Monday, February 28, 2022

THE END (TALESOF INCLUSIVITY) #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay

                                      
                                                                         Pinterest

The #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay Challenge has come to an end with many of us having written 28 posts in 28 days across the month of February. The objective was to complete 10,000 words by the 28th of February.

It was a wonderful challenge, especially since one had the freedom to write on any topic under the sun. In my case, the common theme that ran through was that all the posts came under ‘Tales of Exclusivity’, in some form or the other.

I managed to complete 10,000 words by post number 14 on February 14th.

I would like to put down the titles of all 28 posts that I wrote across February along with their word counts.

#Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay- Tales of Inclusivity

1/2/22: Why Fit in When You Were Born to Stand Out – 786 words

2/2/22: The New Girl – 1470 words

3/2/22: The Little Whistler: 1203 words

4/2/22: Our Conscience Within Us – 943 words

5/2/22: Wonder – 764 words

6/2/22 Inclusivity – 239 words

7/2/22 The People Tree – 471 words

8/2/22 The Jasmine Garland – 1029 words

9/2/22 The African Splendour – 760 words

10/2/22 The Ones That Stand Out – 244 words

11/2/22 – The World, His Oyster – 351 words

!2/2/22 – Happy Anniversary – 830 words

13/2/22 – My Second Father – 769 words

14/2/22 – A Red Valentine’s Day – 453

15/2/22 – If Only – 575 words

16/2/22 – Ishq Mubarak, Dard Mubarak – 500 words

17/2/22 – Food Tales – 661 words

18/2/22 – Heal the World – 355 words

19/2/22 – The Second Chance – 849 words

20/2/22 – The Rime of the Ancient Mariner – 1095 words

21/2/22 – Child is father of the Man – 606 words

22/2/22 – The Evolution of Passport Offices, Thank God! – 924 words

23/2/22 – Rudeness is Never A Virtue – 929 words

24/2/22 Ahalya – 1684 words

25/2/22 – A Rose by Any Other Name – 785 words

26/2/22 – Moms-in-Love – 857 words

27/2/22 – The End of the Road – 350 words

28/2/22 – THE END - 355 words

Over 28 days, I have written a total of 20, 837 words in all.

It is always gratifying to finish a challenge and I would like to say a huge Thank You to #Blogchatter and its amazing team for their constant support, appreciation and encouragement.

                                                                               Pinterest

 Word Count: 355


 

 

 


Sunday, February 27, 2022

THE END OF THE ROAD (TALES OF INCLUSIVITY) #blogchatter #WriteAPageADay

 

                                                                            Pinterest.com

The end of the road can mean so many different things,

For a traveller who is lost, it could be his destination at sight,

After a gruelling journey, time to take a well-deserved rest,

Tired limbs and body, thoughts of a warm meal and a soft bed.

 

For a young student, it could mean the last part of his labour,

Years of study and diligence, nose on the grindstone,

The light is nigh; the examinations a welcome break,

From the monotony of books, lectures and teachers’ plaints.

 

The soon-to-be mother keeps her spirits high, as she waits,

Her husband keeps her happy, these days are precious to both,

The baby decides whether to stay in or come out,

Due dates coinciding often with great expectations.

 

The end of the road can mean so many things:

The gaining of a doctorate, a degree or a prize,

The farmer’s good harvest, when the grain is threshed,

The businessman’s reaping of his profit when the year is done.

 

Yet, sometimes, the end of the road may be dire,

When a poor lost soul, beleaguered with myriad problems,

Unable to make up his losses, or find a way to break loose,

A child facing a bully; a man facing utter ruin.

 

A man whose debts cover him from head to toe,

Finding no other way to recover, but only to let go,

A girl who is molested by a person she trusts,

And finds no one who will believe her word.

 

A parent whose grown-up child has been thrashed in custody,

On a mere suspicion and no proof; yet, the proof gets manufactured,

For many gullible souls whose life savings go up in a puff

When tricksters play a game of smoke and mirrors with them.

 

Thus, life can be a chessboard of sorts, black and white,

The king must be protected at all cost, to hell with the rest!

The pawns mostly suffer; poor, deprived and unable to see the light,

The street-smart ones, of course, turn into queens at the end of the road.

 

                                                             QuoteFancy


                                                                              

Word Count: 350

Saturday, February 26, 2022

MOMS-IN-LOVE – (TALES OF INCLUSIVITY) #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay

 
                                                                       Moms-in-love

                                                      Photo Credits: Deepti Menon

February 1984 was a landmark year in our lives, the year we got married. As they say, in India, one marries not just the boy but his entire family, and vice versa. My husband was suddenly hurled into a family of all women… my grandmother, my mother, my two sisters, and of course, me! Even the pet at home was Coffee, a rather belligerent female! Or was it Tansi, a cocker spaniel with gnarled hair and a snarly temperament to match?

Anyway, my grandfather was the only male in the house, and since he had spent years and years with the ‘girls’, he did not really find it irksome, unlike my husband who was not really used to so many women in the house. Besides, his mom-in-love and he had only begun to realise that they were equally hard nuts to crack.

It was a different life for me as well. I had never lived in any other house but my mother’s, and now I was spending time in a new house, with a brand-new family… my husband’s parents, his sister and her husband and their little girl. They welcomed me with open arms, and I felt quite at home with them.

The day I got married, I still recall getting into a car with my brand-new husband and leaving my mother and my sisters behind. Maybe that was the first time I realized that life had changed. It was an emotional moment and I had tears running down my cheeks. We were going to my husband’s home where I would be received with the traditional lamp and welcomed in.

When we got there, the house was swarming with relatives and there I was in my wedding finery, hot and flustered.

That was when the miracle took place. My mother-in-love, for that is what I call her introduced me to all the people around. Then she told me gently, but firmly, “Go and change out of your sari, wear something comfortable and go upstairs and sleep for a while.”

I was so taken aback that I just gaped at her. She smiled and gestured towards the staircase, and that is exactly what I did. I went upstairs, wore my comfortable jeans and knocked off to sleep.

Even today, I think of how understanding she was, and still is. I cannot think of anyone who would have said that to a brand-new bride.

Every year, our bond got stronger, as did my bond with the rest of the family – my erudite father-in-love with whom I had conversations on books and writing, my lovable and loquacious sister-in-love with whom I could discuss just about anything and her husband, my big brother with whom I formed a bond right from the start. Their little girl has grown before my very eyes, and today as she juggles a career and takes wonderful care of her husband and her two sons, my heart swells with pride.

Much later in life, my mom-in-love and I even started resembling each other, as we are both short and are blessed(!) with round faces. One day, as we were out somewhere, she ran into an acquaintance who asked her if I was her daughter. Pat came her reply, “Yes, my daughter. Married to my son!”

Today, at the age of 90, she prefers to remain at home. We call her the ‘YouTube Rani’ because she can spend hours watching religious discourses on her tablet, while watching a serial on television and answering phone calls at the same time. We let her do whatever she feels like doing because she has earned her right to do so, after slogging for years and living her life for others.

We talk on the phone every two days, and I try and visit her as often as I can. It is said that marriages are made in Heaven, and in my case, I have a special bonus as well… my wonderful mom-in-love!

What is even more heartwarming is the bond that both my moms share… when younger, my mom-in-love would visit my mom, and after lunch, they would go upstairs and gorge on chocolates and laugh together. Or my mom would go over to their house and spend time chatting. It was as though the two families had extended themselves into one happy family.

Today, we are all older, maybe wiser (!), and the families have grown. My husband, the eldest son-in-love in my family, has not only got used to all the women in the family, but is no longer the sole male around. Now he has two co-brothers as well, and when they get together, along with all the women and children, the noise and the laughter levels have to be seen, or rather heard, to be believed. Many of their jokes centre around their mom-in-love, who is one of her kind because God broke the mould after he created her!

After all, they do say that a family that laughs together, stays together! 

My prayer to the Almighty is to keep these two wonderful moms happy and healthy always! Amen!

 

                                                              Laughing Together!

                                                Photo Credits: Deepti Menon

Word Count: 857


Friday, February 25, 2022

A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME (TALES OF INCLUSIVITY) #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay

                                             
                                                                             Pinterest.com

Shakespeare certainly had the right idea in ‘Romeo and Juliet’ when he wrote

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose /By any other name would smell as sweet.”

How wonderful the words sound when rolled around the tongue! This quote has become one of the most popular ones of all times, with people throwing it casually into a conversation that revolves around names.

However, I have had my reservations about the quote from the time people began misspelling my name. My name is a simple one – DEEPTI – nothing more, nothing less. One would have assumed that there was no way to get it wrong.

Deepthi, Deepthy, Dethpi, Deputy, Dipti, Tipsy (the last was by a tiny Nursery child in school!) – the list could go on and on. The main reason for these variations is the barrier caused by the sweeping Vindhyas. Folks up North do not use the ‘h’ in names – Vidya, Sumati, Geeta, Deepti… you get the gist? Hence, people who come from the South to the North frequently get their names misspelt, the reason being that Jayashree turns to Jayasri, Seetha to Sita and Gayathri to Gayatri.

Thus, I have an entire community that call me Deepthi, and let me tell you that it does not sound like me at all. When I was born, my parents gave me my name because it was a Bengali word and rather uncommon at the time. This was followed by two other Bengali names when my sisters came into the world – Neelima and Bhavana… but luckily, their names remained untouched. Except that Neelima herself cut her name short to Neema, which again had no scope of being cut into anything further. Hopefully!

Maybe that is the whole idea behind parents using pet names for their children. So, a whole generation of children in Kerala were called Kannan, Unni, Ammu, Babu, Omana and the like.

Up North, pet names were more akin to Pinky, Silky, Laajo, Happy, Chotu, Gudiya, Chintu, Love and Joy! It would take an effort to get their spellings wrong, in any case.

I still remember one visit when we had all come to Kerala for our summer vacations. One particularly perspicacious aunt wanted to know my name. When I told her my name, she turned to my mother with a frown. “Couldn’t you have chosen a name that sounds less like a stone being thrown into a bucket?” That was, indeed, a novel way of looking at it, I guess.

As for Neema and Bhavana, the more pious of our relatives did hint that, probably, it would have been better to name them after the many goddesses who reign in the heavens above.

Of course, there is a totally different take to that as well. When my better half was a child, he was so mischievous that his mother would keep calling out his name, ‘Gopi’ in a fit of anger. One of their neighbours in the Delhi flat that they lived in came over one day after he had been sent to school with much difficulty. She said, rolling her expressive eyes, “Mrs. Menon, if only you had called your son ‘Krishna’ or ‘Vishnu’, you would have been in the happy situation of attaining ‘moksha’. Imagine taking the name of God so often!”

The world is seeing a sea change in the way parents name their children now. Today, the beautiful old names are seeing a comeback – Hemambika, Mahalakshmi, Damayanti, Saraswati, Othenan, Anjana, Abhimanyu, Ghanshyam, Pradnya, Shambhavi and so on. However, I do tremble to think of the myriad spelling combinations that could evolve from names as complicated as these.

Finally, there are folks who watch movies and get inspired by the names of the beautiful actors on the silver screen. I know of people in my family who, after watching the movie ‘Kabhi Kabhi’ and watching Raakhee as the stunning Pooja Khanna, named their daughter ‘Pooja’. She has grown to be a lovely girl.

Some names for girls that have come up through popular movies are Aditi, Anjali, Jhanvi, Kiara, Mandira, Natasha, Pia, Samaira, Sanjana and Zooni. In my own family we have names like Priyanka, Fiza, Avantika, Ananya, Maanya, Nayantara, Nitara, Karthika, Dhaatri and Zoya, all of whom symbolise their names in so many lovely ways.

Boys’ names are not far behind. Aarush, Aditya, Kartik, Rehaan, Siddharth, Surya… all these names and many others also have become extremely popular after their filmi characters. And in my family? We do have such unusual names like Prajod, Manav, Ujjwal, Aayush, Nihar, Kunaal, Karun, Rishi and Samir (with an ‘I’).

And to end with a quote I love...

 

                                                                      Pinterest.com

 Word Count: 785

 

 


Thursday, February 24, 2022

AHALYA - (TALES OF INCLUSIVITY) #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay

                                                                         GoRevizon

Everybody loved her. For her sparkling eyes, her lustrous strands of hair that tumbled over her forehead and her tinkling laughter. The entire colony doted on her because where Minali was, there was joy and laughter.

Mrs. Nair never tired of singing the girl’s praises.

“Kumari, you should place a black dot behind Minali’s ear to ward off the evil eye!” she cautioned her.

Kumari smiled at the older lady,

“Sure, Mrs. Nair. I will do it before she goes to college tomorrow,” she would say with a smile. She knew Mrs. Nair meant well, and that she loved Minali dearly.

As college days began coming to an end, horoscopes began to make their way home. Photographs of boys lay on the dining table and every time Minali was down for a meal, she would have half a dozen photos alongside her plate.

“Amma, could we do this later. Some of these photos could easily ruin my appetite,” she would say with a twinkle in her eye.

“Hush, child, don’t be so flippant,” Kumari would caution her.  

Minali’s horoscope was a rather complicated one. Her parents were not overly worried, but her grandparents were determined to marry off their precious child only to a person whose horoscope matched perfectly. Once Minali chucked her grandmother under her chin saying, “Ammamma, what difference does it make, after all? I am marrying a boy, not an ancient piece of paper!” Her grandmother was horrified.

“Shiva, Shiva, you thoughtless child! Do not make fun of our customs. This is one way of ensuring that you have an idyllic marriage and that you will be happy always.”

Minali gave in with a good grace. Her eyes fell on a few photos lying around, but the moment she liked one of them, the hurdle of the horoscope would rise like a spectre and the photo would disappear. Two years went by, and the grandparents were frantic not to have found a good match.

By now, Minali had graduated and when she spoke of wanting to study further, there was an uproar. The verdict was clear. She could study once she was married… “If your husband lets you!” was the unspoken idea.

Finally, one photo landed up on the dining table, a photo which seemed favourable. As luck would have it, the horoscopes matched as well. The whole household was elated. She looked at the photo again more closely. He was a doctor, and his name was Pritam. Good looking, if a trifle grave, she thought. He had four brothers and he was the youngest of them all.

Minali felt a flutter in her heart. Maybe this was what was meant to be!

The wedding was well conducted and well attended too because both families were well known. It was a match made in heaven, said every third person, till finally, Minali felt she would scream if one more person made that statement. When the newly weds were about to leave, Minali’s mother pressed a little packet in her hand. It contained some sacred ash and a tiny gold idol of Lord Shiva.

“This is for you, my dearest child. May you be happy always!”

Life after marriage was vastly different from her earlier life. Minali, who had always been cheerful and exuberant, found her new family a serious lot. Pritam’s parents were good people, but they did not seem to have the sense of fun that Minali had looked forward to. Pritam’s brothers seemed to have no time at all to spend at home and their wives were ensconced in the kitchen, meandering from meal to meal. They looked at Minali as if she were a playful little kitten, even she strove to bring a smile on their lined faces.

 Minali hoped that Pritam would be different from the rest of his family. She looked forward to their honeymoon when they would be able to spend some time getting to know each other. Her hopes were scotched when Pritam combined an official trip with their honeymoon, and spent most of his day, giving lectures at one of the top universities. By the time they got back, Minali had learnt nothing new about her brand-new husband but the fact that he gave intensely intellectual lectures.

Not being the kind to give up, Minali tried to get her sisters-in-law to go out for shopping trips with her. Shalini, the sister-in-law who was nearest to her in age smiled kindly at the young girl.

“Minali, the elders in this family do not approve of us going shopping,” she said softly.

“What about buying clothes? And jewellery?” Minali asked.

“Well, when required the shopkeepers come over with bales of cloth and we choose what we need,” came the answer.

“Not what you want?” The pert retort took Shalini by surprise. She gave Minali a gentle hug.

“Child, there is a lot you need to learn about your new family. First of all, they do not believe in spending money unnecessarily. Secondly, we, the womenfolk, are not allowed to voice our desires.”

“I am sure Pritam is different,” said Minali, her voice trembling.

“Maybe, but don’t pin your hopes on that.”

The terse reply brought tears to Minali’s eyes. Was she going to have to conform like all the other women? How would she survive in a household that was devoid of joy, of smiles?

In his own way, Pritam did try to understand his young wife, but it took a real effort on his part. As the years went by, and the children came in, a boy and a girl, Minali realized that she was up against a stone wall. Her sense of joy and her enthusiasm slowly began getting doused. She, who had loved dressing up, now wore saris that were the same as those worn by everybody else. Initially, she had asked Pritam for a few things, but soon, even those demands died down.

In the comfort of her own room, she would rack her brains to think of the old songs that she used to sing as a child, so that she could teach them to her children. However, her brain had become rusty, and she found that the words would not come to her.

The children were soon teenagers. They, along with their cousins, followed the rules of their home. Outside, they had a wonderful time with their friends. The moment they got home, their demeanour would undergo a change and they would sober down. When Minali saw them, her heart broke, but by that time, she had lost her will to protest.

One day, as she was watching a programme on television along with the other women, a rarity because it was a Sunday, her eyes suddenly fell on a beautiful rocking chair which was being advertised. Her heart stopped for a second. She had always wanted a rocking chair and now that her legs ached very often, she longed to sit and rock herself to sleep.

Pritam nodded when she made her request. He was aware that she had not asked for anything in a long time. “Let me sound my father about it,” he assured her.

Minali sighed. If only the menfolk in the family would do things for themselves once in a while. As expected, her father-in-law shook his head.

“What is the use of a rocking chair? Aren’t there enough chairs in the house? Besides, why spend so much on one chair?”

Minali was close to tears. She knew that it was not as expensive as all that. If only she had money of her own… if only she did not have to depend on her husband… if only!

Her daughter, Sunaina, walked in and stopped, seeing her mother in tears. She had overheard the whole conversation and she sat down, next to her mother.

“Ma, don’t worry! When I start earning, the first thing I buy will be that rocking chair for you.”
For Minali, that was the final straw. She burst out crying, all her pent-up emotions that had accumulated over the years, coming out in an onrush. As she wept, she hugged her perceptive daughter fiercely.

Years meandered on…

Sunaina and her brother, Madhav, had started a little company of their own, which was doing well.

It was early evening as Sunaina came into the house. Pritam was sitting with his parents in the dining room.

“Well, beta, how come you are early today?” he asked.

“Papa, there is something I wanted to show Mama,” she replied. She walked into the bedroom.

“Mama, are you awake?”

Minali opened her eyes drowsily and smiled at her daughter.

“What is it, Sunaina?”

By then, the doorbell rang, and Pritam went to open it. His son, Madhav, stood there with a large package in his hands.

Minali’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed at the rocking chair that stood before her. It was even more beautiful than the one she had seen years ago.

“Mama, will you sit on it? Madhav and I will help you,” Sunaina said softly. The two of them came closer to the bed. Minali’s smile was radiant. She looked at the door where Pritam stood, a strange expression in his eyes.

“Thank you, my children!” she said brokenly as she put a tentative hand out to touch the polished wood. “I love it. Maybe I can sit on it tomorrow. I am too tired tonight.”

That moment never came. That night, Minali died peacefully in her sleep. She had been on palliative care for two years, and she had finally let go. As she lay still, there was an expression of intense happiness on her face.

Pritam sat on the rocking chair, his face lined with a sorrow that he knew he would never be able to forget. So many years had gone by, there were so many things he could have done for his beloved wife. As he rocked himself gently, the tears came unbidden for all those wasted moments, for the joyous young girl whom he had turned into stone.

 

                                                                          Amazon.in

 Word Count: 1684

 

 

 

 

 


Wednesday, February 23, 2022

RUDENESS IS NEVER A VIRTUE! (TALES OF INCLUSIVENESS #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay

 
                                                                       Boom Sumo

The other day I was sitting in my colleague’s office when a lady walked in. She wished my colleague and sat down on a chair before her. When I ventured a ‘Hello’, she gave me a sidelong glance and a cursory nod, which quite fazed me, because she knew me well and had never ever behaved in quite such an icy manner. Obviously, there were many issues churning within her that, frankly, I did not care to delve into.

The conversation continued and soon I realized that I was not going to be given the privilege of being acknowledged by the said individual. My nature being as pacific as the ocean until I am pushed, I got up and strolled away, because I did not want to be rude.

When I did return a while later, I said only one thing to her.

“I wish you well always, even though I do not think you want to talk to me.” With that, I left, and by the time I had reached my room, she was history.

Politeness is one of the virtues that I have been taught from childhood onwards. Being an Army kid certainly helped. Right from the time I could lisp ‘Good morning’, I was made to wish all the uncles and aunties in the Unit. A ‘Please ‘ and a ‘Thank You’ went a long way, and it was later in life that it became clear that these little pleasantries were not actually ‘little’ but did help oil the path of life in many ways. And of course, “Rudeness was never a virtue!”

My parents did more than their bit to ensure that their three daughters learnt the lessons of politeness, generosity and kindness, not through moral lessons, but through the way they handled people and situations.

My father, God bless his soul, was one of the gentlest and kindest of people I have ever met. His goodness shone through his eyes and since I was close to him, I imbibed many qualities from him, which I cherish deeply. When he passed away, he left those behind to enlighten me.

My mother is a feisty 84-year-old. She was born enthusiastic and that enthusiasm shines through even today. It showed in whatever she did, and as a result, she was able to tread on roads not commonly taken and excel in all the fields she touched. From her, we, her daughters, were blessed to receive our boundless energy, our flair in writing, dramatics and oratory, but above all, her open-mindedness and an iota of her craziness.

She too emphasized on the dictum, “Rudeness is never a virtue!”

Today, we sisters are in different places doing our own things, and when we get together, online and offline, we have a jolly good time, crack jokes about our better halves and savour the time spent together. We do not spend time brooding over the slights and hurts that come our way, because we would rather laugh them all away. After all, like the story of the man, his son and his donkey, there is no way to please the whole world. Besides, it just takes too much of energy to do so.

Hence, as I look at it, the best way is to stay happy, do things which make us happy and be good to others. Everything else follows automatically. I have seen grumpy souls infect others around with their grumpiness. I have seen rude retorts getting ruder ones in retaliation. What is the point of it all, I wonder! Do as you would be done by, and the world will respond to you, returning bouquets or brickbats respectively.

I do thank God that I have been blessed with a life that moulded my personality just the way I wanted it to. Life in the Army was the first innings. Besides, my better half does a pretty great job of tethering me down to Mother Earth. He has always the best advice for me, even if I do not agree with him. In hindsight, however, I do realise that he is, almost always, correct, much to my chagrin. His dictum is almost the same as that of my parents.

“Rudeness is never a virtue.” He does go on to say, “Be firm when required, but never be nasty, for that is not required.”

So over sixty momentous years, I have imbibed the best life lesson ever. If something needs to be done, tackle it with a combination of tact and firmness. If you rush headlong into a situation like a bull in a china shop, you will end up breaking not just the china, but probably your own head as well. On the other hand, if you steer yourself gently through the china shop, you will come at the other end with a china figurine that you never needed in the first place, but happy!

I can never end a personal article without a reference to my adorable grandchildren. My daughter too learnt her Ps and Qs in the Army, and today she continues the same lessons with her little ones. Her daughter is almost a teenager at the grand old age of six, groans her mother, and the little three-year-old is as boisterous as his canine brother. By the end of the day, the three are handed over to the head of the family, so that Mama can have a well-deserved rest.

However, the dictum in the family has been passed down like an heirloom.

“Rudeness is never a virtue!”

 

                                                                      Facebook

 Word Count: 929

 


Tuesday, February 22, 2022

THE EVOLUTION OF PASSPORT OFFICES, THANK GOD! - (TALES OF INCLUSIVITY) #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay

 

                                                            The Indian Express

“Those were the days, my friend, we thought they’d never end…”

That was the song that went through my mind, many years ago, when I was waiting at the dingy, overcrowded passport office at Chennai, a building that spoke of desperation and perspiration. People milled about, clutching at files that held precious documents that would decide if they were eligible for a passport or not. The queues were serpentine, an unbroken chain that meandered across the lobby, crawled up the stairs and stood for hours outside tiny cubicles where officials sat, getting more and more irritable with every hour that went by. God help those who were at the end of the queue for they were often at the receiving end of frayed tempers and bad behaviour, for no fault of theirs.

Having been part of the Indian Army, with my husband being posted to myriad places every two to three years, my passport got misplaced even as it tried frantically to keep pace with our moves. Unfortunately, when it got to Delhi, we had just moved out, and hence, it was sent back to wherever it came from.

After frantic attempts to locate it, my husband finally filed an RTI to find out where my passport was. Finally, we got the good news that it had landed in the Chennai passport office and that we needed to cut the red tape and finally get it in hand.

As far as I was concerned, my entire day would be dedicated to standing around in the passport office. My husband dropped me off and went to work, promising to pick me up in the evening. I had fortified myself with a bottle of water and a sandwich. At nine in the morning, my wait began, as I slowly began to flow upwards with the crowd. The day went by and I wandered from cubicle to cubicle, till in one office, a man beckoned me in. He took a look at my papers and nodded.

“Rs. 600, and I will get you an interview with the Passport Officer!”

I was bewildered. As far as I knew, all my papers were in order, and all I needed was to get to the end of the line. Anyway, I nodded, but I told him that I would pay him only after I met the officer concerned. He asked me to go sit outside the Chief Passport Officer’s cabin. He would do the needful, he nodded gravely.

By then, it was almost evening and my husband had come looking for me. I told him proudly that I had managed to bypass the line and find the right spot. His scepticism did not faze me. After a short while, we found ourselves inside the Passport Officer’s cabin.

The Passport Officer looked at my documents with a frown. “Who sent you here?” he asked, brusquely.

“An official who was sitting in the floor below, “ I answered. “He told me that I would have to pay him Rs. 600 to meet you.”

The officer’s brow darkened, and he retorted, “There is no such official downstairs. Are you sure you are telling me the truth?”

My husband and I were stunned. Before I could convey my annoyance at being doubted, my husband said with all the dignity he could muster, “I am an Army officer and we do not need to rely on falsehoods to get our way.” His manner was so decisive that the officer paused. Then he turned to me and said, “Madam, can you identify the official who told you that?”

The next moment, all three of us were charging down the dingy staircase as people stared at us, wondering what on earth we had done. When we reached the room, I peeped in. The official was still sitting there and when he saw me, he gave me a big smile. “Come in, Madam!”

The next moment, his smile slipped when he saw the Chief Passport Officer and he stood up sheepishly, as he received a mouthful from him.

The upshot of the matter was that the so-called official was actually a sweeper from the next building, a tout who had been making some money on the side under false pretences. Luckily, I had not risen to the bait.

Needless to say, the Passport Officer was as apologetic as he could be and in a matter of days, I had my passport in hand.

This morning, I escorted my mother to the Passport Office in Thrissur. Happily, the entire passport office system has now been outsourced to TCS and when we went there, well before time given my mother’s famed punctuality gene, we were ushered in immediately. There were cubicles everywhere, where people worked like clockwork. In no time, we were taken from one cubicle to the other, and in about half an hour, we were at the final one where my mother’s photograph and fingerprints were taken. The officers were the epitome of courtesy and nowhere did we have to wait. The moment the formalities were done, an SMS was sent to our registered mobile which indicated that the passport would soon be on its way.

What a world of difference between the two experiences! The world of passport offices has evolved, and life has become easier for the common man. As Tennyson put it so well, “The old order changeth, yielding place to new, / And God fulfils Himself in many ways/ Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.”


                                                                    Pinterest

 Word Count: 924


Monday, February 21, 2022

CHILD IS FATHER OF THE MAN! #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay

 
                                                          Credits: Gopi Menon

There is this little creature who is the biggest ray of sunshine in our lives. She came to us 36 years back, and when she opened her big brown eyes, my husband and I were over the moon. It was as if we had been handed a bumper prize in the lottery. She grew, year by year, and every year was a revelation to us.

Priyanka, our daughter, is 36 today. Many years back, when she was born, our bond was created, and it has only grown stronger with every year. As she gamboled around with our beautiful Labradors, or invited her friends for a sleepover, or won prizes at school in debating, extempore or essay writing, our hearts swelled with pride.

She was the eternal Pied Piper, and she would probably tell you today that her motley clothes did remind one of him. However, her real talent was shepherding a whole lot of young ones who would follow her around adoringly. She was the typical Army kid, well mannered, sociable and full of beans.

When she found her first job in Dubai and shifted there, we missed her. She lived in a tiny studio apartment with a beautiful but grumpy cat named Rusty, who slept all day and prowled all night. She went through the normal flings that teenagers go through, and her job was fulfilling but strenuous.

And then it was time for wedding bells to ring out, and she shifted bag and baggage to South Africa with her brand-new bridegroom, whose entire family lived there as well. It was time to open a new chapter in her life.

This is all about our little girl who remains the sunshine in our lives.

However, when she turned into a mother herself, with two adorable little ones, we got to see our little one through new eyes. Even as a brand-new mother, she read up so much about rearing children that it quite amazed us. We had been instinctive parents who learnt through trial and error, more the latter most of the time. She knew exactly what she was doing. I would sing to her when she was a baby, and she did just that, and a lot more when she had her babies. She danced, read to them, created toys that were tactile and sensory, and recorded all their milestones. She even had a little box in which she stored her daughter’s keepsakes for a year.

From the start, birthdays have been special for she makes them so. She chooses themes that they love, creates costumes and props, chooses the right music (along with her better half who is also a huge music buff!) and makes everything just perfect for the little ones. During the pandemic, when her daughter’s special day came around, she created a castle in their living room so that the little one would not miss having her friends and family for her birthday.

When we go over to them, it is akin to having a rainbow with all its glorious colours burst upon us. When the little ones call us Mooma and Nana, and rush to hug us, the wonder of having our daughter comes back to us, double-fold. And then our hearts with pleasure fill, and dance over the African hills!

Today, on the 21st of February, I wish we could be with her to celebrate her birthday. However, she knows that we are there with her in spirit and that when we meet, we will celebrate in all the little and big ways we can. God bless her, our little ray of sunshine!

 
                                                                AbeBooks

 Word Count: 606


Sunday, February 20, 2022

THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER BY S.T. COLERIDGE - (TALES OF INCLUSIVITY) #Bookchatter #WriteAPageADay

                                                                  Biblio.com

I have always been an admirer of the Romantic poets. Wordsworth, Keats and Shelley are the names that jump out when we talk about this era, but this post deals with another equally renowned poet, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who was their contemporary.

‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ is a poem that influenced me deeply in school, and later on, when I taught it, which was when all its nuances revealed themselves to me. So many threads weave together to make this a poem both symbolic and lyrical.

The poem, which first appeared in Lyrical Ballads, a collaboration between Wordsworth and Coleridge in 1798, is a poem in seven parts, written in loose ballad stanzas of varying lengths.

The poem begins with a wedding guest who was stopped by an ancient mariner who held him with “his glittering eye” and forced him to listen to his story. There was a wedding in progress on board, and the guest was eager to attend it, but the mariner held him almost hypnotized with his riveting tale.

                 The ancient mariner detains the wedding guest - Elifnotes

The saga began with the pacific weather as the ship sailed on merrily, when suddenly a storm blast, “tyrannous and strong” threw the ship off course, followed by “mist and snow” and ice “as green as emerald”. There was ice everywhere, and just when the sailors had begun to lose hope, there appeared an Albatross “as if it had been a Christian soul”. The weather changed with its arrival as the Albatross responded to the sailors’ calls and ate the food they served it.

At the end of Part 1, the mariner’s expression changes, and the guest is appalled to hear the reason why. The mariner confesses, “With my cross bow/I shot the ALBATROSS”.

Part 2 of the poem spoke of the plight of the ill-fated ship after the killing of the Albatross. The sailors cursed the mariner for having committed “a hellish thing”. He had “killed the bird/ That made the breeze to blow”. Earlier they had praised him for having killed the bird that brought “the fog and mist”. Such is the changeable nature of humankind!

The wind dropped and the ship stayed still. “as idle as a painted ship/ Upon a painted ocean”. The sailors suffered agonies for their throats were parched.

                                                             Elifnotes
 

“Water, water, everywhere,

 And all the boards did shrink;

Water, water everywhere,

Nor any drop to drink.”

As slimy things crawled on to the ship, and the drought continued, the sailors were so incensed that they decided to punish the mariner for his heinous deed.

“Instead of the cross, the Albatross

About my neck was hung.”

Part 3 turns even more gruesome with the appearance of a ship carrying Death and Life-in-Death. Both cast dice and Death won the crewmen and Death-in-Life the Mariner. One by one, all the sailors fell dead, two hundred of them, each cursing the mariner for their fate, Finally, the mariner was left all alone.

Part 4 talks about the next seven days and nights when the mariner bemoaned his lot, aware that the eyes of the dead sailors were fixed on him. He realised that he was the one responsible for the horrific situation and his heart began to repent. He watched the sea snakes beyond the shadow of the ship and all of a sudden, a gush of love poured out of his heart for these graceful creatures who moved “in tracks of shining white”. The next moment, he “blessed them unaware” and the moment he prayed, “the Albatross fell off, and sank / Like lead into the sea”.

In Part 5, the action shifts as the mariner slowly began to fathom the beauty and the joy of the universe. The weather also responded to his change in heart as it rained in profusion, and the lightning and the moon stirred the spirits of the dead men. They rose and resumed their work in ghastly silence. The spirits and the moon guided him on his path to meet the Hermit, who would absolve him of his grievous sin.

However, the ship that was sailing serenely suddenly buckled, throwing the mariner into a swoon. In his soul he heard two voices discussing his cruel deed. One said softly, “The man hath penance done, / And penance more will do”.

The mariner still needed to ask for forgiveness, and in Part 6, he suddenly saw the corpses of his dead companions lying on the deck, and to his astonishment, he saw a figure of light standing by every corpse.

“A man of light, a seraph-man, / On every corse there stood.” (corse meaning corpse)

It was time for the spirits of the dead men to be freed of their worldly encumbrances. As the mariner watched, entranced, he heard the splash of oars. The Hermit himself had come towards him, singing “loud his godly hymns”. The mariner needed to ask him for forgiveness and absolution and pray that he would “wash away/ The Albatross’ blood”.

The mariner’s story had now almost come to an end. Part 7 describes the Hermit asking the mariner “What manner of man art thou?” The mariner repeated his gruesome tale to the Hermit, and as he narrated the incidents, a feeling of relief and  freedom came over him.

However, did the mariner attain redemption? Not really. Since his crime was a senseless one, the slaying of an innocent creature, even the Hermit could not exonerate him. The mariner’s penance would be to wander from ship to ship, narrating his woeful tale to a man who would have the patience to listen to him. In that retelling, he would experience a brief interval of serenity.

“That agony returns: / And till my ghastly tale is told, / This heart within me burns.”

The mariner would pay the price for his sin through eternity.

The wedding guest listened to the tale till the end. The wedding party was in full swing within. The mariner had learnt a vital lesson which he imparted to his listener.

“He prayeth best, who loveth best,/ All things both great and small; / For the dear God who loveth us, / He made and loveth all.”

The mariner left soon after and the wedding guest was left contemplating on what he had heard, “a sadder and a wiser man”.

 Today, the idiom, "an albatross round your neck" has come to refer to a heavy or inescapable burden or responsibility, one that causes you problems and prevents you from succeeding.


                                                   An image of an albatross - Pixabay

 Word Count: 1095

 


#READTHENEW – #BLOGCHATTERA2Z CHALLENGE

  Pinterest Participating in the #BlogchatterA2Z Challenge this year was as exciting as it has been over the past few years. This year, howe...