I am happily borrowing the great columnist Roberts Clements' byline in the 'Indian Currents'.
TOI recently reported that ...."Soon a manual for cops to handle sexual assault cases...." will be ready. I dread to think how the hardened individuals in the police force will interpret the new manual according to their own leanings and preferences. You can give a cop Kakhi but you cannot change the baaki ( rest of him).
Well, close encounters with the battered women through women's organisations have made me cynical and I can truthfully reproduce scenes from the stage they call the cop station. The cases of domestic violence are invariably brought before the Mahila Mandals and routinely referred to the cops. The poor complaintant receives predictable treatment by the keepers of the law.
" Kashala aali ikde, tula laaz nahi vatthe ? Maarla thar kaay zala...tuja pati parameshwar hai na tho? Kai thar chook keli aslel, monon maarla asel......" drawls constable Pandurang propped up with his legs on the table without even pausing to look up at the bleeding woman, busy scrutinizing the stuff he has unearthed from his broken teeth with a piece of a broom stick! Though before him stands a badly bruised victim his jaundiced eye can only take in the sight of a nonconsequential bai with chapped hands and an old saree daring to rebel against the lord and master who maintans his woman and provides her shelter in his zopdi. Being a man, is he not entitled to a drink or two and roughing up his woman once in a way?
That the said woman works herself to the bare bones from dawn to dusk in 4 houses scrubbing floors and utensils only to hand over her total earnings to the man of the house and gets beaten up for her troubles is of no concern to the Pandu who would probably do the same thing if given a chance!
How will such a macho man respond to the manual that dictates to him the terms of 'rape'?
" Aisa tho har jaga hota hai, apun pictur madhe bagithla nahi ka? Aisa patela sadi pahanke kuch nakra karegi tho koyi na koyi thumare oopar toot padta hai ki nahi?"Judgement has been passed at the very first stage of the law-keeping process.
So they have to compile another manual to decide who broke the law under the circumstances, rapist or the victim because the cops will be undecided as long as Patriarchy reigns supreme in Lalu land! Manual or no manual.....
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
Recipes from home...
A recent trip by my cousin sister to Mangalore has not only provided my grandma with a pleasant surprise and heartwarming happiness, it has also brought up a topic which I suspect we are all very passionate about; food. As a family, we have in our midst in the form of our parents, expertise in the art of cooking that we should all be grateful for. While some of it is being passed on to the next generation with a reasonable level of success, I fear the future generations will lose out if we do not act now. Roushelle's idea to collate as many recipes as we can find is one that I whole heartedly agree with.
I have been invited to lunches and dinners at other Mangalorean houses and have come away with nothing more than a brief memory of unsavory tidbits. All too often, they have been more misses than hits.
Having lived away from my parents for the better part of my life, without a doubt, one of the things I missed the most is my mum's cooking. And I am pretty sure; my cousins will have similar cravings for good home cooked food rustled up by their mums in a jiffy. I know my mum had sorpotel ready three days in advance of my touching down in Bombay on every trip I made. Dad took care of the beers.
On every trip that I have made to my cousin’s place in Doha, we have invariably spent the Friday afternoons cooking away, in the hope of replicating a recipe or two that our mum's cooked for us. If these attempts do not prove our passion for good food, then what will? I rest my case.
On another parallel, food plays an important part in our Mangalorean culture, indeed in any culture. Losing out on recipes will erode our culture for future generations, for our children. Let this not happen.
An idea sparked off by my cousin sister to create a recipe log of dishes we hold dear is something I whole heartedly support. I do hope the family will help in creating this recipe log which we and our children could share for many delicious years to come.
Bon Appétit
Sanman
I have been invited to lunches and dinners at other Mangalorean houses and have come away with nothing more than a brief memory of unsavory tidbits. All too often, they have been more misses than hits.
Having lived away from my parents for the better part of my life, without a doubt, one of the things I missed the most is my mum's cooking. And I am pretty sure; my cousins will have similar cravings for good home cooked food rustled up by their mums in a jiffy. I know my mum had sorpotel ready three days in advance of my touching down in Bombay on every trip I made. Dad took care of the beers.
On every trip that I have made to my cousin’s place in Doha, we have invariably spent the Friday afternoons cooking away, in the hope of replicating a recipe or two that our mum's cooked for us. If these attempts do not prove our passion for good food, then what will? I rest my case.
On another parallel, food plays an important part in our Mangalorean culture, indeed in any culture. Losing out on recipes will erode our culture for future generations, for our children. Let this not happen.
An idea sparked off by my cousin sister to create a recipe log of dishes we hold dear is something I whole heartedly support. I do hope the family will help in creating this recipe log which we and our children could share for many delicious years to come.
Bon Appétit
Sanman
Monday, October 11, 2010
The Planet of the Apes!
No, the National Geographic has not recruited me to advocate their cause, nor have I joined the cast of 'Star Trek'.
But from that morning when the family had breakfast of vada-pao and bun-maska under the Jamun tree in the garden with a long-tailed magpie and a couple of butterflies as the honoured guests, the urge to push the cause of these mute yet magnificent creatures of God has been lingering at the back of my mind.
The other day when the crow population around that vast green expanse we call the Mehboob Studio flew into a frenzy, the cause of it happened to be a couple of langoors, out on a slow stroll, indifferent to the curious eyes around as though they knew a piece of this paradise belonged to them- man or no man!
All shooting in the studio ceased, cameras came to a standstill. Spot boys stopped in their tracks, chaiwalas froze in the action of pouring tea.. And those who have to pay a packet to hire emaciated animals to feature in their films, stood dumb struck by the sight of these two cavorting on the columns yet soooo out of reach of humans....
Are we as a human race of intelligent beings, the custodians of the living planet heading in the right direction? Look at the larger picture. Jumbos mowed down by the juggernaut of locomotives and not one eyebrow is raised or a tear shed for these lovable losers. The ocean becomes the graveyard for the poor marine creatures that considered it their only home and none is held to ransom for the massacre of marine life on a such a large scale. The killers of the voiceless, go scot-free...
Can you hear that silent scream, the miserable moans from the mangroves that are being hacked mercilessly by money-hungry monsters? How can the miniscule kingdom beneath the Arabian coast stand upto the might of the politically powered land mafia?
Reptiles in the drawing rooms, leopards on the loose, all homeless because man wants more space, more and more and....
On the one hand the numbers of the born-free creatures are steadily dwindling and on the other hand, the tentacles of greedy humans are creeping in all directions denuding the planet, stripping her of all her glory- flora and fauna while the rulers are aiming at the moon for development, progress and power! Missed the trees for the would-be my friends?
Before it all ends, I suggest our schools include more field trips in the Curriculum lest the next generation grow old without having breakfasted with a butterfly or seen a magpie fly.....
But from that morning when the family had breakfast of vada-pao and bun-maska under the Jamun tree in the garden with a long-tailed magpie and a couple of butterflies as the honoured guests, the urge to push the cause of these mute yet magnificent creatures of God has been lingering at the back of my mind.
The other day when the crow population around that vast green expanse we call the Mehboob Studio flew into a frenzy, the cause of it happened to be a couple of langoors, out on a slow stroll, indifferent to the curious eyes around as though they knew a piece of this paradise belonged to them- man or no man!
All shooting in the studio ceased, cameras came to a standstill. Spot boys stopped in their tracks, chaiwalas froze in the action of pouring tea.. And those who have to pay a packet to hire emaciated animals to feature in their films, stood dumb struck by the sight of these two cavorting on the columns yet soooo out of reach of humans....
Are we as a human race of intelligent beings, the custodians of the living planet heading in the right direction? Look at the larger picture. Jumbos mowed down by the juggernaut of locomotives and not one eyebrow is raised or a tear shed for these lovable losers. The ocean becomes the graveyard for the poor marine creatures that considered it their only home and none is held to ransom for the massacre of marine life on a such a large scale. The killers of the voiceless, go scot-free...
Can you hear that silent scream, the miserable moans from the mangroves that are being hacked mercilessly by money-hungry monsters? How can the miniscule kingdom beneath the Arabian coast stand upto the might of the politically powered land mafia?
Reptiles in the drawing rooms, leopards on the loose, all homeless because man wants more space, more and more and....
On the one hand the numbers of the born-free creatures are steadily dwindling and on the other hand, the tentacles of greedy humans are creeping in all directions denuding the planet, stripping her of all her glory- flora and fauna while the rulers are aiming at the moon for development, progress and power! Missed the trees for the would-be my friends?
Before it all ends, I suggest our schools include more field trips in the Curriculum lest the next generation grow old without having breakfasted with a butterfly or seen a magpie fly.....
Monday, October 4, 2010
Door se Darshan
Who would have believed a few years ago that the passing decades would change me into a typical Bharatiya Nari....sitting glued to the TV watching the maipulation of Hindi plots in affluent households inhabited by dumb and dolled up females? Wardha university may have nurtured my love for the Rashtrabhasha but it was Tripathi sir who tended it into a devotion. So TV se ye rishta kya kehelata hai- pass time or wasting time?
I shy away from watching the Bal Vivaha types because I am afraid I may be thrown behind bars for breaking the law,by attending under-age weddings.You see I have never had a chance to rise up the ladder to make muscle or money power and I fear I may be targetted easily by the second set of laws existing in this country, meant for common people like me .....
Back to my favourite serials. Once to the manor born is now building a Pavitra Rishta with the gutsy lass Pratigya, waiting for Jansi ki Rani to walk in the Raja ki Barath. Joot tho main bolti nahin, lekin, ye Bidaayi hogi kab?
So back to my favourite characters in my favourite serials. Does the mirage of another India projected in these serials blindfold you that you fail to see the crafty creators of these serials laughing all the way to the Swiss banks ? Our teaming millions are transported into this India of many a dreams for those few hours, leaving behind the reality of corruption, hunger, illiteracy and poverty. I am one of those clinging to my happy reality while simultaneously getting hitched to this glitzy wagon....
Gopi bahu with the chubby cheeks and dimple chin, an empty skull and nothing within....nodding her head to the clues thrown by the flashing eyes of Kali, sorry Kokila..
Ragini, i have a fixation on this Tammy's Mammy for her fixed crowning glory, fixed smile, fixed sari ....fixed everything. So sterilized, cut and paste. The whole serial is filled with sleep-walking fixtures except the dear old Alek babu who I am afraid may not be able to shake off the caricature....
Sumitra Singh, aka Thakurayin, standing tall and proud as a symbol of Patriarchal tyranny, plotting to eliminate any female that refuses to fall in line with her 'Aurat mard ke paavn ki joothi hoti hai' philosophy! Can you see the Yaadav trivumvirate in the cow belt smiling contentedly at this eliminator, a one woman army spreading their message of mardangee?
Archoo, the channel's idea of women's emancipation, in her pretty ethnic wear is pitted against man's pride and glory- three men and their collective self glory (ego?) ....Who would divorce the man that one loved so passionately, even if the Director told her to do so? And now at odds with her own convictions, how could she meekly give in to the machinations of three egos? For all her firm assertions, what a poor judge of people! Even a 10th pass with Diploma have not prepared her for the game of 'passing the buck'.
And the whole of India is being coached on this, our Indian culture....!!
I shy away from watching the Bal Vivaha types because I am afraid I may be thrown behind bars for breaking the law,by attending under-age weddings.You see I have never had a chance to rise up the ladder to make muscle or money power and I fear I may be targetted easily by the second set of laws existing in this country, meant for common people like me .....
Back to my favourite serials. Once to the manor born is now building a Pavitra Rishta with the gutsy lass Pratigya, waiting for Jansi ki Rani to walk in the Raja ki Barath. Joot tho main bolti nahin, lekin, ye Bidaayi hogi kab?
So back to my favourite characters in my favourite serials. Does the mirage of another India projected in these serials blindfold you that you fail to see the crafty creators of these serials laughing all the way to the Swiss banks ? Our teaming millions are transported into this India of many a dreams for those few hours, leaving behind the reality of corruption, hunger, illiteracy and poverty. I am one of those clinging to my happy reality while simultaneously getting hitched to this glitzy wagon....
Gopi bahu with the chubby cheeks and dimple chin, an empty skull and nothing within....nodding her head to the clues thrown by the flashing eyes of Kali, sorry Kokila..
Ragini, i have a fixation on this Tammy's Mammy for her fixed crowning glory, fixed smile, fixed sari ....fixed everything. So sterilized, cut and paste. The whole serial is filled with sleep-walking fixtures except the dear old Alek babu who I am afraid may not be able to shake off the caricature....
Sumitra Singh, aka Thakurayin, standing tall and proud as a symbol of Patriarchal tyranny, plotting to eliminate any female that refuses to fall in line with her 'Aurat mard ke paavn ki joothi hoti hai' philosophy! Can you see the Yaadav trivumvirate in the cow belt smiling contentedly at this eliminator, a one woman army spreading their message of mardangee?
Archoo, the channel's idea of women's emancipation, in her pretty ethnic wear is pitted against man's pride and glory- three men and their collective self glory (ego?) ....Who would divorce the man that one loved so passionately, even if the Director told her to do so? And now at odds with her own convictions, how could she meekly give in to the machinations of three egos? For all her firm assertions, what a poor judge of people! Even a 10th pass with Diploma have not prepared her for the game of 'passing the buck'.
And the whole of India is being coached on this, our Indian culture....!!
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Little Girls Made of Sugar and Spice
Yesterday I was treated to a pleasant surprise…so pleasant that the sweet taste of it is still lingering in my mouth! Little Zoe-anne all of 9, with the able assistance of her sister Gia Isabella, waiting in the wings to step into her 9th year next week .......worked their magic in the kitchen and came up with a whopper!
And this, when modern gals need a road map to locate the kitchen in their own house and cannot tell the difference between jam and jelly....
When kids have begun to believe that an inch of war paint on their faces can enhance the beauty much more than the warm glow of innocence and sincerity.....
When tiny tots are growing up with one and just one aspiration- to be the Miss Universes or Miss Worlds like the Sens and the Rais who have missed their way to Mother Theresa's ashram......
When little girls long to be seen and appreciated on the small or silver screen, hanging from the ceiling in dance shows or prancing around as child brides in some old melodrama tearjerkers.......
The whopper that came out of the warm oven in the kitchen was the best chocolate cake I ever seen or eaten in my life…..I have yet to taste a tastier and softer cake with the syrupy chocolate icing oozing out of the layers.....because the magical cake that came out of the kitchen yesterday was sweetened with Zoe's tender love and softened with Gia's zest for life!
As any fond Nan would tell you, I prefer to overlook the contribution of the mother and the maid... however small it was because I AM proud to be their grandmother….!
Sunday, September 19, 2010
The Fighting Forces....
This has been retrieved from the past, for your reading pleasure……
The News channels on television those days had been repeatedly telecasting the arrival of the fighting forces, aptly called ‘Sena’, the symbol of a country’s security, but now used and abused by the dregs of society to fight their own causes! There were Senas of all kinds, for different causes, launched by various people. But the ulterior motive was the same- to go to war on people with contradictory views and beliefs or as a show of might by the minnows. As he idly sat pretending to watch the News Hour his father was glued to, Johnny’s mind was a beehive of activity, a cauldron of churning ideas and plans of future action.
Images of men beating up girls flashed on the TV set accompanied by the repeated use of the word, ‘Sene’. He was disgusted by the beating of women but all the same he hit upon a brilliant new thought, why not launch your own ‘Sene’ to fight the evil such as beating up of girls in society?
Johnny being all of eight years, had a group of his friends to fall back on at such portentous times. They were a band of brothers with nine year old Kevin in the Commander’s position. Often they had been caught playing mischief like stealing raw mangoes from Aunty Maud’s garden or smashing the window panes of Uncle Willie’s bungalow with their cricket ball. Of course, they raked the litter of leaves in the garden in return for a basketful of ripe juicy mangoes aunt Maude reserved for ‘the Pereira brood’.. As for poor Uncle Willie, he had seen a Tendlya in the making in the pint-sized, curly-mopped batsman and his glass- breaking Sixer and rewarded the group with a fistful of loose coins for candy, in return for walking Kaiser, his Doberman.
Now that a germ of an idea had taken root in Johnny’s mind, he would call a meeting of his group and discuss it with them in what the adults referred to as , ‘a Demo- grate’ way. Forming their own army would appeal to all of them and imagine the fun they could have during the summer holidays- marching up and down the shady lane, just the way Crasto sir in school taught them!
So the friends cancelled one field trip to the Bandra Fort and assembled one day at the back of the Bothello house under the shady Coral tree to sort out the ‘minor details’ of launching an army. First on the agenda was the cause or the purpose for which it would fight. Mike the mischievous glibly suggested that they better have a plausible excuse for missing class and going on the ‘ram-page’. “What is rampage?” Billu the Barbie wanted to know. Dressed up in a pink frilly dress with her brown curls in two ‘pony tails’, at the age of five she spent more time playing with her dolls than watching the latest developments on the television. “Do not interrupt, Billu you are a girl and girls cannot fight. They get beaten up easily. You are demoted to the lowest rank in the army for speaking out of turn.” shouted Commander Kevin above the noise his army was making! Being a year older to most of them, failed to procure for him the respect and obedience the foot soldiers normally accord to their boss. Oh never mind, at least they were loyal to him!
So the discussion heated up till at last Shane, Sammy’s older brother, still preparing for his exams came to investigate the raucous noise behind the house. More to put an end to the discussion than to dictate the manifesto, he suggested that they form the army ‘to protect the culture’. “What is culture?” Billu whispered as soon as the visitor’s back was turned. Her hushed tone had the desired effect of a noisy gong. Everyone went still, concentrating on finding the answer to Billu’s question. So what was culture? Was it a cousin of vulture, or some masala for curry?
When the elusive answer refused to come for a long time, Brian, the brains of the group came up with a most satisfying answer, “I know what culture is. While watching News on the TV the other day I heard Gramps saying that talking about culture means hippo is crazy.
This bombshell took some time to register. Now that the hippo had plodded into the plot under the guise of ‘Demo-grate’, utter confusion prevailed in the minds of the military strategists. It was pure luck that Shane once again came to investigate the increase in the cacophony, he was just unable to concentrate on his studies. It is not that the hippo is crazy it is Hypocrisy which means you can tell others what to say and do but you do not have to say and do the same thing, like saying, do not practice what you preach”. He explained further, “you can beat others for wearing Jeans, but you yourself can wear them. And please, do you guys have to tell the whole of Bandra of your plan?” Billu’s screechy voice from the lower ranks was too loud for comfort- “What is preach?” The whole regiment turned to glare at her audacity in speaking out of turn. The secret was that they had to hide the fact that most of them did not know what ‘preach’ was!
So they decided to forge into a group of warriors in the name of some saint or the other….the news channels had been kind enough to announce the names of various Sena groups in the name of all the possible gods and kings of the land. So the first task was to find a name for the army of class 111, before they recruited more soldiers. Various suggestions were forthcoming.
Why not name the army for St. Francis, suggested Francis Jr. whose father being in the police force made him an appropriate candidate for the Sena. “Which St. Francis? There were many you know, one was St. Francis Xavier and the other was St. Francis Assisi. There was one more named St. Francis de Sales…” This was Xavier’s territory; he topped the class in Sunday school and could count the Saints’ names on his fingertips. But it was news to most of them, but they decided to choose any one St. Francis as their patron for their Sena. De Sales was dismissed for the simple reason that it was their school principal’s surname and it would not be fair to drag Fr. De Sales into their regiment. Assisi was also rejected because the way the boys pronounced it, it sounded more as ‘as easy’ than Assisi. And was he not the one who spoke to animals and fed the birds out of his hands? How could such a gentle man of peace lead an army, what did he know of fighting?
The last I heard the army was stuck at the first hurdle and not proceeded to the battleground at all, which made Sammy’s mother heave a sigh of relief. That the children may get into trouble had been worrying her since her elder son had reported of the goings-on behind the house. No wonder she was seen on her knees in the chapel, her eyes closed in prayer for her small boys seeking to know what the culture of the land was!
The News channels on television those days had been repeatedly telecasting the arrival of the fighting forces, aptly called ‘Sena’, the symbol of a country’s security, but now used and abused by the dregs of society to fight their own causes! There were Senas of all kinds, for different causes, launched by various people. But the ulterior motive was the same- to go to war on people with contradictory views and beliefs or as a show of might by the minnows. As he idly sat pretending to watch the News Hour his father was glued to, Johnny’s mind was a beehive of activity, a cauldron of churning ideas and plans of future action.
Images of men beating up girls flashed on the TV set accompanied by the repeated use of the word, ‘Sene’. He was disgusted by the beating of women but all the same he hit upon a brilliant new thought, why not launch your own ‘Sene’ to fight the evil such as beating up of girls in society?
Johnny being all of eight years, had a group of his friends to fall back on at such portentous times. They were a band of brothers with nine year old Kevin in the Commander’s position. Often they had been caught playing mischief like stealing raw mangoes from Aunty Maud’s garden or smashing the window panes of Uncle Willie’s bungalow with their cricket ball. Of course, they raked the litter of leaves in the garden in return for a basketful of ripe juicy mangoes aunt Maude reserved for ‘the Pereira brood’.. As for poor Uncle Willie, he had seen a Tendlya in the making in the pint-sized, curly-mopped batsman and his glass- breaking Sixer and rewarded the group with a fistful of loose coins for candy, in return for walking Kaiser, his Doberman.
Now that a germ of an idea had taken root in Johnny’s mind, he would call a meeting of his group and discuss it with them in what the adults referred to as , ‘a Demo- grate’ way. Forming their own army would appeal to all of them and imagine the fun they could have during the summer holidays- marching up and down the shady lane, just the way Crasto sir in school taught them!
So the friends cancelled one field trip to the Bandra Fort and assembled one day at the back of the Bothello house under the shady Coral tree to sort out the ‘minor details’ of launching an army. First on the agenda was the cause or the purpose for which it would fight. Mike the mischievous glibly suggested that they better have a plausible excuse for missing class and going on the ‘ram-page’. “What is rampage?” Billu the Barbie wanted to know. Dressed up in a pink frilly dress with her brown curls in two ‘pony tails’, at the age of five she spent more time playing with her dolls than watching the latest developments on the television. “Do not interrupt, Billu you are a girl and girls cannot fight. They get beaten up easily. You are demoted to the lowest rank in the army for speaking out of turn.” shouted Commander Kevin above the noise his army was making! Being a year older to most of them, failed to procure for him the respect and obedience the foot soldiers normally accord to their boss. Oh never mind, at least they were loyal to him!
So the discussion heated up till at last Shane, Sammy’s older brother, still preparing for his exams came to investigate the raucous noise behind the house. More to put an end to the discussion than to dictate the manifesto, he suggested that they form the army ‘to protect the culture’. “What is culture?” Billu whispered as soon as the visitor’s back was turned. Her hushed tone had the desired effect of a noisy gong. Everyone went still, concentrating on finding the answer to Billu’s question. So what was culture? Was it a cousin of vulture, or some masala for curry?
When the elusive answer refused to come for a long time, Brian, the brains of the group came up with a most satisfying answer, “I know what culture is. While watching News on the TV the other day I heard Gramps saying that talking about culture means hippo is crazy.
This bombshell took some time to register. Now that the hippo had plodded into the plot under the guise of ‘Demo-grate’, utter confusion prevailed in the minds of the military strategists. It was pure luck that Shane once again came to investigate the increase in the cacophony, he was just unable to concentrate on his studies. It is not that the hippo is crazy it is Hypocrisy which means you can tell others what to say and do but you do not have to say and do the same thing, like saying, do not practice what you preach”. He explained further, “you can beat others for wearing Jeans, but you yourself can wear them. And please, do you guys have to tell the whole of Bandra of your plan?” Billu’s screechy voice from the lower ranks was too loud for comfort- “What is preach?” The whole regiment turned to glare at her audacity in speaking out of turn. The secret was that they had to hide the fact that most of them did not know what ‘preach’ was!
So they decided to forge into a group of warriors in the name of some saint or the other….the news channels had been kind enough to announce the names of various Sena groups in the name of all the possible gods and kings of the land. So the first task was to find a name for the army of class 111, before they recruited more soldiers. Various suggestions were forthcoming.
Why not name the army for St. Francis, suggested Francis Jr. whose father being in the police force made him an appropriate candidate for the Sena. “Which St. Francis? There were many you know, one was St. Francis Xavier and the other was St. Francis Assisi. There was one more named St. Francis de Sales…” This was Xavier’s territory; he topped the class in Sunday school and could count the Saints’ names on his fingertips. But it was news to most of them, but they decided to choose any one St. Francis as their patron for their Sena. De Sales was dismissed for the simple reason that it was their school principal’s surname and it would not be fair to drag Fr. De Sales into their regiment. Assisi was also rejected because the way the boys pronounced it, it sounded more as ‘as easy’ than Assisi. And was he not the one who spoke to animals and fed the birds out of his hands? How could such a gentle man of peace lead an army, what did he know of fighting?
The last I heard the army was stuck at the first hurdle and not proceeded to the battleground at all, which made Sammy’s mother heave a sigh of relief. That the children may get into trouble had been worrying her since her elder son had reported of the goings-on behind the house. No wonder she was seen on her knees in the chapel, her eyes closed in prayer for her small boys seeking to know what the culture of the land was!
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Nailing the Nails!
Some one has once or maybe often said, "vanity, thy name is woman".
To be 'Fair and Lovely' must be every Indian woman's dream! In the other India we see in TV serials with women in zari pallus and gold heels in the kitchen, it is the colour of the face that matters and maybe the volume of metal weighing them down. The rest is covered up anyway with the nine six yards we call a saree.....
But the modern Indian lass is swiftly emerging out of the fair and lovely tube, to sculpt her body, mould her hands, shape her feet, fashion her nails and colour her hair.....neatly landing into the trap set by the manufacturers, she now rushes to the counter to purchase chemicals to enhance, trim, soften, lengthen expand and improve her assests.
I know of one such determined lady. Impressed by the silky tresses(salute the wig-makers) in the shampoo ads on the TV she tried out every product, coating her beautiful, frizzy hair with shampoos, conditioners, even the electric comb with disasterous results. Learning her lesson after much pain and no gain, now she has reverted back to the naturals she used to pamper her hair with earlier. And it is responding to the gentle touch, swiftly gaining its fomer crowning glory!
Now about my penchant to have beautiful hands. Whenever i glanced at pictures of Monalisa or princess Diana my eyes would greedily take in only their soft hands and shapely nails. So i thought why not me?
Then my good friend the idiot box gave me the solution to my problem- THE NAIL SPA!
The first thing to do was to find out what exactly ' a spa' was....Many word-smiths rejected my plea till ultimately i discovered that a spa could be a place to wash, clean, scrub, warm, cool, treat, massage......long list of possibilties
So, turning a deaf ear to my body that needed all of these teartments and more at my age, i made an appointment to get my nails 'done up'.
On the D-day i decided to hide my true identity of a 'teacher-housewife' and dolled up like a 'society lady'- diamonds( fake), chiffons, scents...Well, the rest is History......the monumental judgement was declared with a curt finality.
I would have to care for my nails, not drench them in water so often- so all those experiments at creating fusion food were OUT.
I would have to use gloves to protect my nails- the love of my family won the day, i could not stay away from baking that odd apple crumble, cheese croisant and coconut cookies!
Regular application of creams and lotions was mandatory to growing healthy nail- the whopping bill left a huge dent in my pocket and I forgot which was day cream and ....hidden from public view, they are growing fungus behind the dressing table mirror!
So now I take pride in my short and clean nails that take delight in cooking, scrubbing, kneading, rolling, patting and clicking the wrong keys as i type this piece...! Halle...luiya!
To be 'Fair and Lovely' must be every Indian woman's dream! In the other India we see in TV serials with women in zari pallus and gold heels in the kitchen, it is the colour of the face that matters and maybe the volume of metal weighing them down. The rest is covered up anyway with the nine six yards we call a saree.....
But the modern Indian lass is swiftly emerging out of the fair and lovely tube, to sculpt her body, mould her hands, shape her feet, fashion her nails and colour her hair.....neatly landing into the trap set by the manufacturers, she now rushes to the counter to purchase chemicals to enhance, trim, soften, lengthen expand and improve her assests.
I know of one such determined lady. Impressed by the silky tresses(salute the wig-makers) in the shampoo ads on the TV she tried out every product, coating her beautiful, frizzy hair with shampoos, conditioners, even the electric comb with disasterous results. Learning her lesson after much pain and no gain, now she has reverted back to the naturals she used to pamper her hair with earlier. And it is responding to the gentle touch, swiftly gaining its fomer crowning glory!
Now about my penchant to have beautiful hands. Whenever i glanced at pictures of Monalisa or princess Diana my eyes would greedily take in only their soft hands and shapely nails. So i thought why not me?
Then my good friend the idiot box gave me the solution to my problem- THE NAIL SPA!
The first thing to do was to find out what exactly ' a spa' was....Many word-smiths rejected my plea till ultimately i discovered that a spa could be a place to wash, clean, scrub, warm, cool, treat, massage......long list of possibilties
So, turning a deaf ear to my body that needed all of these teartments and more at my age, i made an appointment to get my nails 'done up'.
On the D-day i decided to hide my true identity of a 'teacher-housewife' and dolled up like a 'society lady'- diamonds( fake), chiffons, scents...Well, the rest is History......the monumental judgement was declared with a curt finality.
I would have to care for my nails, not drench them in water so often- so all those experiments at creating fusion food were OUT.
I would have to use gloves to protect my nails- the love of my family won the day, i could not stay away from baking that odd apple crumble, cheese croisant and coconut cookies!
Regular application of creams and lotions was mandatory to growing healthy nail- the whopping bill left a huge dent in my pocket and I forgot which was day cream and ....hidden from public view, they are growing fungus behind the dressing table mirror!
So now I take pride in my short and clean nails that take delight in cooking, scrubbing, kneading, rolling, patting and clicking the wrong keys as i type this piece...! Halle...luiya!
Monday, August 30, 2010
The Maharaja of the Indian Skies!
The National news Channels on the idiot box yesterday had a field day, gleefully playing the tape over and over again of how an Air-India flight from Kochi to Bangalore just refused to take off because of ‘technical snag’ as the passengers were informed. Some of them, snoopy ones discovered that the pilot had ‘fallen ill’ and there was none to ferry them to their destination. What I liked best in this sordid drama was the anchor sheepishly throwing a rhetorical question at anyone who was idle enough to sit glued to the screen whether a large national airline could not find a SINGLE pilot to take the place of the ‘sick man’!! So I present one more failed attempt by rookies at the controls of a large aircraft after meeting the best qualification of all- their fathers were there before them…..
Reproduced is the following published in ‘The Indian Currents’
On the Wings of Hope and Prayer……
In a country like India where consumers routinely bear the brunt of official apathy without a murmur, rarely do we hear or read about incidents that should otherwise be making headlines. If consumers, passengers and patients raise their voices and speak of the injustices and unfair practices of the ‘Chalta Hai’ attitude of India, there is a ray of hope that things just might improve!
If you think that the Air-India Express crash in Mangalore has been consigned to the annals of History, you are sadly mistaken because the long term impact of it is still creating hic-cups in the air travel in that part of the country as seen in this incident I experienced. Apparently all official efforts at the time of the crash were directed towards a temporary cover-up, with no repair and restoration attempted till today. Mangalore airport cannot hope for more than its share of publicity for a day or two, certainly not any upgrading and now it seems to be a forgotten past with no future! This incident is placed in the public glare only to create awareness of the sad plight of air travelers.
The twelfth of June saw us safely in the skies once again, flying towards that picturesque city of my birth and childhood and the smells and sounds of wet earth, gurgling rivers, swaying palms and tiny tiled cottages seen from the air growing into huge sprawling homesteads on the ground. To cap it all, the ride into town in Chandra’s old Amby and finally a warm hug from the person awaiting my arrival so anxiously. Soaring into the clear skies at noon on that beautiful Saturday, any thoughts were far from any disaster or trouble but focused on the joys of forthcoming days. The thought of reunion with a treasured member of the family and the prospect of pitter patter of raindrops on my head as I walked under the canopy of green behind the house lifted my spirits sky-high. Flying into Mangalore is a thrilling experience as any ‘native’ will tell you!
When there is a picturesque airport like Mangalore coming into view like a patchwork quilt of greens and blues, even the most timid flyer forgets his fear of flying! But what happens when the picturesque patch of nature fails to turn up under the belly of the aircraft and all one can see is swirling mists of threatening clouds, a churning cauldron that seems to have swallowed the land below?
The landing preparation seems to go on for ages after the announcement. Sensing trouble, the murmur of voices within the aircraft gradually subsided into a deafening silence. The uncertainty seemed to stretch forever…….minutes into a half hour……neither landing, nor announcement. Ultimately we were told that we had been circling the city for the past half hour and no clearance to land had been given by the ATC, the reason being that visibility was down to 3,600 feet and the Instrument Landing System (ILS) at Mangalore airport was not functioning! We remembered that the same ILS was damaged by the wing of the Air-India aircraft during the recent crash! Was it still not attended to…?
An instrument landing system (ILS) is a ground-based instrument approach system that provides precision guidance to an aircraft approaching and landing on a runway, using a combination of radio signals and, in many cases, high-intensity lighting arrays to enable a safe landing during instrument meteorological conditions (IMC), such as low ceilings or reduced visibility due to fog, rain, or blowing snow. To cut a long story short we landed back in Mumbai nearly 4 hours after we had hopefully boarded for a one hour flight at the same airport!
Now it is reckoning time.
1. As announced by the captain if two earlier flights had been diverted from Mangalore to Goa and Mumbai, due to the same trouble, why did this flight take off at all?
2. How long will it take for the ILS to be repaired and get it functioning to aid landing during such inclement weather?
3. Knowing that Mangalore experiences such weather conditions during monsoon which had already set in, why was the ILS not attended to with haste?
4. Can any compensation reduce the pain, trauma, wasted time and resources of the passengers at Mumbai and Mangalore, and those waiting to receive the old and infirm at the airports?
5. What about the loss to the Airline incurred through such empty flights? Will the passengers bear the brunt of another fare increase shortly?
6. When insignificant developments regarding political leaders are given prime space, how come no media reported on the missing ILS in Mangalore?
7. Lastly it can be safely surmised that such incidents occurring with alarming regularity go unnoticed maybe till a tragic repetition of the air-India brings the lax system to its knees. But how many more lives have to be sacrificed for this cause?
Educating oneself about such incidents provides more options to the consumers/passengers. It is time we bonded together and arm ourselves with more choices……..
- Vera Alvares
Reproduced is the following published in ‘The Indian Currents’
On the Wings of Hope and Prayer……
In a country like India where consumers routinely bear the brunt of official apathy without a murmur, rarely do we hear or read about incidents that should otherwise be making headlines. If consumers, passengers and patients raise their voices and speak of the injustices and unfair practices of the ‘Chalta Hai’ attitude of India, there is a ray of hope that things just might improve!
If you think that the Air-India Express crash in Mangalore has been consigned to the annals of History, you are sadly mistaken because the long term impact of it is still creating hic-cups in the air travel in that part of the country as seen in this incident I experienced. Apparently all official efforts at the time of the crash were directed towards a temporary cover-up, with no repair and restoration attempted till today. Mangalore airport cannot hope for more than its share of publicity for a day or two, certainly not any upgrading and now it seems to be a forgotten past with no future! This incident is placed in the public glare only to create awareness of the sad plight of air travelers.
The twelfth of June saw us safely in the skies once again, flying towards that picturesque city of my birth and childhood and the smells and sounds of wet earth, gurgling rivers, swaying palms and tiny tiled cottages seen from the air growing into huge sprawling homesteads on the ground. To cap it all, the ride into town in Chandra’s old Amby and finally a warm hug from the person awaiting my arrival so anxiously. Soaring into the clear skies at noon on that beautiful Saturday, any thoughts were far from any disaster or trouble but focused on the joys of forthcoming days. The thought of reunion with a treasured member of the family and the prospect of pitter patter of raindrops on my head as I walked under the canopy of green behind the house lifted my spirits sky-high. Flying into Mangalore is a thrilling experience as any ‘native’ will tell you!
When there is a picturesque airport like Mangalore coming into view like a patchwork quilt of greens and blues, even the most timid flyer forgets his fear of flying! But what happens when the picturesque patch of nature fails to turn up under the belly of the aircraft and all one can see is swirling mists of threatening clouds, a churning cauldron that seems to have swallowed the land below?
The landing preparation seems to go on for ages after the announcement. Sensing trouble, the murmur of voices within the aircraft gradually subsided into a deafening silence. The uncertainty seemed to stretch forever…….minutes into a half hour……neither landing, nor announcement. Ultimately we were told that we had been circling the city for the past half hour and no clearance to land had been given by the ATC, the reason being that visibility was down to 3,600 feet and the Instrument Landing System (ILS) at Mangalore airport was not functioning! We remembered that the same ILS was damaged by the wing of the Air-India aircraft during the recent crash! Was it still not attended to…?
An instrument landing system (ILS) is a ground-based instrument approach system that provides precision guidance to an aircraft approaching and landing on a runway, using a combination of radio signals and, in many cases, high-intensity lighting arrays to enable a safe landing during instrument meteorological conditions (IMC), such as low ceilings or reduced visibility due to fog, rain, or blowing snow. To cut a long story short we landed back in Mumbai nearly 4 hours after we had hopefully boarded for a one hour flight at the same airport!
Now it is reckoning time.
1. As announced by the captain if two earlier flights had been diverted from Mangalore to Goa and Mumbai, due to the same trouble, why did this flight take off at all?
2. How long will it take for the ILS to be repaired and get it functioning to aid landing during such inclement weather?
3. Knowing that Mangalore experiences such weather conditions during monsoon which had already set in, why was the ILS not attended to with haste?
4. Can any compensation reduce the pain, trauma, wasted time and resources of the passengers at Mumbai and Mangalore, and those waiting to receive the old and infirm at the airports?
5. What about the loss to the Airline incurred through such empty flights? Will the passengers bear the brunt of another fare increase shortly?
6. When insignificant developments regarding political leaders are given prime space, how come no media reported on the missing ILS in Mangalore?
7. Lastly it can be safely surmised that such incidents occurring with alarming regularity go unnoticed maybe till a tragic repetition of the air-India brings the lax system to its knees. But how many more lives have to be sacrificed for this cause?
Educating oneself about such incidents provides more options to the consumers/passengers. It is time we bonded together and arm ourselves with more choices……..
- Vera Alvares
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Published on 15th August, 2010- transferring it here for my friends on the facebook….
Thank you, Woody Guthrie, your musical genius gave the world that beautiful song- This land is your land, a much-loved classis sung with a lilt in the voice and a dream in the eyes ! But we in India only dare to speak of it in hushed tones, for what comparison can there be between a rosy picture of progress and prosperity and a dismal scene of plunder and pillage, of a country racing to the pinnacle of power and a land raped and ravaged by the powerful in the land?
We hear the tortured cries of this land of mine, pleading for liberation from the clutches of a motley group of people gnawing at it from within while they claim to rule it from without! My Motherland is up for sale! The flight of funds to foreign shores due to the abuse of power is killing this land and its people. Yet, we hail our great country on this day of its past liberation from foreign rule and hope for another Mahatma to secure us present freedom from the corrupt yoke of those who treat India as their personal fiefdom…..
This land is your land, this land is my land
From Himachal peaks, to the Vindhyan heights
From coastal ghat jungles to sonar Bangla waters
This land was made for you and me…...
From the rolling plains of Punjab to the seven streams of Sindhu
From the sacred hills of Utkal to the fragrant air of Kodagu
And the sparkling spreads of the Arabian sands
The shimmering dunes of the warriors’ Royal land,
This land is made for me and you……..
In the swaying fronds in God’s own country a lullaby lies,
Saffron sunsets over the Mannar bay, a sight for sore eyes
Among the Tehri Garhwal Sal forests, on banks of flowing Godavari
I see a land, a land of gold and silver, a land of milk and honey,
And I feel proud that this land is my land ………
Snatches of folk songs, blooming of the bamboo in sacred sanctuary
Where the tiger roamed free, the cuckoo called a sweet melody
From Chirapunji to Tiruchirapalli, from Darjeeling to Dhavalagiri
Swinging to the tillers’ song I walked through the fields of prosperity
And I saw before me the land of sages and selfless statesmen
Oh! This land was indeed made for me!
I walked the country roads to Chchatrapati’s fortresses,
Wind caressing my face, rippling the golden paddy fields
Woods thick with birdsong and fearless wilderness
The expanse of the Rann, the intricate maze of Sunderbans,
I marvel-when did this land cease to be mine?
As I walked I saw a sign there, and that sign read – No Trespassing
But the other side, I hoped that could be mine……..
The side that had said nothing before
Now painted in bold letters the order for sure
- Keep out all citizens, can you not see
This side is made not for you but for me?
I've roamed and rambled and I've followed my own footsteps
Through the once swaying fields in golden valleys that are no more
I passed bare mud-huts in dark hamlets, to the din of empty vessels
The dreams of my youth lay shattered in the bare countryside
And all around me a haunting voice sounds
It SEZ to me, this land was made not for you but and me.
The country roads have turned to highways of progress,
Hills and wilderness, swanky mansions of the rich and famous
All roaring has ceased, my land littered with choked streams,
Massacred groves, desecrated hillocks- spoils of the rulers’ games
Fields fallow, hills denuded, rivers breached and fewer
Nature, quartered and hung for sale in the corridors of power-
I scream- Who dares claim this land that once was mine?
The sun comes shining out, focusing on the plunder
On the sacred Utkal hills to the moan of the pillaged earth,
Vedanta gurus were chanting ‘Bauxite, Bauxite we plunder’
Death throes of poisoned rivers, heavy stirring of toxic air
Tribal cries rising to foreign shores- ‘Don’t Mine us out of Existence’
In the dark of the night Kudremukh tunnels rape the earth secretly under
In Maratha land, the King’s fort on auction block awaiting highest bidder
Was this land made not for me but only for you?
In the squares of the city - In the shadow of the steeple
Where painted grins on paper faces rule the skyline,
Hide the truth of the rape and ravage of this land of mine
Near the urban relief camps and in the stony stares of migrant masses
I see my people with despair on starving faces, aliens in their own land
With hunger in their bellies and disease in their bones, trembling and shaking
And some are moaning, some are grumbling and some are wondering
Was this land ever made for you and me?
- Vera Alvares
We hear the tortured cries of this land of mine, pleading for liberation from the clutches of a motley group of people gnawing at it from within while they claim to rule it from without! My Motherland is up for sale! The flight of funds to foreign shores due to the abuse of power is killing this land and its people. Yet, we hail our great country on this day of its past liberation from foreign rule and hope for another Mahatma to secure us present freedom from the corrupt yoke of those who treat India as their personal fiefdom…..
This land is your land, this land is my land
From Himachal peaks, to the Vindhyan heights
From coastal ghat jungles to sonar Bangla waters
This land was made for you and me…...
From the rolling plains of Punjab to the seven streams of Sindhu
From the sacred hills of Utkal to the fragrant air of Kodagu
And the sparkling spreads of the Arabian sands
The shimmering dunes of the warriors’ Royal land,
This land is made for me and you……..
In the swaying fronds in God’s own country a lullaby lies,
Saffron sunsets over the Mannar bay, a sight for sore eyes
Among the Tehri Garhwal Sal forests, on banks of flowing Godavari
I see a land, a land of gold and silver, a land of milk and honey,
And I feel proud that this land is my land ………
Snatches of folk songs, blooming of the bamboo in sacred sanctuary
Where the tiger roamed free, the cuckoo called a sweet melody
From Chirapunji to Tiruchirapalli, from Darjeeling to Dhavalagiri
Swinging to the tillers’ song I walked through the fields of prosperity
And I saw before me the land of sages and selfless statesmen
Oh! This land was indeed made for me!
I walked the country roads to Chchatrapati’s fortresses,
Wind caressing my face, rippling the golden paddy fields
Woods thick with birdsong and fearless wilderness
The expanse of the Rann, the intricate maze of Sunderbans,
I marvel-when did this land cease to be mine?
As I walked I saw a sign there, and that sign read – No Trespassing
But the other side, I hoped that could be mine……..
The side that had said nothing before
Now painted in bold letters the order for sure
- Keep out all citizens, can you not see
This side is made not for you but for me?
I've roamed and rambled and I've followed my own footsteps
Through the once swaying fields in golden valleys that are no more
I passed bare mud-huts in dark hamlets, to the din of empty vessels
The dreams of my youth lay shattered in the bare countryside
And all around me a haunting voice sounds
It SEZ to me, this land was made not for you but and me.
The country roads have turned to highways of progress,
Hills and wilderness, swanky mansions of the rich and famous
All roaring has ceased, my land littered with choked streams,
Massacred groves, desecrated hillocks- spoils of the rulers’ games
Fields fallow, hills denuded, rivers breached and fewer
Nature, quartered and hung for sale in the corridors of power-
I scream- Who dares claim this land that once was mine?
The sun comes shining out, focusing on the plunder
On the sacred Utkal hills to the moan of the pillaged earth,
Vedanta gurus were chanting ‘Bauxite, Bauxite we plunder’
Death throes of poisoned rivers, heavy stirring of toxic air
Tribal cries rising to foreign shores- ‘Don’t Mine us out of Existence’
In the dark of the night Kudremukh tunnels rape the earth secretly under
In Maratha land, the King’s fort on auction block awaiting highest bidder
Was this land made not for me but only for you?
In the squares of the city - In the shadow of the steeple
Where painted grins on paper faces rule the skyline,
Hide the truth of the rape and ravage of this land of mine
Near the urban relief camps and in the stony stares of migrant masses
I see my people with despair on starving faces, aliens in their own land
With hunger in their bellies and disease in their bones, trembling and shaking
And some are moaning, some are grumbling and some are wondering
Was this land ever made for you and me?
- Vera Alvares
One Day at The Times....
One day at the Times, gives one a hundred days of fodder for thoughts. If you have the passion for wandering like Alice in Wonderland, go off the tangent and colour the words you see on those pages. Join me as we walk the talk. Do you see what i see...?
Let us make an auspicious beginning, with the holy wisdom that is Vedanta.The locomotive thundering through the countryside rushing to the destruction of the sacred Niyamgiri hills, mowing down the homogenous tribes, has been denied a green signal by some sensible guys at the Center! And when the State chief rushed to the capital to advocate Vedanta and failed, he issues a subtle threat that no more investors will throng to India after this shabby treatment to our guests at Vedanta!Indeed, Take the tribals begging on the city maidan to task for doling out such shabby treatment to the State guests! Does this Indian have to side with the Vedantis from UK when he has the choice to join the team of his own people of Orissa? Shrill cries fall on deaf ears?
The Maharaja of the skies is getting loaded with human cargo, top heavy and pocket empty! Loaders take to the skies for free? Loaders too have joined the queue of freeloaders? No wonder, the Maharaja tangled in red tape and nepotism of its own making seems to be slipping... slipping into RED! Losing the race without a fight AI Singh?
Maharashtra is truly a maha rashtra.....i love my State, where the minds are without fear of wasting and getting caught in the nets, where the power of reasoning has dried up in the desert of greed and avarice, where the sons tilling the soil are turned away from their roots and the walls of class and creed are fortified in the city!Is it any wonder the honourable ministers impoverish the State further by their idleness?
The sparkling story at its best- Dubai, that jewel in the desert seems to be the last resort of scoundrels and scalawags. I wonder what do they see there? Safe refuge, lavish lifestyle, wine women and song? Or are they following in the footsteps many others before them? Our home-grown swindlers should hang their heads in shame...are they losing their touch? Mexicans are taking over their territory!
And the queen of the suburbs in the city that is the Gateway of India,is sinking into a state of disorder, chaos and crime with a ( not so)little nudge from the people's representatives themselves! Soon there will be less roads and more hawkers, only high-rises surrounded by shanties, runways at the airport will drown in the drainage from the onslaught of slums. Green will make way fro brown. Shanghai will turn into slumbai. This is YOUR city and mine. Time to decide all Corporators, MLAs and MPs - whose side are you on, the citizens or the agents of anarchy?
Let us make an auspicious beginning, with the holy wisdom that is Vedanta.The locomotive thundering through the countryside rushing to the destruction of the sacred Niyamgiri hills, mowing down the homogenous tribes, has been denied a green signal by some sensible guys at the Center! And when the State chief rushed to the capital to advocate Vedanta and failed, he issues a subtle threat that no more investors will throng to India after this shabby treatment to our guests at Vedanta!Indeed, Take the tribals begging on the city maidan to task for doling out such shabby treatment to the State guests! Does this Indian have to side with the Vedantis from UK when he has the choice to join the team of his own people of Orissa? Shrill cries fall on deaf ears?
The Maharaja of the skies is getting loaded with human cargo, top heavy and pocket empty! Loaders take to the skies for free? Loaders too have joined the queue of freeloaders? No wonder, the Maharaja tangled in red tape and nepotism of its own making seems to be slipping... slipping into RED! Losing the race without a fight AI Singh?
Maharashtra is truly a maha rashtra.....i love my State, where the minds are without fear of wasting and getting caught in the nets, where the power of reasoning has dried up in the desert of greed and avarice, where the sons tilling the soil are turned away from their roots and the walls of class and creed are fortified in the city!Is it any wonder the honourable ministers impoverish the State further by their idleness?
The sparkling story at its best- Dubai, that jewel in the desert seems to be the last resort of scoundrels and scalawags. I wonder what do they see there? Safe refuge, lavish lifestyle, wine women and song? Or are they following in the footsteps many others before them? Our home-grown swindlers should hang their heads in shame...are they losing their touch? Mexicans are taking over their territory!
And the queen of the suburbs in the city that is the Gateway of India,is sinking into a state of disorder, chaos and crime with a ( not so)little nudge from the people's representatives themselves! Soon there will be less roads and more hawkers, only high-rises surrounded by shanties, runways at the airport will drown in the drainage from the onslaught of slums. Green will make way fro brown. Shanghai will turn into slumbai. This is YOUR city and mine. Time to decide all Corporators, MLAs and MPs - whose side are you on, the citizens or the agents of anarchy?
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
InSearch of Justice
Injustice on Justice Sunday
As all Catholics know, this year has dedicated to ‘Care fro Creation’ by the Holy Father Pope Benedict XVI. It is not for the first time that the Church reminds us that God the creator has left the guardianship of His creation in the capable hands of man, we are the custodians of this planet and its inhabitants. Good Catholics, Bible scholars, Theologians will surely take a new look at their Faith in the light of this new aspect – Care for Creation! Yes, it is time for each of us to ask ourselves- Am I doing enough to preserve God’s creation for posterity or am I helping to worsen the man-made disaster of killing the environment?
Generally we are hobbled by our age-old attitudes- Directions must come from the pulpit for us to follow. Any other directive however relevant or urgent is taken in our stride, or put on the backburner of our minds. Secondly we are the Faithful that leave everything in the hands of God. We have been told to trust in God and we take the trust to a new level with our prayers without actions. Is it not the Bible that tells us through St. James, that we need to act on the Word of God that we receive…..
The greatest Tenet of Christianity that calls for actions is difficult to follow. How can we show our love someone of a different class and creed, alien culture and language, living in a far away place, invisible to the world? Good question. I wonder how our Master would have answered it, back to the Bible……
However, the Church celebrates the Justice Sunday on the third Sunday of August to give us all an opportunity to familiarize ourselves with how the lesser children of God live and what injustices they endure, with none to support them in their hour of need. So, out of this obligation is born this sharing ……
The celebration of Justice Sunday on 22nd August, 2010 by the church in Mumbai failed to evoke much representation from the parishes, compared to other events like the Charismatic rallies, healing sessions, Youth Festivals etc. despite the fact that Justice Sunday reflects the Church’s concern for the weaker and marginalized brethren who have been victimized by the unjust policies and actions of the Governments and society as a whole. Yet, it seems to me that we as one community, clergy and lay people could attach more significance to the celebration of Justice Sunday in Mumbai, since it showcases the basic tenet of Christian Faith against the backdrop of recent events like the unprecedented floods in many countries, uncontrollable forest fires, cloudbursts, flash floods and landslide in a proportion never seen for a long time!
It should be of utmost concern to Catholics that this onerous task of caring for creation is becoming an obstacle race run against the industrialists and various governments that ignore the issue of environmental degradation with their faulty policies and indifference. This was aptly illustrated by the documentary, ‘Diamonds and Dust’ filmed at Kuchidih, a remote hamlet in Jamshedpur Jharkhand showing the plight of the land and its people. As shown in the film, the ‘Kohinoor Steel Pvt. Ltd.’, a sponge iron company has taken away most of the fertile agricultural land of the villagers and is ruining the remainder of it by flooding it with Fly Ash soaked with water! The once fertile land has now turned into slush, poisoned and acrid with drinking water becoming a scarce commodity.
The villagers mostly farmers bitterly narrated their tale of exploitation that has made them landless labourers or menial workers living in appalling conditions in mud-huts without electricity or water. The story of how their agricultural land was taken away in exchange for false promises of jobs, electricity, school and medical clinic, unfolded on the screen in agonizing detail. For us, it stood as a grim symbol of India’s rural story of umpteen such hamlets of tribals taken over by unscrupulous industrialists grabbing the only means of sustenance of the poor and giving nothing in return. Evidently these companies show no interest in the welfare or care of the land or the poor people in these hamlets, complacent that the victims are the illiterate poor with no recourse to justice. The truth that even the police refused to acknowledge their existence showed how the government machinery works!
A short search on the Net revealed that a Topography investigation had been made for twenty such mills in the surrounding areas mostly in Jharkhand and Orissa at one point in time- just the tip of the iceberg. Does it mean that all these villages too face the same fate that takes them to the edge of extinction? How many more are hidden from public gaze and quietly face the havoc in a similar manner? In Mumbai, cushioned that we are from the harsh realities of rural India, we could feel alienated from these poor souls. Unless more people dare to expose the misdeeds of these exploiters of the poor in the name of industrialization the country will remain in the dark about the dark side of this issue. Not surprisingly, the fine print at the end of the documentary was predictable- the filmmakers were forbidden to reveal these details or was it that the crew was threatened?
For some of us in one group the story became all the more poignant when a participant, a retired employee of Tata Company at Jamshedpur shared his own experiences of how the Tata House of industries had tackled the same issue differently in a more humane way years ago. He reminisced fondly that the locals were treated to employment, education, healthcare and to a life of dignity by the Industrialists when they took over the land. Hospitals, schools, playgrounds and all other amenities were built and handed over to the religious sisters, professionals in the field of education and health care. Apparently, compared to the earlier generation of pioneer industrialists, those in business now will soon spell the doom for this country and at this rate, by the time India metamorphoses into a super power, there will be no poor people left to enjoy the benefits!
The Church, through its missions is rendering yeoman’s service to mitigate the miseries of these poor people. But if the number of needy people increases rapidly a hundredfold, the way it is happening now because of the blinkered vision, ‘Industrialization at any cost’, will the humanitarian service of this kind be able to keep up with the times?
So now, the million dollar question- Why have we changed so drastically that neither the government nor the millionnaires have hardened theri hearts into reaching the poor to death's door?
As all Catholics know, this year has dedicated to ‘Care fro Creation’ by the Holy Father Pope Benedict XVI. It is not for the first time that the Church reminds us that God the creator has left the guardianship of His creation in the capable hands of man, we are the custodians of this planet and its inhabitants. Good Catholics, Bible scholars, Theologians will surely take a new look at their Faith in the light of this new aspect – Care for Creation! Yes, it is time for each of us to ask ourselves- Am I doing enough to preserve God’s creation for posterity or am I helping to worsen the man-made disaster of killing the environment?
Generally we are hobbled by our age-old attitudes- Directions must come from the pulpit for us to follow. Any other directive however relevant or urgent is taken in our stride, or put on the backburner of our minds. Secondly we are the Faithful that leave everything in the hands of God. We have been told to trust in God and we take the trust to a new level with our prayers without actions. Is it not the Bible that tells us through St. James, that we need to act on the Word of God that we receive…..
The greatest Tenet of Christianity that calls for actions is difficult to follow. How can we show our love someone of a different class and creed, alien culture and language, living in a far away place, invisible to the world? Good question. I wonder how our Master would have answered it, back to the Bible……
However, the Church celebrates the Justice Sunday on the third Sunday of August to give us all an opportunity to familiarize ourselves with how the lesser children of God live and what injustices they endure, with none to support them in their hour of need. So, out of this obligation is born this sharing ……
The celebration of Justice Sunday on 22nd August, 2010 by the church in Mumbai failed to evoke much representation from the parishes, compared to other events like the Charismatic rallies, healing sessions, Youth Festivals etc. despite the fact that Justice Sunday reflects the Church’s concern for the weaker and marginalized brethren who have been victimized by the unjust policies and actions of the Governments and society as a whole. Yet, it seems to me that we as one community, clergy and lay people could attach more significance to the celebration of Justice Sunday in Mumbai, since it showcases the basic tenet of Christian Faith against the backdrop of recent events like the unprecedented floods in many countries, uncontrollable forest fires, cloudbursts, flash floods and landslide in a proportion never seen for a long time!
It should be of utmost concern to Catholics that this onerous task of caring for creation is becoming an obstacle race run against the industrialists and various governments that ignore the issue of environmental degradation with their faulty policies and indifference. This was aptly illustrated by the documentary, ‘Diamonds and Dust’ filmed at Kuchidih, a remote hamlet in Jamshedpur Jharkhand showing the plight of the land and its people. As shown in the film, the ‘Kohinoor Steel Pvt. Ltd.’, a sponge iron company has taken away most of the fertile agricultural land of the villagers and is ruining the remainder of it by flooding it with Fly Ash soaked with water! The once fertile land has now turned into slush, poisoned and acrid with drinking water becoming a scarce commodity.
The villagers mostly farmers bitterly narrated their tale of exploitation that has made them landless labourers or menial workers living in appalling conditions in mud-huts without electricity or water. The story of how their agricultural land was taken away in exchange for false promises of jobs, electricity, school and medical clinic, unfolded on the screen in agonizing detail. For us, it stood as a grim symbol of India’s rural story of umpteen such hamlets of tribals taken over by unscrupulous industrialists grabbing the only means of sustenance of the poor and giving nothing in return. Evidently these companies show no interest in the welfare or care of the land or the poor people in these hamlets, complacent that the victims are the illiterate poor with no recourse to justice. The truth that even the police refused to acknowledge their existence showed how the government machinery works!
A short search on the Net revealed that a Topography investigation had been made for twenty such mills in the surrounding areas mostly in Jharkhand and Orissa at one point in time- just the tip of the iceberg. Does it mean that all these villages too face the same fate that takes them to the edge of extinction? How many more are hidden from public gaze and quietly face the havoc in a similar manner? In Mumbai, cushioned that we are from the harsh realities of rural India, we could feel alienated from these poor souls. Unless more people dare to expose the misdeeds of these exploiters of the poor in the name of industrialization the country will remain in the dark about the dark side of this issue. Not surprisingly, the fine print at the end of the documentary was predictable- the filmmakers were forbidden to reveal these details or was it that the crew was threatened?
For some of us in one group the story became all the more poignant when a participant, a retired employee of Tata Company at Jamshedpur shared his own experiences of how the Tata House of industries had tackled the same issue differently in a more humane way years ago. He reminisced fondly that the locals were treated to employment, education, healthcare and to a life of dignity by the Industrialists when they took over the land. Hospitals, schools, playgrounds and all other amenities were built and handed over to the religious sisters, professionals in the field of education and health care. Apparently, compared to the earlier generation of pioneer industrialists, those in business now will soon spell the doom for this country and at this rate, by the time India metamorphoses into a super power, there will be no poor people left to enjoy the benefits!
The Church, through its missions is rendering yeoman’s service to mitigate the miseries of these poor people. But if the number of needy people increases rapidly a hundredfold, the way it is happening now because of the blinkered vision, ‘Industrialization at any cost’, will the humanitarian service of this kind be able to keep up with the times?
So now, the million dollar question- Why have we changed so drastically that neither the government nor the millionnaires have hardened theri hearts into reaching the poor to death's door?
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