In the little primary school in Perani where we worked, money is of course a problem. Going there with students from an international school put things into stark contrast.The base of the four walls of the classroom is painted black. The black area is about three and a half feet high. One of the services students from my school rendered was to paint vertical white lines on the black area of the wall to divide it into sections."We often fall short of notebooks," we were informed. "So, the children have slates to work with at home. Here in school, the black wall becomes their slate."The students measured and painted the white lines. For their work, they were thanked profusely by teachers and students alike. The next day, it was somehow heartwarming to see that the children had already started working on their new-found blackboards.One of my students commented, "In our school, we … [Read more...]
Seatbelt
During an exchange programme with a school in France, I noticed something I had never noticed before - rickshaws do not have doors!The first time I went in a rickshaw with my French correspondent, my eyes widened. How comfortable would she feel? Would she be afraid of a vehicle like this without doors? I glanced sideways at her.But like a true exchange student, she had come with an open mind. I saw her steel herself and deliberately remain silent with respect to this doorless wonder.I breathed a sigh of relief.Inside the rickshaw, she looked around, confused."What happened?" I asked.She looked at me in horror. "There are no seatbelts?" … [Read more...]
Circus School
Originally, before we left for Chambéry, we were told that we would be taught a bit. We were told we would actually have a real circus lesson. Of course we were excited! Story-books and circus smells ran through my imagination as I thought about it! It was only when we got there that we realised that a lesson was not on the circus school's agenda. The artistes were practising for an upcoming event, so they could not waste time teaching over-excited novices.We were disappointed, naturally. For many of us, I think the whole joy of the circus school was lost. But not for me.Circus acts are like dance. Nothing at the circus school reminded me even remotely of dear Mr Galliano or any of the others in Enid Blyton's circus stories. The artists were sweaty - something that Blyton never thought wise to mention, as far as I can remember. And everything at the school was much cleaner than I had … [Read more...]
Sunday Times, Indore
Press coverage - even if it's just two lines - is press coverage! … [Read more...]
Performing in Renage
A very dear friend of my sister's organised a performance for us at a chapel in Renage. That was when we learned what effective publicity is.Michèle, who, I should mention, is in her seventies, did absolutely everything to make people come for our performance. She, helped by two friends, went (literally) from pillar to post putting up posters. She made signs to direct people to the chapel, and went and put them up on lamp-posts. When we drove towards the chapel, we saw our own faces everywhere. Every wall, every lamp-post, every pillar had a poster of our performance thanks to this formidable lady. She sat and folded the programmes for the performance - easily a hundred or more - insisting that she had nothing else to do, while we, the dancers, ought to rest. She went individually to each neighbour and convinced all her friends that they would not get the opportunity to watch a … [Read more...]
Oranges
I do not like oranges. I'll write that again - just to make it very clear. I do not like oranges.In Athens, orange trees grow on either side of the road, utterly unwanted.It is true that juice companies are gradually beginning to market Greek oranges with eye-catching notes on their packs saying 'Made from real Greek Oranges!' As a normal thing, though, Greek oranges often have the reputation of being so sour that only the British could possibly want them. And even the British can use it only for marmalade. As a result, piles of oranges are swept to the side of the road, much like we have dead leaves waiting to be burnt. While in Greece, my sister often stole oranges silently and self-consciously from rubbish heaps and defiantly ate them.Needless to say, I never did.I've voluntarily eaten a whole orange once in my life. Orange-eaters everywhere are wide-eyed at the story.I was … [Read more...]
Can this be true?
In Nigeria, my grandfather was once invited to dinner for some 'special festival'. Alone and interested, he decided he would go - but someone warned him against it. My grandfather doesn't know who these people were who warned them. "We heard that you were invited for this function, but please take some sincere advice from us - don't go."My grandfather, puzzled but obedient, decided not to go.The next day, he found out what the 'special festival' was. Apparently, at midnight, there is a blackout. Innie-meenie-mynie-mo --- and one person is selected at random. That person becomes the human sacrifice.My grandfather also insists that human flesh was sold in the market, just not displayed. It was hung behind leaves, but openly sold.The 1950s, not 'modern'. The impression of 'uncivilised Africa' was particularly strong. Was this a tale told to my grandfather to frighten him? Or would … [Read more...]
Bangalore in a Nutshell
It rained when I didn't expect it too. It didn't rain when I did.I read five and a half books.I met a classmate from school. I probably haven't seen her for a decade and when I saw her, I was utterly disoriented for a few seconds. "Am I really in Bangalore? Really?"I heard hundreds of stories from my grandparents. One about alleged cannibals (and my grandfather's escape from them). One about how my uncle aged four cheerfully went and reported to his parents (my grandparents) that my mother sounded like an engine. She had an asthma attack and was unable to breathe. One about how my aunt threw water on my mother when she fainted and my uncle thought it was a grand game. Many, many, many.I stayed up playing Uno till - what? - 2 in the morning.My train back home was 8 hours late. But I'm back. … [Read more...]
Impure Veg
'Pure veg' is such a uniquely Indian concept. I used to mock it. My grandparents are pure veg. (Somehow that sounds odd. A pure veg restaurant is different from pure veg food, which is different from pure veg people. My grandparents are people, not food or restaurants. Just making things clear.) When they went to Greece, the vegetarian sandwiches had tuna butter, so both of them ate only peaches and oranges in their time there. They explained that they were "pure veg, you see". For me 'vegetarian' used to cover that idea.But then, I realised that I'm probably impure veg. I love vegetarian food. I prefer to eat vegetarian food to crocodile kebabs (which my father has eaten) and insect soup (which my uncle has had). I also prefer it to good old chicken. I choose to be vegetarian, does that not make me vegetarian? But then, I'm not pure veg! If it's inconvenient or socially inappropriate … [Read more...]
Adjust
Sometimes, I cannot even believe that the word 'adjust' is really an English word. It seems to belong uniquely to the Indian context. Anything can be adjusted. I remember how amused I was when I learned that people even adjust Raahu kaal - the Inauspicious Time. Traditionally during this Inauspicious Time, you can't do important things. So, if you have a train to catch, you pretend to leave. You leave your slippers outside the door, or your luggage with the neighbours. Just a little adjustment, and you're safe.Today (and yesterday) on the train, I was astounded at how normal it is for people to feel that everyone will (and ought to) adjust. My co-passengers had tons of luggage. I was on a side berth and I wanted to sit with the seat back straight. The lady travelling with me looked at me as if I was the most inconsiderate person in the world. "If you put the seat back down, someone … [Read more...]