a chicken flight

Back to school night again. That day when you get to meet your child's new teachers for the first time.  Sounds simple, doesn't it?  It was simple - till high school. Once you are in high school, things get complicated. First,  you cannot get away with sitting in just one classroom. Classes take place in different rooms.  Oh, it's an efficient system, all right. The bell rings at the start of every class. The parents go to the classroom and meet the teacher till another bell after 10 minutes or so. Then they go to the next class. and so on. But the classrooms are scattered all over the building. So we get a taste of what our children have to go through everyday. With a five minute break they have to get to their locker, get their stuff, and reach their classes on time through crowded corridors.

Second, most parents have no idea where the classrooms are, and there is so little time between bells. Sure, we are given maps and schedules. At the beginning of  the freshman year, everything is new to the parent. Armed with that map, and holding onto that schedule for dear life, I rushed through the hallways looking for the rooms. Some rooms seemed to be deliberately hiding from me, in never to be found corners. One classroom would be at  one end of the school, and the next one, at the other. I walked fast, ran, dodged other  rushing parents, stopped, came back, made detours, asked for directions to the students assigned to guide us hapless adults, and on the whole, got some exercise. In the end, after that mad dash, I would reach the intended classroom hot and sweaty and already worried about finding the next room.

When I came home and told my son of this, and asked him for clear directions for the next year's back-to-school night, he laughed, and politely refused. And informed me  that they all made fun of the parents' helplessness and ignorance. They enjoyed our confusion, and had this pact that they will provide no help in this matter - he gave me another laugh. So that was that. And I went through the same agony and ecstasy the next year too.

By the third year, I was prepared. I went 15 minutes early.  I was reluctant , naturally chicken, to do this before -- did not know if parents were allowed to roam around the halls ahead of time. But by then I was desperate (well, sort of - I have a tendency to exaggerate, if you haven't noticed it ) and was determined to do this right. So I ran around and found the whereabouts of all the classrooms. When the first bell rang I was pretty excited . Yep I am that eternal student who likes to be the (invisible) teacher's pet! Not that anyone is going to applaud me here for finding the classroom and turning up on time. hmpf! In other words, I was more interested in congratulating myself on my accomplishment rather than paying attention to what the real teacher was saying. Well, mostly. All in all it went well, but for one little part where I went and sat in one extra class, (which was not for that semester). hehe.

But this year, I was perfect! Again I went early, especially since I knew that construction had been going on during summer, and there were even more corridors, and even whole new floors to get lost in. And this time around, it was a breeze. I flew around as sure as a breeze too. No more the headless chicken! A young lady did help me when I asked her at one point. All this was done way before the bell, and I was ready. I found all the rooms, got inside each on time and did not go in to any unnecessary rooms. But I did laugh at myself when I caught myself always finding a seat near the door, as if ready to flee, the moment the bell rang. And I laughed at my glee when I got to the next one with time to spare. It seemed like a race that I had set against myself, and which I won. I patted myself on the back - not literally. I think there were points in time when listening to the teacher, I almost asked him or her  if I could leave early! So that I could run to the next one. kidding!

Anyway, it is over and done with. By this fourth year, I am an expert at navigating the labyrinthine routes of my son's high school. As I walked out of the building, it struck me that this is the last time I'll do this. This is my son's final year at high school. End of the road here. This has been a sort of learning for me as well. While in the before-high school period, I was a mess of nervous tension regarding the kind of teacher my baby was going to get, I find that now I am not as worried about that. I have learned that there is no point in worrying about something on which I have not much control. And by now my son has grown, and I trust him as an intelligent, well-adjusted human being. Well, he is still a teenager, so fingers crossed! While I won't miss the panic, I realize I will miss the back to school nights. By the time I learned to do it properly, it was time to leave for good. Unbeknownst ( ya, right!) to me, time was passing by, and I will have to do it no more.

on a lighter note

The local homeowners association annual  meeting announcement -- a couple of days later. thought-provoking.

gift horses and astrology

Susan Miller

Susan Miller is a star in the zone of astrology. A darling of cyberspace. Much admired by her twittering followers. But recently I distinctly hear a sour note. Or like we say back in the old country, we note "a sting-y ant in Heaven".  Some of the loving followers are disgruntled. They do not care how or why, they just want it now.


When I see the miffed tweets and snide comments of some of Susan Miller's readers now, I am reminded of the above episode from "Friends". The demanding public. Like spoiled, entitled children they wear down the patience and good will  of even the most saintly and attention/admiration starved person. Mind you, I am in no way saying that Susan Miller is admiration-starved. Actually, I think she is a loving person who sincerely believes in the service she provides, and really want to help people. Obviously she has to be business-savvy - she is no idiot!- but she tries to infuse kindness and accessibility into her profession. Like many astrologers, she provides a free monthly general horoscope for all signs. On her Twitter page, she gives a day-to-day report of her activities, an edge-of the seat anticipatory minute by minute commentary of her frantic writing process, a thorough build up to a  final countdown to her popular monthly horoscopes, and tries to answer many questions from her followers. But unlike many other astrologers, she exudes genuine warmth and concern for her fellow human beings. I can see that she tries very hard to juggle many things at the same time. And remember, it is free. But then there is no satisfying the mob, is there?  The minute she is late, people clamor at the door  impatiently. Very flattering. But sadly, when she says she has been severely ill, and so could not post the free material on time, some of these readers are disbelieving, and get madder. Some jump ship, which is fine, but it would be  nice and mature not to say mean things  about a person whose work has given you moments of good feelings.  Now, I am not a follower of Susan Miller on twitter, even though I read her free horoscopes, and enjoy them. And that is because I have my own ego problems. :)  But I am grateful for the wonderful , uplifting writing that she does. It would be great not to punish someone who reaches out to you, someone who tries to bridge the distance. Having said all this, I have a feeling that Susan Miller won't be taking umbrage at all in this, she is sure to take the high road. But then I always have to find an excuse -- to protest.

my friend, the robin - Spring's short tale

are robins more intelligent than we think? or more stupid? I like to think that they are rather smart, not the bird-brains that many assume them to be. I base my belief on my experience with my friend, the robin in my yard.  Whenever I came out to work in my flower beds, he would be there on a branch close by at first,  then on the ground close to me. In the beginning, I did not  see him, and once I saw him, I thought he would fly away scared. But he did not! Soon I learned why - he started looking for worms in the newly dug area of the flower bed. So then I decided to help him. I threw a worm into the grass,  and he was on it right away. He flew away to the tree to his babies or his mate, with the worm in his beak. In an instant  he was back! for more.This time he comes closer. I picked up another worm, (poor "early" worm!) and now he almost takes it from my hand!( Got to get a picture of that some time) I am so happy with him, and with myself.

They say one way that  intelligence in the animal kingdom is measured is by looking at how social the animals are -- not with us, but with other animals. And of course, the size of the brain. Robin's brains may be smaller than that of the crows, and his social skills may be non-existent during the mating season, in that he focuses all of it on his mate, and his territory, but he sure is social with me. I guess he thinks of me as his forager-helper.I consider him as my friend, who keeps me company while I work. Now a days whenever I step out of the house, he is hovering close by, my friend, the robin, even following me around! I talk to him to see if he will rush off in panic when he hears me. Like sparrows. No, he is still there, watching, and listening.

PS: should have lived in the 19th century with those Romantic poets,. . . but then I am not a  romantic, really.

I confess. "ente pizha, ente pizha, ente valiya pizha".

semiya paayasam

As you sow, so shall you reap.

I sowed. wickedly delicious seeds. 
For instance, pies, pastries,  creams, custards, cheese, salty snacks, fried, baked,grilled,  Indian, non-Indian. Bacon, sausages, the lot. Anything potatoes. Kappa ( Tapioca). Bread.  Sugar. Starch. Fat. Salt. All was grist to the mill. All were seeds to be sown. Not in moderation anymore. And a little goes a long way at my age, in any case.  Equal opportunity strikes everywhere. I fell into temptation. no, wallowed in it.

I sinned. Repeatedly. mortal, venial - you name it -- I ate it all. and drank it all. wines and cocktails. I became a foodie. And a glutton. A glass of wine a day after a certain age is healthy, they said. And I obeyed wholeheartedly. But then I enhanced the experience by adding accompaniments to that drink - appetizers.  a piece of chocolate . And another. Portion control had long become a forgotten concept. I indulged my taste buds wantonly. Indiscriminately. Thank goodness, for small blessings -- I never liked popcorn or soda. But that is it -- all the rest, to most of which I never gave a second look, I love  all those now. I pretended to forget that I was older. I forgot that I was less active physically. I pretended not to notice the tighter outfits. Anyway, it was a long winter, I could cover myself up with thick coats.

I was young once, and could have done all this and more - but no --back then I abstained, without meaning to. I wasn't interested in eating at all! Mine was a low fat, mostly vegetarian, small portion diet. Picky -- that's what they called me. In those days, I could easily subsist on water for 2 or 3 days, when I was rebelling against injustice, imagined or otherwise. Starving myself as a protest against cruel authority figures, otherwise known as parents and teachers,[ ;) ]was not a big deal at all.  Chronically underweight, never in my wildest nightmares did I see that one day I will struggle with this issue. The love of food. The lack of exercise. The issue of weight loss. Anger or sadness do not affect me like they did before. You might say it is vanity to expect to be as you were -- after all I am not obese --  yet. You may be right - with age, and  other biological factors that  some of us have to face, things do tend to change. But when the family history of high cholesterol has crept up on me I have to stop and re evaluate. ( I do not like to have pills control me. Sadly, that could be unavoidable.)

All along, there were short-lived attempts to reduce weight. Like the beautified  oatmeal for breakfast. But the sugar and salt in it defeated the purpose. And without sugar or salt, oatmeal became scary, no, traumatic. Instead I conjured tantalizing images of payasams and puddings in my head. Any new city I stepped into, my eyes naturally sought restaurant names, preferably exotic ones. I see a movie, I saw the food in there. I wanted to try every cuisine in the world. Now I know what my grandmother meant when she said sagely to one of her glutton sons or minions ; "Son, your stomach is an ocean! You can throw anything ,in any amount, into it. But should you?"

And then the conscious control, the implementation of austerity measures  during week days, and the utter relaxation of those rules in the weekend. Complete undoing of anything that I had built up, or rather any weight I had managed to dislodge. And the guilt. I have sinned, I have sinned, I have sinned terribly! Ice cream, nothing exotic, just vanilla, beckons me. It sits atop a warm slice of apple pie. sigh! I try to calm the cravings of my sweet tooth with a slice or two of an apple, and I fail. Where did my will power run off to? Should I have any? :) mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!  And I reaped what I sowed. am reaping that painful harvest now.
The wages of my sins are in my waistline. "through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault". I have eaten. I have eaten many many forbidden little dolcini.

I have started a strict regimen for the week days now -  slowly picking up the reigns of my mind and body. I will post my diet when I get halfway through my goal. haha. fooled ya! 
I am like Cain in that movie, Year One. "What have I done! what have I done again! ..(.and after a couple more dumplings, in my case), What have I continued to do!!"

about " The Story of India" by Michael Wood.

I did not want to write this for a long time because you might think oh here comes another of her whiny rants -- and because I thought it was a waste of time ,a  losing battle. But today I feel like I should. It's an all over the place rambling sort of piece, bear with me. 
 

"In this landmark six-part series for PBS and the BBC, Michael Wood embarked on a dazzling and exciting journey through today's India, "seeking in the present for clues to her past, and in the past for clues to her future".

That is the description of the 2 part movie about the story of India that was shown on PBS.  Many watched it and marveled at this "definitive"  telling of India's history. Most were ready to believe it as such -- as one would believe the Holy Scriptures, esp Northern Indians. Why? Because it perpetuates that myth about the Aryan-Dravidian/ High Caste- Low caste demarcation, that great North-South Divide of the British propaganda machine. The West in their highhandedness gave the natives of the "Americas" our name. But that is nothing when we see the divide among our own countrymen.

On the whole the movie is  spectacular, but there are some spectacular blunders too, especially when it comes to the beginning of the story. It shows people from Africa plodding along the western coast of India, and landing in Kerala, not stopping anywhere up there, or never going to the north. Forget that there is an eminently navigable sea -- which people have used since -- but these people chose land, I can understand. But it is hard to believe that it is a single event. Still, these are pre historic events. And there are the remnants of the hill tribes still in the hills and forests of Kerala, Tamilnadu etc. And remember,  there are hill tribes in the north too. And over the thousands of years they have been exploited, and pushed farther and farther into the woods, and at other times, pulled out into the so-called civilized world, when it fell convenient to the dominant group.  They were and are the so-called low caste, backward caste, scheduled castes of India. All the while, the newcomers mingled with them genetically, too. Again, not a single event. waves of migration, waves of mingling, breeding, pushing back and forth, up and down, east and west, in the course of ten thousand years. So it is commonsense to realize that there  is not a single" pure" high or low caste race in India now. Michael Wood never mentions any of this. 

 I get all that. People who want to, can read through the lines, see beyond the movie. But those who want to hold onto their "superiority" for dear life, they will not . Anyway, the biggest blunder to me was Mr  Wood's portrayal of the Brahmins in Kerala,  the southernmost state of India. He shows this ancient religious sect chanting the sacred mantras and compares it to cries in the wilderness. Tribal sounds, makes them out to be some primitive beings!  Maybe. But ironically, these" tribes" are "Aryan"! Sneakily showing an apparently intellectually or physically challenged man or boy, is just one way in which he manages to infantilize and lessen and divide  a culture and a civilization. Those mantras are in Sanskrit, that is what I have heard. Now Sanskrit may have originated from bird and animal sounds, but so did human speech. But it is this language that is supposed to be Aryan, which is shown to be used by a group of people in Kerala, a southern state. And how does that go with the superior Northern Aryanness? Those people who chant those mantras are Aryans -- only Brahmins were allowed to do that, I do not know if Michael Wood knows that.  He cannot have it both ways. oh, and then he jumps to some tribe in Andhra Pradesh and finds the African gene -- mind, he doesn't mention that it is in Andhra, he lets many a viewer think that he is still in Kerala. well, it is all South -- so it doesn't matter  to Wood. He just is too taken up with his own benevolence at giving us a magnanimous perspective of India.   so what if he got certain basic facts wrong, what if he mixed this and that,confusing one thing with yet another thing,  what if he sees  anjanam, and states categorically that it is as white as  turmeric? So what anjanam is black? Everyone believes his words - he is white! ( color play! :) It is like those blind men "seeing" an elephant. But my question is, if he can easily and with certainty blur the distinction between tribal people and other settlers of Kerala, and between Kerala and other southern states, and forget all the rest of the Meditrerranean, Arabic, Phoenician, Persian, Central Asian, and Chinese heritage of Kerala,  why can't he blur the same between north and south? why harp on a baseless, spurious distinction? Which is not that different from fanatically "upper caste" white commenter on the 23& me site. From what he wrote there I am pretty sure his father is an Indian from the North, but he does not like to acknowledge that. But he is ready to take the lesser of the evil as it is, by trying to insist that all the north is upper caste and all the south is lower caste!  Does he not know about the evil heights of caste system in the south? Upper caste elements came up with crooked, inhuman ways to keep the earlier inhabitants low ,and based it on their divine right to lord it over. Caste system has its origins in racism and feudalism. But there is one difference between the north and the south. The south is more enlightened and once it realized the evil of its ways changed its thinking. In these days, the "lower" caste of the south are not as low as those in the north. They are no longer in the background or underground. There are no bonded laborers here like in the North. The lower castes in Kerala for instance got land from their old landlords. The present generation occupy high posts in all walks of life. They are a strong group with powerful unions to back them. And of course they are not "they' - they are us. As the present day population is a mix of all people. Even the earliest of us all - the people who belong to the ancient hill tribes. So then all of India is low caste or high caste. And all of the Americas is native American or African, or low caste or high caste. Or all of the world is low caste. Since there is no pure race anywhere.

After seeing this movie, a curly-haired  Northern Indian , a very nice person otherwise, was raving about this. He is a firm believer in the Aryan invasion myth.(Read Michael Danini and Sujatha Nahar's The Invasion that Never Was ) His proof is the difference in appearance between northerners and southerners. I wanted to laugh. I did not argue  but in my mind,  I do not see any difference  -- that is, if there is any difference,  it is the same difference between 2 southerners, or any two Indians. Even that tribal man Wood showed as the first African had straight hair. Well, curly hair is said to be  one of the earlier/ ancient/primordial dominant traits that will never disappear. Is it the skin color? That is the sun, my dear friend (me to that person, in my mind).  The North enjoys cooler weather in the winter months at least, and more people from the North may have had relationships with the colonial Brits.,--sexual, that is, they  used you or you used them, --  which, by the way, is recent history.  and of course, bleach and fair & lovely. north had a headstart on that. even after all that -- the features of the Northerner and the Southerner are of the same mix. rich and varied. layered and complex mix.

Around 60,000 years ago, a second melting pot of humans happened in the Central Asian area of which India was an important part. I share DNA with the people of that area. Now what are we? People of the North and the South, the East and the  West, and  in between India? We are not just  black, we are not just white, we are not just one color. We are not just a rainbow. We are all colors and no color. We are all races, and no race. We are the race called or that should be called Indian. And next time, when you tell a South Indian that she doesn't look like a South Indian, or that she doesn't look like an Indian, please remember that you are insulting her, insulting yourself, insulting all Indians and all humanity.