Lichtenstein castle

Five days is enough to get into some king of routine and mine starts with a morning walk. Used as I am to hot and humid weather I am not at all sure how eight degrees feel and can't understand how eight can go up to fifteen,the sun can come out,it can go from sunny and warm to bitterly cold. So like a proverbial cat I step put into the cold,watch the locals for a while and gather some valuable tips on how to dress like a local but I don't quiet get it. Having spent a lifetime wearing as little as possible it's a huge challenge to wear more than one piece but I compromise. I slept out in a heavy sweat shirt ( I think this is heavy but I don't have a clue) and jeans. No jacket as I think it's not so cold. Within minutes my breath is coming out like smoke rings,my hands are cold and I can feel the chill biting into my skin. Not having the key to the house to grab a coat,I decide to do some running. It warms me up. Talk of survival skills.

At seven in the morning there are very few people around but the baker is on his rounds and the aroma of freshly baked bread has my taste buds tingling,so I follow the sent which leads me to the local church compound where local traders are setting up shop for the Saturday market. The efficiency has to be seen to be believed. My mind goes back to India . At seven in the morning the local market will be littered with the rubbish of yesterday. Rotten fruit and veg will be strewn on the roads and cows will eat them,while the days vendors will unload their produce and litter some more. Back in Germany,the stalls are finer glass tents and cool trucks. Everyone has his own electricity supply so the fridge is running  the meats are cooled despite the temperatures being in single digits. The flower seller unloads a huge truck of produce. All flowers are placed in boxes and everyone cleans up after themselves.i search for litter and find none. The traders have their own designated spaces and there is no shouting no raised voices. Everything is quiet efficiency. I marvel at the difference.

Having filled our baskets with food and eaten fit to burst we set off on a long drive to Lichtenstein castle. Winding village roads through flat green meadows. Not a pot hole in sight. It's better than our highways back home. We hurtled down the road,the sharp wind whipping through our hair and the nip in the air is exhilarating.

The castle itself is old and small. Moats and little wooden drawbridges complete the picture. It's an old ducal property not grand in any way but equipped with chapel and smaller homes . The views are breathtaking. Chalk hills surround it and I am transported back to Enid blyton tales of children finding adventure in abandoned castles. Rambling roses climb every available opportunity and their sent mingles in the sharp breeze. It's all fresh and green . It's also a day for weddings so we have seen four brides already. Some built like houses but all in happy white flowing gowns. The guest are also in hats,dresses,suits etc. flowers everywhere,wine and food in abundance. I would like to get a sneak peek,but that's just a dream.

Back in the house we build a roaring fire,watch a French movie,drink our red wine and eat our home made pizza and are a happy bunch. It's warm and cozy and I am tucking away every little experience to be relived back in my hot and searing city.

Day 4 Germany revisited

It's day four of my trip to Germany and it's yet another wet day,but having done more of my share of eating and drinking than usual I am in danger of running out of clothes that fit me so unlike my usual self of needing company for a walk,I decided that the surrounding are too beautiful,the weather too perfect for me to laze in bed so I set off to explore the place on my own.

It is Germany so following in the footsteps of hansel and gretel I set off towards a park I remember from my last visit,mentally marking my surroundings into landmarks so I don't get lost. Not for me the smartphone dependence,I revert to type and follow fairy tales.

A long tunnel alwaits me,it's pedestrian only so no danger of cars rushing in my path. The sky is a brilliant blue,nip in the air,the grass is green and as autumn has set in the leaves in russet red are all over the green grass. The river necker flows through this town and at this time of the morning it's a still green not yet disturbed by ducks or swans. I continue on my tranquil walk not passing a soul and after a short walk I enter the park. It's a wide expanse of grassland with walking and cycling paths that lead to the railway station . A large glassy lake is the centrepiece of the park. In the early morning it's banks are dotted with speckled ducks of all sizes all busy packing for worms in the grass. A red squirrel bright eyed and bushy tailed is also busy cracking chestnut s in the area under the trees. I watch fascinated never having seen red squirrels before. The ducks jump out of my path and flee into the lake causing it's glassy surface to ripple with the movement. I am not sure how much beauty I can absorb without breaking stride but I simply have to. For someone used to walking in humid 30 degrees c this is a breathtakingly beautiful experience. Walking done the next thing on the agenda is market day. The main square is full of locals traders selling their produce,so vegetables,flowers,herbs,cheese,sausages and mushrooms of all varieties. Of course everyone has their favourite stalls. It's bustling and busy with people shouting out their wares and long line at the most popular ones. But we wait patiently fill our bags with a variety of produce. Sometimes it's greed to be able to feast ones eyes on such a variety of things. For a meat and cheese lover like me the variety is mind boggling and I am hard pressed to know what I want. There are a variety of soft cheeses some with odours like dirty socks,some with mould,some hard cheeses,olives filled with anchovies,paprika filled with feta cheese and sausages to eat on the go,pate varieties,and what have you . We spend a pleasant two hours and round it off with lunch sitting outdoors near a stream rushing by,a glass of wine to sip on and some great food to eat.

The afternoon is still young. Like most people in Germany our friends have a little allotment which they call a garden and it's time to spend an afternoon on a hammock doing nothing. While our friends set up a barbecue,and burn some unwanted stuff the husband and I discover the joys of plucking fresh plums and apples from the trees. Growing up we are used to throwing stones to get at fruit but we find a stick and get enough plums to eat. They are juicy black and taste like sugar. Then it's time to check if the bees are doing their work making honey. We need to feed them ,calm them down with smoke and check if all is well. I am a little terrified of being stung but can't resist the temptation of seeing a bee hive at close range and it's an experience I wouldn't miss for the world. The little cottage in the woods is well equipped with a kitchen bunk beds and a toilet,an outdoor shower complete the picture. By the time we finish with the bees the husbands have got sausages and a variety of stuff cooked,glasses of red wine ready and plenty of conversations to keep us going. As dusk falls and temperatures drop its curtains on another wonderful day spent in the company of good friends and beautiful surrounding and once again I send up a prayer of thanks,determined to spend every moment enjoying the beauty of nature that I am lucky enough to enjoy and be a part of

The farm

The day dawns wet and cool. We wake up to the view of the castle and blue skies laden with rain clouds. Very soon the sun peeps out and the sky turns brilliant blue. It's our day to chill and do nothing. After breakfast we wait for our missing luggage that's promised to make an appearance soon and in true German tradition the lost luggage is restored to us. It's time to celebrate and we do it the village way. A long walk around the village to take in atmosphere and to work up an appetite. It's a mild day not too many people around,the shops are open and we look into each of them  some quaint,some modern,some just ordinary but it's not the shops or the houses,it's the setting. Very much out of a fairy tale. Dolls houses by our standards,little windows peeping out of roofs,lace curtains,people who cycle with children in carriers behind them. All very efficient.

We have mastered the kitchen in the house so come home to a meal of fresh salad and rice . The ingredients like all chefs will tell you make all the difference. It's fresh and tasty and simple.

The afternoon is spent sitting on the balcony enjoying mild sun and just a nip in the air,reading a book.

Then a long walk (a brisk one this time) and its tea time already. Home made cheese cake and plum crumble cake and while my heart and head tell me I should steer clear of it,greed takes over and I shovel it into my mouth,never mind the guilt.

While the sund continues to shine we set off to a farm and as we enter and walk to the cow sheds the smell of hay,cows and cowsheds brings back so many memories of childhood. The cows here have no horns,and are brown and white with blond eyelashes. They look harmless enough chomping happily on a mixed feed of corn and some other stuff,things I have never seen and can't identify. The calves are just a few days old and unmindful of danger,they are more than happy to be petted and played with. It's a huge farm with paddock s for horses,cow sheds,tractors that bale hay,huge preparations being made for winter and much activity. Horses graze peacefully on the grass. Beautiful majestic creatures who clip chop down the cobbled streets as elegantly as a woman in high heels.

The farms have large tracts of land with winding roads and some which enter a dark forest. We take the part to the forest as for us this is a new experience. The silence is defending and the only sounds are of birds twittering in the trees. Chestnuts ,apples and pear trees line our path . Some laden with fruit. Walnuts trees are also laden with nuts. It's all there for the picking but no one does. Autumn has arrived and leaves turn colour and fall. It's peaceful silent and absolutely perfect.

European Union entry

After a sleepless night in cramped aircrafts we finally arrive in Berlin to beautiful weather. A clear blue sky and temperatures at 15 degrees is all that one can ask for. Enter immigration and then to a connecting flight but first we need our passports stamped for entering the EU. A long list of Asians like us in front of the line isn't helping. I am well aware of the current refugee crisis in Europe with Germany at the forefront so am well aware that they are going to go over everything with increased scrutiny. Our turn arrives and everything is fine but my passport gets into a loop. Someone at the embassy's has made a clerical error with my name and its an issue. They spend some twenty minutes scanning my passport,putting it through some machine or the other,asking a lot of questions,all the while our connecting flight is inching closer to departure and we are late. Finally while I move heaven and the imigratration officer moves the German system,we are through. We run through Berlin airport to find our terminal is well away but the stress of missing a flight keeps us going. Panting and puffing we pass security only to have me pulled off the line into a separate room. Now this is the stuff of nightmares,what did I have in my bag other than an iPad and a coat but they look through my things not telling me what the problem is. My iPad seems to be the culprit so the officer does some stuff on it then they'd look disappointed and tell me I am free to go. I promise myself never to watch " jailed abroad" as it gets my imagination running wild. We get on our flight happy to leave Berlin with its depressing airport which looks like it's a relic of communist East Germany bing dragged kicking and screaming into modern west Germany. Well we arrive at our destination  and our troubles don't end. The airline has lost our baggage . The husband thus has just a pair of jeans and a t shirt , and a hope and a prayer that they'd will find the suitcase. It takes the shine off the holiday. To me it seems like it's one problem after another but I tell myself that I need to stay positive. So we move on and take the bus to the village we are to stay in and suddenly it's back to familiar ground almost like being at home. We hail a taxi and are surprised to see a girl taxi driver who has been driving for five years. We get into the swank taxi which back in our country would be the car of the rich and famous. We watch while she put on the gps,we reach home and the taxi driver whips out an iPhone 6 to make a call ( in our country this again is not some thing a taxi driver can own). In our country the taxi driver is trying to make ends meet and we then come back to the realisation that we are in one of the richest countries in Europe and have to shift our understanding of rich and poor. Once again it's a learning experience for us. Well settled we rest for the afternoon and enjoy village life. It's five in the evening and everyone is already out drinking beer. The beer garden in full of people. The river is full of boats with people having a grill dinner on board or just drifting past. It's a beautiful day and we drink our beer eat our sausages and are happy to be here enjoying great company of friends,beautiful weather and to watch the world go by. How far removed from our lives in India. For the moment we are happy and that's the only thing that matters.

Cattle class in mid air

They don't call it cattle class for nothing. It's a cramped crowded aircraft where we are lacked like sardines and it is by no means a budget airline. Welcome aboard etihad airlines. Not quiet fooled by the Nicole Kidman endorsement,we chose this airline simply because it was the cheapest available but didn't quiet bargain for this. As we enter the air conditioning is full on so much so that one is quiet suffocated but it settles down soon enough. We are told to be our bags under the seat simply because there is no cabin space available. So much for security regulations but they did start the flight with a prayer so divine intervention won over mere mortal regulations. Guess I can't argue with that. The entertainment is fine but a convoluted yoga pose may find you more able to manage the entertainment console.,so I am giving it a miss and watching a silent movie.

Now what is it with Indian parents that they can't seem to control their kids or simply don't know the p of parenting. I sit here with a splitting headache thanks to a brat who was screaming fit to die and insisted of kicking the back of my seat with the same intensity as her screams. If a momentary lapse of reason results in a murder most fowl don't blame me. I finally understood why Herod wanted all children below two killed in biblical times. If they were anything like the ones on this flight ,I am changing my opinion of Herod.

We are actually being served food at almost eleven in the night. Shouldn't we be sleeping ?. What's with the misplace hospitality. 

Announcements in rapid fire Arabic is fine by me,the language is pretty musical but the English announcement is in some accent I can't detect.

Mercifully the kid behind me has either been sedated (highly unlikely) or has fallen into a tired sleep. Thank god for respite.

It's well past midnight and dinner is served ,vegetarians getting a half an hour handicap. At midnight I get fish with potato,and beans,rice and a sweet. Now in this cramped space and with the amount of carbs that have been consumed methinks there is no fear of running out of jet fuel. There is enough gas being generated by passengers to take this flight all the way to Berlin and back. What ever were the chefs who dream up this food thinking of. Why not a nice healthy salad and some fruit at the witching hour. My legs have gone to sleep and I refuse to think of deep vein thrombosis at this point. 

Now for all the bitching I've done on this first leg of my journey well it's probably a good thing. I have lowered my expectations to an all time low. Of course if your anything like the husband then the Angels will bless you. There he is in deep slumber and I can hear content little snores from him. He has been sensible and not had his midnight meal and has drunk enough water to drown this aircraft but all said and done here is one happy individual taking care of himself while I write my bitchy piece .....must find lots of positives to write about after all God and man love a merry face and they are still 24 days to go.

Women's empowerment

The subject of women's empowerment has been discussed to death. Every day I read of women protesting about their rights. In many cases it takes extreme forms,some women walk naked around the streets to prove they are comfortable with their bodies,some women wear skimpy clothes to let people know it's their right to dress in a certain manner. Recently I eat about a woman who refused to wear a tampon because she wanted the topic of menus ration  to be in the public domain. Someone else decided to tell the world it was her choice to sleep with as many men as she wanted to. Well said perhaps. I totally agree that as women how we live our lives is entirely our business and take umbrage to the fact that men think they can tell us what we can or cannot do. Having said that I also believe that men and women think differently ,view women differently and treat women's issues differently .

If protest takes the form of the image that men have dictated to us for every and every in my books that is not empowerment. Do men have to take off their clothes to prove they are empowered. I have seen ,many a beauty pageant contestant talk of being empowered and having talked to them,it becomes very clear that the haven't a clue what they are talking about. Walking around in a bikini to be judged the most beautiful body by an Army of men isn't exactly empowerment is it. To me dressing is a question of personal taste and body type. It's not about being a fashion victim. What do women always define empowerment in terms of dress, body fluids,sex and body type?. Ask yourself who put the rules in place? What happened to our brains,our moral choice,our principals,our ability to compete as intellectuals in a level playing field. The rules ones lives by have to be made by oneself,but it will take into account ones abilities,ones environment and various other factors. To trivialise women's issues to some selfies,or not wearing tampons and running marathons just goes to show how shallow our discussions will be on the subject. I admire women who have raised above their male decided stereotypes,women who have made a difference to people's lives in many ways. True empowerment comes when what you do makes a difference in the world. If it is just another stunt to attract attention then in the interest of many women like me,please do call it by a different name,thank you

Broken spirits

A favourite ditty in school went like this...."a merry heart is like a medicine,a broken spirit dries the bones". Sure that this was a biblical verse that was taught to us but years later having mastered in psychology and having to deal with people all the time,it amazes me how true it is.

I wouldn't describe myself as an eternal optimist I face I probably lean toward pessimism more like. Over the years as life threw a few hardships my way this lesson came in as a handy dictum. 

What is it about people that makes some give up so easily and others to see the bright side of like.

Living with a negative person requires tremendous will power to rise above it. My mother gives up easily,she wallows in misery and it keeps he going but to deal with it can be the biggest challenge one faces. Of ours illness and old age are all causes for worry and feeling listless can ,make most people low in spirit but when it consumes ones life it can get difficult. 

Having said that I have watched women give up the better part of their youth to care for old parents with not a murmur or I'll temper. Most of them emerge out of this suddenly finding their lives empty having not lived through youth yes strangely satisfied of a job well done and hope for a better tomorrow. So does it all come down to the eternal question of genes vs environment.

To give back for what you have received is a loving things to do,but for someone like me on the cusp of optimism and pessimism it's an eternal tight rope walk. Prone to doubts and depression myself it is a battle to keep spirits up more so when one doesn't have the luxury of choosing any one. I read and escape to the world of fiction only to find the characters in my books have similar situations,it gives me strength,then I talk long hours to like minded friends who form the core of my support group.

Writing it all down helps too,but the sure short way to keep still and keep going is to escape into a happy world ,for some it's fiction,some take to drink some to friends but what ones chooses to escape into is also decided by ones personality. Am I the kind who thinks I am in charge of my life or do I believe that someone decided and I follow. Happiness unfortunately can't be outsources,it comes from ones core,it is in our hands and no one else can do it for us and therein lies the dilemma.

Crime and punishment

Our years at school were spent dodging one punishment or the other. With the strictest of head mistresses we were prone to bumping into punishments lurking in each corner. Running down staircases was reason to be caned with a thin bamboo stick that really hurt. Shouting across to friends meant standing on our chairs for the duration of the class. Throwing stones at trees to get a fruit meant a dose of castor oil to purge our stomachs ( and considering the sorry state of our unhygienic toilets) this was a punishment we all dreaded. Our parents unlike the ones of today didn't rush to school to take up our case,we were told in no uncertain terms that we needed to deal with it ourselves and that was that. Press the issue too much and we would be told that there is no smoke without fire. Either way we didn't stand a chance.

Did that stop us from doing all the stuff that we did? No way, in fact we became rather good at getting away with it. While we didn't develop any long lasting love of our teachers,we did grow up to be a tough lot. Some scars yes but who doesn't have those. Overall we learnt to face trials and difficulty with a stiff upper lip and got on with our lives.

Today as we laugh at all that happened we tune in to this world of ours as it is today. Today if the same things happened to us,we would have spent more time at the school counsellors office or ended up in a psychiatric clinic doing therapy. Our parents would have rushed to reprimand the teacher without questioning if we were at fault. We would have changed schools all the time and thought that running away was the way to go and ended up as adults who were ill equipped to face the world,who ran away at the slightest indication of stress,we thought the world owed us a lot and that we didn't have to give anything back. We would have in short become the wimpy kids and even worse,the petulant adult. In retrospect am I glad I had strict parents,and yes I didn't enjoy school as much as some kids do today but I got an all round education on life ,not confined to academics alone and for that I heave a collective sigh of relief.

Bribery and corruption

Every now and then there is a hue and cry about bribery and corruption and everyone out shouting the other. Smacks of self righteousness but I have no issues with bribery and corruption having practised it for years in one innovative form or the other. Of course it goes under the garb of different names, motivation,gifts,rewards etc but most often than not it is used to get something or to make someone do something I want them to do. Various children have been bribed with sweets or stories anything to keep them quiet and give me some peace. Considering none of said children were mine I had no qualms about it.

Now many years later I am faced with an elderly parent who is given to mood swings and depression and being of a certain age she unfortunately cannot be bullied hence I indulge in some good old fashioned trickery. Being die hard foodies the only way to motivate us is to offer the promise of food preferably deep fried and forbidden . Being food snobs doesn't help either so it had to be home made using the best ingredients etc I am sure you get the drift. Sunday is for us the worst day of the week. The parent in question (deprived as she is of her daily dose of the most regressive but hugely popular soaps)goes into depression mode. With nothing to keep her busy the mind wanders into places we would rather it didn't. On a particularly difficult Sunday when my own spirits dipped I decided in desperation that I would cook all the food that is normally her forte ..of course I was relaxed about it and went about it with great nonchalance but it worked. The parent and her strict quality standards were put to test and before I knew it she had taken over the kitchen and the cooking. Call it underhand call it what you will but desperate situations required desperate measures and if bribery and corruption works then so be it I personally have no issues with it

Yoga giving me a headache

 Its been seven years of steady yoga practice and a few before that. Not being a morning person it's still amazing that I get up at dawn to go for an yoga class. Simply put when one lives in a hot place the way I do ,the only decent time to exercise is before the sun rises. Also the slow pace of the exercise itself,the fact that over the years I can now touch my toes and do fairly convoluted poses gives me a sense of well being. I enjoy the class but not for me the emotional spiritual and physical miracles that many an yoga practitioner waxes eloquent about. June 21st has been declared world yoga day and like all the other designated days there is a frenzy of activity. Anyone and everyone is talking yoga. While the rest of the world took the practice and made it their own in the country of its origin its mired in controversy and mistrust. If something is good talk about it propagate it but don't shove it down people's throats. Remember free choice freedom to do what one wants to do. Sadly in our country it has moved from a healthy practice to one everyone is getting tired off. Overkill has never benefited anyone or anything. Children being forced to practice yoga,never mind that yoga practised the wrong way can do more harm than good. But when you take away a child leisure time and force them to do something they may have done left to themselves one has lost them already. Surely yoga must be left to the experts.shouldnt governments govern instead of acquiring lifestyle s. Till June 21 we as a people are being subjected to overkill and the jumbled conversations of the government the practitioners and the experts is adding to the din which quiet honestly isn't giving me any inner harmony,more like a splitting headache from which I am unlikely to recover before the 21 June. And so here's to me standing on my head and chanting om 

Fear is the key

Fear is a slow emotion that creeps up on us much like weight gain. With the advent of social media and the ever loud 24/7 news channels news is all pervasive entity. Unfortunately it's never good news it's just a constant dose of violence and bad news that we can't get away from. Some may call it change and perhaps it is that but over time it leads to anger that gives way to despair and then to insecurity. Sadly insecurity breeds fear. 

Gone are the days when I walked fearlessly on the road,now I look over my shoulder constantly. Now driving is no longer pleasure it's stressful one is never sure who will box you in or who will give in to road rage. Gone are the days when boys and men were good friends and uncles and friends dads were just that. Today everyone is viewed with suspicion. The pat on the head,a bear hug have all been robbed of their innocence.

Old age was a time to enjoy the fruits of ones labor but today old people are victims robbed for their wealth,preyed upon for their vulnerability.

In this atmosphere of a changing world fear grew like a weed,slowly strangling me of my confidence.

I always faced the world on my terms,learnt to survive in a cutthroat world,I juggled many hats,bore many stresses,survived as a brave and confident woman. The age like fear crept up and before I knew it it was there like a shadow, lurking in the background waiting for a vulnerable moment waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting soul. It started with the small thing ,a few small mishaps in the car,a fe small mistakes in the kitchen,small things that could have become large issues,and then the questions start,then the small voices whisper,they ask if you're loosing it, maybe your not as sharp as before,perhaps it's a sign of things to come. It's only a matter of time before fear has won and you are reduced to a shadow of your former self and the choices are limited. Face the world and overcome fear or withdraw from the world to the safety of ones own world.  That critical choice will determine ones sanity and quality of life. Sadly it's a choice we all have to make sooner than later

Time to be

Yet another birthday rolls in and suddenly I realise that nothing of any significance has been written for ages. A sign of our turbulent times or just a sign of growing old and cynical. Not quiet sure what the reason is but it may be something as simple as having nothing to write home about. Be that as it may it seems appropriate to pen a few lines as I cross another threshold in my life.

For starters I have become cynical ( not that I wasn't before). Everyday television and newspapers give me bad news,news of brutality towards women,the sick the old and the minorities,stories of violating ones fundamental rights,news of technology taking over our lives,of not having time for people,of killings with no remorse.....haven't I said enough. When my 80+ mother laments the fate of the world,I join her in her lament ( I didn't do this a few years ago), sadly the world has changed.

Now for the good bits,it's the joys of growing old....I can for instance become a frump when I feel like it,can boss people around and most of them would put up with me (though now even age is not respected),I can live life not being answerable to anyone for my bad behaviour. The senior citizens discount is still not mine but I shall wait for it patiently.

My current joys are all related to food and gardening. My dreams are not nightmares but big succulent steaks of beef or juicy bacon and I wake up hungry and head to the kitchen. Ofcourse there is some remorse every time a mirror does what it does best,sometimes with a bit of exaggeration,but one doesn't have to look at mirrors does one?. The weighing scales are not reading right anymore but who cares,why invest money just to be told that one is fat,after all don't I have eyes to see?

All the old childhood friends have reappeared into my life and it's with great joy that memories are shared and experiences exchanged.

Once in a little while I return to a time when I was all about grooming and being smart,once in a while I remember that wit and humour were my forte but for now I am happy to slip into the twilight playing mind games on my phone( that's to keep my mind active I am told). Silly me has a long way to go but I have always loved drama and why not indulge in some on the eve of a threshold.

My thanks

As another year draws to a close and with christmas almost upon us,it's time to give thanks for all that the year brought,it's sorrows and its joys.

My memory fails me or is it that nothing earth shattering happened. Well it was an ordinary year. Thanks however are not always when bells ring and the earth shakes,everyday is a blessing and the fact that all of us stayed healthy albeit the small blips . That the mother was able to visit her daughter in her new house however painful thee journey was and however uncomfortable she was to be taken away from her comfort zone. The time spent with great grand children and grand children. The many times when my mother and I were home alone and had long discussions on life and times gone by. For he stimulating conversations the husband and I had,for the little outings we take even if it's just grocery shopping but is time spent with each other and therefore special. For the many school friends who connected again and for the meeting we planned and had fun at. For the joys that come of a shared childhood. For new friends made and new beginnings. For the little everyday miracles. Ofcourse the sorrows of loosing old friends,the shared sadness of other people's unhappiness and inability to go forward. For the challenge and goals,some achieved and some which drove me demented. For friends who enriched our lives and some sadness at relationships ending. To be able see beyond my limited experiences and to take life in my stride. For answers prayers and prayers that are still said and above all for realising that there is a god above who knows better than me what is good for me even through I can't for the life of me see his logic but nevertheless can be thankful for.

This is my thanks for the year that was thus far.

New technology

Growing up,our biggest concerns were the kind of writing books that we had,the fountain pens we used,the shoes we wore and the books we owned or read. A pilot pen was a must have for most of us but to own a sheaffers pen was like owning the latest iPhone. Out of reach for most of us it was the most sort after gadget of our time. When it came to books the girls who owned the entire Enid blyton collection were several notches above is in the pecking order. These status symbols stayed very much the same through out my childhood. Somewhere towards the end the ball point pen made its appearance. The fact that we didn't have to have ink stained hands or forget to fill out pens,incur the wrath of our teachers seemed too much of an advantage not to have. But again they were expensive and most of the kids who had relatives abroad would come to school with new ones from shores afar and be the envy of most of us lesser mortals. Fast forward a few decades and I have embraced technology and smartphones,emails have replaced all those long letters I wrote to friends during holidays and various other forms of communication have replaced the simple ones of my childhood. Our biggest fears in those days was being busted by inquisitive mothers who tried reading our diary when we were not at home but today the fears are so much bigger. Complete strangers can get access to my emails and anything I do digitally. Now inquisitive mothers I can deal with but the thought that some random stranger will read about my life is a bit disconcerting (not that my life is that colourful either) . My digital interaction border to the inane or to downright boring,after all why give anyone a reason to "follow"as its called. It was rather amusing then to watch Sony and a whole host of Internet users talking about ditching emails thanks to being hacked to the tune of millions of dollars. They were actually talking of going back to pen and paper,to writing things down etc....full circle almost. Amusing because I have a real low tech phone which when I went in to exchange for a seriously hi tech iPhone ,caused some consternation among the retail staff. Most of them had never seen a phone this old ( I rolled my eyes in despair,after all this was a ten or fifteen year old phone for crying out loud). Most of my friends find me old fashioned because I still have a physical address book that has everyone's addressed and phone numbers written down,I am not on a social network that all my friends are on and getting me to respond to phone calls is a bit of a challenge as I don't have my phone stuck to me like an extension of myself. And here I was actually buying an iPhone whic is the sheaffers of my day.

Clueless as I am about the many uses of the new phone,I have the distinct advantage of having grown up in a world where everything wasn't available at my finger tips or should that read Google?. And that being the case I have no issues reading all the stuff I can about the various experiences of phone users,I have no issues in asking my tech smart nephews on how to navigate my way around the phone and before you know it,my age and generation not withstanding,I will become pretty comfortable using the device but it's after all the fuss,the world goes back to the good old days,well I can't complain can I?,I would still be comfortable reverting to it,despite what my smart younger relatives may have to suffer.

The old order changes

It's many years since I was a young school student but as I look back on the world as it today it seems a world away ...well it actually is. For starters we simply had to speak in English and our teachers all being Anglo indian would insist on pronunciation being perfect queens English. Grammar was my nightmare but I managed ok with that too. We always spoke to friends in English and to speak in any other language was unheard of in those days despite all of us knowing atleast two other languages and being able to speak fluently. So today we have our imagination coloured by Enid blyton books and stories set in the english countryside. Slang was unheard of and God forbid one of us got hold of some slang,it meant a trip to the head teachers room and a sound dressing down.

Today some thirty or more years later I am eavesdropping on some conversation between two teenagers. They both go to English medium schools but speak in Tamil to each other and I suspect in school too. No harm ofcourse but we have over the years become a lot more regional and with it perhaps a lot more insulated from outside influences. How else would one explain why some kids don't get a joke when one is cracked or can't understand what I am saying because my pronunciation is different. Reading has been replaced by smartphones,conversations have also been reduced to chats on smartphones so while my kind still meet for tea and conversations most of our kids wonder what all the excitement is all about. We are more conscious of religion but not in a nice way,we have become more intolerant of differences and we are rules now by people in power who have no business to be in power. Crimes against small children and women have increased in a country where we were unaware of differences of gender and culture or religion. Yes as kids we were pretty cruel to others who couldn't get along with us and like all children we could be mean and downright nasty at times ,but we also made solid relationships,we valued friendships and our interactions with the opposite sex was healthy and uncomplicated. Today more students study abroad than in my time but do they know the culture of the countries they visit or do they stick to their kind even there. Do they adapt and change without giving up on their roots or do they just stay confused?. I don't really know except to say that we had to learn a lot of things and the emphasis on character building was far greater than the present stress on marks and getting into engineering or medical colleges. But well like they say...the old order changes yielding place to new

First day at school

jan of 1967 when I was ushered into Doveton corrie . Bothe my elder sisters where already in school and I was starting there for the first time. Having been home schooled until then and my interaction with other kids being minimal,it was a scary day. My elder sister accompanied me to my class room which was on the ground floor near the staff room. The class teacher was Mrs Carr. It looked like I was the only new child in the class. All the others had been in nursery together and having no clue what nursery was I blinked at the children and waited. It was time for assembly and as my sister was in senior school,she had to leave me to be looked after by Mrs Carr. Honestly the thought of being alone with all those children who stared at me was enough to set me off. I threw an almighty tantrum and tore up the wooden stairs to senior school much to the mortification of my two sisters and to the astonishment of Mrs Felix who was principal at that time. If I though the children were scary,one look at Mrs felix's face was enough to send my world crashing. My sister caught between wanting to help and having to face the wrath of the principal,was naturally hesitated  about coming to my rescue. Having to face a roomful of senior girls when one is six and home schooled,is believe me the most traumatic moment in a child's life. I bawled my lungs out threw myself on the floor and screamed like there was no tomorrow while the whole school watched in helpless fascination. Then came Mrs Carr to the rescue. Gentle,loving and beautifully calm she gathers me up in her arms took me to the staff room or I think it was the staff room (it was under the stairs to the left) and plied me with sweets and comics. Not ready to trust anyone besides my mother,she nevertheless lulled me into a happy state,regaled me with stories made school seem like a happy adventure and made me feel safe again. To this day I firmly believe that if Mrs Carr wasn't around,I would never have got an education. I hero worshiped her,she was my world. I cried when she was no longer my class teacher but if ever I had to list the people who influenced my life she would be number one. To a frightened six year old she was everything and more and nothing can compare to what she meant to me. I will always remember her face even if I forget a lot of others and to me she will forever remain one of the best memories of my days in school.

The watchman

Ramu is forty five years old and lives with his family in the outskirts of the city.or he did until he got a job in the city. Today he lives with a family and spends his day watching over their home. Why it needs watching is anybody's guess. His job is to keep random people away and to discourage people from entering the house. His only companion is a golden retriever as bored as himself.

His day starts age seven in the morning when he wakes up after a good nights rest. Most night watchman are expected to stay awake and guard the house but if the person works twenty four hours he does need a rest. He wanders aimlessly around the compound watching the neighbour awake,he sees the daily routines of the ma you houses in the vicinity and at about eight the dog will be taken for a walk. The equally bored dog who at best of times ought to be running around also wanders aimlessly hopefully looking to neighbours for a bit of a cuddle and some attention. The rest of the day is spent doing absolutely nothing. Rams doesn't see his family intill the weekend. When boredom drives him to distraction he listlessly cleans the gates,chats with the maid or exercises his legs walking up and down. He jumps to attention when the owner of the house steps out. He rushes to open the car doors for a young man capable of doing it himself but expects to be waited on hand and foot.

A small electric fan keeps him cool in the heat of the city while the family he serves lives in airconditioned comfort. Mosquitoes make a meal of him at night but he doesn't complain. After all mindless work is better than no work at all. His family needs the money,the children need an education to betterthemselves and hopefully not meet the same fate as him. Once in a while he will exercise his power by yelling at anyone who attemps to park cars in front of the house gates. He will make sure no one gets entry to the house and thee are the small pleasures that make him feel important and meet his need for selfesteem and this one day runs into another and on the first of the month his labours are rewarded when the salary is paid and he can go home for a day. Life otherwise runs its course and for that he is grateful.

A small town and a young man

Many years ago fresh out of college and ready to take on the world and change it,I asked my dad to finance a course in counselling which I was very keen to attend. My father convinced that it was just another reason to get away from home,agreed to pay for it provided I paid back every penny or got myself into higher studies....he left it open so the loan could be returned after I got a job as a counsellor 

My college mate and I had discovers this course so we set off with emotions and ambitions running high. We were all set to take on the emotional baggage of the world and set it free. Our destination was a one horse town near madras (in the last thirty years this place has become a busy little town). It was best known for it's one American missionary and the hospital she set up. Besides the college and hospital there was little else. It had a sleepy railway station where a few trains stopped,exactly two bus routes that covered the whole town and as a concession to the many young doctors that inhabited the place,there was a cinema hall. They screened English movies which in those low technology days,was the highlight of young peoples lives in that town. It was furnished with heavy curtains to keep out light,had a few steel chairs and many a stray dog wandering through the aisle even as we watched a movie.

We entered the institution that was to be our home for the next two months and for us to stay away from home was a big adventure. We had arrived by train,and found out way to the institute (which given our shelterd lives was a big achievement ). We entered a small office and were greeted by a tall gangly young man who had a grin that lit up the room. He was polite and friendly as small town people are usually and for us city people it was a welcome change. He showed us to our room and explained all the rules,meal times,class times and the left us to it.

The course mates as it turned out were mostly nuns and fathers sent by the Catholic Church which has an active family counselling ministry and was training it's staff. Having never been in the company of religious people,more so ones in habits,we were on our best behaviour,until my roommate arrived and then it all changed. She swept into the room and took over my life. She was full of fun and suddenly we were ready to take on evey one in that group.

We soon discovers that social life was at an all time low,there was nothing much to do so we did what most girls in their twenties do. We befriended the only young man on campus. We ground all manner of reasons to keep him back on campus well after his office hours. We made sure we played table tennis and basket ball,and after we had charmed our way into his life,it became a ritual to go for a Saturday night movie after class. It was always a late show as our days working in hospital were both physically and mentally exhausting. We would be ready and waiting and our little group which by now included the younger more enterprising priests ( who rather enjoyed our company while the lord ones looked on in disapproval),some of the fun loving nuns and us. It was a great group,we would walk to the cinema and at midnight walk back to campus through the empty streets of our one horse town. Late nigh tea stalls were our haunts and bacause we were there with a local boy and in the company of religios people we were treated like royalty. It was a carefree ,fun time and as a gap between graduation and higher studies it was our best time.

Our two motths soon came to an end but we came back richer emotionally,and had made some great friends who would make so much of a difference to our lives that many years later we would be able to capture that magic even though we had lost touch.

Thirty odd years later I have managed to call a couple of them and didn't even need to introduce myself. It was as if the years I between had never been. I met that young man again a few years ago and it was with such joy that we flung ourselves into each other's arms....now older with families of our own and jobs etc,it was still for us a great friendship that stood the test of time. We kept track of that young man who had made our lives so much easier in that small town by just being our friend and it's with such sadness that I remember his smile today. In the pursuit of following gods will and in serving those less fortunate than him,our young man took himself to Liberia. In the midst of the worst Ebola epidemic,his smile and cheerfulness must have cheered many a dying person and brought hope to many. Unfortunately our young man died serving his god in a place so far away from home and as the news of his death reached us,all of us girls who loved him for being him,called each other from different parts of the world. We who hardly call each other,talked again and in his death he once agin united the same girls whome he shepherded to the movies all those many years ago.

My little blue car

It was the summer of 1991 and I had just landed myself a job which I thought would do justice to my education and give me a chance to fend for myself. Most people in office then had bikes to take them places and this being a sales job it required a lot of local travel. I had never owned a vehicle no did I have dreams of owning one so I used public transport or just depended on my reliable legs to get me places. Not for long. Efficiency suffered and I was forced to get a vehicle of some kind and thus my first scooter happened . It had to be financed by a loan and was all cloak and dagger. Never having ridden a cycle even, I was at a loss as to how I was to get places. Resourceful as I am I soon found a local boy who was charmed into giving me lessons and soon I was on my way. For some ten years from them I rode that scooter of mine to every nook and corner of this city. It was a battle scared scooter. Six months after buying it,I met with a mother of all crashes which left me with concussion and the bike in a sad state of repair. But the good old scooter saw me through thick and thin. It was famous in it's own way. The mechanic who repaired it for me never knew my name but if ever I was stranded with my scooter not starting I only had to call him and mention the number and he would be there to take care of it. It was with a lot of sadness that I gave it up for a car. Not being able to afford one I had to wait a few years to get enough money and manage to pay the loan off but buying my first car was a big deal for me. It represented my ability to look after myself ,earn enough to buy the things I wanted and with not a penny from the parents. It was with a great deal of pride that I took it home to show my parents that I had done it. The parents not the kind to shower praise didn't say much but the pride in their eyes was enough reward for me. A year into the car and a bus bashed me up from behind and there I was in a mangled car furious with myself and the bus driver (who got away with it) and the police for not helping. It shook me a little and my confidence suffered a bit but I pulled myself up and then went on to become a pretty decent driver.  It was time to trade in the car for another new one . My parents had by then aged a lot by then and getting in and out of a low car was a big issue for them. My next car was decided taking into consideration the needs of my parents. After all the only or perhaps the main reason I learnt to drive was to take them around on hospital visits and general shopping tours. This time I took a tall boy car and the parents were delighted. For the next ten years this car was a second home. I changed jobs did a lot of office work parked in some car bay. Travelled the length and breadth of the city in it and in my dad final days the hospital visits became more frequent. The parents needed more looking after. Six months after the car arrived,I was shuttling one parent from hospital,while trying to look after the other at home. It was a stressful time and as luck would have it,the city which never gets any rain,had a cyclone. Water filled the streets. Two old sick parents and my car parked on the road in case of emergencies. The rain came down and the floods went up and like the old children's song,my car drowned. I watched in disbelief as the water rose and submerged my car. Helpless and lost I waited till the rain subsided and got it repaired. That little car took my dad on his last journey to the hospital. It took me to his funeral. It is a storehouse of memories,some very sad,some happy but all in all a big part of my life was lived in that car. It saw my tears and my joys. It had my clothes .shoes phone glasses etc all lying around in it. It was to me a second home. Unfortunately they don't make cars to last so ten years later today I had to give it up. Call me sentimental but I cried seeing it go for the last time out of my life. I have never cried over a car but this one was a lot more than a car. To me it was a well of all my memories and in it's passing a long chaper in my life closed. The new car is here but I am yet to give it my heart for the moment  a bit of my heart is in a little blue car which was my constant companion for ten long years....

A sentimental fool

Let's accept it the days of showing emotions (except perhaps anger) are long gone. Today I have on countless occasions met people who will keep a stiff upper lip in the middle of crisis. Yes I admire people who can keep such a strict control over their emotions but the otherside  of the argument is that it's unhealthy not to show emotion. After all the natural way to any situation is to cry in sorrow and laugh in joy or sometimes to cry for joy. I for one am a sentimental old fool and have no problems acknowledging it. I cry at all funerals even if I didn't know the person well. I cry at weddings because it's all so emotional. I cry when I hear a touching speech . In short I wear my heart on my sleeve . To me it's perfectly natural. When I loose a loved on for me it's sorrow,it's grief,it's complete devastation and for that moment my life is over and I cry for my loss. Which is why I find it so hard to go for funerals and see dry eyes all around. I accept the argument that the person has lived a good life and has found peace etc but this is about the living and their loss. What does one say to people who won't accept grief or refuse to show their emotion?. I still remember the worlds shocked reaction to Diana Spencer's death. More than the sorrow of loosing a much loved person,the shock was that the British public gave vent to their feelings. Crying openly and on the streets marked a strange turn in the emotional lives of an otherwise cold British psyche. It was a healthy change on my opinion. Emotions are meant to be felt,it's healthy to feel and acknowledge them and it's healing to give into your emotions. Ofcourse there is a time and place for it but funerals ,weddings,birth of children etc are all occasions of sorrow and joy and must be acknowledged but as the world around me chooses to be in denial,I will continue to be emotional. Call me a sentimental fool,but atleast it shows that I am sensitive.life is meant to be lived in all it's fullness and emotions are part of it