Why Does Dumbledore Never ‘Deal’ with Severus Snape?

Well, everyone is aware, at Hogwarts, that Severus Snape, the great Potions Master is less than fair to Harry Potter and goes out of his way to penalize him and Griffindor every possible chance he gets.

He is ‘harsh’ taskmaster by Hogwarts standards. He seldom smiles or makes any effort at being friends with his class. He flaunts his dislike for some students openly, brazenly in fact. He is quick to suspect Potter of unlikely crimes.

He is hardly cordial even with his colleagues, some of whom have been his class mates. Dumbledore has been his Teacher. And yet…

McGonagal or Dumbledore doesn’t come running to rescue a student every time they are detained or snubbed. Other teachers are never caught running rabid whispering campaigns behind Snape’s back, although it might have been easy to do so – had the culture prevailed at Hogwarts, which DOESN’T seem to be the case!

The fact that he is undoubtedly one of the best Potions Master and does his best for his class seems to be enough consideration for his colleagues to leave him alone, even respect his decisions, even when they sense it might be biased – everyone is extremely courteous and careful to not start in-fighting among Teachers.

On the other hand let’s consider student behaviour : we do not find Malfoy running to his father with complaints about McGongal or Dumbledore quite as often as we would have expected. Although, he does manage to get Hagrid in serious trouble. Here again, funny thing happens. Dumbledore and Potter and company somehow manage to get him out of that scrape….

Or Griffindors running to their house mistress or the Principal, at any point of time – complaining about any of the other teachers.  Dumbledor does receive letters and even howlers from influential Wizard Parents, but the children are NEVER EVER allowed to get embroiled in any of that.

Does Hogwarts NOT LOVE its children then???

Now, my question is -is this – are these hall marks of a great institution then? What does it teach us – if at all – about “good” leadership in a school? What does it teach us about peer behaviour? About good governance at a citadel of learning?

What would have happened to Snape or Dumbledore or Lupin or MadEye Moody – had this been an Indian school for the noveau-riche?

What would have been Harry’s education like in an Indian school, with a history like he has? Would he still have had so much extra trouble as he did at Hogwarts – teachers pushing him extra hard nearly all the time – the good teachers, for his own good and safety, the malicious ones to get him down as much as was possible within the sanctimonious Teacher-Student relationship?

Those who do not know the story do excuse me. Those who do, what would you say?

Enjoy this funny post from Ranjani Mitra

Ranjani teaches at Riverside, Ahmedabad, and had mailed it this afternoon. Eeett eej  re-elly  phunny, so I  owanted to share it with you gyj.  Hope you hab phaan

This is ABCD definitions of Bengalis created by another Bengali.

 A is for Awpheesh (as in Office). This is where the average Kolkakattan goes and spends a day hard(ly) at work. And if he works for the ” West Bengal Gawrment” he will arrive at 10, wipe his forehead till 11, have a tea break at 12, throw around a few files at 12.30, break for lunch at 1, smoke an unfiltered cigarette at 2, break fortea at 3, sleep sitting down at 4 and go home at 4:30. It’s a hard life!

B is for Bhision. For some reason many Bengalis don’t have good bhision. In fact in Kolkata most people are wearing spectacles all the time.

C is for Chappell. Currently, this is the Bengali word for the Devil, for the worst form of evil. In the night mothers put their kids to sleep saying, æNa ghumaley Chappell eshey dhorey niye jabeö.

D is for Debashish or any other name starting with Deb-. By an ancient law every fourth Bengali Child has to be named Debashish. So you have a Debashish everywhere and trying to get creative they are also called Deb, Debu, Deba with variations like Debanik, Deboprotim, Debojyoti, etc. thrown in at times.

E is for Eeesh. This is a very common Bengali exclamation made famous by Aishwarya Rai in the movie Devdas. It is estimated that on an average a Bengali, especially Bengali women, use eeesh 10,089 times every year. “Ei Morechhey” is a close second to Eeesh.

F is for Feeesh. These are creatures that swim in rivers and seas and are a favourite food of the Bengalis. Despite the fact that a fish market has such strong smells, with one sniff a Bengali knows if a fish is all right. If not he will say ‘eeesh what feeesh is theesh!’

G is for Good name. Every Bengali boy will have a good name like Debashish or Deboprotim and a pet name like Montu, Bablu, etc. While every Bengali girls will have pet names like Tia, Tuktuki, Mishti, Khuku, etc.

H is for Harmonium. This the Bengali equivalent of a rock guitar. Take four Bengalis and a Harmonium and you have the successors to The Bheatles!
I is for lleesh. This is a feeesh with 10,000 bones which would kill any ordinary person, but which the Bengalis eat with releeesh!

J is for Jhola. No self respecting Bengali is complete without his Jhola. It is a shapeless cloth bag where he keeps all his belongings and he fits an amazing number of things in. Even as you read this there are 2 million jholas bobbling around Kolkata- and they all look exactly the same! Note that ‘Jhol’ as in Maachher Jhol is a close second
K is for Kee Kaando !. It used to be the favourite Bengali exclamation till eeesh took over because of Aishwarya Rai (now Kee Kando’s agent is trying to hire Bipasha Basu).

L is for Lungi – the dress for all occasions. People in Kolkata manage to play football and cricket wearing it not to mention the daily trip in the morning to the local bajaar. Now there is talk of a lungi expedition to Mt. Everest .
M is for Minibus. These are dangerous half buses whose antics would effortlessly frighten the living daylights out of all James Bond stuntmen as well as Formula 1 race car drivers.

N is for N ishchoi. This is the Bengali word for Obvious . It is the most interesting word in any expression !
O is for Oil. The Bengalis believe that a touch of mustard oil will cure anything from cold (oil in the nose), to earache (oil in the ear), to cough (oil on the throat) to piles (oil you know where!).

P is for Phootball. This is always a phavourite phassion of the Kolkattan. Every Bengali is born an expert in this game. The two biggest clubs there are Mohunbagan and East Bengal and when they play the city comes to a stop..

Q is for Queen. This really has nothing to do with the Bengalis or Kolkata, but it’s the only Q word I could think of at this moment. There’s also Quilt but they never use them in Kolkata.

R is for Robi Thakur. Many nany years ago Rabindranath got the Nobel Prize. This has given the right to all Bengalis no matter where they are to frame their acceptance speeches as if they were directly related to the great poet and walk with their head held high. This also gives Bengalis the birthright to look down at Delhi and Mumbai and of course ‘all non-Bengawlees’ ! Note that ‘Rawshogolla’ comes a close second !

S is for Shourav. Now that they finally produced a genuine cricketer and a captain, Bengalis think that he should be allowed to play until he is 70 years old. Of course they will see to it that he stays in good form by doing a little bit of “joggo” and “maanot”.
T is for Trams. Hundred years later there are still trams in Kolkata. Of course if you are in a hurry it’s faster to walk.

U is for Aambrela. When a Bengali baby is born they are handed one.
V is for Bhaayolence. Bengalis are the most non-violent violent people around. When an accident happens they will fold up their sleeves, shout and scream and curse and abuse, ôChherey De Bolchhiö but the last time someone actually hit someone was in 1979.
W is for Woter. For three months of the year the city is underwater and every year for the last 200 years the authorities are taken by surprise by this!
X is for XÆmas. It’s very big in Kolkata, with Park Street fully lit up and all Bengalis agreeing that they must eat cake that day.

Y is for Yesshtaarday. Which is always better than today for a Bengali (see R for Robi Thakur).

Z is for Jebra, Joo, Jipper and Jylophone.

Slumdog Millionaire

well, the story seems well researched, the costumes right, the settings perfect, the actors do justice to what has been assigned to them, they look their parts too, the music brings out the pathos, accentuates the horror of the characters’ experiences, Rahman Saab, you have been wonderful… the shots are neat, stylish too – and yet, I am afraid I couldn’t like Slumdog Millionaire as a movie.

I did not feel the excitement that I had felt with Shekhar Kapoor’s Elizabeth, that too a movie with a Director dealing with a foreign subject, foreign locale, actors. Or the way I felt with Matrix or Tarein Zameen Par or even Dil Chahta Hain or Rahul Bose’s Directorial debut Everybody Says Am Fine.

Of course I do not pretend to understand such things. I pay for my ticket and I watch with my heart mostly and eyes and I take some expectations along too that are predominantly to do with seeing a spectacle unfold on screen. I usually am quite willing to suspend my disbelief. I expect a tight story, fluently told, with racy pictures to go with it to aid my not so bright imagination. I mean am average, can only deal with routine gaps, but not quite capable of filling in huge chunks of the zigsaw missing and having to figure that out makes me lose my way in the spectacle. It is distracting.

I also fet that somewhere, it lacked “soul”. The films I mentioned are flawed too, they have nitpicked on these and everybody ignored Everybody Says-. Yet, you come away from the movie with a hand on your heart. The build-up ends with the much needed catharsis…

I would not have missed the film for anything.  I do want the children to go watch it. Yet, I do not feel ok with it. There are these gaps in it that are disturbing. Something is simply missing… in this movie. I know all my blogmates would hate me for saying this, especially with the euphoria all around, but then those that love me, like me for my honesty.  I have been honest.  Could be am dumber than people think…

Republic Day India – Up close personal

Another 26 January. Woke up with a call from a blogmate who wanted to know if I had read his Republic Day post yet. He was worried about a number – the Radio said 60th Republic Day, yet it seems, when he had Googled, 1950 is when the Indian Constitution had come into force, so he is concerned it should be 59th to be accurate.

Frankly, I wasn’t sure, because I don’t care, as am not a number person. I just told him if it is Media, it should be careful, somebody should write in to get them to correct it. I went on to think if the day meant anything to me presently, personally, apart from being a holiday.

Nostalgia day, I realized, a day I would want to forget because it makes me miss my father, who is dead (three years now). Then I realized, as offspring, it is my responsibility to keep him alive in my thoughts until I can pass it on to someone else. After all, father has nobody but me, to remember him.

So, what was it like with him around? He loved to be in front of the TV on all 26 Januarys, after his retirement. The Republic Day was one day when everybody had a holiday together. So this was family time proper, everybody would lovingly watch the pageant, the parade, and as a youngster I and bhai, my little brother, was particularly fond of the fighter plane show, “ooooh that’s a Sukhoi?”.

My father was in the Indian Air Force in the beginning before ‘running away‘ to join Bharat Air which later through various stages of evolution became Indian Airlines (Indian today). So talk about aircraft was common in our household, the children seeped in that talk naturally curious about these things. And as each aircraft was displayed, along with the commentator’s, we would hear my father’s own version, as he translated technical jargon to everyday units for us, in terms of distance, span, strength, speed, function etc.

His face would be aglow with a strange pride and excitement. My father is one person I met in my life, who never ever even for ONCE regretted being in India or being an Indian or a Bengali.

Me? O, I complain all the time, when somebody supercedes me in queues, or speaks English to get their way in crowded places, or when am plain-hell serviced badly, I whine about people not respecting value of “time” or “money spent”. Especially, after my five month stint at Wipro BPO in New Delhi, working as Retention for AOL, I wizened up to what service and money and labour meant in the West. I kind of learned to appreciate the attitude – to resource.

I believe, it is because they have such huge respect for things and people as “resource”  in the West is why they are developed in so many respects today, it isn’t just money or know-how.  The Indian legacy is  richer than the West in most respects. I mean, consider the first lock-gated dockyard at the Desert region of Gujarat.  Maths, Astronomy, Sports, Measure, Science, Civil Engineering,  Metallurgy, Literature, Philosophy, Religion – yet, somewhere this country failed in some major way and ended up being poor and unable to feed its own, without begging or borrowing.  The  same country that was raided seventeen times and more later for its gold by the likes of Nadir Shah. The same country that traded silk with Mesopotamia (watch Ten Commandments, carefully note the scene where the Egyptian king receives gifts in durbar one morning and from the Land of five Rivers comes a gorgeous piece of red silk saree which Nefertitti wraps around her arms as she feels its cool sensual texture on her skin…) in circa before Christ…dyed its textiles, used alloys….

Anyway, so Republic Day means memory of days spent with my father.

Then after wards, while we ate lunch, we would all listen to Jim Reeves and Leonard Cohen together and Ritu Guha on an old Panasonic  2-in-1 tape deck, which we were all extremely proud of. This day was always a happy-day-at-home which was otherwise a circus with so many divergent thinking assertive people under one singe roof – an Aries mum, a Scorpio bro, pet of the family, a Sagittarian sister with wayward ideas and a calm, Piscean father – shock absorber, buffer to keep everything in fine balance.

Three days later, we would watch the Beating Retreat together. This time it would just be father and me – I personally, loved this part of the Republic Day celebration the best. (If you want to sample the music, this link takes you to where there is a YouTube clipping, I myself don’t know how to upload music files here or wd have made ur life easy for u)

Beating Retreat is the finale to the jazz of the pageant started on the 26. The sombre notes of the bugle and cannon shots and the tone of the male commentator mixed with the colour of the setting sun on the TV screen seeped into our thoughts and stayed in our imagination for days.

This is the sound that made our country’s history come alive in my head, for fleeting moments I would have vision of Rani Lakhsmi Bai astride her sage-brown Arab steed with an arm raised and pointing forwards, shouting her commands, the image of the last Mughal Emperor apologetic and remorseful turning away, his beautiful aristocratic drooping eyes seeking refuge in another page of the poetry book in his hand, the fierce screaming of the dying at the grounds in Punjab, and then Netaji’s speech,

Freedom is not given, it is taken.. One individual may die for an idea; but that idea will, after his death, incarnate itself in a thousand lives. That is how the wheel of evolution moves on and the ideas and dreams of one nation are bequeathed to the next……‘ Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose‘

over Japan Radio and finally, the voice of Nehru’s, with his call of the Tryst with Destiny.

When the show ended, I would return to my desk, fish out my battered copy of the abridged children’s edition of the Mahabharata, snap it open at a random page and start reading. Nobody bothered if you didn’t ’study’ for the next day, as you normally are supposed to be doing on weekdays.

Ichhyamrityu – Privilege & Right to Choose My Death

An Indian term for Auto-Destruct

The premise of this post is, no one can guarantee my life, so why should the State have any right to prevent me from planning my own death?  Why should auto destruct be considered an offense? Why should people that fail in their attempt to self destruct, be put in jail afterward, if they survive ? If a computer program can be relied upon to decide its own end, why can’t an intelligent human be trusted with his own life?

When I talk of Ichhyamrityu I  am NOT discussing Suicide.  Am not suicidal. Nor a quitter.  And am not depressed although I am definitely disturbed – even unhappy.

In ancient India, sages (Munis), wise men (Rishis), some kings and queens practised and enjoyed the privilege of auto-destruct or Ichhyamrityu. Ichhya is the Sanskrit word for ‘wish’/'choice’, Mrityu is the Sanskrit word for ‘death’ ‘end of one life cycle’.

Among epic characters, Bhishma had used this privilege. One can read about him in the Mahabharata. The idea appeals to me. The power and privilege to choose when, how, where I breathe my last,  gives me a far better sense of control over my present as a whole.  It also enhances my status as an individual in my own mind. It also implies I leave when I wish to.

I visited Kolkata recently – I noticed the city seems to have slided from being bad to worse in terms of negligence. Wherever you happen to look you observe an apparent lack of caring or inability to take responsibility for welfare or well being of citizens, travelers, passers-by, dwellers. Things like roads, buildings, transport look like “put together” “managed” – as opposed to planned, well thought out, as it should be, in a developing or prosperous urbane space. I realized that I do not wish to die there.

I realized that I wish to die in a serene and beautiful place – maybe a jungle, or the quiet, lovely, musical, eloquent cleanliness and privacy of my own bedroom in my home somewhere. (I haven’t been able to create it yet, I live off my suitcases still, being a poor and lonely school teacher fond of travelling, in Gujarat, India).

It set me thinking. I thought about how I want my end to be. I was sure that I did not want to die SUDDENLY. Or unexpectedly, leaving behind unfinished work. I do not wish to die of DIS-EASE. I do not want to die accidentally or in the hands of a terrorist. Or a petty thief or a rapist.

Even in the West, people plan their end when they plan their burial  – they keep money aside for funeral expenses, choose and reserve a place in the burial grounds, choose and buy stone that would be at their graves, some even write down their own epitaphs – the matter they wish to be carved on their headstone at their grave.

Then there are sophisticated computer programs that are designed to auto-destruct in a state of dysfunction, or when its life cycle comes to an end, or when it thinks it has becomes redundant. The program is designed to read the situation, interpret data and take the decision to auto-destruct.

It made me think - if a little computer program can be relied upon to handle such a huge responsibility on its own about its own life cycle, should not intelligent, highly capable, healthy humans be also endowed with such control and rights over their own lives?

We could still not make up our collective minds about Euthanasia or Abortion and I know this would come to the community at this stage as a shock. I know am way ahead here. A Mother cannot decide the inheritance or fate of her own child? Abort if she feels its bad for it? Too bad.

Euthanasia on the other hand,  is about a receiving death in an incurable state of pain or agony, implying that if that state of pain was corrected, the person may change his mind about terminating life. A patient is definitely not in the best position to DECIDE or make a CHOICE. So the debate here is understandable.

But, a perfectly healthy, normal, happy, intelligent adult is or should have this privilege. Unstable people,  patients, the frail, weak, dependent – animals cannot be expected to do it (although they do, in fact).

All literature dealing with Section 309, the Law Commission’s recommendation to scrape it talk about desire to die in terms of respite from duress – physical, mental, emotional, social. It talks about the criminal aspect of it when considering death caused by a suicide bomber to thousands of innocent unwilling people.

Somebody discusses Santhara in a blog post condemning auto-destruct but also clearly underlining the fact that though the State opposes on grounds that life is resource and hence precious – it has no way of providing for any decent level of security at all really. Another person points out how it is actually a waste on the State exchequer dealing with it the way it has been traditionally.

What about the more pertinent Rights issues regarding the individual’s choice? If I am slogging for a certain quality of life, I am equally concerned about the quality of my death.

The motive is important here :  whether I choose a manner of death for  my own well being  or with evil intent.

If I am the person that has to take care of my personal well being, I would want to take care of this too, myself.  The State,  if it really thinks of me as precious resource,  should actually help – ensure that I die as planned and not by accident or through machinations of an evil terrorist or a petty criminal.

As soon as motive becomes an important consideration, it becomes easier to  think about issues like  “what do we do with suicide bombers?” They intended to hurt the community.  Well, put them in court and try them for murder.

But the hard working,  intelligent,  contributing,  able adult  gets what he deserves -  good death.

Jains have a tradition of planning their end,  so did ancient Hindus. Culturally, Ichhyamrityu  has always been there here in India, seen as a boon to be granted,  as a precious privilege.

Choosing how I wish to die is the flip side of self-preservation I think. An insurance against accidental death,  if it can be made possible to exist as a privilege and right granted to a citizen.

Why do the State Laws  make it seem like the citizens are like children? That they need to be protected from themselves, be it with Section 377 or 309 (by now the second one  should have been repealed).

Are we so bloody miserably poorly evolved  that we cannot be more responsible than an otherwise stupid human designed computer program ? Or have we become less wiser than those old Rishis and Munis of yore with passing time that we cannot handle our own lives or deaths  anymore?

There is a poll here that you could take to indicate your choice or opinion.

being positive

when I hear people say that, I think they mean to say that one should look at the dark tunnels and not be scared, but think of how if it is a tunnel, it would open out in the end – to light and a way out.

how do you know you are in a tunnel or inside a hole? you don’t know. you can’t know, unless you can see a glimmer of light somewhere. or, unless you believe you are invincible and life is safe and you expect your prayers to be answered. always

not every dark pit one enters is a tunnel – that nicely fans out somewhere in the distant future, into a nice lighted path out of the darkness, leading somewhere beyond the present. some pits are just that – dark holes.

having accepted that, I guess ‘being positive’ would mean you are expected to scramble out of it, scream for help, beg, borrow, steal, break rules too – and make an attempt to carry on, (so you can fall into other holes and exercise “being positief” once again).  and be what? wiser? nicer? makes me laugh.

it is funny, but when I stop to think about the way life is, if I cut out the lighted parts, and the sensation of colour, which is basically my mind rejoicing and celebrating life because of what it is,  in itself, life has been a series of these falling in and out of pits and practising “being positive”.

where has it all led to, by the way, is what am trying to contemplate now. what does it all amount to finally? what’s the net result of all that scrambling in and out of holes? what good have I ever done to anybody else or even my own self, except to have stayed alive only to be a nuisance once again?

I did get some things I wanted for myself and didn’t get some. I believed that I had done some good to some people, but when I dig deep enough it looks like I was doing it for me.

I mean when I wanted a fantabulous class, I thought ‘them’, but wasn’t I trying to be “best of me” actually? when I fought the Principals or Directors for classes or for something for my class, I do think it was about “me”, giving “my best” “doing my best” “even at the cost of my well-being”. I think that was kind of pride that drove me. a passion for what I do,  self actualization (self-realization?) at work there. would have done that anyway, whether “they” were there or not…

it is difficult to get out of that “me” thing. as long as I eat, sleep, pull me out of holes, push me to ride out of the dark tunnels, am always being “me”. some people think it is ‘possible’…in a certain state of mind…I believe that it is possible to get to that state of mind but to go on actually without being “me”…not so sure.

what if I stop wanting that at some point? is that organic, natural? is it better if something goes on preserving itself or is it good to appraise once in a while to see if it is serving (it’s own or) some purpose somewhere? and what if the program can think and choose for itself and decides – well, whatever it is that it decides,would that be taken into account?

isn’t there a system where they program a ‘bad’ program to self-destruct? isn’t this an attribute of a really ‘good’ ’sophicticated’ program?

and “good” or “bad” is in terms of what? what extent of it is with respect to “others”? how much of it is with respect to the intrinsic value of the program or the thing itself? I don’t seem to know.

if I do not know, if I cannot see what good/bad am doing, what does that make me? an unintelligent program, a bad machine, a lower order one I guess, dispensable? AND easily replaceable…?

in which case “being positief”, folks from Antwerpen, would mean what? free space and begone? or stick to it, no matter what, and let some outside agent abort you? isn’t that what a bad machine does? goes on scratching at your disk, killing it, until you actually force-flushout-eject it manually.

Not that am here contemplating my date of death yet, have yet to see my Godson, have things to do before I do. Only  I realize I would like to know, when and how. We still can’t make up our minds about Euthanasia, which is understandable.

This however is different. Would like to see if the votes say something.  You can vote without signing in. You can also see the results yourself in terms of percentage, you can even write your views down after ticking “other” option. Only it would provide for limited space I think, so it is better to use the comment box for that. Thanks.

Lines – mean Space n Peace

there are lines that separate, divide, demarcate the limits as it were and defines them…and then there are lines that warn, and threaten and cause wars and destruction

there are other lines though that DEFINE, gives shape to stuff, eases a mass of life into some recognizable form

it becomes easier to deal with life then. you know what is where, what should and what should not be perhaps. it also releases time, for you are not tied up to all of it at once. I do think Lines have a way of freeing one in some ways. especially, Lines that came to be because of consensus, consideration, and were forged with care.

am not scared right now. I actually feel thankful it is like new grounds. new territory is usually unsettling, landing usually is fraught with those terrifying jerks of rubber making contact with hard concrete, but you have managed to do it well – it looks like it is going to be actually smooth landing – to where? Home I hope.

I do like this phase of my life. when I stand back and look, my life looks neater, tidier than before. and I go to sleep in peace.

it is a bit like after P has cleaned code helping me fix my blog page. it makes the messy mass look nice somehow (did I ever say thank you? I wonder, if I haven’t, “thanks” re)

yeah, Lines can be nice and comfortable. Lines mean peace. Lines create space to fly in and out of . I like the people who stopped by, to do it for me. thanks.

boundaries

change has been a constant companion in my life. change is something in itself am not uncomfortable with. nor do I mind lines and boundaries.

you cared enough to let me know, you cared enough to lay the lines and boundaries out for me. and I appreciate that. my life was this shapeless, flowing mass of experiences, days often ran on contingency plans, there was nothing truly long term I wanted to look at – in fact there wasn’t anything long term TO look at.

then you laid out the lines, you drew a pattern. it gave the shapeless mass of stuff some form, and so, meaning. and a structure which one could hope to build upon someday.

it was not insignificant or meaningless earlier. but the jumble was inscrutable – unreadable – like the rushes of a movie is, in the beginning. that didn’t make sense to friends or people that cared,  and did want to make sense of it.

I do not hate or resent it. I liked it   I could see your concern. I could see that you cared. and isn’t all that we struggle with and struggle for, in our silly little lives, ultimately, is about finding that somehow, in some form?

isn’t the gesture a bit like taking up the piece of drawing a kid is struggling with, to add those few key strokes, defining lines to it, to make it what the kid wanted it to be, but he could not, by himself? have you watched a kid drawing? how they struggle with their little fingers, coaxing them, commanding them to do their bidding, thinking their vision earnestly, their little tender faces all screwed up with fierce concentration, seeing it in full clarity in THEIR minds – but not quite able to translate it into his drawing? and then the teacher would sometimes intervene?

well, that’s how I felt too. I felt cared for. and realized that it had been missing until you chose to give it to me.

nobody had paused long enough, or had cared to take time enough, to do that for me, before you did it.

since you put them in, you can rub it all off and leave a blank sheet for me to draw upon again. I would still need the lines… and help

the lines are neat. the boundaries within reach. they help make sense of all that I am and my life is. thank you.

men

hurt you when you let them get close.

instead of making life easier for me, they end up hurting me and grounding me, making me lose days of my life because am forced underground, nursing wounds

morning mail kills you sometimes. or at least your spirit… sorry folks but am parked here to vent this winter morning…if you care, do stay, if not, please come back in fair weather?

lived 30 years of my little insignificant life in absolute peace and tranquility until they hitched me up with a gay man one fine day. getting over the misery was hard enough…took years to heal and get back on course….but, lately, I slipped landing me in the hurtful spot again. stupid forgetful Sagittarian me!

I know why I had done it. I know what I was looking for. but, don’t know how I forgot. what was I thinking? human frailty I guess. or perhaps my inability to be woman enough to release all the female chemicals required to make me do the right things, say the right things that nurtures the male ego, keeps it safe, makes it feel loved, and prevents it from turning hurtful.

anyway, resolve to take better care now on.

hunt ‘em , use ‘em, move on should be the trouble free, less wasteful, least painful and easier way for a lesser woman like me. time will tell though. for now,  I allow the woman to mope a bit. for release. and to clear the toxic out of her system.

sticking to one place

in the mindspace

I never do write offhand posts or new year resolutions. am simply not the kind to post “what to do-not to do signs” to my brain, even in a private journal. I know what am going to do, what I need, to maintain equilibrium and sanity and rhythm in my life and go about doing them quietly.

this time though, after reading the Ramblings of an Average Teenager, I thought I would try and do that and see how it feels for a change.

the trend in Western blogging seems to be to record a running commentary on daily life, daily entries almost, and mostly, very personal – so that when one reads the material from across the globe, it gives an authentic experience of life elsewhere. it’s very like reading a book, at times, with real people making up real characters and their lives the  ’story-material’ as it were. it’s exciting and colourful and fun to read.

am basically rather shy and reticent – unless provoked out of my shell, so it’s going to be difficult – to overcome which, I plan to read a few entries of my blog mates first, then come write mine, in effect talking to them in my mind, or responding to thoughts they might have expressed.

Lil Mumpitoosh Rides with his Grampa

this one is in response to what Vee says about  “sticking to one place”.  actually, I know,  I wrote that I mean to do it.  but then I realize – the whole point of my life has been to keep Rolling, and not let moss gather – whether it’s ideas, or perspective or paradigm or geographical territory or culture – I have struggled to keep moving – in my mind and physically too when it looked like otherwise the mind might be bogged down with the weight of dead ideas and bad reason.

if I call me successful today – it is because, I have managed to do what I had decided for myself, when I passed out of school, without too many hitches and glitches, so far.  which probably means that I have been organized in my own seemingly disorganized fashion, that my planning has been reasonably sound and that I have spent of life, intelligently.  the returns I received has added layers and a rich texture to my being, my understanding of life,  and my powers of self-realization.

sticking to one place always made me think of a stagnant pool with the clear water hidden under layers of dirty green moss and plankton.  I hadn’t wanted to be that and lose out on the sunlight and fresh air…

but what with this new thing happening in my life, I am suddenly driven with a desire to dam the flow and build – accumulate, so that when that little child sprouts wings and is able to fly down, wherever I might be someday, looking for who might have been his Godmom, he would have some ‘things’ to indicate that she had existed and that he had existed in her life and that she had nurtured him in her consciousness.  also, now, with the  Ray of  the West, that appears to be rooted and stronger than me, in my life, it may not be that hard.

the visit to Lothal somehow reinforced this urge in me.  as I sat there, listening to Kiran and the children debating the idea of Preservation – why, what and how – and the idea of Value and Understanding, I could feel something stirring in me….sure sign life’s changing

so the new year begins, with a new quest.  it really is a new start for me, I look forward to 2009

new year resolutions

well,  it is the second day of another brand new year and I would like to copy Faith, a teenage fellow blogger that I love to read, and jot down some thoughts about what I wish for it to be like – being with young people somehow does this to me – am all hopeful and positive and playful and smiley faced yadda….(that’s an expression I jhaaroed – yaniki copied from that kid too)

so then – here goes

1) I mean to complete Kiran’s work well – it looks ok one minute and the very next am on all fours scrubbing it clean. right now it looks rather wordy and verbose, so I spent the whole afternoon going through their KS1 documentation another time. problem is they think of programe of inquiry as a domain – like in conventional terms it would be like a “subject of study” – whereas I keep thinking of it as a method – a tool – and keep writing POI in my citizenship doc that way in the how do you do its section.

but I would I trust get over it.

2) I plan to live a more organized life now that I have a baby – albeit a long distance son, but still, I believe babies need that long term planning badly. my parents had messed that up a bit and so when I was my age to assert my self, I found that I had to make some space for my own self, by myself as it looked like they never had expected me to grow up and start walking or even talking and later I learned they hadn’t even quite expected me to be a thinking individual – I want lil’ Isaiah’ s life vis-a-vis his godmom to be smoother.

3)mean to read up the sequel to TWILIGHT, really liked the book a lot.

4) mean to make a meeting I look forward to happen somehow.

5) change jobs -  join one that promises a salary that would restore lifestyle I had been used to once upon a tie before I started this spree of freewheeling.

6) mean to stick to one place now onwards.

7) mean to shed weight.

mean to write regularly.

9) mean to continue teaching.

10) mean to get my Lady to give me citizenship to teach. even as I document the process and contents etc I get more and more intrigued at how much potential this has as a discipline. I mean the other day at Lothal when they asked me what is of value to me – I had floundered as I wasnt expecting anybody to actually ask me – but then I gave it a thought and every time what surfaced was – <strong>Language, Language</strong> – the repository of all that we know – etc – o only if we could ‘read’ what those people at Indus basin were wanting to be remembered – well, citizenship kind offers me with a multitude of things to do in class – from language to film making to art appreciation – I feel excited -

Kiran had said, at that conglom we had at Lothal, about Preservation as a Big Idea, and about what is of value,  that<strong> “hope”</strong> is what <em>she</em> values…well, I hope too – and begin 2009 with a hopeful smile at God my santa…might please Him to grant my wishes for me you never know – if one hoped with real prayers and good will – maybe…..

Lothal

the mound of the dead

The last day of December has always traditionally been the day one takes time off to look over the shoulders; we chose to look back some 4000 years: at the Mound of the Dead – which was as high as this Lamp post before they dug our past up half a century ago.

When we reach the site, the children get the WS that would help them remember and find sites and stuff that are important. Here is Danny helping with the distribution at the site gate as soon as we unloaded from our bus that you see in the background in the second picture that shows us reading the Plaque designed by Archeological Survey of India describing what is there at this site.

The Indus Valley Civilization site was discovered by Rao in India in 1952. This site is where the controversial Lockgated Dock is. It used to be connected with the Sabarmati which had changed course since. This site is where the civilization thrived for nearly 500 years from 2400 to 1900 BCE before being wiped out by the third deluge the Indus Valley Civilization had faced.

Since they were exporting stuff like beads made of Agate etc and importing too, from Persia and Mesopotamia, may have been trading with Rome too as there was a Roman Amphora among the exhibits at the Lothal Museum – they were increasingly moving closer towards the Arabian Sea, spreading out from Balochisthan and the places in the upper Indus Basin. Thats how come the existence of this Dock here, this picture shows the inlet which was used to let in water and out.

We were not allowed to take pictures of the containers, tools, seals, beads, weights, jewellery housed in the Museum, but one look at them showed these people were a prosperous lot. They must have known the use of perfumes, used oil probably for lamps – but how did they extract it? Crushing seeds of seasame I guess, or tamarind seeds – a lot of the pots seem to have tamarind leaves in the pictures painted on them, we did see crushing tools.The beads though were amazing – there were ones that looked like dust filled in a glass vial – but when you looked through a powerful magnifying glass – you saw they were minute beads!!! They used fish bones to make them – files made of semi precious stones to polish, and a kiln here to melt stuff used to make beads.

Everything about the town seemed to be in neat squares – just like any modern town! Our children were excited about this

The children came away with the big idea that “we preserve what we value, and what is of value to us and the community” and what we value depends on who we are – our identity… it gave me goosebumps to hear the little ones talk that way and enact how they must have been wiped off ….

One last look back at the Wharf and the Acropolis and the Dock and our past before the year ends, here is wishing all of you have a meaningful year ahead.