Ashwatthama

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For many of us, the reading and re-reading of stories from the Epics in Amar Chitra Katha or other children's magazines / books constituted a major part of our childhood, that even today the images of the characters from those books are fresh in mind. Little did I know at the time that the gyan will come in handy while raising a child who drops everything and comes running if I promise to tell him a story. The more we read or narrate, the more we're convinced that the human race, for all its technological advances, has in reality not progressed far from where it was thousands of years ago. We can draw parallels from each daily encounter to an instance from the Epics.

Yesterday when one of my friends told me a troubling incident involving her son and his teacher, I was so reminded of an incident from Ashwatthama's childhood. I did not tell her, naturally, because the thought would have distressed her more...

I searched for the story in the Net, but apart from brief references here and there (where the narration was good) and a few badly written ones (that I did not want to copy from), I could not find the exact version I was looking for. I write it here in my own words, having borrowed thoughts from the sites I searched, as well as from my memory. If the facts appear distorted, please feel free to correct me.


Ashwatthama was the son of Drona and Kripi. Drona, who later became the Guru of the Pandavas and Kauravas, was very poor, so poor that he and his wife were unable to obtain cow's milk to feed their son. Ashwatthama, who had seen his friends drink milk, longed to taste it. One day, his so-called friends mixed rice flour with water and gave it to him, saying that it was milk. Ashwatthama, delighted, began to drink it, declaring that he has finally tasted cow's milk, unaware that his friends were laughing at him.
Drona was very hurt and humiliated.



If you do not know or have forgotten the role played by Ashwatthama and how he was cursed into an immortal life, I suggest you begin with the Wikipedia link for a summary. He is a character with many shades.
The kind of person I dream of writing about.

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Caught unawares... again!

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December has this habit of advancing steadily and stealthily, catching me unawares, every year. Oh yes, I do not pretend to not notice its arrival - how can I not? But its essence, the meaning, the implications, evade me till I observe the burst of discussions all around me about 'Christmas Shopping' or 'New Year' or 'Holiday season'; which is when it dawns on me that the year that was a new-born just a little while ago, is already old and breathing its last.

It makes me nervous. I don't even know why. As if something precious is slipping from my hands before I could enjoy it to my heart's content. As if one more leaf is turned in the yellowing book of my days. As if I had been given a year's time to do a set of important tasks and I am nowhere close to their termination. As if someone is at the door, hand outstretched for the results, whereas I, quickly wiping my soiled hands on my apron, find myself totally unprepared and alarmed, look around frantically to see if I can fix something up to fool the visitor and end up doing nothing but gape. One would expect me to improve over time, that next December would find me better prepared, displaying better results, demonstrating more confidence and composure when the knock at the door heralds the arrival of the New Year. All in vain.
I finally am convinced that this is how it is going to be, every year.

Yet, yet... ironically, it is also the time of Hope. All the distress and disappointments carried over from weeks and weeks of unrewarded efforts, stand poised for the dawn of the fresh year, awaiting a long pending realisation of dreams. Whatever the New Year brings, every December, there is still Hope of better days to come, as long as there are dreams to keep us going.
Every year, that will remain unchanged as well.


Post inspired by Divya's The many moods of December.

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The capital and small of Friendship

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There is something about Facebook that does not seem right.
Maybe something that the creators did not intend, nor imagine will get out of hand. After all, most inventions are made with the best intentions.
Or maybe, everything is perfectly right, it is just me.

When I gave in to popular demand ( actually only one or two friends made the suggestion, but 'popular demand' has such a nice ring to it ) and created my Facebook account a year ago, I did not have the slightest inkling of what I was getting into. I was actively into Twitter those days, but in Twitter, there is a certain distance in the closeness, and a closeness in the distance ( the way I perceive and peruse it ).

Initially of course, my only Friends in FB were those who I grew up with, or spent my college days with, or some of my grown-up days with. People whom I knew decades ago, and from whom I'd protected myself all these years, popped up with Friendship requests. It did not seem polite to decline them so I accepted many. Not all. No, there was no way I would let some of them into my 'Friends' list ( with the capital 'F' ), at least as per the definition of 'Friends' that I still hold on to. The world has long ago modified the definition of the word - the boundaries of 'Friendship' are becoming vaguer with each passing day - and the word has only a remote resemblance to its original self. Everyone who passes you on the corridor without a glance, let alone a smile, is your 'Friend' in Facebook. The CEO of your organisation who doesn't even know you by sight, is your Friend in Facebook. The Friends of your Friends ( real or Facebooked ) are your Friends in Facebook. All of which sound pretty okay. When someone important ( like the CEO ) posts something clever on Facebook, some of the 'Friends' feel it is their duty to 'Like' it or pass some flattering comment ( after all, their appraisals must be at stake ). That goes on in your timeline, but you just raise your eyebrows or give a knowing grin or shrug, and push it out of mind.

What alarms me is the fearful invasion of privacy ( and the lack of concern ) most people exhibit on their network. I perhaps should not be, prepared as I was for this sort of thing. *Kind of.* And it makes me feel quite old. Once my Friends' list grew beyond the borders of known friends and acquaintances, I removed all my personal stuff, including pictures, from my account. Sorry, but I still value my privacy - whatever I can salvage out of it. I still can't help it if someone decides to splash a picture I would rather restrict to my personal network and tag it with my name, or write on my wall about things I consider private, but as far as possible I want my Facebook account to be protected.

I should not expect everyone to be that stingy about their privacy but aren't there some pictures and updates that should be kept within their friend ( with the small 'f' ) circles, and not splashed to the entire community? Some of the wall messages that come up on my timeline are quite personal, they almost sound like one of the letters we used to write a decade or so ago ( can they not use the private 'message' option in Facebook? ). More alarming is to find some snaps or updates that reveal an unknown ( and unexpected ) side of a person. No, really, I can do without that knowledge. Remember the time when we were afraid to post our pictures anywhere in cyber space for fear of someone doing mischief? I belong to that era, and am not ashamed to say that I have not come very far. So it makes me feel awkward to find pictures shared irresponsibly ( and I am not talking of a few harmless family snaps ). Even worse are comments that people post on others' status messages that borders on, or spills over to, rude, often not giving a damn that the words are there for all to see. I have a few 'Friends' who are so obsessed with the number of Friends they have on Facebook that they often quote it as a proof of something ( "I am so well-connected" or to that effect ), I don't even know what. I am also told that some even play politics in FB, often taking sides with one and making another look ( and feel ) bad.

Yes, I do respect others' networking preferences, which is why I don't post this comment there: "No, it ain't cool, dude. Grow up. The message you wished to convey has been grossly distorted by the time it hit the timeline." 

On Twitter, I do expect cr@p to appear, given some of the profiles we follow, and sifting through it all is part of the specification. But isn't Facebook different? Shielding myself against what I consider a breach of privacy involved waddling in a huge set of Options and Settings, but since I believe it to be important, I did waste a lot of time in the waddling.

I am not saying that Facebook does not have its benefits ( otherwise I would not be still into it ). For example, it was almost surreal to find someone I used to know twenty+ years ago, absolutely not recognising him, and getting awed at his achievements ( and feeling very proud ). Finding old friends, promoting oneself, sharing, caring, conversing, raking old memories, are still beautiful, as long as they don't unnecessarily overlap between unconnected groups.

If you're going to tell me "all this is the beauty of it," let's agree to disagree.
And so life goes on.

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Snake and Ladder

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One of the gifts that my newly-turned five-year-old got for his birthday was a Snake-and-Ladder board. It's his first board game, seeing which, I decided that a child like him, who prefers outdoor games, will not be interested in it. I thought I will have to put it away for a while.

But, as usual, he did not take much time to prove me wrong. He took to it immediately. In fact, the very evening after the birthday party, we sat up late, howling over the board as our coins climbed up a ladder or slid down a snake. Almost one month later, he still comes to me daily, sits at my feet while I am having my food or tapping away at the computer or even when I am half way through my afternoon nap, and hands me a coin (usually the pink one - because "Girls like pink") and starts the game. 

It's been ages since I played Snake-and-Ladder. Remember the board that has Ludo on the other side? This one is quite similar except that instead of the dull, unimaginative snakes of my days, these ones are quite adorable, with large eyes and mischievous gaze, that I look forward to being swallowed by them. My son does not exactly share my love for them, and the first few days he got quite upset when one of them gobbled up his coin. And - for the first time in my life - I was getting hold of ladders wherever I went! Some privileges of being a Mom.

Once he got the hang of it, playing with him became quite fun. He would find all sorts of techniques to reach the ladder. He would throw the die three times if required, or turn it around and count the dots on each side till he gets the number he wants (which would take him to the bottom of the ladder). All in full view, no furtive tricks here. And if by chance I keep climbing up jubilantly and he gets left behind? Scowling, he would find the snake closest to me, preferably the longest one in the neighbourhood, and push my pauvre pink coin down its throat. I am not allowed to laugh when his coin goes sliding down the snake, though we both howl with glee when mine does. As for me, the moment the die throws up a number that will take one of us to the snake's mouth, I will start laughing, endangering the fate of the game itself. My punishment for that offence (if the victim is his coin) is to find myself back at the starting point. I ain't virtue personified, myself, so sometimes I get upset at the cheating and stop the game.

Sometimes we find each other on the same box. Then his coin generously gives a kiss to mine, and snuggles close. Then, when I move forward, he tries to throw the same number so that he can stay with me.

His generosity knows no bounds when after all these kalla kalis, he reaches 100. Immediately he would take my coin (who, after being subject to insults, kisses and forcible shoving down snakes' throats, is now a pathetic pink wreck) and place it on 100 as well: "Amma also won!"

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Futility of Attachments

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When Abhimanyu, the valiant son of Arjuna, died in the Mahabharata war, Arjuna was overcome with grief. He decided to stop the war. Lord Krsna tried His best to convince Arjuna to stop grieving unnecessarily but it was all in vain. Finally, in order to show the impermanence of all worldly relationships, He took Arjuna to heaven. There Arjuna saw Abhimanyu enjoying the pleasures of heaven. Arjuna ran to Abhimanyu and embraced him. Abhimanyu was surprised and asked Arjuna "Who are you?" Arjuna told him that he was Abhimanyu's father. Abhimanyu replied that he had had millions of births and in exactly which birth was Arjuna his father? Clearly Abhimanyu remembered nothing about his past birth and relationships. Arjuna saw the futility of attachments in this world. He had seen the proof that all worldly bonds are unreal.

Taken from this site.

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A unique language

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One day in office, during lunch which all eleven of us were having together, my Malayali colleague and I started chattering in our mother tongue. Those of us who shared a common language (there were also Kannadigas, Tamilians, Andhraites etc. in the team) had this habit of slipping into our own language now and then, and none of the others would mind. If it was something everyone should hear, the medium was, of course, English (rather than Hindi, which some didn't follow well). After a while a Tamilian, who was sitting next to me, asked, "Why do you guys use your names in the conversation? Don't you have a word for 'you' in Malayalam?" My 'compatriot' and I grinned at each other. Sure enough, our conversations (directly translated from Malayalam) sounded like this:
"Did Joe go to the party last night?"
"No, did Jeena go?"
"I didn't either. Did Joe stay late in office?"
...

One would have thought we were talking of people who were nowhere in the vicinity - nah, we were asking about each other. It's not that there are no words for 'you' in Malayalam, the problem was elsewhere. Like most Indian languages, Malayalam too has two ways of saying 'you' - the word that you use with buddies, nee ('tum' in Hindi) and the more respectful one that we use with elders, ningal or thangal ('aap' in Hindi). Nee was too familiar a form; my colleague and I were close, but not close enough to call each other 'nee'. Ningal or thangal were too formal, we didn't use those either. The most courteous and favoured and easy (safe?) way (at least, in my part of Kerala - others may differ, I do not intend to spark a debate) to speak was to use the other person's name. I haven't heard this kind of third-person usage in any other language - and I have had a brush with more than a handful of them. It may be too far-fetched to call Malayalam a really unique language (or maybe not) - even considering that the name, Malayalam, is a palindrome - but it sure does have its own weird, interesting and rare styles of speech. But I don't intend to digress.

The third-person usage is fine, more or less, as long as the correct phrases come into play when we switch to English or Hindi. However, recently I happened to listen to a Malayali speaking to a Kannadiga in English, and because of the direct translation, this is how it went.
"If I do this part, Auntie can take care of the rest, no?" ('Auntie' was the elderly Kannadiga lady.) "I will finish this and call Auntie."
Of course, Auntie understood that she was being referred, so there were no issues.

When I speak to a child, I refer to myself as Auntie (or whatever s/he should call me) instead of saying 'I'. "Auntie is feeling cold, so Auntie is wearing a sweater. Why aren't you wearing one?"

To be frank, this is the exact sentence I spoke to a four-year-old today morning, that triggered the series of thoughts behind this post.

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Dr.Yawn

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The patient and his parents were already waiting for half an hour. The father walked around the lounge, trying to ground some of his restlessness. Forty-five minutes past the time of appointment, the doctor walked in, a picture of leisure, peeped into another door, and started talking to someone inside.

The patient looked the doctor up and down. Stylish short kurta, yellow salwar, duppatta casually thrown over her shoulder, she looked everything but a doctor. After her gesturing-and-discussions session was over, she strolled into her own room, beckoning to the woman outside to start sending in the patients, and took her place. The patient and his parents flocked in after her.

She was gazing into her laptop. "I'm so terribly sorry," she said in her best smile, "I lost my mobile handset at the clinic, that's why I am late." She launched into an explanation of how and where she lost it, who could possibly have taken it, whether the closed-circuit camera might have caught the theft, etc. Her listeners nodded in understanding.

"Anyway," she continued, with a glance at her laptop, "Nikhil, isn't it?"
The patient and his parents beamed. She remembered his name! It was almost four weeks since they came last. How nice of her to remember. Recalling that the last time she did not ask them to sit down, they made themselves comfortable.

Her subsequent questions wiped the smiles off their faces. "So what is the problem? Have I seen you before?"

Trying to conceal the setback, they proceeded to acquaint her on  the details of their last visit, when -
Ring!
She lifted the receiver and started elaborating on the loss of her phone. The visitors waited patiently till she completed, and continued the story.
Yawn. "Oh ok, so that was how it was. You have taken the medicines I prescribed? Did you observe any changes?"
Ring!
A repeat of story-telling process over the phone. Then, yawwwwwwnnnn. "Ah, where were we?"
The yawwnnn was contagious. The mother stifled one before it broke out. Dad stifled a grimace.
"I'll prescribe one more - " Yawwwnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!  "- tablet and syrup.... "
The patient kept his eyes wide open so that he would not miss it when the doctor eventually collapsed over the prescription in her deepest slumber. He wasn't sure where the pen was leading her.

To his disappointment, nothing untoward happened except a few more wide open interjections before the patient and family left her to her yawns.

As they left, Dad said to wife and son, "I almost stomped out the door every time she opened her mouth... "

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The life of a child is tough, because...

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... if you're the youngest among your buddies, the bigger ones bully you

... if you have a toy/cycle/scooter that no one else has, everyone will want a turn, and you almost never get to play with it

... if you're the only girl in a boys' world, they make sure you feel isolated and ignored

... if you're a girl and the youngest of the lot, they make fun of you saying "you're a baby" and "you're a girl" till you cry

... if you're the bully of the group, the others don't like you

... if, by some unlucky chance, you manage to get into a debate with one of the 'big' boys, you lose without a fight, naturally, because for one thing, your frightened arguments are feeble and unimpressive, for another, Mothers sympathetically disbelieve everything you say and side with the angelic-faced ten-year-olds

... if you're the leader who decides who plays with who, you invite the wrath of Mothers whose children you don't play with

... if you're one among a group of three, the two others always side against you and make you feel left out

... when you want to play, Mother calls you to sleep

... when you want to sleep, Mother says it's time for school

... when you want to do colouring, Mother says it's time for homework

... when you want snacks, Mother says it's time for dinner

...

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