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Ganapati in the city

So Ganapati has gone after ten days of celebration. The blaring loudspeakers are silent.
I was late to the Ganapati party since back home we had no clue what the fuss was all about, other than what we saw in Hindi films and I always thought it was an exaggerated version of the real thing. It was in Pune that I got an up close and personal view of the festival.
The pandals are everywhere but the more revered Ganapatis are found in the old city. A bit ironic isn’t it? That some Ganapatis should be more revered than the others? Some more gracious about granting wishes than others? But then religion is beyond reason.
I try to visit the city at least once during the ten days, not for the blessings, but for the old world charm of the celebrations. No matter how huge the pandals in the scores of apartment complexes across the city, this is different. The buzz is something else and I love everything about it.
I do not find the crowds claustrophobic or the walk daunting. I find the small plastic toys on sale fascinating and the toy sellers even more so. Perhaps it reminds me of the melas of my childhood which were a bit of a forbidden treat or maybe it is my yen for roadside shopping. I do love it all.
This year I was a little reluctant after a friend had her bag cut through and her wallet stolen. The crowds hold all kinds. However I did manage a visit even though half my attention was on my sling bag.
As it turned out the visit was worth every little bit of it. To begin with the flower market is a treat. I loved the masses piled up by roadside. 

And I adore the lotus, perhaps because we don’t get to see them too often and definitely not in such profusion. It’s not much use getting it home because it wilts pretty soon but it does look gorgeous. Doesn’t it?

Check out the long winding columns of devotees. I didn’t venture to queue up but satisfied myself with the glimpse of the God from outside. Loudspeakers were booming out artis and instructions. At one of the temples a gentleman announced, ‘Don’t forget to take selfies with your favourite Ganapati’. 

Talk about keeping up with the times!

Oh and I love this quaint custom of whispering your dearest wish into the ear of the mooshak in the hope that he would conveyed it to Ganapati.

…age is no bar. All you need is to have faith.

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Oops I forgot!

It seems like I have a permanent guest living up in my head these days. She’s crazy and quirky and enjoyed playing around – hoarding and discarding memories at whim without worrying about order or importance. Perhaps that’s why I remember the lyrics of a cheesy 50s song that I don’t even like while forgetting that I left the gas stove on.

Early this year I went to the library, parked my vehicle by the side of the street, came home walking and then left for a short vacation with my friends. It stood there for two whole nights before I remembered and went looking for it and surprisingly enough, found it. Then again a few months back I forgot it at the same place before another short vacation with the kids, and went back for it after a day. This time I knew where I had left it!

It’s a bit of a mystery why it happens at the same place each time. And why it happens before a vacation. A greater mystery is why no one drives away with it. 

Anyhow, the bigger question is why I keep forgetting things. After all this wasn’t a regular keys or specs kind of thing. Is it because my mind is too cluttered? Is it because  am stressed? Is it even unusual? I don’t think so.

A quick round of google tells me forgetfulness could be a result of stress, multitasking and lack of sleep among other more serious reasons like depression and medication. And so, assuming I don’t have a serious reason, I decided to tackle that woman in my head with some simple ideas. This is how:

Being organised both physically and mentally

– I spend 15-20 minutes everyday at physical organising, decluttering and putting away things.
– I have a fixed place for things I need often and never find – keys, books, chargers, pens, scissors, cello-tape. A large bowl on the centre table or a drawer for all stationery items helps me know where they are.
– I make to-do lists – lots of them.
– And I use reminders liberally – for children’s classes, for fee payments, for library days.

No jumping from task to task

You know how this happens, don’t you? You’re working at an article and you need to refer to some notes. You go to the study to get them and find a pile of books the kids have left at the table. You think you’ll quickly replace them and while doing that you stumble upon a book you’d needed for another article and hadn’t been able to find then. You begin to leaf through it and your current article is forgotten.
The thing to do is to keep your focus and wrap up one task before jumping to the next.

Being mindful

The other day while at my walk I wondered if I had locked my front door. Try as I might I just couldn’t recollect. I rushed back home only to find I had locked it. Such a waste! Being mindful helps. Try to give each task, however small, complete attention for those two or five or ten full minutes.

Getting enough sleep and some exercise

That’s pretty crucial too, to keep the mind and body fresh and happy.
I’m hoping this will set me on the path to driving that woman out of my head. So tell me have you ever forgotten something important? Does your absent mindedness worry you too? Do you have any pointers to add?
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Linking up Mackenzie at Reflections from Me. Do take a look at her post where she talks about how we get stressed by simple things.

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Celebrating Differences – A Book Review

We’ve done stories from this book at the book club. I’ve shared it at almost every children’s reading forum and with every mum I know. I wonder how I left out talking about it here.
Celebrating Differences – Stories for the Children of India, is a book every child should read, every Indian child, most definitely. That’s because the setting of the stories is Indian the ideas, however, are universal.
Seven authors come together with seven stories about people with disabilities and their interactions with others. It talks about perceptions and prejudices. Sometimes we (specially children) are impatient with or unkind to people because we don’t think about the difficulties they might be dealing with or have pre-conceived notions about how they will behave.
This delightful melange of stories is an attempt to set that right.
All it takes is the story of Ritika a hearing impaired girl who learns to stop feeling sorry for herself.
The Perfumed Prowler is about Amtan a speech impaired boy who earns the respect of an aunt who had always pitied him.
Who is Faster talks about Rudra who learns that a boy in a wheelchair could be just as smart and as much fun as his other friends.
The New Neighbour is about an old school teacher who helps a little boy being bullied by his older brothers.
I Don’t Understand It is perhaps the most touching story of all. It is told from the point of view of a mentally challenged child and his perception of good and bad.
Leaf Feel is another fun story where a visually challenged girl teaches some kids a new fun game.
And finally Wheels from Kerala talks about a young girl Priya and how she learns to empathise and bond with her arthritic grandfather.
Each of these stories embodies a world of wisdom and helps to sensitise children, making them empathetic to people with differences. The print is comfortably large and the stories are suited for kids between 7-8 years of age. Though they can be read out to younger kids.
The book comes with interesting nuggets of information and also some fun colouring pages.
Priced at Rs 125 and Published by Ekansh Trust Pune, this book is absolutely invaluable.
Here are the details in case you want to get a copy: email info@ekansh.org
Phone: +919503715015
We had some of the most amazing sessions at our book club when we took up a story from this book. The children learnt a little bit of sign language – they learnt to spell their names as also simple phrases like I am sorry, Thank you and of course I Love You, which they continue to use even today. This is such a good exercise for all children.
Like in the story Leaf’s Feel they tried to recognise trees, leaves and flowers with a blindfold on their eyes simply by feeling them. That was great fun because they got to run around and touch and feel.
And lastly for the story Wheels from Kerala we got them talking to their grandparents and got back with fun tales of their parents’ childhood.
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Why Whisper?

This is definitely not a comfortable post to write. But some things are worth stepping out of my comfort zone for. So here I am.
While I was growing up ‘periods’ were just a pain. My mum had told me about them, however when they did come, they took me by surprise, not a nice surprise at all. I found it difficult to reconcile myself to the idea of those troublesome days every month – month after month – for ever – or so it seemed to the 13 year old me.
I was in an all girls’ school, yet when one of the girls ended up with a stained skirt it was a huge ‘haw’ moment. She would disappear to the washroom and spend the rest of the day fidgeting in her chair, cardigan tied at her waist. Strangely, and rather unfairly, the other girls, though not unkind, weren’t really supportive.
I never stopped resenting my monthly trial – the idea of no jeans, no whites, no pastels was annoying. And then there were the cramps and rashes to contend with! Ugh!
The discomfort was bad enough, what was worse was the whole idea of keeping it a secret, like it was something I was guilty of. I hated the little white lies I had to think up each time my stomach hurt and I needed to excuse myself from PT class, or when the family was going to the temple and I had to opt out (that’s something I have since done away with) – it was truly painful. But that was how it was and, sadly enough, I accepted it.
Years later, after an exceptionally busy day at work, one of my young colleagues sat down with huge sigh and said, ‘Lord, my feet are killing me. Day one of chums is such a bummer.’  I still remember the appalled faces of everyone around – girls and men alike. Talking about periods openly wasn’t the done thing, still isn’t, perhaps.
Why the big secret?
That incident stuck with me. Why should the whole issue of periods be such secret? Why  should sanitary napkins be sold in those black opaque plastic bags at medical stores? Why should it be referred to as a ‘woman’s problem’? This, when every girl/woman goes through it every single month.
And I thought…
How wonderful would it be if one could talk about it openly. If one could simply say, ‘My stomach hurts because I have my periods’ or ‘I have a migraine because of my periods’. And staining a skirt would just be an unfortunate accident like staining it when you slipped under the jamun tree… how liberating that would be. 

And how wonderful it would be to be shown just that little bit of extra concern during those days when you are not at your physical best!

Now..
I have to admit talking about menstruation publicly doesn’t come naturally to me. Put it down to years of conditioning and my natural conservativeness.

However, I have been talking to the children about it. As they stand at the brink of puberty, I hope neither of them feel a sense of discomfort if the topic is brought up. My daughter should never feel the anxiety that I did. She should never need to lie or hide away. As for my son, I hope I can instill in him an awareness about menstruation. I hope I can engender in him a sense of empathy and sensitivity towards his sister and then, by extension, towards all women.

Most of all, I hope no woman ever needs to be ashamed of it for it is as much a part of her being a woman as anything else.

Linking up with  Write Tribe and #Period Pride.

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If we were having coffee …. 4

Picture courtesy: PIXABAY
If we were having coffee… 
I’d invite you home today because I’m feeling a tad down. That perfect cup of coffee served by a professional on a neat little tray is tempting for sure but today I need the comfort of home. I need to curl up my feet on the sofa for a long chat, no matter that the cup is not designer or that Marie biscuits don’t measure up to the brownies. Maybe I’d invite you to my kitchen and we could take turns at beating the coffee. That’s your favourite kind, I know, and mine too.
Once it is poured, sweet and frothy, we could settle down to our conversation.
I’d probably ask about your days and tell you about mine. It has been a long and exhausting fortnight, with the maid on leave, the kids on holiday and husband home too.
I’d tell you, a trifle guiltily, that much as I love them all, I cherish my alone time. I’d tell you how I savour the silence. The absolute quiet as I tap at my laptop. The single cup of tea on my side table. Or the mindless chatter of FM (that no one else seems to have the patience for) while I go about my chores. I miss all of that. I need it to get me through the craziness of the rest of the day.
I’d tell you about the twin’s academic pressure that seems to have suddenly multiplied many fold and hangs like a dark shadow on me, always. Somedays, I’d tell you, I cannot sleep from worrying about them.
Mercifully (?) the kids seem completely unaware of it but that makes me worry even more.
How can they not care? Is it okay for children to be so completely unconcerned? Are they too young? Am I expecting too much from them? I look at the mums around me. I see how they urge their kids on and I feel hopelessly inadequate. I am just not capable of pushing mine. Am I doing enough to help them? Or am I letting them slide into laziness by expecting too little? Am I taking away their chance at a better life by not egging them on?
It’s hard. This not knowing. Like walking blindfolded.
You don’t have an answer either. I know. But simply telling you how I feel lifts my spirits just a bit. You’d probably smile away my fears telling me I was over-thinking. ‘They’re just ten’, you’d laugh. And you’ve no idea how that would reassure me. Yes, they’re just ten. They’ve just started secondary school. They’ll settle, their grades aren’t bad.
We’d lift our now cold coffees and smile at how that always happens – how conversation takes over coffee. I feel sorry for having monopolised it all the way today. 
And yet long after you’ve gone and I’m getting on with my day, I remain grateful for your presence. I send out a tight mental hug for friends who let me voice my thoughts and fears no matter how unfound, how stupid they might be.
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