Memoirs
We Have the Power
At the onset of a New Year we at school start planning the Republic day celebrations. This year is no exception. Suddenly the heart is full of patriotic beats. Heroic Freedom fighters and deplorable British are at the centre stage of any activity. We eulogize our great heroes, sing patriotic songs and then finally forget all about it immersing ourselves into the examination fervor. Students also forget all about the Constitution, Freedom Struggle and the sacrifices of our ancestors.
This year, it should change. We thought of suggesting some solutions. Whatever path we want our young generation to tread on, let’s usher them to its threshold. No doubt, we are going to talk about our freedom fighters, no doubt, we are going to glorify our past as we always do. That has to be done if we want our youngsters to be rooted and proud optimist Indians. But we will go a step further.
We are going to suggest that if our fighters had laid their precious lives for freedom the least we can do is to maintain that freedom. We are going to suggest, not to look at others for solutions. Let’s be solutions ourselves. We are going to suggest, to take responsibility, instead of blaming others. We are going to talk about how each of us can do so much. We are going to try to let our little ones recognize their potential. The focus of our presentation will not be how we were freed but how to value that freedom and build upon it.
We teachers at school are a privileged lot. We have the luxury of dreaming and actualizing our dreams through the younger ones. We are going to expose them to their own power. Even if a small percentage of our students get stirred a movement begins.
A real case:Recently Dove was interviewed by an environment magazine for her work done in the field of ‘school and environment’. I was the privileged mother to be interviewed for Dove’s influence on us. Being the focal point of her parents’ life, she does have the power to mould us. No crackers on Diwali, water conservation and various other decisions are forcefully thrust on us. We comply because we know she is right. One of the questions, a very pertinent one was how her approach to issues is different from mine. I was candid. We, the elders have a scholastic, academic approach to issues. But thankfully she has a very pragmatic and action oriented approach. It’s more practical and forceful than ours.
I pay tribute to her school for showing her the way. It started with Diwali Without Crackers campaign, some five years ago. And she has taken me along. I strive to create many more Doves to take flight to a free, prosperous, open and wonderful sky of a land called India. That’s how we are going to celebrate Republic day this year.
2009
River flows, time flows and life flows on. Year after year flows into the unknown as it had flown in from the unknown. I try to catch time and tighten my grip on it. I try to stand still and hope nothing will change. But, as I stand still moments flow away.
Then, let me be a part of this flow.
Or still, let me be the flow.
;)
Thoughts on not_such_a_youthful Day
There were times when standing in front of mirror was a pleasurable activity. Though, no Madhubala or Munro peeped back at me, yet the freshness of youth was cheerful enough to look into the mirror every now and then. The mirror wouldn’t have considered me the prettiest of them all, but it would have opined that I was pretty enough to rouse the interest of some and attract some others. Alas! All that is gone now. At this stage in life I dread facing the mirror. I steal a sheepish glimpse from angle here or angle there but the disappointment remains. The lines tell it all, some receding some bulging and some darkening.
My dear friends console me constantly, you are as old as you think you are, or that age lies in mind and not in body. I appreciate their efforts to console me. After all why worry about something that happens to all, as my Dad would say. However, it is easier said than done. If old age was just a physical phenomenon one could have reconciled with it. But there is lot more to it.
First and foremost with age comes wisdom, a virtual killer of all dreams. A certain degree of naivety goes into making dreams. The belief that you can change the world, the belief that there are simple solutions to everything complex and the belief that everything exists in black and white are now notions you can only jeer at. These wrinkled notions take away so much joy from your life, leaving you blanched.
Then, without ever being noticed a certain degree of rigidity sets in. As you get comfortable in a set pattern of life, you get averse to change. Any change disturbs you. You become less and less receptive to new ideas. You just want peace and status quo. Lack of thrilling newness takes away another chunk of joy from your life.
Finally, you get into the habit of taking stock, every now and then. Have you made it? Will you be able to make it? Time is running out. What happened to my dreams? Where has life brought me from the point I started? The constant flow of questions keep nagging you.
If you thought I am the one who constantly cribs about getting older by the day with teeth darkening and hair lightening then you are mistaken. It’s the wilderness of my blog that brings out my worst fears. And yes what’s a blog that doesn’t let you share your deepest fears?
The Blooms
I am in class IXth elaborating on author's unwritten words. Most of the times I concentrate on the unwritten rather than the written.Just now I have presented the most unconventional view on positive thinking and am rather sorry to see the puzzled expressions. When I do that, and I do that quite often, I feel extremely sorry. A face or two in the crowd seems to understand what I said.That's enough. Next time there will be many more. What I had to say has attacked their conventional beliefs. Beliefs which their parents, teachers and others have passed unto them However, I had to do my job, even if it requires moments of cracking and crumbling. I have to push open the windows for them What they observe and absorb will be of their own accord. After all I can't control that.
Thoughts
Term End Thoughts
What makes a student? A teacher, a school, a parent or an environment? Or is it the sum total of all these? If it really is the latter, then maybe I have an escape. The list of failures is perhaps not only a reflection on me. I might find refuge in passing the buck but then somewhere a thought keeps nagging me - you could do better, better, better.
Checking papers is perhaps the most painful part of teaching. What glares on your face is not what you actually taught but rather what you failed to teach. When a class ninth student prefers to close his letter to his father with “yours approximately”, do you doubt his father’s paternity or the fact that you failed to tell them that rhyme and synonymity are two different concepts? And yes, attempting a character sketch in literature is not the same as attempting a sketch in drawing. Was that to be told?
I shall be careful next time.
Friendship Day Thoughts
You know the day is round the corner, when Dove starts planning days ahead…bands, chocolates and cards.
My gratitude…Thank you friends for being there. Flowers for all the friends who come here.
Sari
Sundays are always special, but more so now when I get to read a fresh column by Shashi Tharoor every Sunday. So I was elated to read Save the sari from a sorry fate as sari remains my favourite garment. It was a double feast – Shashi Tharoor and his endorsement of my favourite attire. But by any stretch of imagination, I could have never foreseen the kind of response it evoked from the feminists. So much so that he had to come up with a rejoinder asking – “Where did I go wrong?”
My date with sari goes back to the time when I was just a twelve year old. Would wear it to any fancy dress competition in school, festivals or in the parties thrown by the ambassador where different nationals would come. Their admiring looks said so much about the beauty of the Sari. But not for our feminists . They cry hoarse about anyone who pleads to arrest the declining interest of Indian ladies in Sari.
For starters, I would agree with the fact that Sari is not really a very comfortable piece of clothing but then neither are stilettos in the office or cut sleeves in the chilly winter winds. Yet many Indians women don them. Denim is anytime thicker on hot and sultry summer months than a cool cotton sari.
Aqua Genius calls it a tent behind which mountains of flab can be concealed though his models adorn it with panache.
However, passions do not always spring from rational grounds. I really cannot give you too many good reasons why we Indian women should not part with the elegance of sari. But there is something which I find ridiculous about the feminists who jump with daggers in their hands at anyone who speaks about perpetuating any traits exclusively feminine.
Does feminism mean the “man-ization” , if any such term exists, of woman? I guess not. Besides having equal rights, for me feminism means that a woman should have her own space to grow as a woman and not as a man. Therein comes my case for sari. Sari with myriad vibrant colours, textures and designs is epitome of everything feminine. It compliments a woman’s body as no other garment can ever do. It enhances the inherent beauty of any woman which nature has so generously bestowed on women.
So Mr. Tharoor, I am all for this six yards of beauty and there was nothing sexist about your appeal to Indian women to adorn this attire.
The Crystal Haze
The day’s events have exhausted me. There is too much excitement to contain. So I decide to sit and write.
I am wrapped in questions, problems, solutions and exercises and some more exercises. There is no end to it. Even in my dreams I am explaining how a report is written differently than an article and how Keynes differed from classical economists. What make everything more complex are the extra questions of mathematics, which are, simply beyond my comprehension and which Dove insists that I explain her. Now how on earth am going to crack them! Not able to grasp that her mom has limits, she refuses to take help from anybody else. The whims of a preteen are sometimes simply baffling. Gripped in the time crunch my guilt deepens as I am really not able to do much.
Exams over, it's time for Dove to visit her school to check her answer sheets for any errors that might have crept in totaling etc. When she comes back she is in tears. She has just fallen short of a mark to make it to a scholar. Ironically, more painful is the fact, that her mathematics teacher has awarded her three marks extra and she goes back and gets them corrected. It is too big a temptation but she has overcome it, else her Mom would be angry. But now in front of her mom she breaks down. All her dreams and hard work through the year are shattered. I appreciate her. She has done the right thing. She remains my star. However, nothing can console her now. Her disappointment has not ebbed. But then some of life’s lessons are learnt the hard way. Work harder next year. With a resolution to practice mathematics regularly the matter is closed.
Today is Dove’s result. Though the dad daughter duo can fetch the result I decide to take a half-day from my work. My decision is not free from my guilt, that I could have given her more time. We rush through the maddening Delhi traffic. Somehow we are able to make it on time.
Her teacher congratulates us. We thank her with a wry smile. Not able to digest our dryness, the charming class teacher congratulates us once again but this time she adds another word to her congratulating note. Scholar. I hurriedly scan through the report card. My eyes are fixed on the column where the heading Scholar is ticked. How could that be. She was running short of the stipulated percentage. I am no Ramanujan in mathematics but then simple percentage calculation is not beyond my capability. She clarifies. Dove was considered as a special case for the award. All the teachers have vouched for her and requested the Principal to grant her an extra grace mark. So scholar she becomes! I am too dazed to comment. All the haze has evaporated and what remains are the sparkling crystal colours.
“Honesty is the cornerstone of all success, without which confidence and ability to perform shall cease to exist.” Mary Kay Ash