There are many things that you may successfully hide from adults, but simply cannot hide from children. Impoliteness is one of those things. As a child, my sister once turned to my parents. "When I said 'thank you', why did that uncle not say 'welcome'?" Today, a colleague of mine was trying to hide from her two-year-old son. Essentially, she knew that if her child saw her, he would demand her attention, become cranky, want to be carried... The works. Another colleague and I attempted to shield her while all the little children entered the refectory. Her son could not see her; we had hidden her completely. But one little girl ran around us, perhaps just to see what we were doing standing there. She peeked and then yelled, eyes shining, "Phil! Mommy!" And then, in case he had not heard, she called again, "Phil! Mummy! Mummy!" The game was up. … [Read more...]
Invigilator
Right through school, I enjoyed exams. People found that odd, so I often did not confess that I loved exams. I loved the excited anticipation just before exams. I loved that clean, fresh uniform. (Somehow, the exam uniform stays cleaner than a regular day's uniform.) I loved the light bag with barely any books in it. I loved the last-minute discussion of all those tiny little doubts. I loved the hurried revision one second before the examiner walked in. And in college, I loved the feeling of finishing early and walking out - sometimes an hour before my friends. Freedom! Today, I was invigilator. I felt all those familiar feelings and then, like a stone sinking within me, I grew bored. I miss being on the other side of the table. Watching an exam is nowhere near as inspiring as writing it. … [Read more...]
The Dahu
Do you know the dahu? What a fascinating creature it is! A friend in Grenoble told me the story. The dahu looks like a deer, you know. A deer with a difference. It has two short legs and two long legs and lives in the mountains of France and Switzerland. The most intriguing thing about the dahu is that there's no system that defines which legs are short and which long. If its two right legs are short, it can go up a mountain only clockwise, not anticlockwise. You can imagine why. But the poor baby dahu that has alternate legs short won't survive. How will it? How can it run from danger? Rarely spotted and therefore much coveted, hunting the dahu was considered great sport in the 19th century. Capturing one of those rare beasts was a source of pride indeed! Dahu hunts are still conducted as outdoor activities, but on April 1, 1967, the Prefect of Haute-Savoie (France) … [Read more...]
Butterscotch’s Washing-Machine
Ought I to be embarrassed by this one? It was written two days after my tenth birthday, when I was eager to show off newly acquired vocabulary and paragraphing abilities. Butterscotch was a brownie. He lived in India. You may not believe it, but he was tinier than a wild daisy! Butterscotch was very kind. He had a wonderful washing-machine. He not only washed his clothes, he washed all the other brownies'clothes. He charged only Re.1. The washing-machine was as big as a real one, so he could not hide it anywhere. Now in a nearby village lived human beings, Sarah's mother, father, Sarah and brother had a small house in Cherry Town, the village. Now Sarah was very poor. She did not have any toys. Her mother found it difficult to wash, for they didn't have a washing-machine. They used solar things. Sarah's neighbours were very rich, but they were misers and refused to help Sarah. Sarah … [Read more...]
Our Special Chief Guest – Amjad Ali Khan
It was compulsory for teachers to attend the inauguration of MIT's Vishwashanti Sangeet Academy. But my day was made when I saw Ustad Amjad Ali Khan ascend the stairs. With his characteristic humility, he acknowledged all those waiting on the sides, unlike many others who obliviously walked by. Unembarrassed by his outdated chivalry, he remained standing for as long as his wife was standing. He spoke briefly, boring none with long-winded, irrelevant speeches. I felt like a school-girl meeting a film-star when I saw him up close. My colleagues made fun of me, and I enjoyed that too - like a school-girl again. There he stood, dignified, poised, smiling. He didn't even play. He sat beside his wife and listened to long speeches in Marathi, not even in the limelight - because Lata Mangeshkar was in the limelight. There has to be something special about a man who, even without the instrument … [Read more...]
Experiences on Stage – V
I remember one time when a friend and I were asked to perform at an inauguration ceremony. I was so proud of myself for having asked for all the details - stage dimensions, availability of a sound system, green rooms, mirrors ... There was a time when I took all of that for granted. Experience taught me to ask questions without caring if the questions sounded stupid and pointless. I had all the details well in time to start choreographing. Covering stage space is an important part of dance, so we worked things out accordingly. We got there and saw all the arrangements that had been made. There was a long table covered with a white table-cloth on the stage. There were glasses of water on the table and chairs behind the table. Again at the risk of sounding inane, I asked, "The table will be moved, right?" "No, it's nailed to the stage." I wondered if he was joking. But no, … [Read more...]
The Bluest Eye
Toni Morrison introduced me to the real horror of slavery. When I read Beloved, I simply could not get over the idea of black slaves being forced to wear the bit. I still cannot get over it. 'Racism', in the way it exists in the west, simply does not exist in India. Sure, we have discrimination, perhaps discrimination of the worst possible kinds. We also have an obsession with fair skin. I like to think that the obsession is on the decline, but I'm horrified by the number of times I come across it in the most casual ways. The Bluest Eye was another of those eye-openers. A black child, looking at the fact that little blond babies with blue eyes are caressed, loved and cooed over, wishes for blue eyes herself. The idea of very black skin and very blue eyes is simply appalling. The child prayed, prayed, prayed for blue eyes. Why? Why did she need them? So that she would be loved? So that … [Read more...]
Rich Dutch Chocolate Cake
Yesterday, I baked a cake with a very dear friend. We began by separating the eggs. Or rather, she began with separating the eggs. I hate doing that. My father told me that there was a fancy new method in the Readers Digest. You break the egg on a plate, take a plastic bottle, squeeze it and allow it to suck the yolk. Miraculously, only the yolk is supposed to come away from the white. It did not work. At least, not with us. The egg went splat (just like the headmaster - if you've read the book). Somehow, she managed to repair the damage, and successfully separated nine eggs. We managed to get the beater's wire yellow, dipping it in egg-yolk. We splattered batter over ourselves and the kitchen platform. We spooned the batter into a dish that was far too small for it and then painstakingly transferred part of it into another dish. (That was a Very Good idea. My imagination boggles at … [Read more...]
Lost and Found
Children leave all kinds of things behind at dance class. My teacher could set up a shop and make a fortune if she ever decided to sell the stuff children leave behind. The most common things children forget, of course, is their theory material. I think a part of them wants to forget so that they don't have to study it. Then, of course, are the hundreds of water bottles, umbrellas, jackets, raincoats and scarves. Somehow, there seem to be many things that belong to nobody. My teacher diligently takes things home and brings them for the next class, announcing repeatedly that someone left the following things behind. If she is lucky, children come and claim their things. Very often, though, there are things that no one claims. My teacher continues to bring them for class for a couple of weeks. No one asks about them; no one seems to want them. The most puzzling piece of lost property … [Read more...]
Chocobar
I teach at a boarding school, where the happy Enid Blyton tuck-box has cheerfully been changed into a tuck-shop. The shop is open for about an hour in the evening, and children can go get all the unhealthy, delicious things that the school cannot morally serve as often as children want. What makes me smile most of all is ice-cream, and the way children enjoy it, each child in a different way. Every year, when we went to Bangalore for the summer, our grandparents gave us the money to buy something we wanted once in two or three days. My cousins had the terrible problem of deciding between two treats – cold drinks or ice-cream. For me, it was simple – ice-cream all the way. It was a process. My sister and I used to run across and buy two chocobars. Then, we would come back and take out our beloved square blue plates. Then, we would open our chocobars and throw the plastic away. Then … [Read more...]
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