Sunday Splurge!

A perfect lazy Sunday afternoon to follow a perfectly lazy Sunday morning. It's been a while since mum, Bharat(bro) and I have bonded, so this was the perfect setting. There goes that word again. We headed out to Spencer’s to burn some happy holes in dad's pocket.
I don't quite know when my brother grew up. As if him shaving for the first time wasn't a sign enough, he now picks out absurd clothing. T-shirts that read 'Cool'. Even as brothers, boys will just be boys! As we passed by the women's section, i gazed fondly at the myriad colours on display. Mums never miss these dramatic moments, they only get more animated picking out their favourite colours. It never strikes them that we are the ones who have to wear the outfits! I'm blessed to have a mum with impeccable taste, but for the less fortunate folks, I quite understand. I refuse to be a pretentious intellectual snob who abhors shopping. Hot pink and zesty aqua do bring magic to your life. Your sense of style is yours and yours alone. There are no two crazy beads sporting Divya Chandramoulis.

Lunch was the highlight of my day. Nothing like jostling amidst a Sunday crowd to lay your hands on that plate of pani puri. The food didn't leave much room for conversation, but this was just like the old times! Perfect, I say!

Remembering the first.

Now, long after time has lost its patience, I discover that first loves cannot be forgotten. You only think you've let go, till reasoning blows up in your face like a cruel joke. The state- irony. The effort - futile. The feeling - forever.

My Favourite Things.

On a lazy Wednesday morning, I sit back and think of everything that makes life worth the while. Here goes, in absolute random order:

1. Indian advertising : everything from desi to urban chic. It makes t.v viewing that much more fun!

2. Fudge greeting me each time, at the door. I yell at times, for he never tires... but if it stopped, I would miss it like crazy!

3. Never ending telephone conversations where you're discussing everything under the sun, and the world starts to make sense.

4. Good writing. Hail! The good books keep piling up!

5. My folks. Despite every idiosyncrasy in the world.

6. Shopping sprees...yoo hoo! Junk and more junk, here I come!

7. A nail biting, close cricket encounter. Nothing quite like it!

8. Hearing J's voice, fighting sleep, even at 2 in the afternoon. The voice that makes my day.

9. Friends. Need I say more?

10. My brother, who was whiny just yesterday but seems all grown up today. Strange, are the ways of boys!

11. The World Wide Web : It's a crazy world out there, and I can't seem to get enough of it!

12. India. Maa Tujhe Salaam. Thai Manne Vanakkam.

13. A lilting melody. A pacy drum roll. Music, is the food for my soul.

who says lists need to end on even numbers?!?

I. Me. Myself.

Am I an open book, allowing people to ruffle my pages a tad too fast?
Am I a shallow pond, where thoughts stay afloat, without deeper meaning?
Am I the touch-me-not, shrivelling and unaccepting, always on guard?

Life takes you through meandering roads, where every halt leads to introspection. In each wrong, there emerges a right. Sometimes, all it takes is for you to step out of yourself and view the world anew. Questions find answers, somehow, somewhere.

Woeful Men in Blue

Waking up at 4: 30 this morning meant that my body was aching for an afternoon siesta. Post lunch, Pakistan had notched up their 303 in fifty overs leaving the Indians to chase successfully to draw the series. At this point in time, I felt that the Indian team had done pretty well to contain Pakistan to 300 odd. With another blazing start, at the fifteen over mark with a whopping run rate touching seven almost, they looked set to cruise to 350. Yet, tight bowling in the middle overs and smart captaining from Dravid pulled them back to 303. On the Indian prospect, Srikkanth and Amarnath echo my sentiments... "haan ji, yeh to fighting total hai ji, agar top order click ho jaye to india ke paas baating strength hai is total ko chase karne ke liye..."

The first two overs fly past, not without a skirmish or two as Sehwag gets caught off a no ball from Rana. I'm fighting a losing battle to stay awake and i give in. A few zzzzz's later, I turned on the television, Lo and Behold... to see Srikkanth and Amarnath AGAIN! Eh? I rub my eyes. IF you thought you had seen the worst of blue woes, think again. We have successfully folded up. Once again, without the semblance of a fight. Blame it on a slower pitch, blame it on external pressure, blame it on a non performing captain who was conveniently banned... even the most die hard Indian fans ( yours truly ) have begun doubting the team's effort to remain consistent.

My mind rushes back to one of my favourite Amul hoardings of all time , 'Tendu. Ten don't.' Sure. That equation has changed. It's now 'Veeru or Ve're Gone.' India's cricketing fortunes were never predictable but just as we seemed to be forcing ourselves out of the 'one man dependency' trap, PLONK, we've fallen back into it. I'm a fool and so be it. I will still wake up at odd hours to perhaps see the men in blue crumble for under 120, but I sense there are certain others who have lost their patience. Team India owes their next performance to those who still believe.

p.s: PRAY, what was Roshni Chopra wearing?!?!?!

Little to Laugh About

Mansi* is a young woman, whose attitude towards life is quite simply, bindaas. This thirty something jewellery designer moulds any girl’s best friend in intricate designs that reflect a refreshingly creative mind. The dancing bug caught her early and she has been dancing for as long as she can remember. The several photographs of stage performances pinned on her soft board stand testimony to her dancing ability. Mansi’s joie de vivre influences all and sundry who chance upon interacting with her…

There seems to be little wrong with this description. Wait a minute, did I say little, for that precisely is the problem. Mansi suffers from Achondroplasia, a genetic disorder that stunts growth. Yes, Mansi is what we commonly refer to as a ‘dwarf’. Achondroplasia is caused by defective matching of genes that leads to distorted body proportions. In most cases, the upper torso is developed whereas the upper and lower limbs remain largely under developed. Achondroplasics have a shorter life span of about forty years as the lack of space restricts the functioning of the heart and the lungs. In certain cases, speech might be slurred or screechy. According to endocrinologists, the available treatments are painful and most patients can ill afford them. Doctors world over are devising methods by which Achondroplasics can avail a feasible, affordable medical solution.

Yet, anybody who suffers from this dreaded disorder will tell you that the physical battle is far less painful than the social battle. Courtesy a documentary exercise in college, I had the opportunity to get a glimpse into the lives of people affected by Achondroplasia.

Manikandan* is employed as a mascot by an amusement park in Chennai, Tamilnadu. Like most other fathers, his two-year-old daughter is the apple of his eye. His professional life begins each afternoon, when he dons a costume to amuse several other tiny tots. While the rest of us fuss over the sweltering heat, Mani seems immune. It’s just another day where the mask is all that matters. After all, day after day, his grimaces go unnoticed. The children at the park greet the masked Mani with a mixed bag of emotions. While some scream with glee, some others seem hesitant to shake his hand. The parents seem far more eager, shoving their children’s palms into the mascot’s. After several cameras click away, the audience watches as Mani and his friends take to the stage. Judging by the cheers, this seems to be everybody’s favourite part of the show. As I speak to Michael, the event coordinator, he seems completely in favour of Achondroplasics working as mascots. In the lower rung of society, it’s their best shot of earning an income, he claims.

Earlier that morning we, my fellow director and I, spent time interviewing Mani’s family and neighbours. His wife does not suffer from the same disorder and she remains a few inches taller than Mani. This drew my attention to a few almost unknown facts. Achondroplasics do get married. They are also capable of producing perfectly healthy children. Interestingly, Mani also supports his aging mother who sings praises of her son’s benevolence, disillusioned by the attitude of her other ‘successful’ children, who couldn’t be bothered.

Mani’s neighbours seem nonchalant about his physical state. Having said that, we did hear the odd teasing phrase or two (courtesy the fuss made over the camera); but by and large things seemed to be at ease in this little colony of concrete shacks. The people around him vouched for Mani’s pleasant demeanour and the women were more than happy to have an in house entertainer for the children. As Mani’s wife rustled up the afternoon meal, he looked animated for the first time in the day. His eyes light up as he narrates his acting experiences for a few Kollywood films and few other television serials. Just as the afternoon sun got merciless, Mani shared with us his one ambition – to secure a government job and earn a secure income.

There might be marked differences in the quality of life that Mansi and Mani lead but it’s support and security they both seek the most. While Mansi has parents who gave her strength to discover the world, Mani has the love of his family. Mansi’s parents and sister are her best friends who see her through thick and thin. Not for a minute was she ostracized from family gatherings. It’s this progressive thinking extended by the family that has helped Mansi overcome all inhibitions and design her own dreams. Mani might not have been the beneficiary of progressive thinking but he has still managed to make something of his life. He is a doting husband and a proud father who wants to give his child a world, much better than his.

Mani and his Achondroplasic friends have taken fate in their stride as they set out to make the world laugh. You see them everywhere – an amusement park, a circus, a PR event for a children’s clothing store. Yet, none of us see through the masks. In an effort to make themselves heard, the Achondroplasics who work within the Tamil entertainment industry have formed an association. This is the first step in the right direction to fight exploitation of any kind. They seem determined to make foray into different fields where their skills can be put to use.

At the other end of the spectrum, I was shocked to discover that it’s so called elite society that wears prejudices on its sleeve. In certain cases, Achondroplasic children born to affluent parents are shunned and kept away from the glare of society. A sense of shame seems palpable, so much so that a successful doctor who happens to suffer from Achondroplasia refused us an interview. This only made me realise that even success does bring off this mask that repeated rejection has forced them to wear.

These people are far above our pity. Just like any of us, they are individuals who need love, support and encouragement to blossom forth. It’s time we, the world around, turned more sensitive to the needs of those whose lives cannot be taken for granted. After all, this is no laughing matter.


* Names have been altered to protect the individual’s privacy.

Double Scoop Sundays

It happened one fine day, like most other things. An erudite bunch of twenty somethings, fired by the passion to make a difference, all set to make the most of a rare opportunity. An opportunity presented by the judicial authorities of Chennai, Tamilnadu that welcomed voluntary organizations, to help with proceedings at the State Juvenile Justice Homes. My lot was asked to help out with the Girl’s home, which housed an orphanage for underprivileged children.

After a thorough interrogation, which summed up the attitude of the staff towards ‘outsiders’, the perplexed watchman let us walk through the gates. I watched as the activities came to a stand still and all eyes assessed the ‘Akkas’ (tamil for elder sister) and ‘Annas’ (tamil for elder brother) who had trespassed into their world. There were some hushed speculations as to what our motive might be. Undeterred, we kept pace with our guide who led us to a sprightly group of thirty girls. Clean skirts, clipped nails, two plaits that dangled forth- it was obvious that they had taken some effort to make an impression upon us. Impress us, they did. Be it with their cheeky repartees to questions that undermined their intelligence or their attention to detail that reflected in dance impersonations of Kollywood’s biggest stars. Quite simply, these young girls were made of sterner stuff than the dilapidated buildings, which was their home.

It isn’t as if they lacked the intelligence. It isn’t as if they are denied a basic education. Yet, their minimal interaction with the world outside left them vulnerable to strangers with ulterior motives. The need of the hour was interaction with different individuals that would change their behavioural patterns. In less fancy terms, we were their first taste of the world outside. Through origami, painting and English lessons we had broken past more than just ice. This was more than an arts and crafts class. Children who have the love and support of a family and a secure place to call home would only take back the paints, paper and brushes from these sessions. These girls were learning to colour the bigger picture. These girls were learning to recognize the beautiful mornings even as we taught them the English greeting. Roopa, the artist, Lakshmi the danseuse, Priya, the teacher… this was a start, marked by newfound confidence. Fostering an interaction between the group, teaching them to share and reach out, it’s amazing how wiping the slates clean can bring about such significance. As the pink and purple excitement continued, you couldn’t help but wonder if people would give them a chance to discover themselves? To just be children?

Two fun Sundays later, we were confronted with a strange problem. The girls, who were starved of any male attention and constantly fed on imaginative filmi plots, staked their claim on the Annas, who were their tickets to an escape route. It came as a surprise, because we thought they were responding well to our sessions. Little did we anticipate that this turn would unearth certain ghastly truths.

These girls are only aware of two kinds of men – the men in their families who remained helplessly stricken by poverty, reducing them to the state of orphans and men who took advantage of their naiveté. The few good men who did exist were from the movies. The girls would bare their body and soul, only to be loved by a man. You feel immense pity for a young prostitute, forced into the flesh trade by malicious forces but what you feel for these girls is indescribable. After years of rigid suppression, their hormones eventually get the better of them. It’s almost as if they were left with no choice, but to fall for sleazy innuendos. Since the authorities do everything in their might to keep the men at bay, their sexual frustrations boil over. Lesbianism is rampant amongst the older girls in the orphanage. The situation stands at a stagnant lose-lose. If you rope in the men, you have teenage pregnancies. If you don’t, the girls resort to sexual exploration amongst themselves.

How then could you reach out to make the girls aware of the diverse relationships that a man and woman share? As father and daughter, as teacher and student, as colleagues at any workplace or as best friends? Unfortunately, not much has been done to break these barriers as an empathizing Superintendent delivered the ultimatum- she understood the circumstances better than any of us, but she wasn’t prepared to be harassed by the system. The group could stay if the men opted out.

This was a learning process, indeed. It isn’t always easy to watch your liberal ideas being squashed under rubber chappals. While penning these thoughts down, my attention drifts towards the system itself. While a commendable effort was being made to make operations more transparent, a great deal still remained flawed. The wardens of the homes still continue to employ these girls as free manual labour to clean their quarters in exchange for a tastier meal. Exploitation notwithstanding, I don’t blame any of the girls who grab hold of this opportunity for the meals served at the home gets monotonous. The hugest challenge that the Superintendent faces is the indifference that the girls show towards their staff. If the staff fails to understand their requirements, the consequences range from ripping apart furniture to slashing wrists. This relationship seems to be jostled by desperation at both ends. It should be noted that the staff consider this as a routine government job and remain oblivious to methods of change.

Despite several events that came to light, we persisted, sans the men. As the Sunday trouper’s visits grew more frequent, we earned the grudging cooperation of the hitherto sniggering wardens. Maybe the girls would listen to us, after all. Maybe this was the way to keep them from staging a rebellion. The wardens seemed more willing to let the girls attend our Sunday sessions and at times we were even greeted with a smile.

It’s been over a year now, since we embarked upon this mission. Alright, scratch that. We didn’t change lives overnight. Yet, with time, the equations did change. The constant bickering amongst the girls has lessened. It seems less of an issue now if one group had more sheets of paper to paint on or a few more beads to string together. The tell tale stories of woe didn’t vanish altogether but they make fewer appearances. These small changes accounted for bigger changes in the group’s attitude towards their own lives.

None of this happened because ours is a gifted group. We walked in as just another bunch trying to bridge a divide. There has been more than one occasion where we have yelled at the top of our voices to get a point across or refused to fulfill certain unreasonable demands. It only goes to show that a group such as this will break down the walls, if you are willing to lend them your ears. Is there a point to all of this? There is. I’m sure there are many other groups making an effort to reach out. If you have the time and the will, put your hand up. At the risk of sounding preachy, I shall tell you that this has been one of my better life experiences. If for nothing else, you’ll start to view your life a little differently.

here goes something.

finally, after days of toying with the idea of doing just this, i have created a blog. yes, people. you now have access to things stuck in my head.