My Upper Room

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It is a small 15'x20' room with two  doors opposite each other and a small   window. A room above my house where old and unwanted things are stacked. Nothing spectacular physically. Only its history makes this room special to me.

 For it was here that I, a cross-major (a zoology graduate) succeeded in writing the thesis required to  complete my M.Phil degree.To those who knew my past history, it would sound absolutely absurd that I should aim for an M.Phil in English.

Not only was it in a subject different from my own, its standard and range were also beyond mine. No wonder then that my guide, Mrs Thayalnagaki should grumble her heart out that she was forced to guide me as an obligation to a colleague.

And with that she began to rattle off the topics on which I could do my thesis. Greek and Latin. I couldn't understand a word of what she said.When she finished, I said, "I'll think and let you know."

The only word I could remember was 'Bharati', an author whose name meant 'India.' (to my luck).I asked another known Master what he knew about this author. With a list of the books written by her, I approached my guide.

With an 'okay' from her I proceeded with my work. And then stopped. Clearly my brain had no space for whatever    Ms Bharati had in mind. I switched authors  and luckily for me, it worked. I was able to work in detail.

On a Thursday afternoon, the day scheduled for me to present my work to Mrs Thayalnayaki,I washed the room (it was obviously home to a cat in my absence) and letting it dry under a slow fan I went down to receive her. (She had to go past my house and had kindly agreed to stop by).

I'm still not sure what exactly got Mrs. Thayalnayagi bowled over- the 'dump' room converted into a flower scented study or the effectiveness of my work. In any case I managed to convert  a grumbling Mrs. Thayalnayaki into a praising and smiling Mrs. Thayalnayaki.

And the room above my house is a still reminder of Virginia Woolf's emphasis, 'A room of my own'

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It's my Birthday!

'Tis my 2nd Birthday!

But my mistress ignored me this year!

She should at least make up in the coming year!

                                                                                                              ....SURE, Sweetie

Feels like you're stumbling? Try joining a course

Only when I was filling out this blog's  questionnaire -specially   the   question on the movies I liked.I remembered    English Vinglish and I realized    that it's not only children who feel trapped . Very often women are made to feel like doormats by their families.It hurts when the children,particularly girls, insult  their mothers instead of being supportive of her.

I have seen husbands in real life who tell their wives that languages like English can be learnt only by those who have some special talent.What rubbish! A language can be learnt basically by exposure.

Here in this movie though often put down for not knowing English, the heroine Shashi does not give up.She makes use of an opportunity to enroll in a spoken English class.

From then on there's no turning back for her.Apart from the practical solution to the problem- being able to express herself in English, along comes the bonus which is visible first of all-

   

the self-confidence and the sense of achievement,the ability to project herself even as she  is in society. This new 'Avatar' of Sashi coupled by the support and encouragement she receives from others makes the husband realize his mistake.

I THINK WE CAN USE THIS PRINCIPLE IN SCORES OF WAYS.

Just before creating this blog,I had some ideas which I wanted to share  with others. (in the form of 

short stories) But I didn't know  how to get it done.Though I have a computer at home,I didn't know

 to use it (believe it?)The youngsters I know told me to try clicking  different keys, I'd get it. Nothing 

seemed to work. Finally I opted for a week's professional training and hey, even ordinary me could create  a blog.

You know how I feel? I too feel exactly like this_

Try it yourself and tell me if you don't . 

A Step - Sorry, a hop at a time

“Come on, Ma, just thinking is not going to help you get anywhere.” My daughter said, calling me to a game of shuttle. I was just not in the mood for it but not wanting my burden to become her burden I agreed and played so badly that my daughter suggested we go for a walk instead.

Three cases. All the three companies I had invested in had come tumbling down. I thought dividing my investments into three would avoid such a disaster. How could I make it up now? Would it affect my husband and daughter?...

 "Pa is calling, Ma” my daughter said, giving me the phone.

“I have good news for you," he said. "We are going to Kallanai dam tomorrow. My boss is taking us to celebrate our company's success.Three other families are coming.”

‘Promise me you’ll enjoy the day,’ was my daughter’s only request.

“Wow! A beautiful place to spend the day,” my daughter said as we got down from our van and went to peep at the water glittering in the sun. We walked through the traffic jam and reached a shady island like place.

Being a holiday, the historical dam (it was built by a Cholan King,Karikalan Chola in the 2nd century and then developed later on by a British Engineer) was packed beyond its capacity. Vendors made good business, as if to make up for all other working days when people could hardly be sighted. The centre of attraction was a rotating plastic bull with just a small strap on its back which a rider could use to balance himself. The crowds cheered as rider after rider tried his luck. Finally a small boy won everyone’s applause as he seemed glued to the bull. His size and weight seemed ideal to fool the centrifugal force of the bull.

After playing some games, we settled down to have lunch. Fried rice, chappaties, eggs and vegetables. After some more rest and entertainment, we continued exploring.

                           Photo: Google image

                            
The dam looked like a square opened up on one side to let the water in. The other three sides had shutters to control and distribute water in three different directions.

The side opposite to the opening was most beautiful. Built in step-like structures made the water gush down, each drop glistening like gems in the sun, showing off their beauty before falling down partly as froth and partly as spray. Further down was a line of weeds where cranes, storks and other water birds sat, perhaps to catch fish that got trapped in the weeds. Only one or two cranes stood along the edge of the steps balancing themselves effortlessly like acrobats, concentrating only on the fish they could get.

One crane in particular caught my attention. It was standing on one leg – just like the cranes in Chikibio’s story, I thought. Just how could it choose this of all places to sleep, I couldn’t help wondering. All around it the water thundered and flowed. One wave seemed enough to make it a pack of feathers and distribute it the next moment. As if to answer me, it put down its foot but pulled it up immediately – obviously in pain. Looked like it had an injury. I wondered who or what could have caused it. After a while it bent down and held up a small shiny silver coloured fish in its beak. Hey - What luck! Or rather, what grit of the little bird.

 Wasn’t I too standing in deep waters like the crane?  Could I also hop my way to success? I felt a surge of hope.

A Tiny Survivor

                                                       

“Hey! How did this leaf come here?” I exclaimed as I was collecting drinking water from the tap in a pot. The leaf went up and down and then I noticed that it had legs all over. On closer inspection I found that it was a prawn, ¾” long and some 2mm wide.

The dam that supplied us with water was some 12 kms away.  The water must have been purified before it reached us: that meant a process of sedimentation, then passage through coal beds and chemical treatment before it reached us.  How did this tiny creature survive all that and then swim through 12 kms of water? Or how could he possibly have jumped in from somewhere else like a catfish after the processing?

I named him ‘Tiny’ and loved him instantly. (It must have been a ‘he’ to muscle his way through). I transferred him to an old fish bowl I found and scraped in a small bit of fish food I had. Fish usually died of over-feeding so how much should I feed this little fellow?  

  I went to an aquarium but its keeper caught a handful of 3” long fish from one tank and fed them to bigger fish in another tank.  I gasped and shied away from asking him about Tiny.

 Occasionally I would drop in a fibre from a dog’s bone or a speck of fruit. Thrice he moulted his skin. It was then that I realized he was a part of nature and belonged there.

The next holiday I carried his bowl and went to the dam he had come from. Crowds had come to celebrate the showers we had the last few days and the increase in the inflow of water.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               free digital photos.net

“Mummy,” a plump boy of about 14 was whimpering near us, a packet of chips in his hand. “Sneha made me walk all the way from there,” he said, pointing to the beginning of the traffic jam.

“If I didn’t, we’d still be stuck up there,” a slim and tall girl with long hair said as she returned from parking a Scooty nearby. But he made a face at her and clung to their mother, a round lady of about 45.

As I peered into the water I noticed some 5-6” long fish. Here and there some fish were jumping even above the water’s surface. I walked off the main course and came to a pool surrounded by some tall plants. It looked like a spring, small bubbles bursting occasionally. Safe from big fish, birds and drying up. I emptied the bowl there and bid Tiny farewell.

“Mummy!” the whimpering boy was near us again. “Tell Sneha that I won’t walk back again.”

‘Today’s youngsters could learn a lot from Tiny,’ I thought and drove away.

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That parting smile

A policeman in uniform with his wife sitting behind him rode through the crowed bus stand and stopped in front of a packed bus. As the wife climbed into the bus he went to the flower shop and returned with a bundle of sweet smelling stringed jasmine and gave it to her.. A sweet contrast to the stereotype rough and tough policeman we see around us.Not only that one day, this was a daily routine.

Having to pass through the bus stand everyday on my way to work provides many revelations. Husbands dropping their wives for work or sometimes vice-verse. Couples nodding to each other as they get off the vehicle, smiling or waving.

Observing couples on two wheelers is good entertainment. Sometimes one is serious and the other smiling. There are those who cannot smile even when they mean to.
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When we see a lone differently abled person, we tend to wonder about their future. A permanent job for such people is their present security and comfort. As time goes by the sight of a broad minded and accepting partner is  comforting. Most special people land up with one.

But not all days are sunny so we sometimes have funny expressions that say, "I'm angry with you but we're hooked. So..."

One impression that will most probably stay in my mind is that of the driver of our bus whose house was en route his regular duty route. As he slowed down near his house his young wife would come out hurrying with a round tiffin box in her hand. I would keep guessing what was inside but the fullness of her smile conveyed the fullness of her giving.

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Starting Problem.

"Hello Ma'm, I've read the whole book but I can't make out head or tail of anything. Looks like I'll have to come over and get some basic ideas from you," I said over the phone fixing an appointment for the next day with my guide and teacher. An appointment I dreaded because my guide wasn't too happy guiding a cross major.

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With just 3 weeks for the exam I was at a loss at understanding the complications of literature as I was  more familiar with the facts and figures of science and scientific thinking and didn't have much patience with abstract theories or ideas. With the afternoon at my disposal, I decided to give it a second reading, a trial so as to be of least burden to my guide as she had a regular college routine to follow. I was an extra candidate she was guiding out of obligation to a friend and colleague.

The book in discussion was a thin one, some 80 pages or so. "Now com'on," I said to myself. "Just imagine this were an Agatha Christie or a Gardener's book. Would 80 pages be a burden?" ... And she's going to explain whatever you don't understand anyway, so what's the problem.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               free digital photos.net

 And with that I sped through the pages again. Some names and some theories each one was proposing. A's theory made sense if he were referring to B's theory who in turn was referring to C's theory.And what was C saying?  More or less like the substitution equations we had done at Maths. Maths? My guide would have a fit if I were to mention that word.
Yet the more I thought about it, the more it seemed to fit in.The next day before starting my class I asked my guide whether my understanding of what I guessed was right.

"Sure! she said. "That means you've got the main point... Only yesterday you sounded so lost. So I was wondering from where to start..."


That's how we started together, each complementing the other's work. I was working on a new topic. So I collected all the information which was useful to her. Our starting problems were over.

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