Junk in schools

I spent the last two days working with the management, children, teachers, and parents of a major school in Itanagar in Arunachal Pradesh. Since this was my first time to the state, in fact just my second to the region (North East India) itself, there was much I had to learn and understand about the people, the culture, parental mind-sets, etc. Pros and cons of things like Inner Line Permit (ILP) started to make more sense when sitting here, rather than when reading about it on wiki lounging in my cosy couch in Bangalore. And since the place is so cut off from the rest of the country, boys and girls were very curious to find out more about me and Bangalore. ‘Are there really super cars like Maserati in Bangaore?’ one of them asked. ‘What is your height?’ was a very common question – A 6-footer like me in this land where height is not the forte of most people, must have been an amusing sight.

One of the first things that was shocking to me, both in this school and in another school in nearby Assam, is the amount of junk food that was freely available not just outside the school campuses, but even within. Small shops set up inside school campuses sell everything from frozen ice colas to multiple varieties of chips, to 2-ltr bottles of soda (Pepsi being the favorite). Kids start coming to school at around 730 after their breakfast and go home by 230. And all they have in the interim is the junk from the canteen. The schools have been doing nothing to promote good food habits.

‘It is a recent phenomenon,’ says one administrator. ‘Started probably a decade back. In-fact many adults took to colas to avoid alcohol, so in one way this is the lesser of the two evils that they are choosing.’ He was only part joking.

‘My son will be waiting for me to go home. Soon as I reach, he will tell me he is thirsty and force me to give him some Pepsi,’ complained a parent. During the breaks, it is a common sight to see kids move around carrying small packets of Kurkure or Aalu bhujia.

When me and my friends who were visiting the school pointed this out to the management, teachers, parents, and students, they immediately acknowledged the issue. What was refreshing was the Principal’s ‘First of all I am at fault here,’ attitude. He straight away declared that he should have done more and requested the help of his teachers to make things better. One common (partial) misconception that the management had was that the parents were all of no good, that they were only interested in getting rid of their kids for the major portion of the day time and that they couldn’t care less what the school did with them.

Conversation with a few parents just before the assembly started somewhat confirmed this attitude, but not all parents were like this. One father spoke vociferously about the need for parents to not just stop pandering to their children’s wants, but also spoke of the school’s responsibility to teach them good eating habits. He also spoke of how when parents organise get-togethers the standard drink was Pepsi or Coke and connected this to the addiction that children seem to have for these drinks. The school was clearly generalising parent behaviour and therefore missing out on good opportunities to engage with the willing partners.

The students themselves didn’t really understand what was happening. They were too in the moment to see the larger picture of their health getting spoilt. But many did, on probing, admit to their inability to stay even day without having any of these foods or drinks.

The last two days were very fruitful, what with representatives from different stakeholder groups getting together and figuring out ways to improve this situation both at school and at home. Parents spoke enthusiastically of their responsibilities, students wanted to first change their own habits before they would go preach the behaviour to their friends in not only their schools but also nearby schools, teachers agreed to inculcate discussions on good eating habits in their curriculum, and the management decided to work with the canteen worker and slowly phase out junk food and replace it with healthy, tasty alternatives instead. The energy in the group was palpable and the respect that everyone showed for each other was amazing. Each group went off with a clear takeaway and there was a lot of hope in that room that afternoon.

It is not easy to change habits and culture of an entire society, but it is the responsibility of a school to not blindly tow the lines of the society but to measure it acutely, and mirror only what is reasonable. It should otherwise aim to weed out the evils and to change parental mind-sets through their children. In this school the first step has been made. Hope it gets healthier soon!

Story of the Swiss knife

“But it is my item and I want it back. So please help me out here.” I was slowly losing patience with the security check personnel who insisted on destroying the sharp object he found in my toiletry kit in my small suitcase.

You are probably thinking what a fool I am to have brought it in the first place or to not check-in that small suitcase at least.

Well, I always check-in my small suitcase. But have also always wondered why I don’t carry it with me and save some time. So on that fateful day, I was quite early to the airport (4:15 am) and decided to try it out. I checked with the Air Asia counter if small bottles of soap and shampoo were allowed. 

They were ok with it, as long as I didn’t have any sharp objects. They raised their eyebrows about my drum sticks, but were eventually confident that that would pass too. I tried to remember if there were any sharp objects and couldn’t recall any but my shaving razor which I remembered when I was waiting at the security check queue.

Google expressed reasonable confidence that most safety razors would pass. As I waited on the other side of the security belt, I eagerly studied the face of the person manning the X-ray machine as my suitcase was being scanned. His bored gazed lingered a bit longer but finally he let it through. Just as I was sighing in relief, he looked at me and said ‘There is a nail clipper in there, next to the razor.’

Shit! I had totally forgotten about it. I mentally prepared a response, but he continued. ‘But that is not the issue. What is the item between your razor and nail clipper?’

I had no clue what he was talking about. ‘May I open and check?’ As if I had a choice.

‘Yes please.’

It was a bloody swiss army knife! I had put it in there about a year back and had used it exactly twice since then. I sheepishly took it out and showed it.

He shook his head sadly and said ‘Destroy karna padega.’ (Has to be destroyed)

Though I was frustrated thinking of the time I would now be spending in going back to the check-in counter, checking the bag in, and walking through the burgeoning security queues, I had already mentally prepared myself. It was only 4:30 and my boarding was not until 5:15.

‘Ok, give it back to me, let me go back and check the luggage in.’

‘It is not that easy sir. Please go and bring an airline staff with you, and I will release the item.’

That mustn’t be hard, should it. I went down to gate #5 to see Indigo boarding their passengers but there was no Air Asia staff in sight.

I went back to the security and told him that.

‘Can’t help it sir. Your flight is at 6. I will wait till then and then…’

‘Then?’

‘Destroy karna padega.’

‘Hey you can’t do that. I want to go and check it in along with my luggage. Help me out here.’

‘Ok, sir. Go to helpdesk around the corner and talk to them. They will call Air Asia staff.’

That surely must be easy! Isn’t it? And it is too. If the helpdesk staff sat in their seats. But they weren’t there.

‘Sir the helpdesk isn’t there.’ I was back at security.

‘Then you will have to wait for Air Asia staff to come. Am afraid there is no other option.’

4:40.

I moved around frantically looking for some help somewhere when I saw a person from Airports Authority of India(AAI), moving around looking important with a walkie-talkie in hand.

‘You tell me… what do I do now?’

‘Sir, please go to that last security person, he will help you call the airline.’

I walked, not slowly anymore, towards that guy and explained.

‘Sir, please bring an Air Asia staff with you.’

‘But there are none down there.’

‘Sir, there is a helpdesk…’

‘But there is no one behind the desk to help!’

‘Sir, then am afraid you’ll have to wait. At flight take-off time, it will be destroyed’

America wouldn’t have been so zealous in destroying North Korean nukes.

‘But can’t you call them?’

‘No sir, we can’t call them from here.’

4:45.

I jog to the place where I found the AAI guy, but he was probably somewhere else looking important.

My roving eyes caught a desk behind which was another important looking security personnel by the name of Chouhan (name changed for anonymity). And along with him were two junior men.

I went and explained the issue to them.

Chouhan nodded and said in broken English. ‘I try to help you. Will do my best.’

I was at my sarcastic best then and wondered how one can do anything but his best when all he has to do is make a call to the counter below.

He nodded at one of the junior guys who then made a call post which he asked me to stand near a particular security check counter as that is where the airline staff would be entering from.

4:55. 

Every airline except Air-Asia seemed to be busy.

I went back to Chouhan who said he had already made three calls to Air Asia.

‘I am going to lose this knife. For no mistake of mine!’ I muttered.

‘Mistake is not in you, sir. It was in that toiletry bag of yours.’ He was trying to be funny I guess. Bad timing, Chouhan. I was fast losing hope. I could picture the security guy laughing evilly while destroying the knife (I couldn’t help wondering how one would go about ‘destroying’ a Swiss knife. Hammer it to pieces? Beats me!). I was determined to get it back, but didn’t know how to!

5:00.

Finally, one lady from Air Asia walked in like she was leading by a slim margin in a fast walking race. When I asked her to help me out with the suitcase check-in, she looked at her watch and determined it was too late for me to do it. When I insisted, she said her colleague who was about to come along ‘any time now’ would help me and that she had to go as she was in a hurry.

5:05.

Her colleague made a call to someone and told me that the counter was closed. I could still go and try, but that she would not be responsible if I missed the flight.

‘But I have been waiting here since 4:30 for you guys. I was much ahead of time, all you had to do was sign a piece of paper that would have enabled me to take back MY knife in MY bag, back to the counter and check-it in, and all this at MY own risk of missing the flight.’

‘Sorry sir, we had duty to attend to.’

5:08

Chouhan was still leaning back and relaxing in his chair, arms folded behind his head. I told him about what was happening and he was aghast. He leaned forward a bit and vented. ‘Being here is not their duty is it?’

He called the Air Asia lady and spoke to her and tried to circumvent process a bit, but together they discussed and dismissed a couple of options. I decided to throw in the towel, and was ready to leave.

‘But you should not leave them sir. Please call them and blast them. You wait, let me call them and give you the phone. Saala no one’s on time here nowadays.’

Before I could protest, he had the number dialled, the speaker phone on, and the phone was ringing at the other end. I really didn’t want to do this now. I didn’t even know what time they were supposed to be at the boarding counter, so what was I supposed to tell them!

5:12

Thankfully no one picked up. I told Chouhan that I was going to board the flight.

‘What? You have quit? Wait a minute,’ he asked another guy (Bahadur -  name changed for anonymity) to go with me and have a look at the item.

Ok, now this was the embarrassing bit. The Swiss knife I had was very small. Probably the size of 

Bahadur’s pinky finger. So while I walked with him to the security counter where the destroyer guy had the knife, I tried to cover up a bit.

‘It is a very small knife but has huge sentimental value, you see.’

‘Oh! I see!’ All Bahadur wanted was a peaceful morning and I wasn’t exactly the meditation centre he was hoping for.

What was even more embarrassing was that the knife was right on the security table near the guard and Bahadur kept looking around for it. I had to point it out to him. He gave me a is-this-what-you-have-been-making-me-run-around-for look and took it back to Chouhan.

5:15. 

Boarding was on. My phone buzzed. It was the wife. Messaging me to forget the knife and ensure that I caught the flight instead and that she would get me a brand new knife soon.

‘When do you come back to the airport?’ Chouhan asked inspecting the piece curiously.

‘Thursday night, sir.’

‘Bahadur, tag this item, assign a tracking number, and give it to sir.’

I could not believe my ears!

Bahadur promptly took down my boarding pass details, entered something in his diary, and asked me to collect it on Thursday from the lost and found counter.

‘Give him a tracking number too,’ Chouhan reiterated.

I got the tracking number written down on the reverse of the boarding pass.

Still surprised at what just happened I shook the man’s hand for what was the firmest handshake I could recall from memory.

‘I told you I would do my best,’ he said making me feel smaller than the knife for the sarcastic attitude I had towards that statement earlier on.

‘You did, sir and you did great! And you too Bahadur,’ and shook his hand too. Nothing great about the firmness of his handshake though.

I left a happy man. It is always a pleasure to meet people that solve problems instead of re-iterating three step SOPs (1-Find the Air-Asia staff. 2-Go to helpdesk. 3-Please wait and repeat from 1). Chouhan went out of his call of duty, he broke through red-tape, he ensured I get my knife. He did one more thing. He ensured the knife now had sentimental value. Because I consider it a gift from him.

PS: I wanted to take a selfie with him and post it on Facebook and make his deed go viral (Always wanted to see how posts go viral, maybe that is an experiment I will have for another day), but I wasn’t sure if that would get him into trouble. So I refrained! 

Building blocks of Excellence

Building blocks, looked at in isolation, these small little pieces can look insignificant, but they finally add up to the magnificent whole that is a beautiful skyscraper, a car that with twin silencers, a garden and many many more. Many a kid has longingly looked at a group of blocks and a glossy sheet of paper that shows what the blocks should become into, and wondered if there was a way to quickly put it all together.

The other day I was with my drums instructor asking him to teach me how to do comping (check out the first 22 secs of this video) and he gave me a series of exercises to work upon, all of them nowhere near sounding like what this guy does here, but would eventually add up. Let me tell you, these exercises are real boring, require a lot of patience because they are tough, and take a long time to master. But the idea is that comping can be done ONLY if I master these exercises. So it is a small, boring building block, but one that ensures the larger beautiful picture is painted.

Discipline in such small things is what makes people achieve greatness eventually. There is a constant urge, a push towards the big thing too early, that you see all around in general. What this does is, it leaves the person demotivated as the goal cant be reached without its foundations being proper. You could try day after day, hour after hour, to swim the perfect lap, but unless you spend that considerable amount of time practicing your breathing, it won't happen the way you want it to. You can't write a best-seller straight up, unless you brush up on your writing basics, spend that time tossing sheet after written sheet in the dustbin because you thought you could do lot better.

After years of lifting weights in the gym (some entirely not in the right poses, I think now, in retrospect), my back finally gave way last year. I suffered tremendous discomfort due to the herniated disc for about a fortnight, and then slowly was at least on my feet able to walk. The recovery was agonizingly painful for someone like me who likes to be out of my home playing, cycling, hitting the gym and all of that. I was advised to do one thing at a time, and not to stretch it a lot. Finally now, I am back at the gym and putting in a lot of focus on doing things the right way and not as much on how much weight I lift. But more importantly, I have started doing the one thing I always kept away from - Yoga!

I know that unless I strengthen my back all the effort I put in the gym is going to come to a naught pretty soon as I am sure to get injured. So I take the pains of getting up at 430 am at least once a week  (I should be doing more ideally) and hit the 5 am yoga class. It is tough, my body isn't very flexible, getting up so early is not my cuppa, but I tell myself that unless I do it, I won't achieve my related goals in life.

So figure out those foundation blocks that are unique to the things you want to excel in in your life, and work on them. It is painful, it can be irritating at times, and ironically, might even seem like they are standing in your way of achieving your goal faster as you are spending so much time on these foundation blocks, but every minute spent is only going to take you closer to excellence. 

Of ketchups and sports stores...

One evening, my five-year old son (Siddarth) pointed out to a Ketchup bottle and told me proudly that he and paati (grandmother) bought it at a store that day. In a burst of fatherly inspiration (the kinds that helps us folk get away fairly unscathed despite having kids), I asked...

'Do you know that Israel has banned tomato ketchups?'

He gave me a puzzled look that said 'why the hell would anyone do THAT?' but lack of vocabulary made him shorten it to a simple 'Why??'

'Cos it does not have tomatoes'.

'But it has tomatoes dad. It is TOMATO ketchup.'

'I know, son. But they feel it has more chemicals than tomatoes.'

'Oh!'

A pause. I went on setting the dinner table.

'But India has not banned it. Why?'

'Because, the Indian government feels that many kids here want tomato ketchup and so they would not be able to ban it here.'

'Really?'

'Yes, so if kids keep asking their parents for tomato ketchup everytime they go to a store, then it would never be banned and all kids in India would grow up eating chemicals.'

'Dad, we should also stop?'

'That is up to you Sid. I wont interfere. If you want to stop, you should tell mom.'

'I am going to tell Mom to stop buying it.'

'That is going to help a lot, Sid. Then slowly other kids will also want to stop, so if the government sees that tomato ketchups don't go away from the shelves at all then they are going to want to stop the wastage, and hence stop production.'

Then he realized what he had signed up for. So he quickly asked 'What about that other ketchup that doesn't come in a bottle but is in a pack instead?'

I knew he didn't want to give up on ketchup.

'You could get ketchup from Nisarga (a local organic store) instead.'

'Nisarga? Why?'

'Cos chemicals would not be much in those ketchups and it might just be real tomatoes.'

'Oh yes! I am going to tell mom to buy only from Nisarga'

Cut to an hour later, when Niel (his mom) walks in from work.

'Mom, come here, come here.' He drags her to the ketchup bottle and says, 'Don't buy this from now on. It has chemicals.'

Niel gives him and me a puzzled look and says 'ok....?'

'Let us buy it from...' he pauses. 'Decathlon!' he says emphatically. Decathlon is a popular sports store.

Niel goes 'Are you sure? Decathlon doesn't sell ketchups.'

'It does mom, dad told me just now.'

Niel looked at me and all I could do was roll my eyes.

Yet another interesting chapter in the book of parenthood!

Recognising love

It has been normal for a long time now to organise farewell dinners or meetings for colleagues at work when they quit. It has also become normal to 'gift' the outgoing person as a show of love. While this sounds great, lately I have become disturbed by the increasing trend of what people think of how much a person should be gifted. There was one conversation I was in, where this colleague of mine who was collecting money for buying a farewell gift was shocked to find that one of our team members had given 'just' Rs 100 and that for the subsequent farewell (which was to be of our team leader), we should all pitch in with at least Rs 500 per person. 

I retorted immediately saying we really should not be putting any cap on what people offer and that one's presence at the farewell function should be more than enough to show one's love for the outgoing colleague. To counter even this last point, just because Gandhiji was not present at Nehru's Freedom at midnight speech, doesn't mean he loved India any less. (For the facts, he was attending to the sick and needy at some other place, Gujarat I think, at that time)

I was aghast at her thought processes and was discussing this with my wife at night, when she told me of something similar that happened in her office the same day. And this got me thinking as to what are we really valuing in life...Money? Gifts? Or one's company and loving deeds? Do we want to equate the importance we give to the person to the quantum of money contributed to farewell gifts? 

The nature of man to want material things is probably at its peak now. And I see it everywhere. Spouses smile more at the sight of more expensive gifts, children love that guest at their birthday party that brings in the biggest car, and so on. Gifting has become synonymous with love and I don't have a problem with that. Not gifting or not gifting much is frowned upon in some quarters and that is the attitude we need to change. And we can change it, if we dig deep and think of what we really see as expressions of love. Whether we value the guy who sits late at night and offers to help you complete your work or do we value the other person who brings in a bottle of champagne when back from his trip to France? Does the spouse who gets back early from work, decks up the house, cooks great dinner, and keep his favourite movie ready any less than the spouse that swipes a card for an on-line purchase of his favourite perfume? 

Let us not measure love in terms of money and things. Love is subtle, is in the small things as much if not more in the bigger ones. Is in the small hand-written and designed note tucked on your PC saying 'Great job, Krish. Love you for ever and will miss you even beyond that' as much as it is in a Rs 1000 contribution to the farewell gift. By measuring love with money, we are just reducing the value of the emotion to numbers. Let us learn to love and recognise love!

One day in the life of a 'C'

I sat in the room next to my best friend, she looked so pretty that day – hair neatly braided, teeth white and shining, so fair and beautiful. Didi walked into the room and sat on her chair and we all got up, said good morning and sat down on the floor. What an imposing figure Didi was. She always tells us what to do and what not do and I love her for that. Wait...who is this stranger now walking into the classroom?!

‘Children, he is here to observe the classroom so I want all of you in your best behaviour,’ Didi said clarifying my question instantly.

Test time. I had to write down Urdu letters from the blackboard. Ah, so difficult! Don’t know how my best friend does it. She is so quick and so smart. No one in the class can better her! There she goes to Didi with her notebook.

‘Well done, now go back, place your book upside down and do something else while the others finish.’

Place upside down! I almost laughed out. She is my friend, she will help me with the answers orally. I don’t have to look into her notebook. I nudged her as soon as she sat down.

‘Tell me… is this right?’

She peered slyly into my note and quickly turned her gaze away when she heard Didi cough. I nudged her again.

‘Tell.’

She looked at me and nodded. I cracked it. I knew I could get Urdu if not Maths.

I got up, walked over to Didi and flashed my book.

‘Are you sure you got it right?’ she said in that tone which suggested that I had drawn pictures of pigs on the note instead of copying Urdu letters from the board.

I put my head down, rolled my eyeballs towards my friend for confirmation. She was busy chatting with the other girl.

‘Why are you looking at her?’ Didi snapped. How did she know!

‘Yes, I think its right,’ I muttered.

‘Some kids, you can teach them how many ever times, in so many different ways, but they just don’t get it,’ Didi looked at the classroom observer and said.

Pity those kids I thought.

‘I mean, they look normal, talk normal, play normal, but when it comes to studies, they peter out fast.’

Poor things. I hope they someone find a way to study well.

‘Look at this one. She is healthy, strong, has a lovely smile, but she simply doesn’t get it.’

Wait! What! Me?! You are talking about me?!

‘Some research has to be done on these kind of kids.’

Research? What's a research? And what kind of kid was I?

I looked at the observer. He sat there smiling though it didn’t seem like he wanted to.

So I was bad after all.

‘Please do it right and bring. It is simple. Just look at the board and draw those things there. They are called letters.’ She circled three letters in her red pen and I went back to my place.

Why did my friend say they were right? Maybe she didn’t see them right. Ok, let me start all over again. Aah. Pencil lead broke. Now what!

I thought of asking her, but she seemed very engrossed in her work. And Didi was also keeping a watchful eye. What if she felt I don’t keep my things properly and another research needs to be done on that. So I went digging into the dark depths of my bag. There it was! Nope. Too small, my little finger was bigger than that. I dug more. Didn’t find any. Decided to go with the small one.

These curves, so tough they are.

‘Keep the book on the bag, beta. You will be able to write better,’ Didi’s told me in her calm voice.

That was a good idea. Start on top, curve to the right, and finish at the bottom. I looked up to compare with the blackboard and it was wrong. I didn’t get it, yet another time. Rubber time. Rubber? Rubber? Depths of the bag didn’t produce a rubber.

‘Let us move on to the next piece, children,’ Didi can’t wait for me for ever no.

How do I rub this mistake now before someone sees it. Finger. I looked left and right, everyone was staring at Didi. I rubbed my forefinger against the letter…it slowly disappeared but in a very bad way, leaving dark stains as it went. How clean my friend’s book looked and look at this one! No wonder everybody likes her. Clumsy me.

‘There are the As and the Bs that are doing all right, but then three children fall in the C category, with whom we have no idea what to do,’ Didi answered some question of the observer.

Her fingers pointed to me, one more girl, and that boy who always sat at the back.

I rubbed more vigorously, my damn mistake, it was not going away. What if the observer or Didi saw it NOW. When they are talking of me. I licked my finger and rubbed again. That usually doesn’t go wrong except for the occasional tendency to make a hole in the paper.

‘Why is that boy sitting there on his own by the drum?’ the observer spoke.

‘Oh he is one of the few As. He doesn’t want others to copy his answers. Very smart kid you see and children always want the easy way out and look into his notes.’

‘Oye, see what people ask of you. You want to sit inside that drum there? That way no one would be able to see even you, leave alone your answers.’

I laughed out loud. Didi can be really funny!

But I admired that boy. How confident he must be to not want to sit next to anyone in class. I will faint if I were made to do that. Imagine not being able to look into your friend’s notes. But someday I will get there. I will be so confident that I wouldn’t have the need to sit next to anyone. That day, I will go and sit alone, on my own and not show answers to anyone. Maybe to my friend, she has helped me a lot, but not to anyone else. Certainly not to that boy.

Didi left and my favourite sir walked in for Maths. Someone so nice shouldn’t be teaching maths! He should be a sports teacher or an arts teacher instead. Someday I will tell him that.

‘Ram bought a book for Rs 50 and gave it away for Rs 40. Was that a right thing to do? Don’t say the answer,, raise your hands.’

This was easy! I almost jumped up from the floor while raising my hand. My friend too did.

‘You,’ sir said pointing at me.

‘Right thing, sir.’

‘Right thing? Right thing?’

He was so surprised that I got the answer right. ‘Yes, sir.’

Sir, exchanged a glance with the observer. Am sure he felt proud of me at that moment.

‘Ok, you tell me,’ said sir to my friend.

‘Wrong sir.’

‘Why?’

But he didn’t ask ME why! Why??!!

‘Because it is a loss, sir. I would have sold it for Rs 60 for a profit.’

‘Shabaash. There comes the answer.’

But what if he is giving to a friend? It didn’t matter to give out a book to a friend. And not like I am giving for free anyway.

‘But remember, not everything is profit and loss. To friends you can give your things to share,’ sir continued as if he read my mind. But that is what I wanted to say. He should have asked me why!

Rest of the class went smoothly. I wanted to answer the next question, but sir didn’t see my raised hand. The question on multiplication was too complex, so I didn’t bother. The next question on addition was easy, but sir, I think, wanted to test the others, so I didn’t even raise my hand.

Final bell and I ran home.

Mom hugged me so tightly. ‘Beta…come come. I have been missing you so much! Did you enjoy your day in school today?’

‘Enjoy? I loved it!’

‘That is so nice beta. At least you can sit at school and come back though you won’t understand much.’

I didn’t even hear the rest of what she said, I was so hungry that I ran straight to get my plate.

*** Note - This semi-fictional account was inspired by the experiences of a girl in one of the government schools I visited in interior Rajasthan. Thanks to the ignorance of the teachers, there are many children like this across the nation that are being cast aside as poor performers with whom no real change can happen.*** 

The tale of an Ayush Homam

The day began with Siddarth aka Hari Narayanan waking up at 530 am to have a bath before the ‘yama kandam’ started at 6 am. He, by the way, is my son who just turned one that day as per the Tamil calendar and hence we were about to have the function called the ‘Ayush homam’ wherein the child is blessed with a long life by elders of the family.

After a quick oil massage, he had the bath and escaped the dreaded time of 6 am. He was safely out of the bathroom and in his new clothes looking smart and unaware blissfully of the long day ahead of him. Slowly the family members, and a typical Iyengar’s family consists of many layers and … sub-layers, so get ready for a plethora of names and the relationship confusions - streamed in. First to land were my mother’s brother (mama), Mani and his wife, Maternal grandmother and mother’s sister - they made the long trip from Tirupathi to Chennai in a Toyota SUV and were in our house promptly by 6 AM. 

Mani mama, his daughter, and Sid

My mama himself is a certified pundit, but since he is almost of the same age as I am, we are at first name terms with each other and he is more of a fun pundit than most of the others (that does not mean he does not take his work seriously, he is just more open than many others)

As I played with my son, I ignored two to three calls from my dad asking me to have a bath.

‘Muhurtam is only at 7:30 dad, chill,’ I said as I rushed to save Sid’s head from making contact with a chair. Dad grunted and got himself busy hanging mango leaves inside the house, getting bricks ready for the homam (holy fire) and such activities that characterize these events. His elder brother arrived next.

‘The function is today, right?’ he asked aloud alarming of my parents, who were surely that he had spotted something seriously wrong in the arrangement.

Periyappa

‘Yes, why?’ Dad’s voice was extremely tense.

‘Varun is standing with a half drawer (loose term for ‘shorts’) on, that is why.’

I froze. I could almost hear my dad seethe, the thought ‘I told you so’ would be flooding his brain now and he would let it out anytime unless I defused the situation.

‘I am going right away Perippa (relationship term meaning ‘dad’s elder brother’). I was giving Mani directions,’ I said and scooted, towel in hand into the bathroom.

My wife, Niel, who had travelled half way across India from Ranchi, to be married into this family, courtesy the crazy little thing called love, was getting another hang of a family function in South India. The last time we celebrated something similar was Diwali where she had a bath at 5 AM, thinking what more could be appropriate on a festival day, only to be question by mom why she bathed without asking her. What about the oil to be applied on the head?

‘How was I to know? Neither you nor mom told me about it yesterday,’ Niel protested to me behind closed doors. Fair point but I obviously did not tell mom that.

This time though, she got the green light from everyone before bathing.

By that time, many more had trickled in, my cousins, dad’s sister’s (1) husband shortly followed by his son, dad’s sister (2) and her husband and their daughter-in-law, shortly followed by their son(2.1), dad’s sister‘s(2) daughter and her husband (all the way from Trichy), dad’s younger brother, dad’s elder brother(3) and his wife and his wife’s sister, dad’s elder brother’s (4) daughter(4.1), dad’s elder brother’s (4) son and his wife and their daughter, dad’s elder brother’s (4) daughter (4.2). Sorry, I know it is going above your head now, but you got the picture right? Wrong! You just have half the picture, because also present were… Maternal grandmother (from Tirupathi) who came along with mom’s brother (mentioned in the early part of this blog) and his wife, mom’s sister (1) and mom’s sister (2) and her husband (all the way from Kumbakonam). Even now you just have 95% of the complete picture as I am sure I missed some folks along the way.

A small portion of the 95% mentioned
in the article

The priests came by around 7:15 and started busying up the place. ‘Put the bricks here,’ ‘Place the puja items here,’ ‘Where are the plantain leaves,’ ‘Ask the son (me) to get dressed up,’ ‘Ask the girl (Niel) to get dressed up’ and so on. Mani promptly took me aside with a splendid dhoti in hand to help me get the panchakacham done. Mani is a man of the Vedas. His family (my mom’s family that is) was one of priests and I never fail to tell people that care (or those that don’t too) that back in the 70s and 80s, my maternal grandfather was one of five people that ran the temple of goddess Padmavathi in Tiruchanur, Tirupathi.

The temple is the second most famous in Tirupathi as it is the abode of the divine consort of Lord Venkateshwara who people flock to visit in the Tirumala hills. His son, Mani, had taken his line of work and was one of the more well-known pundits in the town. It is always a pleasure seeing him perform rites and rituals, shouting out the slokas with perfect emphasis on each of the syllables. He would even throw a gentle line of taunt or two in the middle just to catch the attention of people around.

He wrapped the dhoti around my legs, through my legs, and across my hips in a fashion that was as complex as any piece of code that I have written in my seven years in the IT industry. ‘Whenever you are free on Sundays, try this out.

Panchakacham and Madisar eh!

I will check on you after two months and you should be able to do this by yourself,’ he told me. I just smiled in return but the guy is so persuasive that for the first time in life, I fantasized on how it would be to learn the art.

I suddenly realised that Niel was missing for the last 30 minutes. After searching for her everywhere, I realised that the door to one of the room’s had been shut for a long time and in a house as busy as ours was that day, no door can be shut unless people were in it. It was elementary. Niel was being dressed up in the women’s version of the panchakacham, the ‘madisar’ or the ‘nine-yard saree’!!! And I was sure there were at least 2-3 attendants making sure every fold was right. Sure enough, she came out looking like a bride, all over again.

We sat at the wooden platforms placed for us on the floor, in front of the square homa enclosure, surrounded by four priests and all the people I mentioned earlier. The function began.

Priests behave in different ways – They either rush the slokas in a hurry, pay scant respect to whether you, as the host, utter each of those slokas properly or not, collect their money and leave even before the ‘Muhurtam’ time is over. This is done if the host is judged (by the priest) as someone that wants the function done just so it has to be done and just because the religion demands it from them.

But if the host and family are inherently religious (this sounds more like my family), and even worse (from the priests’ business point of view), if there are qualified pundits in the host’s family itself (there were at least four people from either side of my family that day that recited the slokas along with the priests, two of them ultra-qualified pundits, holding important positions in some of  the top temples in Andhra Pradesh and Tamil Nadu- two of the major Brahmin bastions of India), not only will the priests ensure they recite the slokas slowly, they would also be a tad nervous if they are intimidated by the wealth of knowledge around them.

So the main priest began reciting the slokas taking care that I recited them properly after him. Even in the second scenario that I mentioned above, a certain minimum speed has to be maintained when reciting the slokas as the Muhurtam time was usually short, spanning anywhere between an hour and a half to two hours. And at this speed, it is difficult to follow what all is being said even if it is said in English, leave alone in Sanskrit (which of course was the language of the day). The art of not embarrassing oneself by blabbering something completely unrelated to what was just said takes years to cultivate and being brought up in the family and having gone through many functions like this (‘Upanayanam’-Holy thread ceremony, ‘Changing of the holy thread’ ceremony – once every year since the Upanayanam, My marriage, Ceremony held at the eighth month after Niel conceived to name just a few), I knew most of the slokas soon as the priest started uttering them and had some tricks up my panchakacham to handle the other bouncers thrown at me. For those that are searching for ways, here are a few in ascending order of difficulty:

1.  Top most and easiest of them all is to start a phrase as soon the pundit starts it. This way, you can get away uttering anything from that day’s cricket scores to the news headlines till the last part of the phrase (that almost always ends with a ‘swaha’) is recited. But unless the elderlings around you are totally deaf, do not recite the news headlines. Rather, try following the priest and say things that at least sound similar to what he says and then end the phrase with the mandatory ‘Swaha.’
2. Grab hold of the mantra book prior to sitting on the hot seat and follow it as and when the slokas are being recited
3. Learn all the mantras by-heart and fire away at will, go on give people around you a complex. At the end of the day, you might even get a little extra (in the form of Ashirvadam) by the elders. Not the easiest way to earn money, but hey, who said earning money was easy!

Head priest intimidating us

This pundit was good and constantly ensured that I was at least keeping pace with him as he recited along merrily. He would merely increase the tone and pitch of his voice if he found that I was getting distracted and that would bring me back to planet earth from wherever I went (which that day, ranged from something as exciting as TinTin-3D to something as mundane as just getting rid of the dhoti in favor of my ‘half drawer’).

The pundit breed is ultra-special. You will not see many people speak better and so confidently in public gatherings, not even the top salesman in award winning car dealerships. They have to meet people from all strata of society – rich, poor, Six pack Suryas to those with one big MRF tyre pack (as obese people are referred to jocularly) and a lot more variety. Doing this day in and day out make them so garrulous that only empty politicians or army officers can challenge them in this trade. My mama is no different and can hold in own even if he is amidst NASA scientists discussing their next launch. He would probably convince them into visiting Tirupathi to seek the Lord’s blessings for the launch.

The chorus of the slokas raced ahead towards its imminent conclusion when the chief priest’s phone rang the tune of another sloka. He picked up the phone, glanced at the number, looked sheepishly at the rest of us, and signaled us to stop for a bit. And attended the call, much to my surprise. I remember my dad slapping me on my head during my younger days if he found me spacing out during these functions, and here the priest was on phone giving directions to some guy who apparently wanted to reach some place. The audience looked at each other wondering how to bell the cat and resume the chorus. My father’s younger brother did it elegantly.

‘What happened?’ he asked, addressing everyone and no one in particular. ‘Some emergency?’ he feigned a state of shock while neatly conveying the message that such an interruption in the midst of a major family function could be warranted only by an emergency and nothing else.

The chorus resumed instantly and all was well again. The function ended in the next fifteen minutes and the crowd dispersed to various corners of the house – the women folk bunched around in gangs in the kitchen, terrace and in one of the bedrooms, men lorded over the ceremonial hall and the verandah, my son ruled the entire house commanding attention wherever he went, the priests stuck to the space around the homa kundam.

Mrs. I and I were then paraded around the house by various elders who suggested to us to prostrate before and take the blessings of other elders around. Though we were used to this, my mom thankfully nudged my dad and asked him to tell everyone to gather around so that Mrs. I and I can prostrate before all en masse. 

The beginning of a prostration,
not even the kid is spared!!!

And so, the who is who of the Rangarajan family gathered around in the ceremonial hall and showered a ‘limited meals’ amount of ‘Akshata’ (rice mixed with turmeric powder, considered very auspicious) on us.

The day ended with me and my wife replacing our festival clothing with more modern and comfortable clothing. Yet another family function, high on religious quotient and very eventful!

Post Script

The current generation, I don’t think, is very excited when it comes to such functions. I shamefully include myself in that category. But my humble opinion is that when we take time off to explain to our children practical and religious significances of such events, the point would go much farther. Fortunately or otherwise, the world is tending to be more scientific and less religious. 

Mom

Dad 'ashirwad'ing us

Therefore, just thrusting rites and rituals on children would more often fail than succeed.

From the other side, we, the internet generation, need to understand the sensibilities behind our parents laying stress on such events. Not everything religious can be explained practically, and generations of educated people cannot be wrong. So, unless you would be seriously impacted, let us go ahead with the flow, understand the meaning of these events beforehand, enjoy them and make them enjoyable for everyone around.

If we all make these adjustments, our culture would be able to stand the test of time for a very long while to come.

Swaha!

Backpacking in the Cats

We waited in Tarrytown, waiting for April to arrive,

‘The cars around me on the bridge’ she said, ‘were like bees in a hive.’

The five of us carpooled in the Toyota and the Merc, sped towards Prediger road,

We were excited about the Devil’s path, ready with our 30 pound load.

So we arrived at 10 o clock, parking in the dark,

There was not a single sound, neither of man nor of the lark.

‘Did we take all our stuff?’ someone asked,  ‘the maps, compass and the water?’

Cos we need to spend time in the woods for the next day and a quarter.

April fell down reaching for the maps, the first in a series of ten,

But boy was she tough surviving it all, like a lion in its own den.

Lean-to was soon in sight, after the one mile hike,

we tied our food in plastic bags and hung it on a tree higher than the bears would like.

We soon slept in our sleeping bags, after hanging to dry our shoe(s)

all the night the roar of a river nearby, our ears listened to.

The birds chirped, the water dripped, when day finally broke

What a crisp day it was then, its beauty made us choke.

We had our food, and filtered the river water, thanks to April’s portable device,

Little did poor Judy know then that the device had a vice.

‘Oh no, will we fall sick?’ that was Judy’s grouse,

when April revealed suddenly that she forgot the filtering element in her house.

But we had bigger problems down the trail, as slowly the Devil revealed

why so many people before us had tried the trail and failed

(Well the above line was just for fun, not the truth)

On and on the trail went, not something you would love,

Especially if it goes up and down, like a sine curve.

We did not stop for lunch at all, we were racing against time,

to get the day’s hike over with, before the end of sunshine.

First we came to Indian head, then the Twin mountain peaks,

followed by the Sugarloaf, crossing many creeks.

Then we descended in the dark, stumbling over the rocks,

cliff climbing with just headlights, not a stroll in the parks.

‘There is the lean-to’ screamed one of us,

Tired, relieved, and what-not, we changed after we undressed.

Toni, the fireman, made a valiant try,

to get a fire started but alas the wood wasn’t dry.

We all sat inside the shelter trying to get warm and cozy,

but when swirling around Toni, the draft seemed to get lazy.

‘Tis already 9 O clock, the time is just right,

to go to sleep,’ said April, ‘cos its hikers’ midnight.’

The whole night it rained, without any respite,

but the morning brought rich sunshine, much to our delight.

So for the final time, we packed our bags with the pans and pots,

and receded from the lean-to, with rather heavy hearts.

The last three miles seemed like the longest, but we crossed them after all,

to complete the first, but not the only hike of the fall.