Elephants on my Bed!

This is a bed spread embroidered by my younger daughter some years ago.
It had been hiding itself in the plenitude of my linen cupboard. It is cheerful and happy-making, especially on a cloudy day.
I am sure the SRE is going to come up with a nasty crack about me no longer being the sole elephant on our bed. Ah, well........

Look Ma, an award!

Thank you, Mandira, Dotthoughts, The Mad Momma, Neera, Kiran and a muser for giving me this award.

The past year spent in the blogosphere as a blogger (rather than as a reader and commenter) has been tremendously rewarding. Receiving an award like this is a nice bit of frosting on what has been a largely scrumptious cake. ( You can see what a foodie I am, though I haven't yet blogged about food, barring cabbage and a mention of Ethiopian food in a travel post).
New worlds have opened up to me, and I have come across some amazing bloggers.
Since the rules of this award require me to pass this on to a minimum of seven bloggers, I take great pleasure in giving this award ( in no particular order) to the following:

kbpm
banno
sur notes
space bar
bird's eye view
choxbox
mayg
nat
sue
salil
sundar narayan

This award is for blogs whose content and/or design are brilliant as well as creative.
The purpose of the prize is to promote as many blogs as possible in the blogosphere.
1. When you receive the prize you must write a post showing it, together with the name of who has given it to you, and link them back
2. Choose a minimum of 7 blogs (or even more) that you find brilliant in their content or design.
3. Show their names and links and leave them a comment informing they were prized with ‘Brilliant Weblog’
4. Show a picture of those who awarded you and those you give the prize (optional).
5. And then we pass it on!

For Ma'am, on Teachers' Day

It has been thirty-one years since I left college. I'm one of the lucky few who has had a teacher who has been more than a friend, philosopher and guide, a teacher who has truly made a difference to my life.

The day of our orientation programme, when other teachers were telling us about how great an institution we were in and how fortunate we were to be part of it, Ma'am had a unique point of view. She just emphasised that our college had a wonderful location, with art galleries and theatres within an easy walking radius, and how enriching it would be for us to visit these marvellous places.
Although she taught post-graduate courses, she would always find the time to guide a fledgling, first year debater. She has this amazing ability to be genuinely interested in everything. Her friends come from all walks of life. Ma'am is one of the most large-hearted and inclusive people I've ever known.
Her classes were challenging, requiring your entire, unwavering attention. If, for some reason, like a heavy downpour, attendance was thin, she would take class for the benefit of those who had come. I see her with a colourful parasol, making her way through the puddles, a veritable peacock romancing the rain. Her passion for music has been infectious. Steaming coffee and the sounds of a maestro's recording in her apartment, a privilege indeed.
Academic excellence, integrity, a kind heart. Words just cannot say it all. A total commitment to her students. Sensible guidance in matters of the heart. A terrific photographer, good enough to exhibit. A way with words- she uses them with both precision and poetry, as required!
Her distinguished career continues years after her official retirement. She is still an intrepid traveller, with friends and students all over the globe. I cannot use the term 'former student', because I think we are all still learning from her.

She has been part of my family since its inception- approving of the SRE when he travelled in a truck to meet her, because of a public transport strike the day she was near his town.
She was the photographer at our wedding. She has been a most encouraging grandmother to all my children. It has been such a privilege and joy having her stay with us. Meeting her family has been wonderful, too. From Ma'am I have learned that age is just a state of mind. Her thinking is unhampered by chronology or any kind of negative mind set. Her clarity of thought has been a boon to many: she can cut through all the surrounding irrelevancies and get to the heart of the matter. This is one single quality which makes her advice and guidance invaluable. She has been a tower of strength in times of crisis.

Ma'am, these words are inadequate and cannot convey a fraction of what you mean to me.
There is still so much I need to learn from you.
This Teachers' Day, I want to thank you for being my teacher, for being part of my life.

One year of this and that!

28th August was my blog's first birthday. I didn't even remember the date, since Lalita had just passed away. It is indeed ironic that my first anniversary post commemorates Lalita, my very first blog friend, who was most encouraging while I hesitated to take the plunge into blogging.
Since last night my computer has crashed, so this is being written on the SRE's laptop. To which I have, obviously, only limited access. So this is just a little post announcing that 'Of This and That' is a year old, and that I am so glad that I have this wonderful forum for expressing myself.
Wonderful friends have come into my life via cyberspace: thanks for being there- you all know who you are!
I don't know when I'll manage to post next. Take care, all of you.

Remembering Lalita

Lalita Mukherjea of Lalita Larking fame passed away on Tuesday afternoon.
She was the first blog friend I made, and it was wonderful knowing her. Lali knew so much about so many things: books, (she was an avid fan of Pratchett's Discworld, among so many other authors of so many genres), music, poetry, mythology, trees, birds, grammar, lyrics of Mohammed Rafi songs, some of which she translated into exquisite English renditions, and so much more.
Her love affair with cryptic crossword puzzles was the stuff of legend.
Although you could feel completely humbled in the face of her erudition, Lali was always most self-effacing. Her announcement of her illness on her blog was as gently humorous as anything else she'd written.
Words were a passion, and she used them with incredible expertise.
She even cooked with flair, mastery and precision- her famous fried potatoes were cut into exact 1cm cubes.

One of her earliest posts is a wonderful analysis of how relative our perceptions of a single event can be, written in her inimitable style, dealing with her son, a pencil sharpener and, of course, a cryptic crossword puzzle clue as the leitmotif of the post.

Going through each of her posts is a pleasure. Knowing that there will be no more wit and wisdom from Lali is sad indeed.

I see Lalita sitting in ‘her’ chair in her apartment overlooking the lake, scintillating conversation accompanied by the cacophony of nesting birds at sunset,enjoying a cup of excellent Darjeeling tea. The tears well up again. Farewell, my friend.

Music Lessons

I was a deprived child! My parents never thought of giving me music lessons. So even though I would beat away at an Egyptian leather pouffe as though it were a tabla, or stage home ballets using the fridge door as a spotlight control, and could whistle in tune since I was five or six, I didn't have music lessons. I thought I could sing beautifully, but the nuns in our school were, presumably, tone deaf, and couldn't appreciate my voice. So I was never encouraged to sing. Though of course that never stopped me from singing, as my long-suffering offspring will affirm.

I have found an encouraging friend in Robert Fulghum, a kindred soul.
I quote, from his book ‘It was on Fire When I Lay Down on It’, ‘……I am a singer. ……I sing. It is what I do. God did not put my desire together with the necessary equipment. My voice is what you might politely call ‘uncertain.’ I can hear the music in my head, but I cannot reproduce what I have heard, though it sounds fine to me……….I liked being a parent to my children when they were young and had no musical standards and would uncritically sing with me…….Singers are those who sing. Period.’

Whether I could sing or not, I was, by the time I reached college, a passionate but ignorant listener of Hindustani classical music, especially vocal music. The radio was a great friend, and my major source of all music.

When I left home and started working in another city, I decided to fulfill my long dormant desire to learn music. So a colleague and I acquired a harmonium and found a music teacher near by. We obviously lacked the necessary commitment, or inspiration, and after a few months we quit.

After several years of marriage and family life, we moved to Kochi, when my youngest son, A, was five years old. None of my other children had ever shown any great interest in learning music, and neither had this child. But somehow my long dormant maternal aspirations came to the fore, catalysed by the interest of my friend J, who was, at the time, a single working mother with a six year old son, N. We were bus-stop friends, as the boys used to go to the same school and we lived in the same building. In the afternoon I would bring both boys home from the bus stop, and N would go up to his grandmother. I cannot remember how J and I decided that our sons should learn vocal music, but we did. J being local found the teacher, but since she worked all day I was the one who had to supervise the lessons, which were held in my sitting room. J explained to me the ritual of the first lesson: a tray was set out with flowers, betel leaves and an oil lamp. The betel leaves were presented to the teacher, and the new students touched his feet. We didn’t have a harmonium and were wary of buying one, so decided to make do with an old Casio keyboard

Ah, the students. They were around six and seven when the lessons started. My son, A, had a regular kiddy voice. J’s son N had a really deep voice even at age seven.
You can imagine one thin squeaky little voice and one really deep voice going ‘saaa’ and
‘SAAAA’ at the same time. The teacher certainly had his hands full, especially as after the novelty of the lessons wore off (I think they were held twice a week), the boys completely lost interest. Two wrigglier bottoms were never seen. The teacher was a kind and honest man. After completing the first month, he declared that the boys were not yet ready to learn music, maybe they would be more receptive later on. I think he was most relieved. The boys certainly were!

(Young A did learn to play the Congo drums in school. His teacher would also give him private lessons at home, during hot and humid, sleepy afternoons. Those drums have been in storage for a while. N does play the guitar).

Another friend and I decided that it’s never too late to learn! She acquired both the harmonium and teacher, and I would go up to her flat for lessons two or three times a week. Neither of us was musically endowed, but we enjoyed our lessons and loved hearing our teacher sing. As busy wives and mothers, we were bad at practicing our scales and lessons, but we thought we were reasonably sincere. Our best times were after the teacher had had his tea and left, and then we would sing to our hearts’ content, lovely old semi-classical songs that we were probably murdering, but we both enjoyed our own singing! After several months my life became complicated with serious illnesses in the family, and my lessons just had to stop. My friend did continue for a while, but then she also lost her motivation.

Although I insist that I’m a contented person, I do wish for a couple of things,
which don’t seem possible in this birth. One has absolutely nothing to do with the other, and seems most foolish and irrational, and that is my desire to be tall and slender.
The other is to have a great singing voice. In the meantime, I will cultivate friends who have no ear for music, and who will (faints) actually applaud my singing. Any takers?

Independence Day 2008

The birthday surprise wasn't a surprise. My son went to visit his grandparents before leaving for New York, and told them about my visit. No, I didn't murder him for that either.
It might have been too much of a shock for my old folks to suddenly have me land up at their door.
Well, not only was the country celebrating I-Day, so was the local residents' association, in the park just below my parents' flat. And at full volume. So our greetings took place against a loud background of patriotic songs, which went on for quite a while. Rather than bond with my parents and sister, I tried escaping to the farthest room, but to no avail. The noise was still deafening. At last the songs got over, only to be replaced by one very very loud and shrill 'auntieji' who was giving away the prizes for various races and games, and who seemed to be most delighted to have access to a microphone. We were all most relieved when the festivities got over.
I had bought some Corelle plates and bowls with a green leaf pattern as a gift for my mother. (Green is her favourite colour), which we promptly used for lunch. After a post-lunch siesta, my sister and I went out for the usual vegetable, fruit and bread shopping and had a couple of rounds of the now blissfully quiet park. Back home, we dug out our family prayer books and had a beautiful prayer session, both sisters not really melodious, but more or less in tune. This was, I think, something that our mother really appreciated. (It has been years since she has been able to attend the Satsang we belong to, though she tries to read our holy books as regularly as she can). Various grandchildren called up at different times of the day, and when the SRE called up to wish her, he told her about the many blog readers who had sent her their good wishes. Thank you, everyone.
My sister had to go home on Saturday morning as her son and his wife were coming over for Raksha Bandhan. I gave my father a haircut, more difficult now as he is stooping much more than before. My sister wondered where I learned to cut hair. ( Nowhere, but I'm willing to try as long as I have a willing guinea-pig!) I managed to prepare lunch and dinner in a kitchen which now seems so unfamiliar. Conversations. My mother was relieved that we didn't have a big party and call all our cousins and their families, which is something my sister and I had thought about and rejected. It would have been way too exhausting for both parents! I did trim my father's nails. (Scary because he's on blood thinners and he scares me when he squeals!) Telling my father to make more of an effort to walk. Giving him a soothing pedicure and foot massage. Before I knew it, it was time to go.

It'll probably be another couple of months before I can bring my parents back to Kolkata. My energy levels are still low, and my parents do need a lot of care. I am glad that I went, though. And I know that my visit was the best possible present I could have given my mother on this milestone birthday.