other animal death in the zoo, would be an autopsy and a bio secure bag!

As a tribute to her, the next orang-utan to be born at the Singapore Zoo will be named Ah Meng Junior. A durian tree will be planted at her grave because durian was her favourite fruit.

Even though you have flown away on silver wings to a land of abandon, you will be fondly remembered Ah Meng. You were a phenomenon, a bright ray of hope in a morally and ethically declining world. You showed us that one doesn't have to be a human to be human. It's all within, in a special place called the heart. You were much loved, respected and adored and we bid you farewell. Gong Xi Fa Cai dear friend, and we pray that you have an eternity of freedom, forests, and lots of bananas in your new home. Zai Jian!!!

-----Ever your admirer, Twinky.

Sometimes the answer is no...

2009-10-11T22:00:00.001-07:00

Dear Blog,

I prayed...like I have rarely prayed before...Ever since I first started speaking to God, the bottom line of my prayer has always been “Thy will be done”. I would ask for whatever I wanted but would always end with that statement removing myself from the ego consciousness and merging my will with HIS. This time it was different.

This time I wanted my COCO to live...to survive the ordeal he had been through, firstly because I didn’t want him to die an untimely death as a consequence of the actions of a bunch of hooligans and secondly because I wanted to laugh in their faces and make a statement...that their actions couldn’t harm my little one.

He showed signs of recovery, he sat up, ate, drank water, wagged his tail showed my parents recognition...and then suddenly before the critical 72 hr period was up, his condition turned for the worse. His body became rigid again, his fever sky rocketed and he kept screaming into the night...apparently the horrific pain came back.

He stayed this way for a while before he slipped into a coma. And all this while I was only praying for his life...No underlying “Thy will be done” statement. Finally after 24 hours I realized I was just holding on to him and he was hanging on only because I was not ready to let go...because I kept praying for his life....because I would not let God do HIS will.

So day before yesterday I finally sat down and spoke to GOD like I used to. I told Him that as much as I would love COCO romping around happy and healthy again, I would not want to be the cause of his pain. And no matter what happens, I cannot question GOD’s reasons. And I sealed the conversation with “Your will be done.”

I was at a conference the whole day at the Shangri La and was caught up in the arcane world of business professionals. I finally managed to break away for a bit and slipped into the restroom to call Ma. And she informed me that Coco had passed on an hour or so earlier.

I hung up and stood there in the majestically decorated restroom. I was surrounded by beauty but my heart was empty save for a few mixed emotions running helter skelter. I was crying inside knowing that I would never see my Coco’s physical form again, but I was relieved that he was in no pain. I was filled with fury at those boys who took Coco from me but at the same time I was revelling in the fact that God had been on the other side conversing with me all along, and when I finally agreed to let go, God agreed to take him.

I am sure I will grieve Coco for a long time now. More than my other animals because he died as a result of an unnecessary cruel act...something unforgiveable in the human species since we have been given the power to discern right from wrong. Sure Orcas play with their quarry before killing them; sure cats do the same and kill their prey without wanting to eat them. But they do not have the discriminating volition that has been so benevolently granted to us.

I have had anger welling up in me ever since I heard of the atrocious act and I have cursed like I have never done before. But amidst my fury, my friend of yesteryears reminded me of the grace of God and her understanding words touched me to my very core. I asked for her permission to publish her thoughts and here is an excerpt of what she said, “As for those perpertrators, for each and every act of injustice done, they will have to be answerable to God. Though all of us feel pure rage right now, the time will surely come for their judgment as well. Forgive them for they do not know what they do. It is very painful. But true that all of us have to leave one day, all marked in His time. May God's will be done. For His plans are not ours, and He does all for our own good. I just pray that we continue to do good and find strength in the Lord.”

I have listened to her and am slowly resolving the anger inside of me. I know it will take time.

But I have faith that God will help me forgive.

Coco was cremated yesterday. I wish to erase the memories of him in pain. I only wish to remember him as the sprightly boy that he was...abounding in joy and selfless love.
I prayed like never before and then I prayed like I used to. I am always looking to God for answers. And He has shown me that He always answers my prayers. Always. Only for reasons that are His alone, and for reasons that I am too spiritually unevolved yet to understand, sometimes the answer is No.

I love you Coco. Goodbye.

........In Memorium of our beloved Coco

Twinky

Coco’s ordeal

2009-10-11T21:51:00.000-07:00

Dear blog,
I should have talked to you yesterday, but I was distraught, so I made do with crying at home when I was alone. What else could I do? I couldn’t make sense of what had happened, why it had happened and how anyone could do something like this. Coco was a good dog, he didn’t deserve this. I wasn’t even there to protect him when those fiends beat him up brutally. I was not there to take action too, make sure justice was done. What is the point of me living in this beautiful manicured country when I can’t be there for my own animals?

Coco and Coffee have been resident dogs in the building where Ive spent half my life in Jangid Complex, Mira Road. I have been witnessing their galloping exuberance and gentle joyfulness for as long as I can remember. Coffee is this big lumbering girl with floppy paws while Coco is a smaller version of Coffee, but much naughtier.

Both have been much adored by a majority of the residents and they have never ever given anyone any cause for complaint. In fact they are two of the best guard dogs the building has had. At least theyve got more guts than the idiotic, lazy security guards we have always had. They wouldn’t hesitate to bring the whole building down if a stranger so much as stepped close to the place. Suffice it to say with these two, the building was always safe.

Night before last, a group of 3-4 adolescent boys paid a visit to the garden behind our building where Coco must have been strolling around. The boys were charas doped and whether in that state or not I do not know, three of them pounced on Coco for no apparent reason and held his legs in place while the fourth (identified as an AMJED something) inflicted several blows on Coco with a heavy piece of wood. Coco managed to escape once but they ran after him and repeated the same thing again and again, till Coco’s body was twisted in pain and his spine bent from the multiple blows. Hearing the commotion people ran down from their houses, when these boys fled the scene and somehow got possible witnesses to shut up about it.

Coco was rushed to the hospital on grounds of possible spinal fractures and has been in observation ever since. X-rays show severe concussions in several regions of his spinal cord, micro bleeding which has caused the liquid to accumulate in his chest cavity, high fever and permanent loss of vision in one eye. Painkillers and concussion depressants seem to be working albeit slowly.

I keep having visions of this sweet naughty playful little fellow jumping on me whenever I was near him and never wanting to get off me. I keep think of the wet lickies he used to bestow on my unsuspecting hand as I walked around. And of course how he LOVED to frolic with Coffee...his best friend.

I am inherently a very spiritual person and I know that human beings have been given a free will with which they make their choices and thereby set their karmic wheels in motion. But animals are subject to mass world karma, not having free will of their own, so Ive been told. Why then is the animal kingdom subject to so much suffering for no fault of the individual animals themselves? And the bigger question is how can a human being bring himself to commit such atrocity with such seeming cold heartedness?

I have witnessed so much of animal cruelty in my life of 25 years, but I have always made it a point to forgive the perpetrator and hope for a better future. But yesterday I found myself unwilling to restrain myself from cursing those four young men. I know God has his plans and therefore I feel a little guilty about cursing them, but I also felt a certain relief when I did. When I put out into the universe thoughts of ravaging pain, paralysis and suffering for these young men, I realized that it was the only thing I could do to exact revenge, to action justice for what they had done to my defenceless friend.

I don’t know if Coco will survive this ordeal. Even if he does, I don’t know if he will be a vegetable all his life. And I am sure this trauma has scarred him emotionally forever. In a way it’s a good thing. He will stay away from the real “animals” that inhabit this world.
I pray to God that I am someday capable of forgiving these satanic actions. I hope that I can. For now, I can only pray for Coco...my darling little Coco.
............Devastated, Twinky.