Quotidian Tales

When did you last visit your childhood? L ast Friday, I went to an exhibition. I had read about it in the papers. It promised fun and nostalgia but with a difference. Conceived and created by an aspiring artist, Aahel Iyer, it was called the 'Playschool'. What a memory-inducing name, I thought! The moment I entered the hall, a splash of colours, bright colours dazzled my eyes. I’m sure you’ll agree that colours have their own way of affecting the mind. Mine was immediately swept away from the subtle shades of my present to the effervescent and energetic hues of my childhood. There were quite a few interesting installations, coloured art pieces and impressionistic presentations, if I may call them, in the exhibition. I was very keen to know the story behind each one of them. A tag, which included more than just a name or a title, was attached to every exhibit. The purpose, I believe, was to offer a vignette of that particular memory of the artist. Another t

Are we heading towards the Third World War? W hat did I see? An arid land, dry and dusty. The brown predominates the landscape and the lustreless green is hardly there at the fringes. Right in the middle is a bottle, announcing itself as the elixir of life - “water”. Next, I see a giraffe, necking in, as if, to get a hold of the bottle. But immediately, by suggestion, is contested by another animal, an elephant. What follows is a remarkable replication of the finest move of a game called soccer. As the bottle is flung high in the air, my mind, almost spontaneously, gets ready to relish some more excitement. But oh! The very next instant, I am flustered. Taken aback to see the game turning brutal. The ghastly grip of the giraffe on the trunk of the elephant is gruesome to the point of being monstrous. Wasn’t a giraffe a harmless, peaceful neophyte animal? My school-book knowledge was getting all mixed up and thwarted! A giraffe puts up a fight only to defend or when attack

I am happy the way I am. I will not let others decide how I should look or appear. "B adi mushkil baba badi mushkil Gore gore gaalon pe hai kaala kaala til" ~ a song from the movie Lajja , (a 2001 Bollywood drama) in which Madhuri Dixit had performed. I am a big fan of Madhuri Dixit. Her distinctive dance moves and animated expressions seriously make many skip a heartbeat. This song from the movie Lajja, is even more special. Because there’s Me in it somewhere. My parents were ecstatic to have me as their firstborn. "How gorgeous she is... and her dot... the most heavenly brown that can ever dwell on an earthling!" Conch shells were blown as Baba picked me up towards the slit of light from heaven to declare… "She is a princess, born to live happily ever after!" The breeze slightly ruffled the curtain to ratify the blessing that imprinted itself on my heart. Well, that’s the dramatic start that my dot had! Adorable, in the eyes of the hap

Every child is special. Do we have the heart to feel it? T hese days my 9-year old seems to be obsessed with Ninjas. She loves to watch their movies, read about them and even use the primary karate moves (picked up from weekly lessons in school) to emulate them. Last night as she was intensely watching an animated Ninja episode, she blurted out a phrase. Without any conscious effort, it caught my attention. ‘Ninjas never quit!’ As I moved out of the room and into the verandah to take off my daughter’s uniform from the clothesline, my eyes fell upon the ‘Niketan’. The school-cum-residential that stands just across the street. It is a home in which, not one, two or even a few children live. It is one which accommodates 150 - 200 children. They live there, not with their parents or relatives but under the supervision of caregivers and special educators. Though they are like us and our children, they are often referred to as ‘special’. Apparently, they have physical, mental

With years of roles foisted upon her, she has forgotten what it is to be herself A certain Mrs Sen was staring hard at life. Four decades of scathing remarks and constant belittling had reduced her to an entity she could hardly recognise as being her true self. Irritable and lost, all that she could remember of her past was the warmth of her childhood home and the amassing accolades for her performance. Marriage had bestowed on her, activities and engagements, but untimely and unknowingly, halted the flowering of the self. Doing the chores and tweaking her life in the larger interest of the family soon became her habit and the only way to be. And then one day, life seemed to have passed by in a whiff. With her fledgelings flying out of the nest, age and ailments catching up on her, the gnawing presence of the spouse and every morning a span of twenty-four long hours hurled at her, she barely knew what to do. In those yesteryears, she never had the time (though she did

Making a craft with your child is a meaningful way to engage him...and much more... I t is always difficult to spend quality time with your kid. I make sure, I never miss one such possibility. I usually take up a tiny project with my son every month. I plan it so as to distribute the activity almost through each day of the month. This allotted task gives us a new topic to discuss and work on, together. My takeaway. The happiness and enthusiasm that fills the tender one during the conversations that go along with the creation. My son was actively involved at every step… his ardent love for this simple craft (that) filled me with a sense of accomplishment. Our May project was to fill a glass jar (a long-forgotten gift from an old friend). How should we fill it was the main challenge the two of us faced. A two-day long rigorous discussion followed. It looked like a professional team doing a much-needed requirements analysis prior to a project. Of course, it was mellowed dow

Impromptu plans with friends provide a breather amidst life’s crushing pressure. T he other day, I was supposed to meet two of my friends for shopping. One among us took the meeting time a little too seriously. She was there on the dot. Frantically, she kept calling us as two of us were travelling together. My travel buddy kept reassuring the restless one that we were just about to reach. Actually, we were far from the destination. What a smirk she had each time, thinking she had narrated a convincing tale! I sat and wondered how much was being bought of what she sold that day. Oh, by the way, did I tell you what prompted us to shove aside our work and arrange for an almost impromptu coming-together that afternoon? The pursuit of some perfectly-fitted, voguish good-to-go-with-almost-anything blouses. Yes, you read that clean. A blouse is an upper garment that accompanies and complements the traditional Indian garment called the saree. The mentor knew which style, patte

Engrossed in our gadgets, we now find it intimidating to have a real chat. W ords, words and more words. Not just feed, I feast on them. But communication today is being threatened and usurped by addictive, numbing and readily-available audio and visual entertainment. We just have got to do something about it. Conversation is crucial. Be it a coming-back-from-school story session between a child and a parent, a sweet (and yet-to-become-bitter) têt-à-tête between lovers, a storytelling stretch between an indulgent grandparent and a little one or even an unabashed venting-out bout between friends, such exchanges are the lifeblood maintaining the essence and integrity of relationships. It was only last weekend when I had gone for brunch, a hybrid meal meant for leisurely days, that I distinctly noticed one thing - people were hardly talking! They were immersed in their gadgets. Shockingly, even children (at least one in all but a few tables) were using a virtual portal to

A blog was born to share the quotidian tales of life. Tales of your lives and ours. R andomness struck us as we bonded, not on the first day of the primary, junior or even senior school for that matter, but in the 11th grade with only a mere one and a half years left to step out of our second homes. Two shabby, squeaking benches, one behind the other, was the space that metamorphosed our experiences from the general to the distinctive. From sharing lunchboxes to sharing lives, all extempores coagulated to form that envious rainbow, which, sadly enough, disappeared once the conducive conditions were lost. Hardly did we realise how time raced us through its course as we shifted from pulling each other’s legs, mimicking teachers, enjoying moments of unadulterated fun to writing absurdities and absolutes in our precious slam books. Sparks produced sparkles, and once in a while, we paused, pondered and decided to proceed….We ventured to discuss and disclose the quotidian tale