Enthralling Sheffield!

Sheffield and its people have taught me to embrace life with a child-like curiosity and enthusiasm. Every single feature of this erstwhile mining town has managed to tease me, frighten me, comfort me, surprise me, seduce me, and even scrape mildly at those rough edges in my personality. Now it just doesn't matter what I am not. It just doesn't hurt as much as it used to. I look forward to possibilities and opportunities, not dwell on disappointments and failures.

Every day when I take my daughter to her school, the hillside view with its rich carpet of green trees instills me with a positive energy. It is so magical that I can hear my favourite song and I break into a Bollywood style dance, well, in my heart. The myriad rich colours of the city's landscape, the sensuous feel of its chill breeze that never fails to accompany me in my lonely walks, the quiet birds nibbling at berries in the meadows, even the thoughtfully crafted play areas in all public parks leave their indelible impressions on me.  owe it unmistakeably to the beauty and brilliance of nature, that is unconsciously cherished and effortlesslytaken care of by an English culture that champions living in the lap of nature.

People here go on long walks, they trek, they camp, they soak themselves in the sun, they ski and breathe in the biting chill airs, they enjoy their day out in the open even when it rains. Every season is welcomed and lived in to the hilt. Barbeques for summer, sledges for snow, kaftans and dresses for spring and boots for rainy puddles. The mantra is 'variety is fun'.  AND Thank God for the many dustbins in every nook and cranny, in every road and lane, and hurray to all the people here who throw litter in its rightful place!

Looking at the English and the residents of Sheffield, especially the kids, I sometimes feel that I lost my childhood and teen years in the stressful benches and desks of my school and college. What was I doing mugging up paragraphs and pages of answers, theories, dates, sums, essays, and chasing the top rank and highest marks!! Phew! From day one in LKG till my last day at work, I lived on the brinks of tension. Gosh!

I wouldn't say that I am a  person in a completely new skin. I am still petrified of being late, I still worry about my family's and my health, a stain or tear on my daughter's clothes still irritates me a wee bit, I am still moody at times, temper taunts me even today. BUT...deep inside there is a cosy corner which is full of confidence, courage and the thrist for new experiences.

Sheffield takes me to that part of my heart every day and together we look at the whole wide world with kind eyes, sparkling with gratitude and faith. Thanks Sheffield!

 

fitness freaks

Fitness is a great fad for most people in Sheffield. Running and cycling (or biking as they call it here) are their favourite exercises. Hats off to men and women who are slim, smart and fit even in their 70s. Many elderly people participate in the annual Half Marathon, which we always watch from a vantage point-our balcony:) (well, this is not to discount the large number of scaringly obese lot found in the city)

Children can instigate a laughing riot at home!

I was reading an article on laughter http://www.freelancewriting.com/workingwritersnewsletter/our-writing-lives-sometimes-we-just-have-to-laugh.html and was reminded of how much more I laugh these days thanks to my daughter:)

Mayini has taught me that there needn't be any particular reason to exercise my facial muscles. Weird expressions, creepy sounds I make, funny movements; anything close to Jim Carry kind of comedy can set my little one into bouts of cute laughter. It sure does have the rub-off effect on me! And sometimes she tires me by asking for more of the silly gimmicks:)

Guess children, inspite of making life so much more difficult, turn a home into a haven of happiness, a heaven on earth:)

Three cheers to my grandparents!

Fond memories of all the cherished time spent at my maternal granny’s place during vacations tinkle in my mind.

Loads of tasty treats, preparing and downing together bottles of the then-favourite Rasna, watching lots of movies (silly devotional flicks which I am horrified to even think of today) on VCR, waking up late after about 9 in the morning, the devotional songs blaring throughout the house early in the morning, learning slokas, watching and helping granny with her puja, playing with cousins, quarrelling with a couple of them especially over who would cuddle next to granny, listening to granny’s old mythological and folk tales…

Vacations meant time spent with my grandparents with a sort of simple fun, which many little ones can’t even imagine these days, what with exotic foreign tours and so on! It was all about getting shamelessly petted, spoiled and showered with crazily UNCONDITIONAL love!!

Those were days when both grandpa and granny were epitomes of hard work and energy (not to say they aren’t today, though age and ailments have slowed them down). Grandpa is about 81 and granny over 71. At the twilight of their lives, they still inspire me with their love, energy and enthusiasm to live life to the fullest with no regrets but just gratitude and faith.

To me the older generation stand for traditions, customs, values, faith...a whole treasuretrove of heritage and love that will be lost if we do not care for them and learn from them.

May the Gods bless all grandparents!

Click, click, click and a few more!

It is with a sweet vengeance that I click and get clicked on our digital camera. I hold on to the little grey device that we own, so dearly and carefully, with just as much care as I handle my little daughter…well almost! Until the precious moments are transferred to the laptop, the camera treasures my present that I would love to present for posterity. Today I can capture all happy, stylish, formal, casual, mundane, busy, boring and random moments of my life with jolly ease. In particular, my little angel’s snaps are an invaluable fortune.

The hundreds of photographs that I managed to sort out into neatly labelled folders yesterday, remind me of days when we owned no camera, leaving most of my childhood days unrecorded. I clearly remember times when I envied my schoolmates who showed their wide collection of albums to everyone in the class. Vacations, festivals, house warming ceremonies, birthday parties, visits of uncles and aunts, pet dogs…they had them all clicked excitedly just as I do today.

The collection of snaps of those days when a camera wasn’t affordable or even fancied by elders to be owned is small but deeply cherished! Most of them were taken in a studio with plastic, unrealistic backgrounds and lack a sense of life and fun. In one of them I can be seen standing next to my little cousin, with funnily suppressed tears, don’t remember why though! The traditional, mandatory family snap with mom, dad and sister, all standing in almost attention position, with rigid, smile-less expressions. My parents’ close-up snap, taken by an artless studio photographer. I love the little assortment of my sister’s and my baby and toddler poses, once again courtesy a studio.

For my grandparents’ generation, photographs were a real rarity. A couple of dog-eared marriage photos, a treasured snap of babies especially when they reach the milestone of being able to turn on their tummies, and a grand but crowded photograph of the large extended-family, some of which were framed and hung in the living room. A eerie sadness swept me when my granny showed me with teary eyes the only available photo of her mom, taken just after she was brought out of the temple pond where she suffered a heart attack while bathing. She lies completely wet and dead. My granny was an only daughter and just eight years old then.

Back to me, not owning a camera meant a lack of a personal relationship with the clever device, not being in synch with its blinks and flashes, not being well-versed in posing and smiling, and feeling totally uncomfortable in its glare.

Photo sessions during family get-togethers and marriages always turned out to be embarrassing moments which I wanted to be done with as soon as possible. Do I show my teeth while smiling, or do I smile a wide-lipped, beaming smile, or just a little courtesy ‘I don’t care’ smile, or not smile at all! How do I hold my hands, how do I position myself, do I cross my legs…and between those forever-indecisive few seconds, the photographer clicks a snap that records a clumsy me with an awkward smile, drooping shoulders and fidgeting fingers!

Finally it was a momentous occasion when we bought a non-digital camera at the end of my school days. With no previews or retakes possible, as we couldn’t waste film rolls, the anticipation was high when we brought home the album and the negatives from the studio. Everyone huddling together and taking turns to look at the photos is a picture well-etched in my mind:)

Well now the picture is different. What with digital cameras and the latest techniques, taking snaps is a creative experience that brings the entire family together. Previews, retakes and adjustments make sure that only the best smiles and poses are captured.

Planned and random clicks record our life in its myriad colours. And the affordable camcorders have turned us into family historians and documentary makers in our own right!

These days my parents, in-laws and grandparents huddle before the laptop to see our poses from Sheffield on FB. So here I go! Say cheeeeeese!!!

Maya Angelou's book is working wonders in me!

Maya Angelou's book 'A Letter to my Daughter' is one that I would love to treasure in my personal library. Any book lovers out there, if you chance upon Angelou's book, please do give it a try. You will never regret!

Angelou has only one child, a son, but dedicates her collection of essays and poems to thousands of her daughters all over the world, who share a common struggle for a life of equality and dignity.
This great Black American writer pointedly stirs us to think with conviction, feel ashamed of our follies and prejudices and above all be proud of our history and legacy. Many of her autobiographical anecdotes bring a genuine smile on our face. Angelou's simple and sincere writing style rings a note in all our hearts, regardless of whether we are Black or of any other ethnicity.

Her anger at having being wronged as a Black, and her strong sense of self esteem and pride, come through very beautifully in each page. I am sure our own Dalits, the untouchables of the dark old days, who in many states continue to be treated the same,will be able to draw strength from this book to look down upon their oppressors with disdain and live with dignity and a worthwhile goal.

Angelou talks about being a daughter, a mother, a friend, a segregated Black, a writer, a teacher, and a good human being, with poise and a truly motherly love, without any smackings of self pity or a vindictive attitude. And that's what makes you want to go back into the pages of this book again and again. Maya's subtle humour evokes a quick chuckle from us and forces us to reflect on our own wanton opinions and self righteous actions in a fresh light. Her take on myriad topics such as art, vulgarity, rape, humility, faith, parenthood and foriegn cultures, are uncomplicated and sound more like a casual conversation with a friend. Yet her ideas are fresh and straight out her heart.

Her address to new graduates takes me back to my own Convocation day. Her fears of failing as a mother, as she struggles to juggle work and care for her son, ring a shrill bell. Angelou's ideas of faith and being a true Christian touches a raw nerve somewhere in my heart. I feel a kinship with the writer as I read about her self-doubt in her writing abilities. Maya Angelou takes a mundane subject or experience and sprinkles them with profound lessons.

This book will always be to me a source of sustenance from which I can draw courage in the wake of vicissitudes, inspiration in the thick of boredom, and direction in the face of disappointments.

Recent movies that I simply loved! 'Kahani and 22 female Kottayam'

I just can't take two movies I watched in recent times out of my mind! One is Vidya Balan's 'Kahani' and the other a mallu flick '22 Female Kottayam'. Both are heroine-centric. Both have disgusting villians who continue to hauntme. And in both, the heroines snatch justice for themselves through the clever and neat revenge route.

Vidya's majestic stride in the climax still raises goosebumps all over me. The whole theatre in my native place, only half-filled mostly with college students, erupted in excited applause when Vidya, posing as heavily pregnant, strikes the confused terrorist and pins him down not just with her weapon but with her viscious looks.I was impressed by the suspense and the neat plot. Not for a minute does the audience's interest flag throughout the entire movie. The title song played its part well. A typical Indian, I would have loved at least one Bollywood style song sequence. Of course, the casting was perfect with every single actor doing justice to his/her role. I will simply never forget the contract killer with his disgusting demeanour and subtle but scary villianous streak. The cute police officer and his jovial boss, Khan - the angry senior intelligence officer, and above all Vidya lend credibility to their roles.

As for '22 Female Kottayam', Rima Kallingal, the young and upcoming actress, has come out with a brilliant performance. The way this 22 year old mallu nurse from Kottayam brings her manipulative and exploitative boyfriend and a middle-aged rapist to justice leaves a shudder in us. No over- dramatisation, no over-the-top dialogues or loud scenes. The lives of young ambitious mallu nurses in Bangalore has been depicted realistically. For some reason I liked the costumes too in the movie!! Fahad Fazil, son of successful director Fazil, has etched his character with maturity and style. He stands as a warning for young girls: 'Dont fall for handsome, well-behaved young men!' And just like Kahani, Hegde, the middle-aged rapist, played by the erstwhile star, Pratap Pothan, makes me squirm with fear. His innocuous manners and stupidly frightening line, ''Will you please have sex with me?'', before he pounces on Tessa (Rima), is nerve racking. I really liked the way the director handles Tessa's stint in the jail. Realistic I guess and so unlike the brutal way jail life is shown in most movies.

Tessa's revenge is definitely the crowning glory of the movie. When sedated Cyril (Fahad) wakes up in the climax, and hears from Tessa about his fate, the reaction on his face and perhaps even the audience is the same:) His manhood has been chopped off clinically by the hurt and transformed nurse. Yes! That serves as the ultimate warning for all men hoping to exploit girls for money and sex.

Thumbs-up to the makers and actors of these two movies!

We have three children....and..oh yes one daughter too...

This being the Malayalam Ramayana month (Adi maasam in Tamil), I decided to start introducing Mayini to Lord Rama's story. So Ayodhya's noble king took centerstage at last night's story time. And that's when not-so-adept-in-mythology-me thinks aloud a wee-bit confused; ''Is Sumitra King Dasharatha's third wife or is it Urmila!?'' So here goes daddy into the all-knowing Google. While he did confirm it is Sumitra, daddy also chanced upon a little-known fact about Rama. Ramanand Sagar (the one who brought Ramayana into our living rooms) also failed to highlight this factoid. Even my religious granny had never spoken about it so far. Today, over our daily phone call, my mom-in-law also professed not knowing about it untill now. I guess most Hindus in India do not have a clue about this. Now why I am going on and on about it, that too on FB, where it is generally not fashionable to talk about mythology? Because this little obscure point touched a raw nerve in me, in the light of recent incidents in India. All relating to women's fate and rights.

All along I thought Lord Rama had three siblings (brothers). But, according to google wikipedia, Lord Rama was King Dasaratha's second child. The king first had a daughter, Shanthi, through his first wife Kausalya. Shanthi was born handicapped. Rishis proclaimed that this was because of consanguinous marriage between the king and his wife from the same gothra. The royal couples, on the advice of these rishis, gave away their daughter in adoption to another royal couple.With their care, Shanthi's condition improved and she started walking and even got married. The point is, only one obscure version of Ramayana mentions about Shanthi. For some reason I, as a woman, feel wronged!!!

This google revelation triggered memories of another incident. I had felt equally enraged then.
When I first moved to Bangalore after marriage, our next door thaatha (granpa), a retired Armyman, who ALWAYS spoke in English even though we both knew Tamil, said something that clearly, without a doubt, sans any confusion, reflected the true, stinking attitude of most Indians. Very proudly he said, ''We have three children.'' He then gloated over his three sons' educational, professional and family history. AND AS AN AFTERTHOUGHT, after several long minutes, he said, ''Ahhh, we also have a daughter. We have married her off to an IT guy.'' So, the daughter doesnt count as his child???? For political correctness I am not mentioning which community he belonged to. But I am sure, no matter which community you belong to, deep inside most Indians' heart, there is very little space for daughters - mere liabilities.

Well, from Rama's times till today, very little has changed. King Dasaratha performed Yagas and rituals to have at least one son as a heir to his throne. Today, after centuries of civilisation, people opt for ultrasound scan and downright murder of the female child, caught as they are in their sick and mad favourof the male child.

Just pay a visit to the GH in Madurai, Tamil Nadu, to keep a count of the shocking number of girl children abandoned by cruel parents. Also visit the houses of these children to witness the painful depression and mental trauma of the mothers who were 'forced' to abandon their little ones, right after delivery.

When the last page left me speechless!

Here's something I am writing witout editing, without thinking much; just the raw emotions in whose grip I am dictating all the words. I just have to get it out of me. Similar to the subject matter of what I am writing about. A novel on childbirth and midwives, set in the US of the 1980s.

Imagine watching a movie in the cinema, an emotional roller-coaster, filled with drama, suspense, intrigue, intense conflict; where everything is a vague grey; which simply does not let the audience pass their verdict till the end; which leaves a small nook in the audience's mind unsure about what's right or wrong... you are all the time at the edge of your seat, wondering if the expected is inevitable or will a more-desired outcome relieve your tension. Scenes keep unravelling, sometimes slowly, most of the time with a stressful pace, and then you feel so much a part of the movie and the story of its characters that you just want it all to be over. So you can breathe free.

Finally the relief does come. You are happy that the climax didn't let you down. You are thankful that justice prevails. AND THEN imagine the very last scene coming down on you with a huge blow, almost badgering you with the most unexpected twist... followed by the credits. That is exactly how I feel after being entangled in the lives of a midwife and her family in Chris Bohjalian's 'Midwives'. If ever you come across this novel, please do grab it! If you do grab it and manage to read at least one page, you are sure to reach the end in less than two days!

The novel portrays the travails of an expert, but unlicensed, midwife, who believes helping mothers deliver their babies through 'home birth' (as opposed to in a hospital under the care of a doctor) is her calling. Sibyl Danforth has handled more than 500 child births, with success. But one single delivery goes wrong, under unprecedented circumstances. She conducts an emergency C-section on her 'dead patient' as she firmly believes, to save the baby. The State and the gynecs, who have always opposed midwives and their practice, are up in arms. Sibyl is charged with manslaughter. The prosecution's case: Sibyl's C-section killed the mother. Sibyl's Defence: She performed the operation only after confirming that her patient was dead, in order to save the child, which she does with success.

The ensuing court case, the local community's reaction, the midwives' association's support, and the moral and ethical conflicts are played out in the most gripping style. The story is told years later by Sibyl's daughter, Connie, who was 14 years old when the drama unfolds. Excerpts from Sibyl's personal diary adds more perspective to her daughter's account. The court scenes kept me hooked to the novel. Just when I thought that the jury's verdict comes as a surprise, the last page of the novel, which is an entry from Sibyl's diary, left me reeling in shock.

I sort of felt like I wanted to re-read portions of the novel just to be sure.
Very few novels can have this kind of a profound effect on readers!

Paulo Coelho - not just a writer but a great philosopher!

After reading The Alchemist and Veronica Decides To Die, I have come to believe that Paulo Coelho, the Brazilian writer, is one of the greatest philosophers gifted to this world. His novels not only have a compelling storyline but also strong lessons on life. 'Veronica' simply left me feeling light-headed as though I had taken an over dose of a cough syrup; but unlike the sugary-medicinal taste of a syrup, Coelho's writing left a happy and peaceful taste in my soul.

His novels inspired me to read up on Coelho. They have definitely been shaped a lot on his own experiences.

What a life! God has indeed blessed this writer abundantly and Coelho in turn has made the best use of his talents!
http://www.paulocoelho.com/en/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paulo_Coelho