Today is Special

A faint orange glow
from her broken window
She gets up, says a prayer,
smiles at her little palms
And decides to try something
new with her hair

Neatly partitioned in the centre,
Two slim french braids.
Just like the girl
from the movie theatre.
It takes her longer
to get ready for school.
She irons out her brother's
uniform before her pinafore.
But the braids are important.
The popular girls
will finally notice her.

A quick kiss on mother's cheek,
she strides out with her bicycle.
Today, she is leading her class assembly.

Today is special.
There is a raatraani tree on her way.
She picks the fallen flowers,
still fresh, fragrant and moist,
And begins to arrange them in her braid.

"Hi, beautiful", someone calls from ahead.
She hadn't noticed the cycles parked
A little way off until just now.
She doesn't like the voice.
It makes the word sound cursed.

Laughter follows as she whirls around
to get back to her cycle. Her safety.
But they catch up with her.
She knows some of them.
That boy with the cut lip,
he works in the city.
His brother is in her class.
They smile at her.
She knows it isn't a good smile.

She pretends they aren't there
and continues to walk on.
Her mother taught her
to ignore such men.

One of them asks if she is
uncomfortable in her dress.
Should he help her out of it?
She wants to cry
But she walks.

As she gets on to her safety,
the city-boy says to the others - his whore
puts raatrani in her hair.

Pedaling on as fast
as her legs can carry,
she doesn't dare look back.
In her frenzy to get the flowers
out of her hair, her braids
come undone.

She must stop crying before
she reaches school.
She has an assembly to lead.

Inspire

“We make a living by what we get. We make a life by what we give.”
Words of Winston Churchill. They summarize my enriching experience on 23rd November, 2012. Thanks to Deloitte’s CSR initiative - Impact Day.

Within months after I joined Deloitte, I had heard much animated talks about our annual “Impact Day” – stories of the ones gone by and plans for the upcoming one. The excitement was infectious. I just couldn’t wait to experience it myself. Finally in November, my inbox flashed the official e-mail inviting us to be a part of something as big as this. Ideas were sought from all of us. This was our chance to make a difference – in not just others’ but also our own lives. When the projects were shortlisted, they were all so good; I couldn’t decide which one to register for. I chose “Inspire”. Why? Truth be told, because I like painting walls. I don’t really like children so I think it was solely for the chance to paint an entire balwadi (children’s home).

We had pre-project meetings just like we have pre-engagement briefings at work. Our team brainstormed on how we would spend the day with the kids and in what way could we leave a lasting impact on their imaginative minds. Finally it was decided that we would conduct three workshops – glass painting, paper quilling and paper-bag making. Responsibilities were allocated; our Deloitte t-shirts were handed out. I was already feeling pumped up. Needless to say, all the logistics went smoothly.

Where did we go to on that bright morning? Ramakrishna Sarada Samiti, Sion. RKS started by providing free medical service to the poor slum dwellers of the area in 1968. At that time, they had neither funds nor land. 1974 saw the construction of its present building, which now provides free health care for all, vocational training to women, basic education and other activities such as dance, art and music classes to children up to the age of thirteen. We met Mr. Raghu Pilaka, a chartered accountant by profession, who whole-heartedly devotes his time to the NGO. His wife, Mrs. Vidya - a wonderful lady and an architect by profession - too, shares his ideals. They both welcomed us warmly, thanking us (Deloitte) for our generous contribution while I shyly smiled, unable to say anything. 

As soon as we entered Little Lamps, the balwadi, I was reminded of my own pre-school; and how much I loved it. It was no different for those children over there. They much prefer spending their entire day at RKS rather than at their homes. We had walked in in the middle of a drawing class. The young lad teaching the kids is also from the same slum area, a very talented artist, and is aspiring to get admission at JJ College of Arts. Looking at his painting that adorned a wall of the dispensary, I think he is deserving of that opportunity. RKS is making sure he does.

We started almost immediately after a quick breakfast of idli-chutney. Most of the men took up the task of painting the periphery. Those of us who were more creatively-inclined chose to paint rainbows, birds, butterflies, trees, geometric shapes (and all things bright and beautiful) on the walls inside. The JJ-aspirant helped us a lot. After three hours of paint-splashing, frenzied picture-clicking and exhausting running-around, we took a break for lunch. The children were astonishingly well-mannered and comfortably jovial with us. Once well-fed, our energy levels doubled up (and yet, didn’t match those of the power-packed kids). We made a huge wall-poster with all the drawings that they made in class. Here’s what it looked like:

The fun had only just begun. We sat together for a quick round of introductions, to break the ice and open up before we commenced the workshops. And guess what? I learned the bharatnatyam namaskara, thanks to this beautiful eleven-year old girl, who also gave me a wonderful “thankyou” card at the end of the day (I did NOT cry. Shut up!). From budding choreographers to potential artists, the energy of the troop overwhelmed me. The workshops were a huge hit with them. Their innocent smiles and infectious giggles made it difficult for me not to like them. Much to my own surprise (and shock), I had befriended most of them by the end of the day. But no, I did not get even slightly emotional when one of them asked, “Didi, when will you come back?” True to its title, this project inspired me to be as selfless as Mr. and Mrs. Pilaka; and as happy, imaginative and energetic as all those "little lamps".

I am going to make some furniture out of waste paper this Sunday with them. After all, I did promise the little girl that I would return soon.

More pictures here.

Blessed with small joys,

Wannabe Wayfarer.

Wonder Years

Precariously balancing on the edge of the aluminum ladder, after several unsuccessful tries with a long stick, I pulled myself up and wiggled into the duct-like passage. Came out disheveled, but finally pulled out the bag that’s been on my mind longer than I care to admit. It was heavy and I was as excited as I am when I have unending dessert options! Dragged my colossal haul to a corner of the house and settled amidst the comforting memories.

That was at 12 in the afternoon. Fast forward to 5 in the evening, my brother and I are laughing our stomachs hollow (me, quite literally on an empty stomach) at a super scary baby picture of me. No kidding. I was a scary baby. Eyes too big for the face, and add to that hideously frilly frocks and dresses. It’s like a china doll from those scary movies is unblinkingly staring at you. I have the potential to scare the bejesus out of somebody. I’m glad; some talent. If I was a scary baby, I haven’t seen any kid cuter than my brother. I swear. I’m saying this impartially. Maybe even a little reluctantly. He’s a born poser, like my mother and has got the math-whiz brains of my father. Me? I’m considering the possibility that I was adopted.

There were a zillion more photos – of my parents’ wedding (me absent), mom’s first karvachauth (me absent), playschool, all our vacations, trips to temples, chirstmas parties, holi, Diwali, birthday parties – of all the cousins, raksha bandhan, everything before 2000 and a little up to 2003. Since I’ve been pretty much jobless having taken unnecessary leave from work for inconsequential exams, I thought that instead of wasting yet another day on sleeping and eating on my laptop, I’d look through these photographs.

Irrespective of the bag-full of photos, I remember very little of pre-teen me - just a few incidents. Individually, they might not make sense but put together, there is fluidity (eh, critics?) in the awesome tale of my childhood. Here, I shall try to be as chronological as possible in my reminiscence of those few far and in between childhood memories:

I remember journeying from one make-believe city at the right of the sofa set using a threadbare ottoman to reach the other end where my mum waited to spoon-feed rajma chawal to me. The self-made game was to reach her without putting my feet on the floor. I don’t think she understood that; or cared. She hates spoon feeding. She would get irritable and hurl expletives only like a Punjabi mother can. She only spoon-fed me because the rest of her sisters-in-law did their children. The perks of a joint-family lifestyle, I tell you!

When my kid brother was born, I remember holding that tiny little thing and saying, “He is so pink!” Later, I also suggested that he be named Mickey Mouse when all the elders congregated in the “sitting-room” to jot down baby names. I remember stealthily creeping into the room together with my cousins where he was peacefully asleep and pulling the crib net off so he would wake up – something mom had specifically warned us against. I remember feeling terribly guilty about that; worrying all the while whether mosquitoes were hovering around my tiny brother because of us.

I love my cousins. I’ve grown up playing lagori, Simon says, red letter, land-water, hide-and-seek, treasure hunt and what-not with them. I am extremely lucky to have not just one, but three loving brothers and five beautiful sisters.

My eldest brother, he’s an angel. Once, aggressive me bit him; not like a tiny kid’s peck, but a piranha’s bite. A deafening scream; and then I ran. Ran for my life. Expecting him to chase me and pay me back in stones. Panting, I hid in our garden, the farthest I could get from him. Hours passed, he never followed. I thought he’s gone a step further – complained to mom; or worse, to badimamma. All day, I was so scared, waiting for the blow that never came. He forgave me. Just like that. That was just the beginning of his unending generosity to me. My brothers are my 3 a.m. friends. I trust them with my life.

As a kid, I think I would look up to my elder sisters; I still do. So probably whatever they said was gospel truth to me back then. My sister fooled me into believing that the best part of the bread was the sides. She always fed me the brown sides of all her sandwiches because she disliked them. And guess what, eventually, I developed a taste and now the sides ARE the best part of the bread to me; in fact I actually dislike white bread.

I was barely four when we shifted out. I didn’t understand much of what was happening or why and I thought shifting meant a bad thing. Our first separate place, albeit temporary, was quite far from my joint-family home. When badepapa dropped me at the depressing apartment and was about to leave, I hugged him, cried uncontrollably and just wouldn’t let go of him. I couldn’t believe he was leaving us. He told me not to be silly and that he would come the next day to pick me up for school. After a lot of tugging, I was forced to let go. Unless I’m mistaken, badepapa had tears in his eyes too. He left hurriedly. He did come over the next day; and the day after that. My heart slowly healed; my maternal uncle had come to stay with us for a while and so I didn’t have to miss badepapa all the time. Mom forced me to go out and play with my “friends” in the building. I hated them; the bitches were nothing like my sisters.

Of course, as time passed, things got better; I made a few friends and even started paying attention to school. But my best friends remain my cousins. I still cherish my every visit to them – discussing books and movies with my two beautiful younger sisters, seeking work and college advice from my benevolent and patient brothers, teasing, taunting, laughing at each other, and the unparalleled motherly love of my badimammas and chachi. Family - I didn’t realize it was so important to me till I finished this post.

I could go on, but I have to start packing for my trip to vaishnodevi with badepapa and badimamma :)

See you soon,
Wannabe Wayfarer.