If the movie Ishqiya is to be believed, the damsels in our villages have more fun than the city bred girls. The heroine of the movie is Krishna who is a widow living in Gorakhpur, a small village in Eastern Uttar Pradesh. She lives alone and thinks nothing of inviting a ruffian uncle-nephew duo, who pose as her husband’s friends, to live with her. She flirts with them outrageously and uses language that would turn a watermelon purple with embarrassment. The villagers love her and call her bhabiji when they watch her up to her antics in broad daylight. I have asked my masterji to try to copy the pattern of the blouses she wears at home for any fancy soirée I may attend.
I recollect my days in Chennai nearly twenty years ago when the pristine Dravidian culture had not been contaminated by the North Indians. I encountered my first day time discotheque in a five star hotel which started at four pm. The college girls were dancing with jasmine garlands twined in their oiled braids and soon the dance floor looked like the nuptial bed in a Karan Johar movie. My school friend recently took me out in Kolkata where the ladies room had lots of small bags piled up in a corner. The girls apparently came in long skirts, salwar kameezes and saries and transformed for the evening. They went back to moms and mom in laws in original apparel. The capital city of Delhi will have the best groomed women, not a single ironed hair out of place, always accompanied by a possessive man. It could be bhaiyaji, jijaji or Tinku the neighbour, but a homosapien male is a necessary escort. Mumbai, which is regarded as the hottest destination actually hosts the most independent women in India. They travel to a destination alone, usually in a non ac taxi or auto rickshaw and don the least make up on a regular day.
The middle class is bursting at the seams in India. Larger towns have the spending power and aspirations of the cities. We create shopping malls and multiplexes that give them the latest in international fashion and movies. The entertainment is sure to follow. Next time you look at a lady from a smaller town of India, don’t patronise her because she is likely to more street smart that the metropolitan ladies.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Fury of a mother
In our country a majority of the people pray to the mother goddess. We like to vote for matriarchal politicians and the ultimate role of a woman in society is to procreate and bring up her children. In such a scenario making digs at the frustration levels of the prince of India is an attempt at Hara-kiri and I am sure that lots of people in Mumbai are barely being able to keep their smirks in abeyance.
A fairly clichéd question that I never tire of asking freshers is that who they believe to be the youth icon of India. One could paraphrase it by asking them to choose the most suitable model for a youth product’s advertisement that would sway the masses. Until three years ago the favorite answer was SRK but since the past eighteen months it has always been Rahul Gandhi. Depending on the sexual orientation of the individual, the answer is also given with a blush. When asked the reason why he is the icon, the youngsters look aghast and state what they think is the obvious, as they perceive him as young, energetic, enthusiastic, handsome and clean.
Whatever be the language, religion or country, there is no fury stronger than that of a mother when her child is harmed. Even the National Geographic channel shows us films about wild life that prove it. The current developments should be interesting to watch.
A fairly clichéd question that I never tire of asking freshers is that who they believe to be the youth icon of India. One could paraphrase it by asking them to choose the most suitable model for a youth product’s advertisement that would sway the masses. Until three years ago the favorite answer was SRK but since the past eighteen months it has always been Rahul Gandhi. Depending on the sexual orientation of the individual, the answer is also given with a blush. When asked the reason why he is the icon, the youngsters look aghast and state what they think is the obvious, as they perceive him as young, energetic, enthusiastic, handsome and clean.
Whatever be the language, religion or country, there is no fury stronger than that of a mother when her child is harmed. Even the National Geographic channel shows us films about wild life that prove it. The current developments should be interesting to watch.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Embracing the foreign returned student
A college in India is like a melting pot, a large cauldron of soup with ingredients and spices from across the country which make it a fascinating place to grow up. It is our first exposure of meritocracy determining the selection process. We make friends from different cultural, economic and language backgrounds. In a sense it is the first time we begin to comprehend our country and its complexity. We watched elections being fought on campus with a fervour that paled against anything we imagined. Some of us watched buses being torched, gun shots fired, strikes and morchas. We suddenly grew up pushing our way through public transport and realised that one could actually eat a wholesome meal in our country for an amount of money hitherto thought to be minor change.
It is therefore very saddening to watch students travelling overseas to complete their graduation immediately after the protected cocoons of their school habitats when the whole world is trying to focus on and learn about the emerging markets of India and China. Most of these students are the progeny of successful executives and business people from metropolitan cities who will tomorrow aspire to handle the mantle of industry in India. When will they learn about the grass root levels in the country if they zoom into management cadre immediately after business schools?
I often meet such youngsters at the insistence of my friends and associates. They are bright, well spoken, confident and aggressive. However, suddenly being thrown into the open market corporate milieu is a very harsh and confusing experience. They have friends with whom they are networked overseas but have no network in India. If they are lucky Daddy or Mommy will assist in getting a job but very often the parents have retired, been in the public sector or are in an industry which the child does not want to consider.
We may mitigate the issue if we anticipate it and work together with the student to bridge the gap. As we are aware not every student in school reads the boring and necessary parts of the newspaper. When the person moves overseas they know less about the Indian context. One must make sure that the student reads the paper and is aware of news and if not, incorporate it into daily conversation. Summer internships and part time jobs are an absolute necessity to get realistic about expectations and develop some humility. Their friends in developed countries do it when they return home but our youngsters quickly get back to lots of rest and relaxation. It is necessary for them to get used to the routine of waking up and moving to work, however bad the hangover or boring it may be, for it will compel him or her into making choices and decisions. We do not let our under graduate privileged children work since we know they will not get high end work but will have to do routine drudgery which we believe they will be wasted on. Despite being in a country where supply exceeds demand in the labour market, giving up our hang-ups and appreciating the dignity of every job would be a wonderful message to pass on.
The usual problem faced is that while older folks may understand and have the patience of this integration process, junior and middle management has no patience for the foreign returned student. There may not be a perfect solution to the situation but recognition and working towards resolving it will be the first step, or we will lose some of our brightest to other countries.
It is therefore very saddening to watch students travelling overseas to complete their graduation immediately after the protected cocoons of their school habitats when the whole world is trying to focus on and learn about the emerging markets of India and China. Most of these students are the progeny of successful executives and business people from metropolitan cities who will tomorrow aspire to handle the mantle of industry in India. When will they learn about the grass root levels in the country if they zoom into management cadre immediately after business schools?
I often meet such youngsters at the insistence of my friends and associates. They are bright, well spoken, confident and aggressive. However, suddenly being thrown into the open market corporate milieu is a very harsh and confusing experience. They have friends with whom they are networked overseas but have no network in India. If they are lucky Daddy or Mommy will assist in getting a job but very often the parents have retired, been in the public sector or are in an industry which the child does not want to consider.
We may mitigate the issue if we anticipate it and work together with the student to bridge the gap. As we are aware not every student in school reads the boring and necessary parts of the newspaper. When the person moves overseas they know less about the Indian context. One must make sure that the student reads the paper and is aware of news and if not, incorporate it into daily conversation. Summer internships and part time jobs are an absolute necessity to get realistic about expectations and develop some humility. Their friends in developed countries do it when they return home but our youngsters quickly get back to lots of rest and relaxation. It is necessary for them to get used to the routine of waking up and moving to work, however bad the hangover or boring it may be, for it will compel him or her into making choices and decisions. We do not let our under graduate privileged children work since we know they will not get high end work but will have to do routine drudgery which we believe they will be wasted on. Despite being in a country where supply exceeds demand in the labour market, giving up our hang-ups and appreciating the dignity of every job would be a wonderful message to pass on.
The usual problem faced is that while older folks may understand and have the patience of this integration process, junior and middle management has no patience for the foreign returned student. There may not be a perfect solution to the situation but recognition and working towards resolving it will be the first step, or we will lose some of our brightest to other countries.
Monday, February 1, 2010
The tale two remarkable women
Two women born 327 years apart shared a common thread of destiny in India. They both reached the pinnacle of their success after the age of thirty and have perhaps not been adequately praised in the annals of our history.
I was first acquainted to the story of Nurjehan in Indu Sundaresan’s romantic fictional account “The Twentieth Wife” and its sequel “The Feast of Roses”. Nurjehan was born in 1577 and married Emperor Jehangir at the age of thirty six, when she was a widow and a mother of a child, amidst severe opposition from everyone close to the emperor. She was Jehangir’s twentieth wife and the most powerful woman in the history of Mughal India who had coins minted in her name. She held court next to the emperor without purdah and even signed official dictates. She was overshadowed in history by her own niece Mumtaz who has been immortalized by the Taj Mahal. She wanted her daughter Ladli to marry Prince Shahjahan so as to wield power over the next generation but Mumtaz had been trained well by her wily aunt and as a result never left the side of her husband, even when he went on battle. Nurjehan died at the age of sixty eight in Lahore where she is buried at a tomb that she designed for herself and Jehangir. Her own brother, who was brought into power and prestige by her, sided with his son in law and captured Jehangir and Nurjehan causing the former’s untimely death.
Every student of classical Indian dance knows the name of Rukmini Devi Arundale (1904 – 1986) who has single handed laid the foundations of classical dance in India in its present avatar. A recently released Biography (Rukmini Devi: A Life) written by her student, the noted danseuse Leela Samson relates her eighty two year old story. Rukmini devi was born into a conservative Tamil Brahmin family that was influenced by their eldest son joining the Theosophical Society under Annie Besant. Her marriage to Dr. Besant’s nephew– George Arundale at the age of sixteen when he was forty six was condemned by both the British and Indian society. Her husband went on to become the president of the Theosophical society of India and she played an active role in building the schools within its precincts and fund-raising for the society. She started to learn dance after the age of twenty nine and gave her first public performance at the age of thirty one. She was instrumental in giving Indian classical dance respectability since till then it was only practiced by Devdasis – women married to deities in the temple who performed in front of the idols. She learnt dance from Gowri Ammal and other Devdasis for whom she battled, she studied the Natya Shastra, adapted and developed the dance to give Bharatanatyam its present form. She built Kalakshretra which till date produces some of our greatest artists from South India. Unknown to many, she created the costume in which the present day dancers perform and was part of the forum that developed the seven forms of Indian classical dance that was given national recognition. She gave the musicians and accompanists an equal status as the performer on the stage. Rukmini devi was part of the Rajya Sabha for two terms and was instrumental in the legislation of prevention of cruelty to animals in 1960.
Both the ladies have not received the attention they deserved as independent women who achieved their glory without the support of affluent parents but carved out their own destinies during a time when women rarely stepped out of the home. Their stories are fascinating in a country where a lady is perceived to wilt by the time they touch thirty and should be an inspiration to many of us who lament that our best days have passed us.
I was first acquainted to the story of Nurjehan in Indu Sundaresan’s romantic fictional account “The Twentieth Wife” and its sequel “The Feast of Roses”. Nurjehan was born in 1577 and married Emperor Jehangir at the age of thirty six, when she was a widow and a mother of a child, amidst severe opposition from everyone close to the emperor. She was Jehangir’s twentieth wife and the most powerful woman in the history of Mughal India who had coins minted in her name. She held court next to the emperor without purdah and even signed official dictates. She was overshadowed in history by her own niece Mumtaz who has been immortalized by the Taj Mahal. She wanted her daughter Ladli to marry Prince Shahjahan so as to wield power over the next generation but Mumtaz had been trained well by her wily aunt and as a result never left the side of her husband, even when he went on battle. Nurjehan died at the age of sixty eight in Lahore where she is buried at a tomb that she designed for herself and Jehangir. Her own brother, who was brought into power and prestige by her, sided with his son in law and captured Jehangir and Nurjehan causing the former’s untimely death.
Every student of classical Indian dance knows the name of Rukmini Devi Arundale (1904 – 1986) who has single handed laid the foundations of classical dance in India in its present avatar. A recently released Biography (Rukmini Devi: A Life) written by her student, the noted danseuse Leela Samson relates her eighty two year old story. Rukmini devi was born into a conservative Tamil Brahmin family that was influenced by their eldest son joining the Theosophical Society under Annie Besant. Her marriage to Dr. Besant’s nephew– George Arundale at the age of sixteen when he was forty six was condemned by both the British and Indian society. Her husband went on to become the president of the Theosophical society of India and she played an active role in building the schools within its precincts and fund-raising for the society. She started to learn dance after the age of twenty nine and gave her first public performance at the age of thirty one. She was instrumental in giving Indian classical dance respectability since till then it was only practiced by Devdasis – women married to deities in the temple who performed in front of the idols. She learnt dance from Gowri Ammal and other Devdasis for whom she battled, she studied the Natya Shastra, adapted and developed the dance to give Bharatanatyam its present form. She built Kalakshretra which till date produces some of our greatest artists from South India. Unknown to many, she created the costume in which the present day dancers perform and was part of the forum that developed the seven forms of Indian classical dance that was given national recognition. She gave the musicians and accompanists an equal status as the performer on the stage. Rukmini devi was part of the Rajya Sabha for two terms and was instrumental in the legislation of prevention of cruelty to animals in 1960.
Both the ladies have not received the attention they deserved as independent women who achieved their glory without the support of affluent parents but carved out their own destinies during a time when women rarely stepped out of the home. Their stories are fascinating in a country where a lady is perceived to wilt by the time they touch thirty and should be an inspiration to many of us who lament that our best days have passed us.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
All is well?
I think the movie “3 Idiots” deserves an Adults certification from the Censor Board that states it is unsuitable for children under eighteen. There is a growing movement that supports my belief and we are all planning to have a press conference with our views. It is very well for the three protagonists in Imperial engineering college to be screaming and singing “All is Well” and but the problem is that all kids in schools are beginning to chant the song and it is severely affecting the concentration levels of students appearing the class ten and twelve board exams in March.
The anti 3 Idiots movement started in the gymnasium of a certain school where parents had gathered with their children to collect the pre board mark sheets. One had never seen such a festive lot of children being accompanied by such a glum and dismal bunch of adults. For a change several fathers had appeared during a day of work and were mopping their brows despite the low Delhi temperature. As we stood in a serpentine line waiting to collect the report card for hopefully the last time, we began to trade in our woes. I complimented a mother for the largesse of her heart since she was permitting her daughter to take a break year from her studies after her twelfth. From the stricken look on her face and the long silence that ensued I realised that this was the first time she was hearing about it. Another mother lamented that since the National Law school exams needed only a 59 per cent for admission,the board exams had lost their relevance for her child. A parent guffawed and said that foreign universities had already given provisional admission and the board exam was being treated as a necessary evil at home. I asked a boy what he intended to study and he told me what he was clear that he did not want to study mathematics or anything quantitative. He was considering philosophy or history while his industrialist dad standing next to him was trying not to cry.
All is definitely well after one crosses the hurdle of the class twelve boards and lands in some spot in the sun. But as most of us recall, we spent the prime of our adolescence worrying about what was to happen to us and it may be a while before this legacy will disappear. If one lives in the Rajdhani, one just wishes for a college where “Tezaab” is not thrown at young girls instead of “Abeer” during Holi.
The anti 3 Idiots movement started in the gymnasium of a certain school where parents had gathered with their children to collect the pre board mark sheets. One had never seen such a festive lot of children being accompanied by such a glum and dismal bunch of adults. For a change several fathers had appeared during a day of work and were mopping their brows despite the low Delhi temperature. As we stood in a serpentine line waiting to collect the report card for hopefully the last time, we began to trade in our woes. I complimented a mother for the largesse of her heart since she was permitting her daughter to take a break year from her studies after her twelfth. From the stricken look on her face and the long silence that ensued I realised that this was the first time she was hearing about it. Another mother lamented that since the National Law school exams needed only a 59 per cent for admission,the board exams had lost their relevance for her child. A parent guffawed and said that foreign universities had already given provisional admission and the board exam was being treated as a necessary evil at home. I asked a boy what he intended to study and he told me what he was clear that he did not want to study mathematics or anything quantitative. He was considering philosophy or history while his industrialist dad standing next to him was trying not to cry.
All is definitely well after one crosses the hurdle of the class twelve boards and lands in some spot in the sun. But as most of us recall, we spent the prime of our adolescence worrying about what was to happen to us and it may be a while before this legacy will disappear. If one lives in the Rajdhani, one just wishes for a college where “Tezaab” is not thrown at young girls instead of “Abeer” during Holi.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Old faithful
My friend has a Sony Television which is celebrating its twentieth birthday. He recollects the day the TV entered the household to be very joyous, it was his most extravagant acquisition bought with a bank loan at the cost of one hundred thousand rupees. It has stood by his family through Doordarshan, the initial days of cable television and just as he thought the channels were inadequate, destiny closed in with satellite transmission and removed all inadequacies. The old faithful could then show him as many channels in prime condition. Even the furniture that houses his prized possession has been ordered to specific dimensions and rests in the middle of the room, surrounded by couches for mindless viewing. Everyone tells him to acquire one of those flat, sleek snazzy versions which can be slapped onto the wall but he says that would leave a large hollow empty space both in his heart and in the furniture.
He understandably gets rather upset when he calls the Sony Service Manager when a tiny fuse in the TV blows due to voltage fluctuations and the guy roars with laughter when he hears the date of birth of the gadget. My friend is not a person who people should laugh at because the next thing the engineer has to do is fly in components from across South-east Asia for repairs. The peeved service manager now looks forward to his call and says he shows all his trainees the television like children are taken to the dinosaur museum.
This behaviour does not amuse my friend. He says that people pay more for antique silk carpets which most probably have dog poo and soup spilt on it. Others pay a premium for old jewellery just because a sagacious snooty gentleman assures them that it was once worn by royalty. How could one possibly know that since there is no way to scientifically measure aging of a piece of jewellery unlike a fossil? For all one knows a courtesan at Sonar Gachi could have fallen into bad times.
I try to pacify him by saying old is gold and just hope that I age like the carpet rather than the doomed television.
He understandably gets rather upset when he calls the Sony Service Manager when a tiny fuse in the TV blows due to voltage fluctuations and the guy roars with laughter when he hears the date of birth of the gadget. My friend is not a person who people should laugh at because the next thing the engineer has to do is fly in components from across South-east Asia for repairs. The peeved service manager now looks forward to his call and says he shows all his trainees the television like children are taken to the dinosaur museum.
This behaviour does not amuse my friend. He says that people pay more for antique silk carpets which most probably have dog poo and soup spilt on it. Others pay a premium for old jewellery just because a sagacious snooty gentleman assures them that it was once worn by royalty. How could one possibly know that since there is no way to scientifically measure aging of a piece of jewellery unlike a fossil? For all one knows a courtesan at Sonar Gachi could have fallen into bad times.
I try to pacify him by saying old is gold and just hope that I age like the carpet rather than the doomed television.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Mom's cooking
Finally a cola major has created an advertisement that tugs at the heart strings of the matriarch of the household who usually decides the expense allocation of the grocery budget. I was pursuing my favourite late evening occupation of channel surfing when the daughter asked me to stop at a particular channel to watch an advertisement. The models appeared to be rotund folks gorging on food and I told her we could well be looking into a mirror when the catch line about no food being as good as one’s mothers grub appeared. She looked at me like a cat that has licked cream and said that was precisely the purpose of the advertisement - most people felt the same way as she did, there was nothing like her mamma’s cooking. I couldn’t believe a company whose products I think are unhealthy actually got the two of us mushy as we gave each other a big sloppy hug.
The not so hidden obvious ingredient in a mother’s cooking; clichéd as it may sound is unmitigated love. Also a lot of greed for mothers live to see their kids faces light up with joy, look at one with a content smile, burp and give one a big thank you hug. It’s what makes every labour pain, growling teacher, errant tutors and endless shopping expeditions worth its while. A mom does not cook a dish; she creates one tailor made for her offspring. She makes it as spicy, sweet, salty as one desires it. She manipulates recipes to add and subtract condiments to the child’s likes and dislikes. She adds visual colour to the creation by scouring the market for ingredients that juxtapose well with each other. She reduces the fat component if weight is an issue and increases fibre magically when one needs it for she is as concerned about your pimples as you are. All this is done in a subtle magical manner while she is pretending to cook only for husband or mother-in-law. It’s a silent pact that neither one talks about. Mothers also like have energy to make food at odd times when one is hungry. When a child studies snacks appear at odd hours to keep one awake, return from college or school and a hot dish appears, even if one brings a load of friends home there is enough to go around.
Why does mommy not feel the same way when she cooks for daddy or other adults? Beta, once upon a time mommy did feel that way and daddy felt like Shahajahan in front of what he thought was an endless bounty of love. Then he started to show his gussa on the food that she laboured on and refused to eat when he was angry. Then mommy slowly got fed up and daddy started eating left over’s from the kid’s party or ordered in from chick fish or pappu da dhaba. The moral of the story is, never do gussa on mom’s khana, the natija is not very good.
The not so hidden obvious ingredient in a mother’s cooking; clichéd as it may sound is unmitigated love. Also a lot of greed for mothers live to see their kids faces light up with joy, look at one with a content smile, burp and give one a big thank you hug. It’s what makes every labour pain, growling teacher, errant tutors and endless shopping expeditions worth its while. A mom does not cook a dish; she creates one tailor made for her offspring. She makes it as spicy, sweet, salty as one desires it. She manipulates recipes to add and subtract condiments to the child’s likes and dislikes. She adds visual colour to the creation by scouring the market for ingredients that juxtapose well with each other. She reduces the fat component if weight is an issue and increases fibre magically when one needs it for she is as concerned about your pimples as you are. All this is done in a subtle magical manner while she is pretending to cook only for husband or mother-in-law. It’s a silent pact that neither one talks about. Mothers also like have energy to make food at odd times when one is hungry. When a child studies snacks appear at odd hours to keep one awake, return from college or school and a hot dish appears, even if one brings a load of friends home there is enough to go around.
Why does mommy not feel the same way when she cooks for daddy or other adults? Beta, once upon a time mommy did feel that way and daddy felt like Shahajahan in front of what he thought was an endless bounty of love. Then he started to show his gussa on the food that she laboured on and refused to eat when he was angry. Then mommy slowly got fed up and daddy started eating left over’s from the kid’s party or ordered in from chick fish or pappu da dhaba. The moral of the story is, never do gussa on mom’s khana, the natija is not very good.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
