Sunday 5 November 2023

To pay obeisance to you My Lord

 

                                          

Once again at the  sacred threshold, in the divine presence of  the Lord of Guruvayoor.. The  fragrance of incense, flowers and sandalwood wafting pleasantly all around, the brass lamps glimmering and winking , the chanting of ‘ Krishna, Guruvayoorappa’, rending the air, the drums, the trumpet , and the incessant ringing of the bell adding to the air of devotion and spirituality pervading the premises.

“ Guruvayoor ambala nadayil , oru divasam njan pokum…”

Jesudas , singing of his desire to go to the temple and stand in the divine presence of  Guruvayoorappan, the presiding deity of Guruvayoor temple. The tune reverberated at the back of my mind  as  I stood with folded hands in front of the  lord of Guruvayoor , after a gap of  more than ten years.

Memories flipped back the pages of Time and I was transported virtually  to the temple visits during our vacation to Kerala . My mother in law ( Amma), an ardent devotee of Guruvayoorappan had fervently believed that He would fulfil the wish of every devotee who seeks His blessings. She used to go to the temple every month as long as her health permitted her . Her maid Meenakshi Amma was her escort during these visits. But when we were home on vacation,  she would insist on our accompanying her . Those were the days when piety and devotion were old fashioned coinages in my vocabulary. My husband was God fearing , but he too did not believe in rituals. In order to  placate  Amma,  we used  to accompany her . Compared to the serpentine queue in front of the temple door these days, the queues were much shorter in those days.  Yet we found it arduous to stand in the queue with two small kids in tow. Amma  wouldn’t eat or drink anything till she completed  darshan, so that meant no tea or breakfast till our temple darshan was over. While we stood in queue, my husband would discreetly vanish with the children , telling   Amma  , “We will just come back “. I knew what it meant because I too had been issued  an invitation to have tea and snacks from the nearby hotel and return before the queue reached the front entrance . But  the displeasure  of  Amma   combined with  the wrath of God played spoilsport in my imagination and I  reluctantly declined the offer , even while my stomach rumbled and grunted in protest. The well fed gentlemen of the family would return just in time to enter the front door while the ladies sweated it out in the queue moving at snail pace   

At the entrance , the queue dissolved and we had the hustle and bustle of people pushing from all sides. On one such occasion, Amma told me, “ I will show you a trick “. She tucked my left hand in the crook of her right arm and squeezed in through the crowd.  No one objected , though I received some dirty stares. We made our way through the melee and stood with folded hands in front of the idol. Along with all other demands and requests, I  sought forgiveness for breaking the queue . The gentlemen of the family fretted and fumed from behind but to no avail. When a harried husband along with children joined us after a considerable time gap, Amma  told him, tongue in cheek, “ Guruvayoorappan knows…. He  favours the truly devoted “

The incident flashed before my mind’s eye as I sat on the bench in front of God’s threshold. Now  the queue system has changed: you don’t have to stand in queue, you can sit. It is like musical chair , you have to shift from one bench to the next as the railings take you on a circuitous route to the temple’s front door. Drinking water is supplied by the staff of the Devaswom board to the weary devotees. I felt grateful for such  small mercies. Suddenly, without notice ,  the queue came to a standstill as the door closed for ‘ Nivedyam’   It was 8.35pm  when the queue started moving again. As we reached the front door,  there was the usual jostling in the cramped space, after which we had to go up a stair case in twos . Just when we reached the threshold, I discovered to my alarm that ‘might  was  right’  . You  may either be carried forth by the flow or you can use strong arm tactics and squeeze in through the crowd. Once inside, there were ladies-  volunteers I guess-   who urged the devotees forward , saying ‘Pray, pray and then move on ‘. I was bemused and befuddled. . My  list of requests, appeals and grievances  was forgotten. Pushed forward by the ones coming from behind, I somehow managed to extricate myself , all the time wondering   why Guruvayoorappan was testing me like this. 

  Acting upon the advice of more experienced devotees who briefed me about the various queues in the temple – general queue, senior citizen’s queue, neighbourhood people’s queue, privilege queue, annadanam queue and so on- I  promptly joined   the Senior citizen’s queue the next day. Feeling triumphant I stood in the queue and gloated , anticipating a good darshan. . When the door to the sanctum sanctorum was in sight, the queue was stopped  and whispered messages of ‘Seeveli’ started floating from the front to the back. I was appalled to realize that I was stuck well and good with no respite . Getting out of the queue meant brushing past all the devotees standing packed together, enclosed by railings. There were no benches on this side of the temple. I resigned myself to the situation wondering whether Guruvayoorappan was annoyed with me .

Then the  Seeveli procession came by, priests carrying long handled lamps, nadaswaram and finally Lord Guruvayoorappan Himself seated on the back of the caparisoned  elephant’, held by the chief priest, accompanied by devotees chanting payers.  My mind  brimmed with mixed emotions of joy, gratitude, fear, devotion and surprisingly, acceptance and understanding. With folded hands,  I appealed to God  to forgive me for my trespasses. Instead of seeing and worshipping Him from a distance with people all around, I could see Him close at hand, out in the open. I prayed,  with a smile playing on my lips, recalling the names of all those  who were close to me and  needed a  prayer . Later when the doors opened , I went inside to pray, the smile still lingering on my lips. ‘ Kannante leela vilasam’, they say in Malayalam. Was this a prank of our mischief- making Krishna? Testing me, then listening to my prayers, and springing a pleasant surprise when I was grumbling and  least expecting it .

 Among the  myriad secrets of life which never fail to surprise me is the rapport I have developed with my idea of God. Somewhere along life’s  winding  paths, the scepticism of youth had given  way to  profound  faith.  When life takes unexpected twists and turns, when the clear stream of reason becomes muddied with fears and doubts, you need an anchor to lend stability and a sense of direction. That is  when I turned to God . It is difficult to explain this emotion which is a mix of awe, affection,  devotion and understanding. Mine is a benevolent  God, who  supports and forgives.  And  He appears in my imagination  not only as  Krishna.  I pray to Lord Ganesha, Devi Saraswathy and every God who appears in my mind’s eye on each occasion. To those who preach single God worship, I can only say that for me there is a God in everything.  Call all it pagan worship or whatever but it gives me immense satisfaction to believe  that I am enveloped by the love and understanding of God who will never fail me.

  .

 

When the dogs are away the cats will play

 

                                              

The stray dogs on the street outside my gate did not bother me much as long as they stayed on their territory and I stayed on mine. Every time I opened the gate they would glance at me lazily and I would return the glare, seemingly without any apprehension but actually alert and ready to take cover in case one of them decides to pounce and make mincemeat of me. ‘ Let sleeping dogs lie…’ I followed the adage to the letter.

This kind of non interfering camaraderie was broken one night when a big white dog with a collar around its neck joined the pack. The normally docile dogs took a cue from the new leader and turned into a pack of aggressive canines, jumping over compound walls, chewing  shoes, sandals , and anything else they could find outside, particularly on the verandah. My neighbours had alerted me but I paid scant regard , thinking the dogs which looked so harmless could not change into ferocious beings overnight. Until one midnight when I was woken from deep slumber by the alarmed screams of an animal followed by the excited barking of dogs. As I came fully awake, I heard, mingled with the animal cries,  human voices shouting  and the pelting of stones. I switched on the CCTV camera on my mobile and found to my horror, a pack of dogs running helter skelter on my beautifully  laid out  lawn , chasing some  scurrying animal . On opening the window which overlooked the garden, I saw four young men , the tenants of the opposite house, shouting and pelting stones at the dogs which were attacking a small form that was trying to free itself and escape. The boys shouted to me not to come out as the dogs were dangerously aggressive. As they continued to pelt stones, the dogs , carrying the hapless animal, ran towards the back of the house. I switched on the master switch, illuminating  the garden and the drive way in  bright light. The sudden lights helped to disperse the dogs. As they scattered, I mustered courage and opened the back door a bit. I had kept curtain rods there to support the plants. I threw one at a dog , it yelped and ran. All other dogs followed suit, jumping over the compound wall from different sides. There was no sign of the wounded animal and no more cries. I consoled myself that perhaps it might have escaped. But the next morning revealed the mauled carcass of a civet cat in the corner of the garden. This murder of a helpless, harmless animal in the darkness of the night right in my garden disheartened and infuriated me no end .  I decided to take action.

The first phase of the action plan was to write  a message to  the Residents association authorities, drawing their  notice  to   sleep disruption caused to the residents and the mental trauma caused by the murder at mid night. Around the same time, many cases of stray dog attacks were reported in the city and the association rolled into action. The owner  of the bully dog was identified and was requested to keep the dog confined to his territory. The subsequent happenings are a little unclear to me . There were rumours of Corporation dog catchers taking away the dogs for neutering , of a shelter for stray dogs maintained by a dog lover  where  the dogs were fed and roomed. Miraculously the dog menace reduced and almost stopped.  However I was not prepared to take any chances.  The well meaning contractor who built our house , fixed railings  above the compound wall, raising the height so as to keep even the best high jumpers among the dogs at bay. I could rest easy, complacent in the belief  that my house was now secure from dog attack.

Months passed. While sitting on the verandah, enjoying my cuppa, listening to the chattering of birds on the trees , I lazily observed that the cacophonous hullaballoo created by my winged friends had somehow decreased in intensity. Soon  the reason came to light. When the dogs  were  away the cats had sprung into action . The neighbourhood cat, emboldened  by the absence of the dogs had decided to encroach upon my property. He would bask in sunlight on the driveway , striking a pose which would put even Cleopatra to shame. At times he would hide under the bushes, pouncing on the hapless birds. Though the cat was well trained in climbing walls and trees, the birds proved  too clever for him   . Soon the cat was joined by two others. One was pitch black with  bright  tawny eyes  burning and accusing me as if I was the encroacher. The other one was  in battle combat, the camouflage giving me no indication that a cat was nearby until it moved. The threesome soon joined hands, nay paws, to attack  birds, mice or anything that they could subdue with their combined strength.

My morning hour on the verandah is now interrupted not by the chirping of birds, but by my own loud shouts and screams as I try to chase away the cats before they could gobble up the birds. Evidence  by way of loose  feathers scattered on the lawn and the driveway  proved that my attempts were futile . The mynahs  which were my early morning visitors have stopped their  frequent visits. Only the tiny ones which flit in and out of the bushes and the kites which soar  far above  continue their fearless  pursuits. And the cats continue to defile my space, unabashedly claiming my property as theirs. They climb upon my dwarf coconut palm, toppling the baby elephant which is our coveted garden ornament.  They even keep vigil on the verandah when I am not around. Enhancing the height of the compound wall does not deter them, my shouts of displeasure do not hinder them, the occasional water spray that I use on them has only temporary effect. Now we have learnt to tolerate and live together in uneasy harmony.  Better by far to accommodate these smart furry creatures  who carry themselves regally with dignity than to live in fear of the four legged canines who kill for pleasure .   

Saturday 27 May 2023

Turkiye as we saw it

 

`The devastating earthquake that struck Turkey on 6 Feb 2023  evoked memories of  our trip to this fascinating country in July 2022.We( my son Siddharth, daughter in law Kivya, grand daughter Ziya and I ) landed in Turkey on Saturday  2 July. Right after landing , we  hired a cab for the entire duration of the trip.  Apartments were booked  through Air BNB in each locality which we planned to visit. This gave us a chance to acquaint ourselves with the local population . The people were cordial and the apartments were well furnished with all the required amenities. On one or two occasions we experienced some unpleasantness on account of a disruption in water supply, lack of AC , small rooms etc. But this did not deter us from exploring all the interesting facets of this wonderland.

We started our journey from Anatolia .  From the apartment where we stayed , the nearby Adalar beach and the adjoining café manned by a Turkish family could be accessed by a steep flight of steps. The seat in the café  provided  a splendid view of the Mediterranean , with rocks forming a cove , deemed to be safe for swimming. Our water baby Siddharth made a beeline for the crystal clear water, taking little Ziya with him. This was Ziya’s debut swimming session in the ocean and she was thrilled  as well as apprehensive. When the initial excitement wore off she insisted on having her Mom by her side all the time . From morning to evening we lazed about in the café eating grilled fish, sandwiches , fries, water melon and an assortment of beverages. In the evening we ventured into the nearby park which was teeming with life. Well laid out flower beds dotted with lamps, tall palms, evergreen shrubs and statues at strategic points enhanced the beauty of the place . The restaurant in the park was vibrant with music, ilght and laughter. Romance was in the air and we felt enchanted.

A mix of tradition and modernity was evident everywhere. Women wearing hijab and long kurtas shared space with women wearing hot pants and mini dresses. Most of the men were bearded though we spotted a few clean shaven ones too. Families could be seen loitering around the garden and park, some with picnic baskets , their children running about and playing on the grounds. Most of the ladies were well turned out, in stylish costumes and make up. All the streets were well lit and clean. Even in the older parts of the city, the cobbled pavements were spic and span. Toilets were available everywhere, well equipped with tissues, running water and all amenities.

One curious aspect of the country   is  the presence of cats everywhere. The feline creatures could be seen stalking the pavement, hiding in the bushes, rubbing against your feet while seated at a restaurant. In many places people were seen  patting and feeding stray cats. Perhaps the Turk’s love of cats may be the reason for such fearlessness of the cats of that  country. 

Another ubiquitous feature   is the aromatic  Turkish tea served in   a tower of two kettles stacked one upon the other. The lower one is for boiling water and the upper one for the brew. Both the kettles are continuously heated by a chunk of charcoal kept underneath each kettle. Turkish tea is served in a tulip shaped glass called ince belli  and is best when consumed   black but sugar and milk are provided on request. We got so carried away by the elegance of the tea tower and the aroma of the tea that we drank glass after glass ,  consequently  finding ourselves sleep deprived on account of the excess caffeine in our blood.

From Adalar beach we walked to the old city to see Hadrian’s Gate, which dates back to 130 AD. Originally built to commemorate the visit of Roman Emperor  Hadrian to Anatolia, it is a typical Roman triumphal arc , with three similar archways. The streets were  paved with cobblestones and they led to historic houses, restaurants and shops. We bought two beautifully carved vases as souvenirs. In the evening we shifted to an apartment in the older part of the city and had dinner at a restaurant which had a  mesmerising  performance by  belly dancers in their glittering costumes gliding to the tune of soft music  .

Our next destination was Pamukkale, the thermal l springs. Though cabs were available for hire we took the unwise decision to brave it out on foot.  The heat of the blazing sun took us unawares. We had to circumvent an amphitheatre in ruins and scale a hill to reach the springs.  I wondered at the lack of shops and stalls offering water and snacks to weary travellers. In India we can expect a small shop or stall  at every nook and corner. But this was hilly terrain, offering no shelter from  the  scorching heat of the sun.  No wonder then, that we had to deal with frayed nerves and differences of opinion by the time we reached the thermal springs.  Another  dampener was the lack of toilet facilities near the springs. We had to walk to the restaurant about half a kilometre away to find refreshment and  toilets. My pleasure in the trip took a deep plunge at this juncture and left me in a foul mood.

In Ephesus we saw the ruins of a well-planned city – a commercial market place going back to the time of Emperor Augustus , a two aisled Doric basilica built during the time of Emperor Nero. In the Temple of Hadrian, around 300 inscribed bases of Emperors were preserved while the statues were destroyed in a series of earth quakes. So earthquakes were a familiar phenomena to Turkey as could be gauged by the ruins of the fountains and theatres found at Ephesus.

On the way to Istanbul we visited  the Temple of Artemis  which was destroyed by  Herostratus. .  Impossible to fathom the depth of depravity in a mind that could reduce  one of the wonders of the ancient world   to mere  columns and foundations  just to attain  notoriety if not fame ….

“… and much it grieved my heart to think , what man has made of man..”

No wonder that the term Herostratic fame originated from the nefarious act of that vainglorious man.

The next place of interest was The House of Virgin Mary , a stone built house where Virgin Mary had spent the final years of her life. A modest chapel, with a single room . On an  altar  stood  the  statue of the blessed Virgin . We prayed and exited with Ziya sleeping on the pram beside us , but when  Ziya woke up Siddharth insisted  on paying a second visit with Ziya awake . As we came out we were surprised to see a few young men, probably the cleaning staff washing the garbage bins with soap and water .  What a wonderful precedent for cleanliness and dignity of labour! The same cleanliness was evident when we visited Grand Bazaar. It was closing time and we couldn’t do much shopping . Once the stalls were closed, the cleaning staff came in vehicles and started cleaning the pavements with soap and water using hoses connected to huge water carriers. We can take a lesson in cleanliness from the Turks.

Istanbul’s  timeless charm was evident in every facet of the grand city. Numerous architectural marvels stood  tall in the heart of the city. We visited Hagia Sophia, the mosque which had once been a cathedral built by Constantine, , rebuilt by Justinian and converted into a mosque during the Ottoman conquest . Finally when Turkey became a republic, Gen Kemal Ataturk declared it to be a museum .In Hagia Sophia, it is mandatory for ladies to cover their heads and we were well prepared with scarves and stoles  .The place was over crowded. We had to remove foot wear to enter. There was plush wall to wall carpeting inside. We sat down and observed the intricately carved ceiling , the splendid chandeliers, the inscriptions and the motifs on the walls and half walls. Men and women were sitting engrossed in prayer. The  brilliant work of art  as well as the  spiritual atmosphere that pervaded the holy place was absolutely awe inspiring.

The next day’s visit started with  the Blue Mosque, alias Sultan Ahmed mosque, where  the procedure of removing footwear and covering  the  head had to be repeated. The most intriguing monument proved to be  the Republic monument at Taksim square , which  depicts the establishment of the young Turkish republic. One side of the monument represents the war of Independence and  the other, the Republic of Turkey. Statues of two Soviet generals are incorporated into the monument, seemingly to express   gratitude to Soviet help during the war. 

 Bosphorus Bridge,  connecting  the  European  and Asian sides   of Istanbul ,  had a continuous stream of traffic. It is one of the three suspension bridges spanning the Bosphorus  Strait, that forms the continental boundary between Asia and Europe.  Previously one could walk along the length of the bridge but now bridge walk is allowed only during Istanbul Marathon which takes place in November.

The viewing platform on the  Golden Horn Bridge gave us a splendid view of graceful  cruise ships and  speed boats sailing in the Bosphorus Strait. We were startled at the sight of flying fish which we later realized were fish caught by the men sitting on the side-lines with fishing lines . The lower part of the bridge was mainly occupied by restaurants and we had delicious calamari and mussels there. Though much acclaim has been made of  Turkish food we did not find the food delectable to our palates in most of the eating places which we frequented. The bread was  rather tough and the meat tasted  bland to our Indian taste buds. But the fare served  at  the restaurant  on the  Golden  Horn  Bridge surpassed our expectations and satiated our appetites.

From where we sat we could see the Galata  Tower. Originally built as a light house by the Byzantines, it became a dungeon during the Ottoman conquest and later turned into  a fire tower. Ziya was entranced by the hustle and bustle at Golden Horn bridge. All through the trip and during the flight she enchanted us with her antics and childish pranks. Hugging her favourite doll, she made her way through the streets and pavements of Turkey, giggling breathlessly at the pranks of the ice cream vendor and later crying her heart out when the vendor playfully took away her ice cream. Finally he had to pacify her with a soft toy which belonged to his own child.  When we returned to London, we carried with us indelible memories of this beautiful land along with  plenty of souvenirs. A statue of Cleopatra , reclining  on the barge now proudly sits on my showcase , bringing to mind the memorable lines of Mark Antony:

“Age cannot wither her,

Nor custom stale her infinite variety … “

Monday 5 December 2022

The House that was home

                                              

Ours was not the typical ancestral home with tiled roof , front garden and many wings . It was  big but  rather  match box like ,with rooms, bathrooms , out house and garage  added on  as the need arose .It jutted out to the front, almost touching the road, but had more space at the back . It reminded  me of Naipaul’s ‘ House for Mr. Biswas’ . But it was made out of our Achan’s hard earned  savings  of a lifetime and was a treasure house of our childhood memories.

I was ten when we shifted to Devi Vihar,  our  house at Ambalamukku . While it was still under construction, Achan used to go there regularly after office hours in order to supervise the construction. Sometimes he would collect my younger sister and me from school and bring us to the construction site. Initially the ground had been over grown with sweet potatoes, coconut  trees  and banana palms. Once the construction began, the area was cleared. There was a lot of plain ground to run about and play. My sister and I made friends with the neighbourhood boys and we used to play hide and seek and SAT while the elders were engaged in serious discussions about plan and execution

After shifting to the new house I remember  all of us using waste cloth to wipe the floors which were painted red with red oxide. The workers had left footprints upon the polished floors by sheer  negligence and we  tried  to erase them with wet cloth and soap suds but to no avail. Every Sunday we were given various tasks to do around the house – dusting, cleaning the window panes, planting saplings in the garden and so on.

One fine day , Amma came up  with the fantastic idea of growing poultry .Since we had a vast backyard , the compound seemed ideal for the purpose. Soon a chicken coop took pride of place at the back of the house and into our large household  entered  a flock of two legged creatures- a rooster , resplendent in its gleaming plumage, flanked by an entourage of hens. There were hens of  white leghorn and black minorca breed  to add variety and spice to the rooster’s life. At first we were fascinated by the clucking  and crowing in our backyard . The hens  thrived on the care and attention given to them and started yielding eggs. We used to run to the coop on hearing the special cry of the hens , inorder to collect the eggs .These eggs  were much larger than the ones we got from the market. Achan and Amma were cheered by this constant supply of protein and vitamins to our large , gowing family. But the craze did not last long. Our backyard was ruined by  large chunks of chicken poop . Many a time our feet were soiled by the poop from  so many bird inmates. As the fowls  started  scratching and eating the grains, Amma’s crops were ruined beyond redemption. Soon we were fed up of eating the large eggs laid by our hens and preferred the smaller variety available in the market. My brothers expressed a desire to eat the flesh  of the chicken instead of the  eggs  but Amma would have none  of it. The matter was resolved when a fox got wind of the presence of easy prey close by. One night we heard unnatural sounds in the backyard followed by the alarmed cries  of the fowls. Our investigation revealed that one hen was missing from the brood. We strengthened the coop but to no avail. Two more nocturnal attacks occurred .The poor fowls were terrified and Amma was disheartened. She decided it was better to feed her children instead of the fox .That put an end to the poultry farming craze. For years to come, the chicken coop stood as a sad memorial to a fancy  that misfired. 

A year after  shifting to the new house, my elder sister got married and left home with her husband. Mani aunty, Achan’s colleague’s wife had taught her stitching and I picked up the rudiments of stitching by watching her at work. Soon I started stitching clothes for myself  .My  elder brothers who were in college,  used to wear flashy, colourful clothes but  our wardrobe was limited to frocks, skirts and blouses stitched out of the material bought by Achan . We were satisfied with what we had till the time our Uncle returned from Singapore and brought for us lovely pleated skirt and top ensembles which made us the cynosure of all eyes. These Singapore dresses held pride of place in our ward robe for years to come and we continued wearing them till they became mini skirts and micro minis. Finally Amma expressed her chagrin at our crossing the limits of decency and forced us to discard them  . .

Since we were 7 siblings growing up in the same house we learnt sharing and caring and had a lot of fun  at the expense of others . The bonhomie that held us together helped us overcome many of the short comings of a huge joint family. Achan was a strict task master  who  supervised  our every move .Our energy was mostly directed at thwarting his attempts to control us.

 My younger sister and I used  to chant the prayers every evening, read the Gita and attend matapadashala on Sundays in the nearby temple. A venerable,   bearded sage  taught us  the inner meaning of the scriptures. More than the lessons, we  were lured by the tasty ghee payasam served as prasad at the end of the ritual. Achan  would make us read the editorial of the English news paper  every day in an attempt to improve our English. Since I was an avid reader he allowed me to read Enid Blyton and Perry Mason series on condition that I would write a synopsis of each book that I read. Little did he know that every book had a synopsis on the cover and I was merely copying this .He also failed to realize that  I had  graduated from Perry Mason to  Chase and then to Mills and Boon and was chain  reading on the sly, compromising my  academics  and eyesight .Sometimes he used to come noiselessly up the stairs for an inspection. But  whoever  occupied the seat next to the stairs alerted all others so that we all pretended  to be hard at work with our note books and text books.

For Navarathri, we used to arrange the photos and idols of Gods and perform  pooja, copying  our  neighbours who arranged kolu ( an elaborate arrangement of idols for ten days of navrathri pooja).. All of us would sing bhajans  together . The combined effort was enough to shake the house. Amma would come running up the stairs , cautioning us not to disturb the neighbours. Her pleas fell on deaf ears .There was more noise from around us- loud speakers blaring from the nearby temple, bhajans  and prayers , verbal duels, drunken brawls from other home steads. We  felt we had a right to  make our presence felt in the melee.

The temple was the pivot of our activities in those days. We learnt kolattam which we performed during Sreekrishna jayanthi. We took part in bhajan competitions and  Akhanda namam , chanting prayers while going around the tall  lamp . My childish heart leapt in joy to witness  the kodiyettam and  kodiyirakkam ( the hoisting and lowering of the flag) of the annual festival of the temple. All of us used to be present on all 10 days of the annual festival .  Amma would  accompany us for kathakali which lasted the entire night . She would explain the meaning of some symbols and signs used by the performing artists. When sleep over powered us, we would doze off on the sheet spread on the ground or on a  chair if we were lucky to get one. When the kathakali dancers were involved in a battle, she would wake us up as she knew that we enjoyed the battle scenes.We were  particularly riveted by  Dussasana vadham  where Bhima and Dussasana would move up and down the stage uttering loud shouts and cries. Then Bhima would kill Dussasana, take out his intestines and apply the blood on Panchali’s hair. Our little hearts thrilled in amazement  as  we gaped , open mouthed, at the elaborate costumes , the long nails and the thick make up of the kathakali artists. As the coils of twisted cloth came out of Dussasana’s stomach, we were deluded into believing that it was the intestine that was pulled out by Bhima. Oh! Those were the days when the mind accepted without question , everything that took place in the make- belief world of  fables and tales . My child’s  mind had implicit trust in the triumph of good over evil  

The ten day festival culminated in the  arattu  on the final day of the festival . We were  in a constant state of excitement  that day. We used to help Amma  in arranging the paraphernalia required for receiving   the procession. In the evening we would stand awestruck to watch the commencement of the procession which took place right in front of us as our house was adjacent to the temple. There were band groups, decorated kavadi, men and women decked up as various characters from mythology. Bringing up the rear , there were  caparisoned elephants , the biggest of them carrying the idol of God on its back. Most of the time there used to be three or five elephants but as the interest in grand spectacles  soared  , the no of elephants also increased. Once we had 21 elephants for the procession which brought the traffic in the area to a standstill. We watched the huge pachyderms in awe   from a safe distance . The next day’s newspaper carried the report of an elephant running amok from Perookada to Kowdiar and that put an end to such public displays. In the subsequent years the no of elephants was limited to 3 or 5.

My childhood was intimately interlinked with the activities of the temple. The elephant which was brought to the temple for the 10 days of the festival used to come to our house to pluck coconuts and palm leaves . We would offer the huge visitor bananas and jaggery and would watch with bated breath as the elephant extended its trunk and gobbled up the goodies with relish. No wonder then that the elephant appeared in my dreams as well and as in real life, and  I would lie mesmerised and  dumbstruck   as the dream elephant closed in and woke me up from deep slumber.

As  siblings, the seven of us  had a close  bond and were  partakers of  many a  misadventure . If walls could tell, they would narrate the tales of Devi Vihar brothers and sisters playing pranks on unsuspecting friends and visitors.  Now with hindsight I am able to understand what an economic burden it must have been for Achan to cater to the needs of seven growing children and what a Herculean task it must have been for Amma to prepare food for all of us. Children grew up, took up employment and got married. We have among us engineers, bank officers, sales executives, doctorate scholars and educators. This was no mean achievement for Achan and Amma who hailed from an obscure village in Malappuram and shifted to the abode of Anantha Padmanabha  Swamy to eke out a living .

When I got married to an army officer and went away to the north, I had the first taste of life away from home, away from my native land, away from the old familiar faces . Adapting to the new situation was  not a hard task- now I marvel at the ease with which I learnt the customs, traditions and language of the North and joined in as a member of the glamorous army clan. But there was always a yearning to come back to the lap of nature in Kerala, and to the house which had nurtured me in my formative years.

   Flitting from one station to another , travelling the length and breadth of the country was an exhilarating experience. Packing all our household  articles in boxes, numbered and marked, my heart would fill in  anticipation of  the new places I would see, the new people I would meet and the new adventures that awaited me. My husband was a  travel enthusiast and from him I too caught the travel bug. . The birth of our two sons did not hinder the wander lust that had gripped us and we discovered our Bharat Mahan in the course of our travels.

My husband’s sudden demise shattered our cosy world. I was just 38 at the time, with two growing boys of 15 and 10 under my wings. I decided to come back home though many tried to dissuade us as my father’s Alzheimer’s  disease had  progressed to a  state of dementia and mother was an angina patient. Many well wishers advised us to stay in the army station instead of taking up the  responsibility of two sick and aged  parents . I don’t have an idea what had spurred me on to take the decisions which could  change my  life but now, on looking back,  I feel they were the right decisions .

There are no hard and fast rules to bring up children  , especially for a single parent but somehow we trundled on. My career as a teacher  was a boon – the students and my colleagues were a balm to my bruised feelings. The cosy world of the army with its outings, picnics and parties became a distant memory as my days and nights were filled with lectures, answer scripts and parent- teacher meetings .

Bad times don’t last forever. My children grew up to be fine young men. Siddharth settled in the UK and Arjun joined the Army Institute of technology. There was no looking back.

A year and a half after my arrival in Trivandrum, my father who had been my greatest support, passed away. Amma   was non judgemental and non interfering- it was so easy to live with her. She loved flowers and birds and was willing to lend a helping hand to anyone in need.  Her support helped me tide over  much emotional trauma.   The  maid  employed to look after Amma proved to be a staunch supporter in our difficult times. She became  Amma’s confidante and nurse . It  was owing to her that I was  able to carry on  my domestic responsibilities without a hitch. When Amma passed away in 2015, I had become so set in my ways that I wanted to continue living in the same house for ever. But that wish did not materialize. There were days when I stood in the temple with folded hands, beseeching God to help me take the right decision –  whether  to construct a new house or continue staying in the old one. As if He heard my prayers, things fell into place and my dream house materialised . My  sons and daughters in law find the new house appealing  , a delightful haven to relax  during holidays. . The arrival of my grand daughter into our lives  has brought joy and contentment into our lives. . Now as I sit on the verandah and gaze at my garden, I marvel at the destiny which brought me here, to enjoy my retirement in peace.

The house that was my home  for a major part of my life was put up for sale. It is sad to part from a house which held sweet reminiscence s of our childhood and teenage years and had  witnessed my struggle as a young widow. More so because it was the outcome of the sweat and toil of Achan and Amma  . My heart fills with pride when I think of the unceasing hard work – blood, sweat and tears- involved in our metamorphoses into  educated , wholesome human beings. I can only bow my head in reverence at the memory of Achan and Amma  who made us what we are. This is the time to spare a thought for their sacrifice and shed a  few tears of gratitude for their labour of love . But life  has to go on…..and I have learnt to move on…. without  past regrets and future fears. Que sera sera…….    

 

Wednesday 11 May 2016

London 2016

Once again back in the land of Shakespeare. Summer vacation is the time to visit Sid and Kivya in London, the time when I need not drive or run errands or plan my day. I can just relax and let Sid  decide while I partake of Kivya’s  delicious lamb biriyani. Once more I can explore the nooks and corners of this wonderland which has coloured my dreams and spurred my imagination right from the days of my childhood.
         The fascination for England had started when, as a kid, I read avidly, the imaginative adventures of the Famous Five and the  Secret Seven  .The marvels of the English country side came alive in my mind  when I  memorised  Wordsworth’s golden daffodils ' fluttering and dancing in the breeze  ‘ and Keats’ nightingale which sang of summer 'in full throated ease'. Glimpses of English society impressed upon my mind  through  the  classics of Dickens and  the shrewd methods  of Sherlock Holmes.. Teenage was the time for Mills and Boons. My dreams were coloured by blondes with blue eyes and  handsome  gentlemen with impeccable manners , living in grand mansions. The values and culture  were entirely different but my young mind was agog with the sights and sounds of this foreign land which was as dear  as my own.
 Learning English Literature brought me closer to the master  minds who used this language to perfection . The passion for Shakespeare’s plays  kindled a passion to discover the world of the  great bard . Teaching Shakespeare’s plays in school was , in a way, the fulfilment of a  mission.  It was a treat to  wax eloquent in the class unravelling  the anguish of Hamlet , the ambition of Macbeth  and   the savagery of Caliban..
   When Sid got the chance to work in England I found vicarious pleasure in his lucky chance to explore the land of my dreams. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that my son would immediately make arrangements for my visit. But that is what happened. In the peak of winter in December 2005, my younger son Arjun and I set foot on English soil. That was the beginning of a series of visits which  made an indelible impression on my mind about the country and the people.
    Everything about the place is fascinating . The barren trees coming to life in Spring with tender green leaves and  the sudden burst of colour and fragrance as they wear a mantle of flowers of varied hues. The meticulously planned roads , the green parks and  gardens, the lakes edged with weeping willows and the tall conifers lurking on hill tops. The perennial daffodils found everywhere. The majestic Thames surrounded by Big Ben ,St. Paul’s Cathedral  and The Globe  . London Eye rotating at snail’s pace  and Tower Bridge beckoning the visitors. The Shard standing tall in the concrete jungle. The double deckers  and red buses plying the roads. Westminster Abbey where all my favourite poets have been laid to eternal rest. These are just some of my favourite things.
       A walk along the pavements  of Greenwich  brings to mind  the walk from Ambalamukku to Vellayambalam  in Trivandrum.  The  grandeur of Buckingham Palace and the unique change of guard that I had the good  fortune to witness brings to mind  Kowadiar palace with the statue of Vivekanda in front of it, our little park and the wide tree -lined avenues which  is perhaps  the best part of Trivandrum. This year once again I witnessed London marathon along with Sid and Kivya.  As the participants touched Greenwich we cheered along with  the other spectators lining the roads.  We visited the theatres of London and  thrilled to the mystery of the Woman in Black, the suspense of The Phantom of the Opera and the enchantment of The Lion King. It is a holiday to remember  which I  experience once a year before I am engulfed by the routine of lectures and exams
    A line from a  nursery rhyme which I had repeated to my children now comes to my mind.
‘I have been to London to visit the Queen..’

That  is a dream yet to be  fulfilled - to visit the Queen. This year  she appeared  on BBC as she met the chosen visitors and  made a public appearance on the occasion of her 90th birthday. Graceful, dignified, regal…these are some of the adjectives that came to my mind as I watched her. God has a strange way of making our dreams come true. Perhaps one day that little dream may also come true. But now the call of duty is strong and I have miles to go before I sleep….

Friday 15 April 2016

School Anthem –STCS

          

Onward to glory my Alma Mater
Onward to glory  my St. Thomas
We look up to you, we sing praise to you
We hail you, salute you and honour your name

         Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya
         Asato ma sat gamaya
         Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya
         Asato ma sat gamaya.

You  are our portal to learning and hope
You are the cradle where young talents bloom,
You lead us to drink deep the wisdom in words
You open the treasure trove of knowledge in books.

        Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya
        Asato ma sat gamaya
        Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya
        Asato ma sat gamaya.

We are the future, the generation next
We are the trustees of all that is best
We march on and march on with Almighty’s grace
We march on to carve out a future of peace .

        Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya
        Asato ma sat gamaya
        Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya
        Asato ma sat gamaya.

( The School Anthem of St. Thomas Central School, penned by Shailaja Chandran and set to music by Mr. Bejoy was presented before an audience for the first time on 10 January 2015 on the occasion of the Annual Day celebrations ,)
      



Monday 10 November 2014

A MATTER OF TEXTS AND TESTS

                       A  MATTER OF TEXTS AND TESTS
English is  a  funny language that does not follow any logic when it comes to pronunciation and spelling yet it is one language that has truly conquered the world. However much we denigrate the British for suppressing us and ruling over us for 200 years, this legacy that they left behind has given us a firm foothold in our foray  into world affairs. As  national boundaries  become obscure and ever widening thought and action take us into a global village, it is imperative for our ‘generationext’ to imbibe the nuances and intricacies of this world  language that unites  us. The thrust on English education has spread from the boundaries of schools to colleges and universities. Many professional institutes have included English for communication in the curriculum. So let us delve deep into this matter and analyze the merits and drawbacks of English language learning in our system.
                         No doubt,  the CBSE syllabus which  is graded and age appropriate is  the end product of much painstaking effort and revision  The lessons included in the literature reader of classes VIII, IX and X relate to the lives of our children and have much relevance and significance for them. The activities are also eminently  suitable. But when it comes to Classes XI and XII the same insight into the psyche of the growing child seems to be lacking in the selection of prose and poetry . The textbooks Hornbill and Snapshots of Class XI and Flamingo of Class XII have only a few lessons which may appeal to the imagination of teenagers. Fortunately a few uninspiring lessons such as The Landscape of the Soul, The Adventure, Silk Road, The Ghat of the Only World and Poets and Pancakes were deleted last year. While teaching these lessons I used to wonder whether they were picked and chosen to bore the learner. The old world philosophy that pedagogy is meant  to  instruct and not please the learner has  lost its relevance in the present world.  The aim of teaching literature should be to acquaint the students with the gems of literature, to bring them in contact with the masters who knew how to use the best words in the best order. Literature can humanize you, so the lessons should convey a message powerful enough to inspire students and contain words and language which may prompt them to read further and to experiment with language.
We have numerous poets and authors who are considered to be shining examples and geniuses of literature .For any recitation competition, our students hunt for  poems written by the  masters. When there is no dearth of marvellous poems written by famous poets, why do we prescribe insipid poems such as Childhood and The Voice of the Rain for Class XI students, as if they are the best samples of English literature ?. Instead of a small excerpt from Keats’s Endymion, why not include one of the odes? Should we not initiate  our students to the intricacies of language as in  Browning’s ‘ My Last Duchess’ or Tennyson’s  ‘Ulysses’? When their counterparts in ISC are learning original Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Shelley and Keats, shouldn’t we introduce a few specimens of classical English prose and poetry to our students in CBSE?
We could find a much better selection in the textbooks prescribed by CBSE many years back, namely, The Web of my Life and Guided Reading. The poignancy of the story of The Foghorn , the humour  in  The Judgement of Paris and the shock and heart break of Hiroshima appealed to the imagination of  young minds. But lessons  like Going Places or the Third Level ,can  only leave the students bewildered  and confused. Only in the supplementary Reader, ‘ Vistas’ could we find a few lessons  of a higher standard in keeping with the age of the learners.
Last year the CBSE introduced a long reading text in Class XII.  The choice of ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’ was most laudable as the  story had all the ingredients which could immediately captivate the attention of young readers .Keeping in mind the stress and strain experienced by the students of Class XII who are plagued by various entrance tests  and coaching classes, we had  advised  the students of Class XI to buy the book during the vacation and read  thoroughly before classes begin for  the next session. Then like a bolt from the blue came the circular stating that the Long reading text has been changed. Instead of The Hound of the Baskervilles , we have to choose between The Invisible Man and Silas Marner. If the aim behind the introduction of  long reading text was to inculcate reading habit in children, ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles ‘was the best choice. But the decision to replace  such a gripping tale by  uninspiring ones after just one year smacks of a hasty decision taken  without much thought. Sufficient   time should have been given for the students and the teachers to air their views and   the decision to change the text book could have come after a couple of years.
The writing skills are the most appropriate and useful part of the CBSE syllabus. Mastery of writing items such as letters, speech, debate, notice, advertisement, report and the like would surely give the students the much needed practice and preparation for their future life. But with all other aspects of the syllabus such as ASL, PSA , the long reading text, the main and the supplementary readers, only limited time can be spared for the practice of these items in class. The decision to introduce ASL in Class XI and IX was a wise one, even though the exercise is time consuming. But PSA is a cause for anxiety for parents and students. It would be advisable to base the questions  in  Language Conventions on the exercises taught and done in  these class .Some kind of coaching should be given for PSA in order to alleviate the anxiety of parents and children. Open text Book Assessment is also a laudable step but it prolongs the exam by another half an hour. This has given rise to much criticism and resentment  as  young children  are made to sit and write for nearly four hours at a stretch  resulting in  much  physical discomfort and mental  fatigue. Why not delete comprehension passage and include OTBA? Limiting the question paper to 3 hours would certainly reduce the burden of our students.
Let me be pardoned for digression when I state that one aspect of the ICSE-ISC syllabus has appealed to me much. Needless to say ISC English is tough- original Shakespeare and the classics in poetry and prose are taught at the High school and Higher secondary levels. But the syllabus is stretched over a period of 2 years  and there are plenty of choices in the question paper so that not much strain is felt by the teacher or the learner.
Another matter of grave concern for the teacher of English is that the short forms used in SMS and e mails have crept into the literary language. No one can deny that short forms are necessary to express matters in limited space. But the same short forms tend to creep into the note books and exam papers since the younger generation is adept at taking such liberties with language. Besides many of them feel that it is prudish to insist upon writing ‘ you’ and ‘ between’ when u and b/w can do the trick .As evolution takes place over the years we can expect many such changes in the world language . Recently I read that the comma which has become obsolete in its use may disappear from the language. The humble apostrophe was culled from street signs in Britain much to the chagrin of the Apostrophe Protection Society  there.  The age is not far when we may do away with capital letters and punctuations altogether. Perhaps many languages will merge to evolve a world language which may be easy to use and learn and may appeal to all nations and all people. Let us forge ahead into that heaven of unity and liberty, of one world and one language.

Submitted by
Shailaja Chandran, Vice Principal, St. Thomas Cent