Wednesday, October 28, 2009

midweek musings-sipping the world through stainless steel glasses


Sipping the world through stainless steel glasses




I remember I was almost seven and she was eight. We had just finished playing five rounds of seven stones-(it almost seems prehistoric now but seven stones was a neighborhood classic).It was the peak of summer with its blessings of mangoes, orange colored pop-icicles and the never ending trips to the clay madaka in our kitchen.
I remember running with her into the kitchen. Two purple mugs complete with a grinning Mickey and Minnie mouse, a gift from an aunt abroad stood on the dining table. I handed her one…

“Ayo..athu nimithilla….” ,Rakhamma’s hand snatched the purple glass from her daughter’s hand “Alli steel glass thokko….”.Rakhamma was the maid and through her I learnt my first lesson in how glass divisions work. Purple mugs for some, steel for others.

Almost in every household in India, ubiquitously tucked away in the kitchen, is a steel tumbler and plate. Through an unwritten code passed down through generations, these utensils become the “servant’s glass and plate”. It becomes so much a part of the domestic rhythm , one rarely questions it in the light of a larger socio-political context. And so, like my childhood friend, we learn early in life , that some things are exclusively out of one’s domain. And as we grew up, we learn that the list of things forbidden include- sitting on sofas , eating on tables and so on....Ironically, over cups of tea, sitting on our tables we continuously debate and toss around issues such as inequality, human rights. We see only what we want to see.

Education plays a very small part in shattering our own personal prejudices.Something as “small” as a servant glass exists and bears testimony to the fact it takes a whole paradigm shift to alter the way we think. It is uncomfortable for us to even cross that barrier. A hundred arguments shield us from acknowledging our own nature of bias-“but we don’t know what infections they will bring, they will stop respecting us, they are used to it…”these thoughts shield us from our own fears. The fear of probably relinquishing our own perceived sense of superiority. Somewhere, like the many who we deal with it on a daily basis, they become invisible. It makes it easier.

Nothing brought this home to me like this incident that happened a few months ago.I was visiting a friend of mine with my one year old son and Allamelluamma, who helped look after our son. My friend, during the course of conversation, excused herself and brought out orange juice in tall crystal glasses. She offered it to Allmellu who for a moment was completely caught offguard. She looked at me before hesitantly taking the glass. I was embarrassed by my own sense of discomfort stemming from so many voices running through my head-My friend remained totally oblivious to the entire hidden exchange. There was something definitely different about allamellu on the drive home. A certain sense of lightness of being. “They are very good people….”, was her way of paying tribute. For that one afternoon, she felt like a person, that she too was worthy of a glass.

Our country is an amalgam of contradictions,paradoxes,conventions and histories constantly colliding with each other. And sometimes, it takes a deep sense of personal courage to face these. Perhaps , it is too much of a rose tinted view to expect prejudices to disappear overnight. But perhaps, all it takes is an idea. A tiny train of thought that can steam engine a revolution.

Maybe it can start with a change of glass..

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

katha corner-Garuda

The highlighted section was given and the challenge was to complete the story...read on!


I looked at my watch again. She had said 9.45. She was late. I looked around me. The mall wore a strange forlorn look. A cleaning woman mopped the floor. Her mouth drooped and her eyes stared at the floor as her hands moved pushing the mop this way and that.
What did she think of that entire she saw here? I wondered. The abundance. The greed. Hungry mouths. Grasping hands… I shuddered. Malls frightened me.
"Are you out of your mind?" I had said when she suggested we meet at Garuda Mall.
"At that hour, you don't have to worry about the crowds," she had said with a laugh. "Think of it as a social experiment. A mall at an unmall-like hour.What happens there? Bring your notebook..You can make notes..(anita nair)



(my insertion)
When you are thirteen going on seventeen and the most prominent feature on the landscape is an oversized bobbing apple a la adams, you do not think about blinking twice- you just accept your fate, roll on that underarm deodorant, splash on some aftershave you have carefully hidden among the Amarchitra katha edition of the “Vishnu’s Vahanas “and head for the door before the brat (otherwise known sister) and Chief (otherwise known as amma) begin their third degree interrogation.
After all, it is not every day that a slightly breathless voice (and female to add) calls you at midnight with an invitation to meet (with notebook in hand) at the Garuda mall. The mall at an unmall hour / social experiment angle gave the whole meeting a mysteriously intellectual dimension which suited my current state of sensibilities. Lately, my current sense of sensibilities to say the least has completely alienated me from my class mates, my family and even my pet tortoise-I find myself worrying about where the planet is headed to on the highway of disaster it cruises on-pollution, poverty , crass consumerism -and suddenly school, exams and algebra class just does not make sense. Externally, this manifests as a potent combination of indifference, glazed eyes and monosyllabic utterances. The chief thinks it is growing pains , the brat sniggers that it is a girl, or rather the lack of it.

I dread the nightmares-when I close my eyes, I see humming malls , headless torsos, neon lights and soda machines shriek.. Set us free ,, set us free…
The mall at 9:45 am is deathly quiet. The calm before the crowds storm. It is almost spiritual. The eerie glow of neon, the mannequins conversing in muted gestures and the swish of the cleaning lady’s mop.
It is 10:00a.m. A cruel joke. I close my eyes ,surprised to feel the first sting of saltiness..

“Yenn beku?” , a breathlessly raspy voice interrupts. I find myself staring into the eyes of the cleaning woman.
“Yennilla…” I tried to piece together my thoughts in chaste kanada.

It begins with a tinkle and then gurgles into the most delicious laughter I have ever heard. The mop falls to the floor shattering into a million crystal pieces. Tiny white pearls of wisdom. Dark brown tresses sweep the floor. Skin the colour of bittersweet chocolate clothed in layers of cloth of many colours. I cannot bring myself to look at her. Beauty can be frightening.
Relax…I normally don’t do the cleaning lady routine. Just a little fun..friends..?..Her fingers touch mine lightly
What am ..Who are …?..The thoughts speed ahead of my guttural utterances..
She smiles. Did you bring the notebook.? Good, record everything. You are going to make history. you are the chosen one.
And then she disappears.

I feel my palms perspire and my Adam’s apple bobs overtime. This must be the mother of all my nightmares. You meet a cleaning woman who turns into a diva in a mall in the heart of a city and names you,” chosen one”. Not you’re average Sunday morning.
And then the humming begins. Slowly it builds into a crescendo. one by one, the lights come on. Each store vying with each other .The escalators growl, the soda machines gurgle ,and trapped mannequins shatter glass. Transfixed, I watch as the headless torsos circle me, swaying their hands wildly-a primitive dance spelling liberation. And then the chanting begins…
Set us free…set us free…no more humans buying…no more. take us away…
I feel powerless. Why me? - And then I see her.
You care. You feel. You are real. That is your power. Use it, damn it. Her eyes radiate liquid fire
I close my eyes. I feel their pain.
I grow lighter .. The ground slips beneath my feet. Then I see the wings.
I am the protector.
You are Garuda, she says

I head towards the ground again. In one sweep of my talons, I carry a trail of swinging torsos, soda machines, neon lights but something is missing.
She looks tiny. I am coming back for you, I say.
“No. You and I have work to do. There are so many malls out there…”
Across the distance our eyes meet .And as I fly higher and higher , my wings breaking the multicolored glass ceiling, I look down again .I learn my lesson of a lifetime .
Two people can kiss without touching.

And I fly , past city scapes,hills ,mountains, until we reach the blue green ocean. As each mannequin dives into the water, my load becomes ligtehter.I feel their joy . and sing…

Monday morning and I am thirteen again. Headlines scream of an empty mall and sightings of an unusual bird. I turn to my notebook. It is blank. I feel small again. May be it was just a dream. A school boy fantasy. And then, I see it. A feather on my table. I hear the laughter of fallen mannequins. I close my eyes. I feel it. The kiss.
Like any other Monday, I head for school. Still the same but so different. I look at the mass of humanity and smile.

I am your protector, I whisper. I am Garuda.

travel tales-Our Native Village





Going native…village style!


An hour away from Bangalore takes you to a little hideaway where a motley mix of happy animals make you feel completely at home. Our Native village, an eco-resort, offers a perfect weekend away from the hustle and bustle of city life…complete with farm life and organic experiences, it can also lay claim to guarding a breath-taking little secret…




Our Native village is approximately 23 km from Mekhri circle. The detailed directions to the resort leaves no room for travelers who wish to get lost. As one who is severely challenged when it comes to reading maps, this was a blessing. (Though due to a road block, we took a diversion, adding to a little excitement!).The city’s character changes slowly, and concrete buildings and relentless ongoing of vehicles gives away to open fields and the occasional tutut..ing of a moped. The Government Film Institute is the final landmark before the turnoff into a dirt road. .And what meets our eyes is one of the best kept secrets, right out of the sets of an old western film..


Hidden treasure
There is something hypnotic about land, open land. which stretches as far as the eye can see. The horizon stretches beyond our imagination and one could almost visualize a scene from “little house on the prairie”, where caravans of explorers from yesteryear make their way through the landscape. A grove of the most unusual specimen of trees is the only addition to this landscape. The grove looks like it has been transplanted from some remote part of Europe and adding to the surrealism of the whole scene is a pink and green kite waving in the wind under the hands of a cheerful ten year old. It is spectacular-and we are told that is the last surviving open grassland, commonly used by migratory birds as wintering ground. What is most welcome is the total absence of the plastic trail commonly left by weekend picnickers. Later at the resort the staff tell us of how they do a clean up operation every time they see a picnic in progress. They even make the effort of stopping by and collecting garbage.” It’s not our job officially but we feel it is our responsibility”. Apparently, film crews use the place and leave behind a trail of debris(like tires and shards of glass).


Welcome Natives!
A little mud track takes you right into the resort. The staff at the reception greet us with marigold garlands and an herbal drink. Our four year old has found his weekend playmates. a mother cat and two kittens who don’t seem to mind the intrusion. We are shown into our rooms, which exude a sense of calm. The stone walls, the low mattressed bed with walls adorned with a painting in the local style adds to the charm.





The perfect way to enjoy the resort is barefoot!-It seems to go with the philosophy of the resort-which believes in asking the guests to reconnect with the environment. The ethos of the resort is outlined in a set of “rules” which the guests are asked to follow. Not listening to ear-drum shattering music and respecting the four legged creatures on the farm doesn’t seem too restrictive. And the staff seem committed and well versed with this creed. They take us for a quick tour around the resort and explains the various methods by which the resort runs through recyclable energy. Hot water in the resort is from Solar panels and Gujarat boilers, a system where waste wood is used to generate steam which is used for heating purposes. There is a 7.5 acre organic farm that grows fruit and vegetables and a bio gas plant to recycle food waste. They also assure us that all their soaps,shampoos and cleaners used at the resort are 100 percent organic. The silence in the resort is soothing and is only interrupted by birdcalls, the resident rooster and the occasional moo from the cows at the diary.

Village activities
Lunch followed by a short siesta and we are in time to see :cow milking”-It definitely altered my son’s perception that milk comes from packets!!-A wonderful way to explore the grasslands is to hire bicycles from the resort. The mud trail is fun and its zig zag trails leave us slightly breathless. There is nothing like retiring to one’s childhood, and it reminds us how the years have slipped as we try to race with each other. We stop by the groves and decide to park our bikes and explore it by foot.Watching a sunset seems to be the perfect finish to our day.

We decide to spend the next day participating in the Village activities.The bullock cart ride is the urban version of a mini rollercoaster and we bumble our way through kite flying and gilli danda much to the amusement of the staff. The perfect way to cool off is the natural swimming pool. It took me back to my childhood vacations in our kerala home. The pool is chemical and chlorine free and is maintained by natural filtration devices such as aquatic plants, carbon filters and oyygenators.This is one pool where you swim with the resident frogs and literally feel green!!

Special Friends
What makes a place even more special is the friends one makes.Sugunna,Muthanna and Patch ,the four legged residents are friendly and add to the feeling of a home away from home. And the management style is relaxed and unpretentous and they seem more than willing to share their experiences and their passion for holistic healing practices such as Past life regression. Our Native Village offers a series of programs called “Soul Spa” which range from Yoga retreats to rebirthing workshops.

A perfect weekend getaway hold promise of adventure, space to rewind and rejuvenate and packaged life alternating experiences, which can be dutifully captured on digital camera!-we managed a little bit of each.

It won’t be long before we find ourselves heading back to the village...

For details , visit their website
www.ournativevillage.com









L