A Beggar's choice

I was sleeping in the train
When a beggar entered in pink,
I woke up, on hearing a noise
I thought, I heard a clink.
She looked at me with wilful eyes
Fanning away the heat,
She'd jostled past a horde of men
And stood beside my seat.

I gave the beggar a two- rupee coin
But she gave it back to me.
Alarmed I was and taken aback
By her alacrity.

I then gave her a ten- rupee note
Which she pocketed sprightly.
This made me smile and she smiled too
I asked her thus politely - ,

"You spurned my first and took my second
Was it for less and more?
Or to let me know the fact
That you're unworthy no more ?"

She was too quick to shoot at me-
( With eyes so sure and trite!)
"Coins are heavy, they're noisy too,
Notes are lighter and quiet.

"They don't bother you as you beg
Just press them in, (showing) as such .
But coins do let the whole world know
How many I have...... how much ! "

"Slim in worth, coins tell a lot.
They draw all eyes at me
They make me feel a cheat, a crook
For all my industry.

I would have paced here up and down
Or this bag beside you kept,
Had I but notes , no jingling coins
You would have blissfully slept."

THE P.C MAN WHO SAVED MY P.C AND MY LIFE !

Addiction of all forms is not conducive to good health.

Be it cigarrettes, tobacco, drugs........................................or blogging !!!

Since last Tuesday which was 3rd February , my p.c. was down with an attack of virus. I therefore could'nt work with anything on the computer. It was then that I realised how detrimental the virus was for both the non-living computer and for the living self. I immediately sent a call to my p.c. man to come at his earliest and fix it up. I was going bonkers looking at the dead, lifeless monitor.

The p.c man did not show up on the first day. He did'nt show up on the second day either.

On the seventh day he sent me his most courteous apologies saying he was already booked that day . But he promised to 'ddeffinittly' turn up on the following day.

BE IT THE FOLLOWING DAY ! I sent a silent prayer above.

The following day I began to wait for him as anxiously as a little child waits to open his birthday gift. I even felt so listless about his visit that I ran up to answer every doorbell . At one point, I felt strangely amused to equate my earnest jumpiness to my teenage days, as I had felt on my first date.

The whole morning he did not show himself. His mobile said, 'out of range'. My anxiousness knew no bounds when once my phone rang . The number was my p.c-man's but it was a miscall. I tried to contact him back but now his cell said, ' network busy'. I was bristling and fuming by now. I remarked sententiously how no one now-a-days was reliable.

Suddenly the doorbell rang. I scampered to reply. It was the maid. Then the bell rang again. It was the milkman. Then again..........it was the newspaperman for his bill . And again.............. When finally for the umpteenth time the bell rang , I gave up. I did not hurry to open the door. But this time it WAS my p.c. man ! He stood at the threshold with a broad grin and a look which stated , "C'mon be gratified, I kept my word."

And gratified indeed I was ! For, like a host who welcomes her most awaited guest, like a businessman who awaits to sign an important deal, like an anxious father who waits for the doctor visiting his ailing son - I hailed his visit and took him to the patient ! He said he had brought the antidote er.... the antivirus with him. I was relieved. The patient could be saved now.

It then took more than three hours for him to finally disinfect my computer .

I owe him my lavish thanks . He owes me a lavish treat. May god bless his holy soul for re-aligning me with this brainchild of Babbage! I feel like I got back my breath.

BUT ON SECOND THOUGHTS, MAYBE I NEED SOME REHABILITATION TO COME OUT OF THIS ADDICTION.

Life does not suck for Her !

A very close friend of mine works with a school for special children. I have great respect for her.

Like any other expectant mother she too had great expectations from her second issue, because it was conceived after some planning and speculation than her first-born . She did everything for the expedient of the little one. Be it doing light yoga or be it reading scriptures; be it drinking warm milk with a dash of saffron (to enhance the child's skin tone, as per her mother-in-law's advice ) or be it talking and singing to her unborn child. So infectious was her exuberance and enthusiasm that from time to time I could not but call on her, to discuss about the foetal development .

"Today it kicked me for the umpteenth time. This little brat is obviously in great hurry to see the light of the world. Or is it mistaking my poor womb to be a soccer stadium?" She would joke.

That was six years back.

Today she is the mother of an autistic child.

She realised her baby was autistic when even at the tenth month the infant did not respond to the love and affection showered on her .She would simply look at them blankly and blink. First they consulted an expert ophthalmologist to verify if it was an eye disorder. Nothing was erroneous. The child would simpy NOT react to either the mother or the father's touch. This was a heart-rending and a nerve wrecking phase. But in due course of time, my friend realised that it was nothing compared to what was ahead of them in future.

She would ask me, "Why me? Did I do something very terrible to deserve this?"

I would console her, "God chose you above us because He knew that , you and only you have the patience, resilience and courage to fulfil this daunting task of nurturing your sweet little one . We lack all that it needs to upbring a special child. We are perhaps worthless in His eyes, because if we can proudly call ourselves mothers , tackling our pretty little darlings ( and feeling what great jobs we were doing , when actually, all we do is Much Ado About Nothing ! ), I have no problem in calling you a supermother."

And indeed she is one. Besides looking after her two daughters and family, she has got into a school for autistic children.In this way she perceives and understands her child better . Here, she handles fifty more such children, fathoming to know more about this brain development disorder. Nowadays she even handles ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder ) cases with a few children who study at her daughter's school.

Today she is able to tell me that autism has :
*no cure
*no clear unifying mechanism
*no study focussing on midlife
*no chance of independent living
Autism is a communication disorder characterised by a child's inability to relate to the outside world. Such children are hypersensitive to external environmental stimuli. They love to remain withdrawn in their own world which is accessible only to them.
She now knows how to tackle her. She does it by :
*being consistent in discipline
*making frequent and mandatory eye-contacts
*doing her work in a routine or fixed schedule
*touching her frequently(earlier she was aversive to touch)
*calling out her name everytime she talks to her
*tries not to react to her tantrums irritably
Despite such bleak prospects she has indulged in the studies of this dysfunction which begins during the embryonic stages of development.

" Most children are undisciplined, rude ,erratic and very unpredictable.Acquiring language before age six and having an I.Q. above 50, plus having a marketable skill - all predict better outcomes ...." She tells me.

Her daughter fortunately falls in this category, to her and my great relief !

When I asked her one day what gives her so much enthusiasm even in the face of such adversity to slog on, she replied to me with a laid-back yet serene tone - "I have simply learned what I can do, and what I cannot do. With my elder daughter I can share a joke or share an emotion. And with my younger one I cannot share a joke or an emotion. With my elder daughter I can be angry, with my younger one I can't" .

Her words reminded me of Jack Canfield when he quoted Roger Crawford - who is a certified tennis player and professor of the United States Professional Tennis Association having everything except two hands and a leg ! - in his article, ' Everybody can do something ' :
" The only difference between you and me is that you can see my handicap, but I can't see yours. We all have them...I've learned that I can't play the piano or eat with chopsticks like you. But what I can do is play with my heart and soul."

ALBUM QUESTIONS

Flipping through the pages of an old family album, my son stopped at a picture . It was the photo of my mother-in-law when she was young and quite pretty. She sat petitely before the Taj Mahal with a soulful look in her eyes.

"Who's this, ma?" he asked.

"It's your dida". ( In hindi 'dida' becomes ' dadi' ). I replied as casually as he had asked me.

"You sure are kidding, mom. This cannot be dida. She looks so pretty here."

He sure was correct. For , my mother-in-law indeed looked beautiful in those honeymooning days. Far from her betel- chewn-red-stained remnants of three pairs of teeth, her smile was nothing short of the Colgate girl ,with a flashy smile.

"And see, she's carrying a vanity-bag too !" he exclaimed with plenty of skepticism in his big-lashed-questioning eyes.

He simply wouldn't take the once-a-pretty-woman-now-a- grandmother- theory , hands down.

This started me thinking. We find it difficult to accept certain things about our grandmas and grandpas.
Like, they ever had black hair or uncreased or unfurrowed skin .
They were born wise. They can never be wrong. This compliment perhaps makes it so much the easier for those septuagenarians and octogenarians who might have failed in school !
They never enjoyed full 16 pairs of dental arrangement.
Grandparents never knew about sex and cheap things like that !
We look at our elderly generation with a certain veneration, which is absolutely fine.

But have we ever thought that in doing so we also bind them in a holy halo which at some times may be actually throttling to them. By granting them a saintly stature, are we not denying them some of their needs?
It's true that after a certain period they may naturally lose the zeal of certain things but what if they don't ? What if they actually enjoy an adult romantic thriller as much as we do but are too embarrassed to acknowledge it?
In fact , whenever I watch a movie with my grandparents and an unwarranted scene comes up , I am so much flustered by discomfiture that I either start talking too much (about different incoherent things like the weather !) or try to divert their attention : much to their chagrin ! So it is I NOT THEY who am truly embarrassed !
Coming back to where I started, My son had almost finished and had reached the end of the album.

Now his fingers rested on the photograph of his infant father who was a toddler, being given a bath by his mother !

THE GOOD AND THE BAD OF 'SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE'

Wow, What a journey !

What a spectacular J O U R N E Y ! The rise of Jamal Malik from the scuzzy and slimy scum of human excreta , in the filthy slums of Mumbai , to win the two- million rupees from the reality show 'Who Wants to be a Millionaire' , is a journey that not many will opt for . It is incredible but true. This is GOOD.

Jamal is an orphan. He is a slum-dweller. He and his elder brother Salim , along with many other boys share the same poignant destiny. Each hour is a struggle for these indigents, these innocent flowers , doomed to dwindle in destitution. Each day they struggle to fend for food. When our gluttonous children are guzzling over burger and pizza, these impoverished children are hanging from the train upside down to steal a 'chapatti ' only to be thrown off the train . This is their life. This is BAD.

But, Jamal khan is a survivor . He has survived . In the daily struggle in the wild world, he survived - sometimes due to his sheer dumb luck, sometimes due to his presence of mind. He survived when the police 'lathicharged' innocent people. He survived the terrible riots , having witnessed some graphically barbaric molestations and subsequent deaths. He survived the devil's touch when the devil was turning sweet, innocent slumkids into beggars.And Jamal survived the police torture when he was wrongly arrested , at the pretext that he had fraudulently qualified for the contest and answered the questions correctly by cheating. For indeed how can a slumboy know so much?

But Jamal Malik knew. He knew all the answers by dint of his first-hand experience. This was BAD then. This is GOOD now.

Jamal Malik's elder brother, Salim Malik did'nt survive. He had seen too much muck in his life to accept his sordid fate and relinquish in penury. He , the elder brother, the saviour of his younger brother - later got astrayed, for he chose to give his destiny a run for money. So , in his short span of adulthood he bartered his poverty for money at the cost of his morality. The protector , becomes his tormentor. This is BAD.

Jamal's childhood friend Latika, who too has grown in the slums , is separated from him , when they run away from the devils .They cannot rescue her. Yet Jamal pines for her. She is sold to a brothel at a very tender age. But LOVE triumphs in the end after many pitfalls. This is GOOD.

I don't know much about Danny Boyle except that he has directed in theatres, television, and now directs movies , some of his 'must -watch' movies being 'A LIFE LESS ORDINARY' , 'SUNSHINE' , '28 DAYS LATER' AND 'SHALLOW GRAVE'. His next assignment is 'PONTE TOWER' about a girl who falls prey to drug-peddlers in the Apartheid-ending era of Africa. He indeed is an artist beyond demographical boundaries.

But I realised that he was an extremely sensitive man to portray this saga of LIFE in it's sheer starkness. At the same time it is ironical that it needed an Englishman to bring out the bitter truth of Mumbai's underbelly in so breathtaking a manner ! I also do not know why the hue and cry about the movie . Why do we fail to acknowledge the truth? For the truth is, Mumbai's 15 - 30 percent of GDP does come from beggary ! This is BAD, very BAD.

Unless the truth is accepted, falsity will reign. Unless reality is grasped, change is impossible. IT's about time we accept that we need to eschew our moral-depravity.

It's time we wake up to awareness ! It's time we educate our poor. So that twenty years from now when English -men make movies of our land, on our land, we do not feel vilified or cringe due to embarrassment.

When I left the theatre I had to exclaim," Wow, what a movie !".

A CURIOUS CASE OF SPOONERISM

"Ma , aajke English marks peyechhi ." ( "Ma, we got our English marks today") My son squealed from his room. It was over half an hour since he had returned from school. I was arranging the dining table for the lunch. Since their schooltimes had changed due to the winter season, I was having late lunches. By the time both my children returned home it was 2:30 p.m. and while my stomach pined for some morsels , my brain was an entangled mess which saw and heard nothing but food , food , and food .

"Ma, English marks peyechhi!" He screamed again. This time louder and sharper.
I heard him. But what I heard was the bone of contention for at least another half an hour .
" Ki, ilish maachh kheyechish?" ( "What , you ate hilsa fish?")
"Where on earth you found "ilish maachh" in this part of the season? This boy will eat from anywhere around the world but home ! "
I was quite hyper both vocally and physically. I barged into his room. Meanwhile my son was still busy with the BEN TEN posters that he had collected from different sources.
"You still have'nt changed your dress? And where did you eat that blasted 'ilish' ? Who brought it in the tiffin? Did you eat your own tiffin or has it come back untouched?"
He stood gaping at me as I took some time to gasp for breath. He seemed to have a confirmed expression on his face which stated that his mother was slowly sliding away from sanity. By now my daughter had entered the highly dramatic scene , quite incensed and effused by the prospect that 'ilish maachh' WAS indeed available during this time of the year , quite contrary to what she was told or what she had heard.
"Kothai kheli Bhai, ke enechhe tiffin e?" ( Who offered you , brother ; who brought 'ilish ' in tiffin? ) , lapping her tongue over her lips as she simply loved it.
She then turned to me and challenged me why I had kept her in the dark with such misinformation......................!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

At great length , my son took out his English answer paper from his bag and dangled it under my nose. "Eta peychhi" (" I got this " ).
Finally, it dawned on me that I had heard wrong . Hunger not only takes away one's energy but also one's audibility !
Moral of the story: When hungry , EAT: DONT WAIT FOR OTHERS TO EAT.

Yes, I Live for them !

I write naturally because I think naturally. But I am not a great writer because I am not a great thinker. And again, I write occasionally not because I think occasionally but because I am a mother.
In my teenaged daughter's eyes I am a supermom. In my adolescent son's eyes , ''East or West , my momma is the best". They are over- zealous with their plain, simple mother . All I can say about myself is that these kids of mine are what I live for . Doing that extra bit to see their brilliant million-watt smile is far fulfilling and rewarding than being gifted a million- dollar diamond .
It's a different matter though that no one gifts me a diamond !

Mothering children has its own pleasures...... and ...er...displeasures. Yesterday I sat with my eight- year old son with his school-work . Since a long time he had'nt got a 'star' remark in his school copies. I was sort of sulking and chiding him for his lack of aptitude in studies. Then he drew my notice to the language homework that was due. Wasting no further time I opened the page where he was given a set of sentences to mark the tenses.

1. I am playing with a ball.
2. Mona on the stage.
3. Father bought a new car.
4. I will never disobey .
5. My mother is a beautiful woman.

He responded to all the first three sentences correctly, answering "present tense " for the first two , and "past tense" for the third one. So far so good . By now much of my tension had diffused. With some rejuvenated spirit I proceeded with the last two sentences. But Fates, and Frolic seemed too limited in my fortune, for , when I asked him to say the tenses of the fourth and the fifth statement , he answered that they both were "past tense". Exasperated yet as calm as one can be, I asked him why he said so.
He replied more calmly. There was a genuine nonchalance in his voice, "No one obeys now a days. Didi did so in the past. I too obeyed in the past, did'nt I ? And in the fifth sentence...."
I cut him short. Too my abashment I understood his implications !
He was judging the tenses not by the grammatical rules but by their face value !
Needless to say, my next assignment was to clarify the haze from his mind.
[Although the fifth sentence continued to haunt my mind ! ]
But at 9 o'clock that very night as I was packing his bag , I suddenly noticed the last page of his English copy. He had made a small sketch of me there. The vermilion, the tiny bindi and even the miniscule mole on the right cheek were in place.
Below were written his favourite words, . "East or West, Momma is the best".