Harnaaz..You're are our Naaz!!

To be honest, I am elated that Miss Harnaaz won the Miss Universe 2021 title for India. The crown was back to India after 21 long years. My sincere appreciation to her for the self-belief, discipline, hard work and dedication she has put in to win the crown back, joining the league of shining personalities like Sushmita Sen and Lara Dutta.

And then I see this article in the Hindu. Read it here: 

https://www.thehindu.com/opinion/columns/miss-universe-2021-pageant-and-the-burden-of-beauty/article37953141.ece 

 An article blowing things out of proportion. Discrediting the positive aspects about pageants, which people have been talking about time and again. And The Hindu decided to publish the article unfairly slamming beauty pageants...After all the they have done to showcase that it is not about skin deep beauty. After giving stellar opportunities to identify and groom many famous personalities like Aishwarya Rai, Priyanka Chopra, Gal Gadot and Sushmita Sen who went are shining beacons of hope and inspiration to so many women across the globe.

Decided to write about it since I don't agree with the author. For example, read this para:

There was the crowning irony moment when India’s Harnaaz Sandhu, who became Miss Universe, passionately dissed beauty and declaimed, “Let’s talk about more important things happening worldwide…” while blithely forgetting that she was participating in an event in Israel amidst boycott calls and global concerns about the country’s ruthless settlement and suppression policy vis-à-vis Palestinians, an “important thing” that neither participants nor organizers were talking about.

It was obviously not in her control to decide the venue of the event. But it was her dream to win Miss Universe title. And when she has never talked about Israel-Palestine issue one cannot assume that she is unaware about it or she doesn’t care about it. Later in the article she criticises how Miss Harnaaz spoke about knowing you are unique and stop comparing yourself with others. I didn't know it is possible for someone to find fault with what she said, UNTIL... I read her article.

She doesn’t leave it there...read on:

In fact, some contestants posed with Palestinian costumes and food using a Visit Israel hashtag, oblivious to the blatant appropriation that allows Palestinian culture to be showcased even as Palestinians are systematically erased.

One can easily guess that whoever did this did not intend to disregard the struggle of the Palestinians. And there are more responsible people out there who are supposed to sort out these issues? Why blame the 20-year-olds who posed with Palestinian costume or food? How does finding fault with them contribute to solving the problem?

The author again goes on casting many more aspersions on Harnaaz as well as the Miss Universe pageant. My take on some of them:

 

1. Competing in a pageant is not about comparing. Then there should never be any contests. All contests are about selecting the best of the lot and it is not required to slam people competing as comparison.

 

2. High heels? How do you know they don't like high heels? If it were flats someone can very well say the contestants were not allowed to wear heels? Maybe we should have another contest - How to find faut with everything about an event you don't like?

 

3. Ridiculous props in the national costume round? Have you seen costumes in Met Gala? Have you heard of creativity?

 

4. 'They' meowed like cats? How many people did that? Why this exaggeration? Why see it out of context? Also, I am not able to comprehend the thought process of the author which led her to look down upon something done as part of friendly banter.

 

5. Beauty standards? Doesn't all contests have criteria? Don't we have similar contest for Men too…Do they come on board with pot bellies and slouched body language?

6. Western clothing? What else do you expect from a pageant originating from USA? Should they endorse Kimonas? 

 7. Another excerpt read: At an even more basic level — what really does a beauty pageant mean in a world where the perfect nose is a scalpel away and flawless skin comes in a bottle? Completely incoherent argument. I don't think I need to explain why. She is totally missing the point. 

One logical possibility of a negative influence of pageants on young women would be perhaps aspiring for unrealistic body proportions or beauty standards. But that is only a possibility and we should make women educated and smart enough to think for themselves what is right and wrong for them. 

 

So why did the author write this article? Perhaps the author is just plain jealous.

 

If we set out to find fault, it is possible to find fault with everything in the world. I think that is what she has proved. Harnaaz…just ignore the rants… Once again Congratulations from the bottom of my heart!!!

The Curious Case of a Dosa and White Coconut Chutney: What Cookery Shows Don’t Tell You

Let’s take the wonderful journey towards the preparation of the simple and humble morning breakfast, i.e., Dosa and Coconut Chutney. That’s it. And No, we are not going anywhere near Sambhar.

PREVIOUS DAY:

Inventory to be ready: White Rice and Urad Dal + some fenugreek

2.30 PM: 06 cups of rice to be soaked. It’s great if it soaks for a long 08 hours.

8.30 PM: 02 cups of Urad Dal to be soaked. One tablespoon of fenugreek to be soaked separately.

10.30 PM: Set up the Mixer Grinder and prepare the batter adding enough water. Add one scoop of cooked rice and soaked Fenugreek also. Transfer contents to a clean bowl. Add salt and stir. Allow it to rest.

CLEAN THE MIXER GRINDER IMMEDIATELY, BEFORE IT DRIES UP AND GIVES YOU A TOUGH TIME!!

Clean all the Utensils used for soaking the ingredients. Wash the tabletop to clear spilled batter.

Wash the cloth used to clean the tabletop and put it to dry. Clean the sink to remove any spilled batter drops. Simple da..

BREAKFAST MORNING:

Get up in the morning and smile. It’s a simple breakfast day!

Inventory to be ready: Dosa Batter, Grated Coconut, Small Onions, Green Chilli, Curry Leaves, Dry Red Chilli(whole), Ginger, Salt, Oil, Mustard, Boiled water.

8.00 AM: Find out the coconut to be sacrificed for the auspicious occasion. If you are lucky or if you bought it from the shop, it will be de-husked. If you are not, Congrats! you have earned the opportunity to do it yourself. Now the coconut has to be skilfully broken into two perfect hemispheres because that makes it easier to grate it perfectly. For accomplishing this feat, you must first take out the “Vakkathi”, the quintessential weapon in every Mallu home.

Now, seek the blessings of your Geometry teacher in your short silent prayer, hold the coconut and pay attention to your meek or not so meek hands so as not to hurt them. Strike hard in the centre of the sphere, I mean the coconut. If it did not break open, repeat the steps by laterally rotating the coconut with one hand. Relax, it comes with practice only.

                                                             

If you passed the test with two perfectly hemispherical coconut pieces with no injuries, well Congratulations again!! You have proved to be a true Mallu.

It’s not over, move to the coconut grater, it can be the one fixed to tabletop, it can also be the one kept on the floor which requires you to mount yourself on top of it first, find your balance and then begin grating.

                                                                                                             

Grate the coconut without injuring yourself. Partition the contents into two: One portion for the Chutney and the rest to be stored in the Fridge.

Clean the mess around the coconut grate Area. And yes, yet again, clean the cleaning cloth again to remove the coconut particles stuck to it and allow it to dry. Dispose the “Chirata” or the Shell along with all the broken pieces it would have generated during the great smash. Clean the floor/table once again, as the case maybe.

Now that the main ingredient for Chutney is ready, ascertain the availability of other raw materials/ingredients required.

The big question now is: Do you have Curry Leaves?

If not, run to your kitchen garden or give a shout out to your neighbour.

Is it in the fridge..? How long has it been there? You may be in trouble. Take it out, see what’s left of the stuff, clean the healthy leaves and keep it aside. Don’t forget to dispose the bad curry leaves and the plastic cover separately. Waste management is to be done right you see.

Clean the small onions (also known as Sambhar Onions but fear not, as mentioned earlier we are going nowhere near Sambhar right now). Wash and dice the cleaned onions and keep aside. Put aside the onion skin along with other organic stuff to be disposed.

Wash green chillies (as required) and ginger (one small piece) and prepare them also for the grind.

Do you have Dried Red Chilli? The fun is in the tadka dear. Run…run in search of the packet. Check if it is good for use or showing signs of fungus attack. In any case, you want to ensure its edible, clean it with a dry cloth and heat it slightly to take out the moisture and kill all the germs. Your Dry Red Chillies are ready! Once again, clean the damn cloth and allow it to dry.

Time for the mixer grinder once again. This time, it’s the smaller bowl. Transfer the grated coconut, the cleaned, diced small onions, the chopped ginger, green chillies (2-3). Add some salt and some hot water. You didn’t boil water? Ok…well that’s the first thing to do in kitchen. You should have done it without saying. Nevertheless, pour some normal water and give it a nice grind in the mixer grinder.

Take out your Pan, pour some oil, when it heats up, put the mustard. Stay safe from the boiling oil and popping mustard and skilfully add dry Red Chillies broken into half, along with the curry leaves into the pan without splashing oil drops onto your sweet face. Once it changes colour, add the contents in the mixer grinder, and give a nice stir. Add boiled water/normal water to adjust consistency.

Check salt. Once its finely cooked, switch off the gas and transfer the chutney neatly into a bowl.

Put the pan and the ladle in the sink. You can Clean the gas stove if you believe in the clean as you go principle or simple choose to clean it at the end of the day.

Time is not standing still; earth has rotated a little more. But what time is it by now, depends on your speed and skill at this craft called “Cooking”.

MAYBE 8.45 OR 9.00 AM: Make tea. Store neatly in a flask. Flask will be ready only if you washed it the previous day. Put the utensils in the sink. Shoo away ants approaching the sugar jar and tightly close the lid.

MAYBE 9.15 AM: Take out the Tava and start making Dosa, nice round and crisp. Add ghee for the Healthy folks separately and no ghee for the not so healthy folks. Store separately in Casseroles. If all of them like it the same way, you save the time washing an extra Casserole. Put the tava in the sink. Keep remaining batter in the refrigerator.

MAYBE 9.30 AM: Watch hungry people finish the breakfast in less than 10 minutes and get on with their life.

MAYBE 10.00 AM: Finish washing all the remaining plates, cups, Katoris, Pans, Tava, Spoons, the Mixer grinder bowl and clean the Dining Area and Sink. Once again, wash the cleaning cloth and put it to dry. Clean the Mixer Grinder and take off the plug from the socket and secure the cord neatly. Through away the organic waste in the backyard and keep all plastic waste ready for disposal.

Forgot to have breakfast? Oh! Please have it!

That’s the end of the show…Now you are free to cook Lunch! Smile!

***

P.S: Although I have kept the narration gender neutral, it is to be noted that the dangerous feats involving use of weapons and sharp objects like Vakkathi and Coconut grater, are many a times taken up by menfolk, in a grand gesture to protect family members from any possible harm. And in such cases, it is possible that the grated coconut will be readily available in the fridge. However, special care to be taken to not allow children anywhere near such dangerous endeavours.

Also, cleaning the workspace can be undertaken together at the end of the activity instead of the intermittent spells.

TO MY DEAR APPA

 After a long long time, I am coming back to my blog. Blame it on the Corporate Life. I had forgotten myself. I think I am back now. 

And today is Father's Day. Last year this time, I never thought in near future, this day would pass with out my father. I had a normal conversation with him. But life never promised to play fair, and I lost him in a months time. 

So, this is in memory of my father, my Appa.

Dear Appa,

Most of my memories start from when I turned four. My fondest memories begin with you. Thank you.

As kids, our evenings were spent waiting for you to arrive. I would have finished my homework. And we would be looking forward as to how best to pester you for the rest of the day. You come up at the door, we are already demanding to be lifted up in turns.

As soon as you settle down for tea, me and chechi are already taking turns to sit on your lap and sliding down like we are in a park already. Thank you for being our makeshift children’s park.

Come dinner time, my efforts are concentrated on booking my seat on your lap and eating dinner from your plate always, before even my sister can think about it.

Thank you for your patience.

Thank you for scooping me up from bed in the morning, Putting me up on a chair, washing my face and making me brush my teeth, so that I am ready for school.

Thank you for the playtime in the terrace. For making Olapandu for us. Thank you for lifting me as a kid whenever I demanded. I used to feel I was on top of the world…felt like the tallest person around because you are so tall.. Thank you for throwing me up in the air. Up there, I used to feel I am flying. My giggles echoed the place. And there was no room for fear because I knew you would catch me.

Thank you for taking us for long walks. So that I could see paddy fields and ducks in the evenings

Thank you for taking us to the park. We played and ran around to our hearts content.

I was so naughty beyond perhaps what you imagined a kid would be like. I have the best mom in the world but I was such a terrible daughter, even she would lose her cool. Thank you for saving me countless times from Amma’s bashings. Sometimes, all could hope for was for you to return from office and save me from her beatings.

Thank you for all the shopping sprees. The new clothes, trips to Marine Drive. Cone Ice cream, Frooti. Couldn’t ask for more.

Thanks for the trips to meet Appachen Ammachi, in our all time faviourite St.Thomas Bus from Aluva.

Thank you for the song story you taught us.

Thank you for slicing juicy mangoes for us, as the three of us stood competing for the next one.

Thankyou,

For ironing our uniforms and clothes.

For cooking occasionally

For carrying groceries and vegetables to home thousands of times for us

For coming to see me off in the bus stop.

For quietly placing the plum cake in the fridge, a night before my birthday, along with all the things required to make chicken biriyani and payasam but never wishing me Happy Birthday.

For paying up our school fees all the time. Thinking back nothing breaks my heart more. I knew it was so hard on you. But you did it as long as you could.

My childhood mornings remind me of the smell of Old Spice aftershave and your shaving kit, which I figured out I will never grow up to use. Your morning routine those days -Your exercise, the morning radio news, Abba Music, the ironing shirt and trousers for office, the newspaper and tea- which I was keen to hijack from you, mostly just the newspaper.

Yeah, I miss you Appa. Not a day passes without thinking about you a hundred times.

We were not very keen about calling and wishing on special occasions. And never thought twice about it. Why did I behave as though we are immortal, I don’t know.

But Last year, I wished you Happy Father’s Day from Kolkata, I had no idea it would be the first and last time.

Where did you go Appa?

Why did you go? It’s just not fair. Do you know how it feels to look at your father's phone number and not know what to do with it once he's gone? I think you do, in a different way. 

There was much more left to be done..

We had lot of catching up to do..

I wish you were here.

I would call you occasionally. We could go for small trips. Go for the long walks.

I could come home and still see you bringing tea powder and rava and onions and vegetables.

I could see you read your news paper. Take your afternoon naps and do your bit of gardening and plumbing.

I could ask about your health. I could buy you occasional gifts.

I could irritate you just like I used to as a kid.

We could go back together to Mannathoor and go house hopping, meetings all relatives. While you would do the talking, I could sit back and listen to the conversations.

I could see your innocent smile and listen to your analysis of the current geo political- economic situation.

I could see you drink tea and watch TV and sit by the side. Such a rare contented feeling. Sitting next to your parent. Never realized that all the time I was at home. Had to go out into the world and get separated from family to see the value in it.

The only solace is that I am 50% you. I am a piece of you that you’ve left behind. So, you are alive through me.

I take you forward. I keep you alive as long as I am alive. You are still very much there because we are there.

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY APPA.

Love, Remya.

BHOKRI

     The mighty Banyan Tree stands right outside my officer's colony. It flutters its leaves in celebration of every stroke of wind. It receives with reverence all the diyas kept around it in the evenings, meant to deal with the shani doshas of Hindu devotees. You see, Peepal ka pedh is divine.

     It reminds me of Kerala in many ways. The erstwhile gramsabhas of Kerala were invariably held under the shade of the Banyan Tree(aal maram) .The eternal presence of Banyan trees is inevitable outside temples and some movie scenes. The aalila thaali(North Indians please read as Mangalsutra) and aalila kannan(Lord Krishna) are all related to Banyan tree.  

     I was out for office on time, that day. While waiting for the share auto (No mini bus please!) I could see that a couple is busy pulling down the tender branches of Banyan tree down to the ground, with an unsually long bamboo stick. The pale green leaves and shoots of the tree had just arrived after winter. I watched the activity for a while and was confused why they never stopped doing it despite having a considerable collection of the leaves and tender shoots. And I wondered what purpose it was supposed to serve. I decided to ask, out of curiosity.

     The couple temporarily paused and looked at me. My Hindi is good enough but it cannot always work in place of Bengali. So conversing with locals is not easy. After repeating twice "Kya kar rahe ho aap log? Peepal ke pathon ka kya karega? ", with the necessary actions, they smiled. 

     The lady replied loudly, "Bhokri main khayega" !!

     "Accha..". Now the ball is in my court. 

     Bhokri... For next 5 seconds my mind scanned all the North Indian terminologies associated with the sound "Bh"... Bhangra,Bakrid, Bhakranangal(But thats a dam!), Bhai Dooj, Baisakhi... My logical conclusion was that Bhokri is a local festival wherein banyan tree leaves have some religious significance and is used to make some special dish exclusively for that occassion. Queer enough...

     " Accha...Bhokri main tumi ye patta khabo...?"(You are going to have these leaves during Bhokri?) I retorted with confidence in my broken Bengali.

     They looked at each other. Then they looked at me. 

    "Ami noi...Bhokri main khayega...Bhokri main..". The guy took over this time. 

     The same conversation was repeated another two times with same results. 0-0

     By now I knew I am in trouble.There was some serious miscommunication going on. ' I'd better hurry for office than experiment my Bengali skills with people on the road', I thought to myself. Dismissing further conversation with an "Accha Accha teek hai..", I became busy looking for an auto that would appear at the end of the road any time.

     "Didi...Bhokri.. Bhokri..

      Bhokri hain na..."

     The couple were still determined. I gave a puzzled look. " Ki bolchi"?

     "Choto...choto...choto Bhokri hain na... meeeeeeh meeeeeh..."

     The guy was now demonsrating his mimicry skills, bleating like a goat. I looked around to see if anybody was watching this tamasha. Nobody... Thank heavens! 

    " Meeeeh meeeeeh....." he continued. 

     Finally... the tube light in me got enlightened.

     The tender Banyan leaves are fodder for their goats and lambs. Great. Thumbs Up.Yo..!!

     I smiled at them, acknowledged that I understood and quietly boarded an auto, heading for office leaving behind a happy couple, jubilant in translating their idea to me .

    P.S:  I never imagined that Bakris would aspire to feed on Banyan tree leaves!! Hope they had a nice time munching the tender leaves! 

AMI DEE DICHI

     It was a hot afternoon. I was rushing home for lunch from office. That privilege of employees living in a township: A 10 to 15 minute walk to quarters. But it was too late to afford a walk. And it was too hot. That means I had to decide to board the local minibuses that ply in the route.

  The minibuses. They are mostly crowded with people who seldom take a bath. These buses are smelly and nauseating and take half the life out of me during the 4 minutes I spent inside it .They are a miniature representation and a true testimony to the life of the people in this part of the country. And this part of a country is: A small village in a corner of West Bengal close to Jharkhand border; “Sanctoria” to be pronounced as “Shaactodia”. Don’t mind. Sa is Sho in Bengali just as “ Aa” is “Oo”. Much to my dismay, in the first few days I had learnt that Saurav Ganguly is not actually Saurav...hes Shorob da...I was mispronouncing his name for my entire life..!!(and I will continue to J] Well, I got used to it now. Not a problem.

   Let me come to the point. I got into the bus. The conductor wore torn clothes greased with dirt. His face was as shabby as his hair. I sat down reluctantly ensuring minimum contact with the seat. Hurriedly I searched my hand bag for a 5 rupee coin...UHH.. Now...I had just run out of money. I just missed going to ATM.  No notes. No coins. Empty purse. I franctically checked every nook and corner of my bag and purse like a blitzkrieg so as to hand over the money before I get down. There I was, One, two, three....Three rupees..I made it! Almost made it!

   I counted it again and handed it over to the conductor and pretended to keep searching for more coins. But then, I knew these were people for whom every rupee is a lottery. Denying them the balance would be very unfair. I looked up at him hoping for some consideration. But, before I could say, Bhaiyya paise nahi hain...baad main denge.. those words rang into my ears from my side... “ AMI DEE DICHI...AMI DEE DICHI..”. 

   A lady with pan stained teeth grinned widely at me. Her sindoor adorned her forehead extending to midway of her cerebral hemisphere. She had by then opened up the knot, at the end of the pallu of her unwashed Sari and neatly handed over two one rupee coins to the conductor after due verification. I saw in her eyes a divine satisfaction of having helped me. I smiled at her and thanked her profusely. Both were happy. She smiled gleefully at me as though I made her day (but why?) and I smiled at her because she actually made my day!

    She helped a Madamji. For the local people, Madamjis are those officer grade women who work in Govt. Offices, clearly distinguished by their clothes and accessories and the place they live. Madamjis wear neatly pressed clothes and wrist watches. They carry handbags and use mobile phones and they can READ and WRITE. They live in company quarters. They possess good footwears and expensive wallets. But sometimes...They don’t have a two rupee coin!

   The incident through some light into the corners of my mind. The insights are as follows:

      1. Never underestimate the value of a rupee

      2. Never underestimate the power of a common man/woman- Courtesy: Sharukh Khan

   After coming here I just realised that I am not a common person. I realised that I am extraordinarily blessed. I received good education, love, care and attention. Good food. Shelter and laughter. Good job, bank account and adequate bank balance. Good water and toilets inside my residence- Always(Thankyou God!!) . Good friends, freedom, outings, books, movies, opportunities to travel, and good clothes.

    I did not know at some point of time that these are a distant dream for millions of people in this country. After joining Coal India and shifting my base to West Bengal, I saw what life is like for many others. Women work as aayas/maids in houses for 600-700 rupees a month. They earn a little more than 20 rupees a day, when a packet of milk costs 19 rupees and still feel happy that they are financially independent. They get up at 4 am to go out to attend natures call into the thickets. They have no toilets at home. 

   They queue up at 5 am to fetch water from the taps on the roadsides. Young girls lift two to three pots of water at a time to their homes. They bathe in public ponds and are exposed to water borne diseases and their personal safety is often jeopardised. They carry coal crumbs and make gobar cakes and pick up twigs to burn the chulhas.

    They may or may not have electricity at home. They may or may not have good food every day. They may or may not be safe. They may or may not be educated. Infact, most of them are illiterate and use thumb impressions instead of signatures. When inflation grips the price of vegetables they live on potato and home grown veggies if any.

   The woman I met was definitely not in a position to spend 2 rupees on a stranger. Simply because that’s roughly 10 percent of her daily wages. It does mean a lot to her. But I am so thankful to her that she had a heart to spend it on me and I write this because I couldn’t till date find and return her hard earned money. I could never tell her AMI DEE DICHI.

   So, I dedicate this part of my blog to her. The grinning Indian woman in the minibus! 

   My salute to her.

WHY I DON’T FULLY AGREE WITH YOU KALKI

Hey Kalki,

When my friend told me that Kalki has just made another epic by giving an impressive monologue, I was as excited as I was after watching your satirical video titled “Rape: Its your fault”. 

I admire you Kalki. You represent the woman of today who believes in herself and who knows how to walk her own way.You think and speak about women's issues much more than your peers in Bollywood. You are beautiful.You redefine beauty with your confidence and by just being yourself. But quite contrary to my expectations, barring some moments of truth, your monologue just disappointed me.

My intention is not to prove you wrong. It is just to show you the other side of your version. Nobody is completely correct or wrong.

To start with, you talk about the status of women in the past and you seem to be quite oblivious of the fact that women in India were respected the most in the ancient times when  people believed that divinity blossoms in that place where a woman is honoured - 'Yatra Naryastu Pujyante, Ramante Tatra Devata'. Women were learned, they were called Vidushis. They were an integral part of the society but I don't know when the situation deteriorated and collapsed to something like 'Na Stri swatantryamarhati' as explained in Manusmriti. Well that was perhaps Manu's narrow personal opinion which deserves no attention.

Kalki, I think you can decide for yourself what you want to do and can choose to avoid what society thinks about you. I don't expect the women suppressed by Khap panchayats to do it, but you can. If you dont want to wear lipstick, don't use them. If you feel comfortable in an oversized T-shirt and boxers, please wear them. If you want to dig your nose or grow armpit hair, you are free to do that. Nobody is going to arrest you. India is a free country.

I did not understand what point you wanted to prove when you explained about the parties you attended. If you don't like glitzy parties, avoid them. And please make an attempt to understand human psychology in a formal group. It is in human nature to set etiquettes and protocols and induce courtesy when in groups, whether you like it or not. You cannot expect President Obama to put his arms around our PM's shoulder and shout "Wassup mate!" when he is making an official visit. Nor do their wives giggle and chatter like the aunties in our neighbourhood, the moment they meet .Deviating from these norms is not a sin, you just need a little more spine, either to change it or walk away from it. So, I was not convinced with your allegations of fake smiles and painted lips in these parties.

But, your anguish is right and justified,when you talked about adolscent girls being forced into matrimony and female foeticide and women being objectified. Wait a minute.. so women 'are being' objectified? Are you sure? Switch on your TV and pay attention to Hindi film songs. You will see that 9 out of 10 women on screen are choosing to be objectified. They are competing to become the Item Queens. Katrina Kaif dances to the tunes of 'Sheila ki jawani' and 'Chikni Chameli' . Kareena Kapoor seduces in 'Dil mera muft ka' , Sunny Leone thinks she is Baby Doll and Priyanka Chopra is convinced that she has to show her cleaves and navel if Ram and Leela are in love(heights!!). 

Nowadays children do not listen to fairy tales Kalki.. Any three year old TV watching kid in this country are busy imitating Katrina and Kareena and Priyanka and in the process their idea of womanhood gets distorted. In a nutshell, with all due respect to the Bollywood actors and their hardwork and talent, I believe, woman have substantially contributed to their own problems.Just by not saying "NO" when required. Just by not being stern when required. 

Yes, men are yet to improve. But, before we point our fingers at men, let us look within ourselves.

Let us realise that we are half  of this human race and we are powerful. And 'Man' is contained in Wo'man'. Relax. Smile. 

All you have achieved through your monologue is that you have successfully evoked an emotion- the one of despair and disgust. We have moved on from the Bachchan's Angry Young Man era. But luckily for you, Indians are still  emotional. That does not solve the problem.

Let us think about the solutions and not the problems. 

As Vivekananda rightly said, "Kamzori ka ilaz kamzori ka vichar karna nahi, balki Shakti ka vichar karna hai"

If Indira Gandhi or Shakuntala Devi or Karnam Malleswari paid any attention to the reeti riwaaz of this patriarchal society that we exist in, do you think the world would even know them today? The fact is that they never bothered. Else they would not have been able to do anything except roaming around with their heads sticking out of their pallus. They avoided what is not required and simply loved what they were doing.

If we are in capacity to help those women who cannot do this for themselves, let us think about helping them. Let us talk about educating them, making them financially independent, making them stand on their feet.

Let us think with a gender neutral mind and feel with a woman's heart.

Let us not be naive and desperate with a shallow understanding of the world around us.

Let us not whine about all the tides that are against us, but look forward with confidence and faith in ourselves.

Let us walk hand in hand and spread the smile, that genuine smile like yours, without lipstick...

This world is ours too.

Remya.

LOVE LETTER

I look at the candle whose gentle flame shoots into the air. I keep my hand close to it and feel it warm my frozen palm. I close my eyes and I can feel her presence. She's with me. I may not see her or hear her voice again. But she's with me. Because we are indestructible. We may be human beings, we may die any day from now, but we are not destroyed. We exist. 

Ms. Ammini.M.John (or Mrs. Ammini Varghese) is perhaps the most influential woman in my life. The retired Nursing Superintendent from Govt. Hospital, Aluva, Kerala was not only a dedicated medical professional, a good wife, aunt, mother, but also a great grandmother.

My life's most beautiful memories are definitely of those moments I spent with her, during our annual vacation and during my 10th board exams. 

Ammachi now that you have become omnipotent and one with the Lord, I am quite sure you will be able to read my love letter for you.

Dear Ammachi,

I love you. I love you. I love you. I feel your loving presence everywhere. I can listen to your comforting voice within me. Thankyou. 

I have been unnecessarily sentimental for a while, thinking that homecoming would be less meaningful without your warm hug and gentle kiss on my forehead, the moment I am next to you. I always loved the way I had to stoop down like a baby giraffe to hug the round little grannie that you were or kneel down to ensure accessibility when you were seated. I cherish those thousand times you have caressed me with your tiny round hands and blessed me with all your might.

We were together on this earth for more than 25 years. I am surprised you are not letting me miss you at all. I close my eyes and oh yes...you are very much here Ammachi. That's great!! I want to say thank you to you. I love you for a thousand reasons. Here are some of them.

1    Your military lifestyle. Thank you for always being very strict with me during my board exams. Making me wake up at 4.30 am in the morning and bath at 5 am . Thereafter studies till 7. Breakfast complete by 7.30 . Then short nap. Studies continue thereafter with regular uninterrupted supply of well salted, pepper sprinkled bull’s-eye, fruits, nuts etc. prayer at night. Those days are perhaps the most memorable of the lot. 

Your Malayalam.I must tell you this. I love your Malayalam. It was so pure and perfect, barring the occassional "thiruvalla" touch you gave it. Ocean is 'kadal' for us, for you its 'samudram'. Our “poovu” is “pushpam” for you and our “bookku” is “pustakam”. Bible was always “Vedapustakam”. I have written down in a diary, all the titbits of Malayalam poetry you taught me but ya I never told you.

1  Your stories. Stories of the yesteryears when India was not independent and farming was the mainstay of the economy. Stories of life without electricity or pucca houses or the revolution that “matchsticks” brought to kitchen. The tales of harvesting and olden means of transport and medical facilities. Status of women in the society and casteism. Famine and torrential rains. World War II and its impact on the Indian economy. The role of education in emancipation of women. Service stories of hospital, patients, night duties and operation theatres. Office politics, transfers and train journeys of working women. Guidelines on ‘How to deal with maids’ and ‘Easy cooking for working women and ‘How to deal with an angry husband’. Oh ya...forgot the bible stories. The story of Moses, and my stupid questions like 'Why don't you call him moustache?'. The stories of Sameul, Ruth, Joseph etc. etc. You opened a whole new world to me through your stories.

Your attention to detail and prompt response. Whether it was a dozen of ants spotted in the kitchen or the TV that was on for a little extra time or my running nose, action was quick. The ants would vanish with a whiff of ‘turpentine’ and the TV is sure to go off even if it is my favourite ‘Chip and Dale’ running successfully and the homeo tablets will be forced into my mouth before I can guess what it is. The nut or bolt of an unused cooker also would be given as much attention as an empty container which any of us would like to throw away. ‘You never know when things come handy’. You were always right Ammachi.

Your nursing skills. My fond memories of the “8 pm OP” as Appachan mockingly called it, is still fresh in my memory. When my mom gave up, only you could patiently nurse my bruised feet for close to a month without making me cry. I used to love to sit still and watch you clean and dress my wounds everyday after dinner, and pop in iron tonic and something else (vitamin tablets?) into my mouth after due scolding and then you would kiss me goodnight.

The pepper and the coconuts. Oh my god…we displayed great team effort always, plucking and processing pepper. Collecting them on a big sheet of plastic, stamping on them to separate the pepper from the stalk, cleaning the pile of the empty stalks,  drying them every day in the sun until it was complete black and hard and ready to be ‘sacked’. Coconuts to be dried for oil had to additionally protected from crows and rats and squirrels with a net cover and constant vigil. It was fun, Ammachi.

Good Friday and Easter. You lived to go to church. Every Sunday was eagerly awaited. The saree to be worn was decided in advance. The safety pins, slides and powder tin was located beforehand and the breakfast items were decided the previous night. The Holy week; it was never complete without you. I will miss how we used to decide on your sarees and find out the related prayer books for Hosannah, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter one week in advance. Our team of ladies did wonders in the kitchen on Maundy Thursday evening for the year’s most awaited family get together. My ‘emotional support’ for the above cause and my coconut grating skills is something you will also miss. I bet.

Your folded hands in prayer: perhaps the most beautiful pose of yours. Ammachi with folded hands, kneeling down on the floor, praying to the Lord. For her children, her grandchildren and everybody else in her family. The songs we used to sing together. Specially the last one we sang together when we met for the last time. Yeah, you sang very well though you were tired.

Your table lamp and diary writing. The magic of your table lamp at bedtime and your habit of making diary entries made you my heroine in my childhood. I used to peep into those pages later on and jump with joy seeing my name also mentioned in it. ‘Remya came. Shes having cough. Blah blah..’ Oops. Sorry. You know me. I am too curious.

THE HUG: That’s the best thing about you. You know Ammachi, I never told you; whenever I feel lonely, I used to close my eyes and feel that you are hugging me. I close my eyes now, I can still feel your faint heartbeat, and the stout little arms around me and the warmth of your love. The love that protects.

The goodbye. I always want to see you at the door, holding the walking stick, waving your tiny hand to me, calling out “Be careful at the railway crossing. Call once you reach back”. Now that you left us, I will have to imagine this scene whenever I leave.

There are a hundred other things to tell you. But you better read my heart, now that you are with me. It’s a great feeling to be with the woman from whom you came. You are my mother’s mother and I am your ‘horcrux’. (Please read Harry Potter, now that you got lot of free time).I live for you. I take you forward. That’s my promise. It was just super awesome to have you in my life and you are my all time favourite.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you forever.

Yours always,

Your sweetie, Remya.

DEEP DOWN THE EARTH

I never dreamt I would see the earth’s crust in such detail one day. Guess what, I visited an underground mine ( and decided to write about it one year later, but better late than never!).

The Chinakuri mines, under Sodepur Area of Eastern Coalfields Ltd, West Bengal; isn't just an underground mine. It’s the deepest underground coal mine in India, and is 650-710m(depth varies at different points) below the surface of the earth. It’s been a year now, but I vividly remember my visit deep down the earth.  A daily routine for umpteen number of coal mine workers, but life's most adventurous event for me!

Women are prohibited from working in underground mines but are allowed for visits. Thank God!

I was with two of my colleagues and we sought special permission from office and set forth to the mine area in a rickety ambassador. India's national vehicle meandered through the dusty countryside bumping into gutters and screeching to halt whenever a calf or lamb or dog or pig or.. omg lets keep it simple....any 'creature' interrrupted our path !

The day was sunny and bright and I looked outside hoping to enjoy the weather. We headed for the mine as a team of six, three girls including me, a mining engineer, a supervisor and a senior officer from Personnel Dept.

From a distance I could see the “huge” ventilation pipes emerging from the earth, high up into the sky. They must’ve been the height of a three storeyed building. We walked into the office. It was the worst of its kind. Some shabbily written notices in Bengali were put up in the notice board outside. They hardly knew what technology is. An old typewriter , telephone with the ring dial(the one we last saw in early 90’s) covered with coal dust, the round stones transformed into paper weights, the damaged chairs and tables likely to be that of pre-independence era…a total ‘booth bangla’!

The officers were cordial and happy that we showed interest to visit the mine. We were briefed about the mine and mine conditions. We helped ourselves with the miner’s cap, cap lamp, walking stick etc. The heavy battery powering the cap lamp  was to be hung around the waist and dangled behind like a rectangular tail. Walking around with these apparatus on, I felt like an ox ready to plough the Bengal fields. Nevertheless, I was excited! For its my first mine visit.

It was dangerous. Bengal had just shook off a mild earthquake (remember the earthquake in 2011 with epicentre in Sikkim? ) and floods were posing another threat to miners. The security measures were beefed up and I was all the more enthusiastic, feeling like a Discovery channel expert on TV, braving all odds sort of ! :P

The cage was ready. It’s the opposite of a lift. It takes you down the surface. It looked crude and dirty. I took a long deep breath, said bye bye to the blue sky and stepped in. When of us were inside, a bell rang. The cage jolted and slowly began to immerse itself inside. In the daylight I could make out earth cut out on all sides like that in a well. But before I could observe anything more, it was just

COMPLETE DARKNESS!!!

I just knew I am moving down and hoped I will come up as well.

The jostle of water gushing down from the sides, welcomed us in a while, it took me few seconds to guess it was underground water. The cage thumped down hitting the bottom and we saw lights. The bell rang again and the door opened. What I saw in front of me was almost a waterfall. We had to cross it to find our way. What would you do if your lift stops and opens and you find a waterfall in front of you?  Felt magical.

The wet team of six marched on to reach the entrance of the mine. I was expecting a lot of dirty mine workers. Hardly few people with cap lamps were loitering around. The supervisor explained that mining was taking place in some other corner and we wouldn’t get to see any workers here.

I stopped and looked around. The roof was cemented with reinforced concrete and bolts and beams were in abundance to ensure strength. The black shiny pieces of coal were strewn everywhere. The place was well lit. Railway tracks could be seen leading us inside.

The supervisor took out a cloth map from his jacket and opened it. The mine is a city by itself, spanning an area of 15 square kilometres (3km * 5 km) and we were just at the tail of it. We began to walk and walk and walk.

I observed myself. My heart beat was different. My blood pressure was kinda going weird. Was oxygen insufficient? I took deeper breaths. I could see that all of us were sweating profusely by now. The mine was toooooooo humid. The guy recalled how miners sweat from head to toe and remove boots to drain sweat. In less than 5 minutes, I felt sweat drops trickling down my neck, gathering momentum to reach my feet like a shooting star. I was dehydrating. So were others. Supervisor was cool.

But the visual treat that followed,  made me forget my heart beat and thirst and we kept moving in.

The paths became narrow and the roof concrete was no more there. It was just COAL and only COAL around. Underground coal is of superior quality and is called coking coal, required for specific industries like Steel. Coal grade, Coal quality, Coal seams; we were appraised of all technical details. Sometimes mining engineers hit hard rock while mining. It is magma that forced itself out through the earth’s crust and solidified in between the coal seam. It makes mining more difficult.

I saw the mini rail wagons perched full of coal, the underground water being channelled like a stream( I drank from it!! Thirsty! L ), the security arrangements, the conveyor belts, the apparatus for checking presence of methane gas and list goes on. We adjusted the cap lamps and tapped the floor with the stick often and walked forth.

Supervisor opened up the map and showed us where we reached.

We took a turn and walked on to spot concrete roofs once again. A sign board read:

“YOU ARE STANDING 2000 FT BELOW THE SURFACE OF THE RIVER DAMODAR”

River Damodar reminded me of geography classes. I was thrilled. We walked up the entire breadth of the river to reach the other end which had a similar sign board.

Supervisor explained to us the risks of mining during floods. Water may gush into the mines if water levels crosses a limit. The water level is monitored round the clock and miners are evacuated immediately in case of an abnormal rise.

There is no guarantee to a miner’s life. The roof may cave in. The ventilation may be inadequate. The conveyor belt may trap him. Every moment is risky.

The ventilation arrangements were explained in detail. Some paths with inlet air were very windy and almost blew us out. Air was carefully let in and let out through predesigned paths to ensure complete ventilation. Doors were used to close paths to control air flow. We opened and closed doors and squeaked in and out of dark narrow pathways, jumped over stalled conveyor belts, took shortcuts,  and went on.

We were thirsty. Thinking of going back all the way we came, gave us a chill down the spine. The cap lamp was shining bright but the battery was becoming a nuisance.

We gathered together at a place and the supervisor asked us to switch off the cap lamps together to experience darkness.

We did it. Cap lamps off.

COMPLETE ULTIMATE WALLAH DARKNESS.

Nothing can be darker. I wondered if I existed.

We switched the lamps on. We were given water to drink. Phew!!

I sat down on a railway track with the water bottle somebody gave and thought to myself: A girl from Kalamassery, Cochin, Kerala; is now sitting inside the deepest underground mine in India? Omg! What am I doing here???

We walked back carrying the evergreen memories of the whole episode and some shiny glitzy coal crumbs in my pocket as souveneirs.

We boarded the cage and got back to earth, once again almost fully wet.

I salute the coal mine workers who toil day in and day out in these conditions to ensure our country has a stable GDP growth.

WHAT A DAY.

(P.S.: The next time I visited the same mine, for another official reason, it was the beginning of  winter. It was no longer humid but terribly cold inside (at least 10 degrees less than on surface) and I went in unprepared for this surprise. I felt like I am in a mortuary and came out of it as though I was kept in a freezer for 2 hours. My lungs froze and I still remember nursing my cough and cold for next two months after that event.)