Passing On....

(Inspired by a wonderful post by my friend Zephyr Nag)

First quarter of the last century...

She had lost her mother at a very young age. Her father, never remarried, in those days of  alarming step-behaviours,  and his being both father and mother to her was actually an education for her.  Her father , had risen to his position, from very humble beginings by virtue of pure hard work and struggle, and helping out folks who needed resources for education was something he religiously did, and she imbibed an attitude that no formal education could have given her.

Attitudes can never be taught. They have to observed, imbibed and learned. And practised. 

Her own children grew up, with a conservative bringing up, in the face of different lifestyles they observed in their often cosmopolitan classmates. There was entire set of unrelated folks who owed their college education to her and her husband, who assisted them with fees and books, and often, even some counseling. And there was never a pervading spirit of highlighting what-chariity-you-did, have-vs-have-nots-publicity etc ,  in all this giving and taking. This was how life was lived. Period. 

By and by her children settled down in their own lives. And she travelled around the world, being the indulgent grandparent who attended the important milestones in the lives of the grandkids.  Be it someone's graduation,  be it someone's important sports meet , or even someone's annual day or felicitation somewhere. Grandpa didnt travel so much, and so she had to be present.

On  a winter's day in November 2000, at 83, she returned, tired  and jet lagged from attending the eldest grandson's graduation in the US. Her own daughter in India had just returned from attending a state sports meet with her own daughter, and travelled back with grandpa to Mumbai to receive her.  It was Divali, an they would all stay together for a while at the daughter's.    

This granddaughter was an adopted child, who then didnt know about her own adoption. But the daughter's family had made it a point everyyear, to visit the orphanage near their house , during Bhaidooj every Divali, when they took sweets for the kids there  and played with them.

That Bhaidooj, she was still coming out from her jetlag and preferred to rest at home.  Grandpa had just returned from his morning walk, and was reading the papers and getting orgainzed when the family set out for the morning visit.

"So are you guys off to visit the temple ? "  he asked , gesturing at his daughter, son-in-law, grandson and granddaughter .

Before they could answer, she looked up from some vegetables she was sorting and cutting.

 Like so many of her ilk, she could never sit idle; the hands were always busy, helping or giving.

"Yes. Something almost like that . Like a temple. "  she said, looking into the distance, as they waved goodbye to the family off on their annual morning trip to the orphanage.


Her daughter never forgot those words.

They were not to know that, that  was her last day with them. She collapsed that evening , was hospitalized and passed away 2 days later.

One of the biggest legacies she left,  was the understanding, that religion , was not how you did rituals, and got intimidated by Gods and  rules.

It was really, how you learned to give , from what little you had.  It was about respect and empathy for those life stories which were not as happy and secure as yours. It was about thinking something deeper than appearances, looks, and a spik-and-span life.  And it was never something you shouted from the rooftops...

 A learning and a set of values , imbibed, hopefully, by her descendants, over all the years.....

Divali for the Soul

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As Divali , our Festival of Lights, gets under way, the media is full of news about either the Adarsh building scam(where powerful types, and those related to them awarded themselves apartment(s) by creative interpretation, planned ignorance of rules, and stupid bravado), corruption detected in one more big case somewhere, and of course Obama's impending trip this weekend , for which it looks like 10% of the US Government is moving here with their paraphernalia, while residents of areas where he will visit , like the Mahatma Gandhi museum, have been asked, for security reasons, to keep their windows closed when he visits.

Away from all this hype, however, there are several folks who exist, seemingly to ensure, that they bring a daily "Divali" into some one's life. They never get publicized or appear on breaking or non breaking news, but their story needs to be told, to get the citizenry to believe, that Divali is much more than stuffing yourself with sweets, buying a bigger flat television, or a new cell phone that talks and tells you that it is time to recharge.

We've been going to this orphanage each Divali. For many many years. As our thanksgiving gesture and to play with and distribute Divali sweets to the children. Right from when they were an organization that started out of a 3 bedroom apartment taken on rent, which they were later on able to buy with the help of some generous donors. They had some really dedicated staff then almost 20 years ago, and barring those who time has claimed, almost all are there today.

Unlike the impression one gets from reading newspapers, there are strict rules about running orphanages, enjoying government aid and grants , submitting so many different types of reports, financial and otherwise , and subjecting themselves to inspections from the authorities. Those who have nothing to hide, comply with all this, and do well. Those that don't, are the ones that appear in newspapers, and then face the law.

When it looked like the original place was going to be too small, the authorities of the orphanage decided to raise funds for a building and approached everyone , including the government for help. Several donors , numerous ordinary middle class folks , some socially conscious industries, some from overseas, Indians , who dedicatedly gave of themselves on a yearly basis, helped in a major way. Several years of fundraising later, they now have a building to call their own, the entrance to which takes you, ironically, through the compound of a local police constabulary/office and a municipal hospital for women and children.

They now house children of various ages, right from newborns in cradles, to girls approaching teenage who have no one to call their own.

When we reached their office, there was s flurry of activity, with lots of office staff (all women) getting the Annual report ready for dispatch, alphabetically. The report is a legal requirement and it is a wonderful read , besides the mandatory accounting things, about the adoption activities, the sucesses of some kids, the problems of the organization we can help with, and so on. There were some enthusiastic young girls helping them with putting pre-printed address labels and plastic covers. Turns out they were young orphan girls who lived there and went to school. After a while they rushed away with some other girls, apparently because it was lunchtime.

Various activities in progress as went went around meeting, playing with and distributing sweets to the children. There were absolute newborns in cradles, fast asleep, oblivious to anything including Divali. Another room had the very young kids, some crawlers, and some who could walk; boys as well as girls. We took the permission of the lady there to distribute sweets. She smiled and said each one could have one, and holding out a full box was not a good idea at that moment, as lunch time was imminent. We agreed to abide by that.

My daughter who loves doing this went in their midst and was mobbed. She shared the sweets with them, and then handed the box to the lady saying she would be distributing later after lunch. The slightly older kids were playing in another room also enjoyed the sweets . Banging plastic cricket bats against crackling balls. A little girl kept running after a ball after a hero hit a "boundary" wall, but the batsmen himself reached before her, picked up the ball and gave her a look. They then got my daughter involved and she bowled a few balls to the future cricketers of India. Year after year the thing that stays in my mind has been the cheerfulness of these kids, every single time.

Their own kitchen serves wholesome homestyle food to all the children. The very little ones are fed , and those who can eat on their own, sit along with the others, automatically picking up stuff like finishing everything on the plate, taking their empty plate to the big sink, and piling it neatly there. They have older volunteer folks who come in on a regular basis to tell stories to groups of children. Sometimes wellwishers organize picnics for the kids, with a bus, and games and eats. Many local industries donate useful consumer products they make. And the kids get excellent medical care from the many doctors who offer their services .

We soon had to leave, because there were lots of visitors that day. So many people coming by with new clothes, provisions, toys, eats, books and what have you for the kids. And cheques. So many folks who celebrated Divali by giving, their own Joy-of-Giving week.....

Intelligent future planning in the design of premises has enabled the organization, to start physiotherapy at reasonable fees for those children in need. (see the video on their web page.) Special educators, speech and occupational therapists come every day. There is a counselling section for parents of such children, and a support group of sorts. They have a computer training section where useful basic computer skills and software are taught to young women at a nominal cost, to enable them to take up freelance work and or jobs. You can have a look at all their activities here under the Projects drop down menu..

Confidence in organization building has enabled this organization to also start an Old Age home in Navi Mumbai, along with a home for destitute young women, or women from families with domestic and monetary problems. The women are trained in different courses and skills, so that they have an incentive to work as adults. They have some wonderful schemes where you can help, and bring a wondrous change in a young woman's future.

I often feel we do not highlight such good work enough. The press highlights only the "takers" in society, and very rarely, the quiet "givers".


I thought this Divali was a good time to do this.

So we can believe that good also exists.

And hopefully realize that life isn't all about corrupt politicians and money and land grabbers. And buying the latest HDTV/cellphone/washing machine paying full price, while planning on giving donations in installments.

Its about bringing rays of light into some lives. Not just at festival time, but every day.....

Happy Divali .....



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The Joy of Giving

Mukesh Ambani, according to predictions by the Forbes magazine, is slated to be the richest man in the world by 2014.


I assume that the predictions were not outsourced to us, notwithstanding our virtual patents on astrology, new rules from Mr B Obama, and other things. Maybe they heard about our messed up weather predictions, Commonwealth games stuff, Mumbai metro , and the Mumbai Nhava ShevaTrans Harbor Bridge, the last two still on paper.


Money has always been there. Disproportionately distributed in life. When I was a child, the Privy Purses had already been abolished, and visible manifestations of obscene wealth, were few and far between. Yes, there were hugely moneyed people around, but their wealth was never manifested like it is now. You would watch a dignified looking old person, preside judiciously at a meeting, and never realise that he was the ex-owner of a State.

I used to know , in my early childhood, someone in his sixties, who we used to visit a lot.

Born at the fag end of the 19th century, he came from a very poor family in a village in the western part of my state. It was then the done thing for the son of the family to make his way to the big city, for education, in the face of huge cash crunches and other troubles. Well meaning families would give a place to sleep, in return for a chore like filling water, or being a messenger boy, and there existed a social system , called Madhukri, whereby, families took upon themselves to provide a wholesome lunch for such boys, once a week. And so this boy, would eat at 6 different houses each week, the families doing what could be called, a precursor of what is today called Corporate Social Responsibility, and the system spread this load equitably across several families. There could have been a thin strain of the stress of "asking for food" in all this, but it helped keep egos under control, when you needed to prioritize things in your mind.

Which this boy did very well. He excelled at his studies, which were conducted in the harshest of environments, literally under streetlamps. By and by , he qualified to be an Engineer, where his proficiency earned him government scholarships and tuition help. The same single minded devotion saw him go to to England for training , and he returned to grace a responsible government post in what was then called the Central Provinces, in India.

Life was comfortable, he was happily married and had children. But destiny had other plans, and the children lost their mother at a very young age, leaving this man with memories and new responsibilities, as both father and mother to the kids. He never got married again, despite various overtures from well meaning families, because he didn't want to inflict a step-culture on his children.

He had the means and skills to conduct a household, and took a great interest in educating his kids, and particularly his daughter, who seemed to be academically inclined. He ensured she enjoyed the little things all girls enjoy, by always keeping in touch with her various aunts, who were very happy to help, and it was not unknown for him to have driven across town to one of them, just so his daughter could have her hair braided in some complicated way which all girls in her class were sporting.

Towards the end of his career, he decided to shift to Pune. He never forgot his roots, and spent a large portion of his judiciously managed savings, helping out in the education of deserving students. We would often observe him being visited by various young people, who he would talk to , asking about their progress, and occasionally someone would come by with a box of sweets to celebrate a hard earned brilliant graduation. He became a patron of some excellent educational societies, that started colleges across the state, and had very eminent educationists as advisers .

When he sensed his failing health, he expressed a wish to donate, what was then considered a outstandingly huge amount to the University, so that needy, hardworking, engineering students with good grades could be financially assisted , from the interest of the original sum.

Those were days when prosperity meant you had a rambling house, with all kinds of staff, even someone to pour warm water on your feet, when you arrived from outside, with someone else standing by with a towel. You had cars with drivers, personal attendants, male secretaries cum man Fridays, and you moved in exalted circles.

So it was an education in itself, to see this man washing his own clothes and hanging them on the wash line, and sweeping his own room daily. It wasn't that there was no help. But that was the way he preferred. His academically well qualified daughter had an opportunity to accompany her husband on a scholarship to the US in the 40's , and was hesitating because of a young son; he offered to look after the child (in the face of hesitant in laws), and urged her to make use of this wonderful opportunity. She listened and came back with a degree herself from Columbia University.

He must have passed away when I was 7 or 8 years old. We never knew he had such great and well known friends, particularly from the field of education.

His children knew of his wish to donate to the University, and consulted these qualified people. He wasn't a millionaire or anything, but what he taught his children by personal example was never forgotten. His three children together, after his death, donated the sum, then considered huge, to the University, in the form of securities, in companies, which like him, were blue chip and highly respected. Today none of his children are alive, but his grandchildren take an active interest as advisers in this.

Some people , are rich in money, and the manifestations are in terms of more and more houses, with more and more stories; more and more cars, and even aeroplanes, because they are like toys - you buy the latest, because you must fit in with what the world thinks you should be. You ensure you are seen moving in exalted circles, currently considered powerful. It is all about buying "people" and their confidence in you.


Life, to them , is basically, all about pluses and multiplications. Derivatives are sometimes studied, and Integrations are all about assets. Minuses are useful as tax sops, but, Divisions make you uncomfortable. So you avoid them. And you fight them . And the winner takes all.


And, of course, to hell with people.

The old man I knew will never make it to Forbes. When he passed away, the discussion was all about giving, and never really about taking. Individually or en masse.

No monuments, temples, statues in his honor. But a complete set of generations, that are inspired to live , in a manner where the priorities are suggested, not forced , by him.

This is supposed to lead up to the Joy of Giving week. (Sept 26- Oct 2)

Of gestures, slogans and graphics designed by advertising people to make you feel guilty. Or generous. Givers will be facilitated. Commissions will be subtracted. And the receivers will be grateful.

And I will once again think of this old gentleman, who taught us what a Lifetime of Giving was all about.......

The Art of Giving

40-50 years ago, beauty parlours were not as de rigeur as they are now.

Beauty parlours and other explicit admissions of trying to improve an original model, were really not part of our growing up

The sort of society we belonged to, we wore conservative traditional outfits on celebratory occasions, some very sensible clothes at all times, and uniforms when in school. Things had to be decently below the knees, unnaturally loose, and incapable of emphasizing any part of the anatomy. Sleeves were mandatory, and a lack of those was frowned upon, and considered "forward".

As far as your hair was concerned, (as well as all other females in the family), well, it grew; and that was that.

There weren't shampoos as such on the scene, and once a week, our mothers did their stuff, oiling, scrubbing, massaging, washing (with some special nuts), combing our hair, after which it was always solar dried , as you went about doing some family errands on your bicycle, wisps of hair flying here and there, as you endeavoured to navigate through the throngs with one hand, your hair glinting in the noon day sun.

Almost everyone had to plait their hair, and sometimes turn it up and tie it, if it was in the school rules. Hairstyles, per se, were non existent. Our mothers put their hair up in buns, and our were plaited. No one wore lipstick in my house, or even in my friends houses. On school annual days, when staged plays demanded makeup, it used to be a secret wish that maybe we could sleep with all that wonderful makeup on; only to be dashed by having to scrub it off on reaching home.

No one peered into a mirror and shed tears over a pimple; it would go the way it had come. Facials were not part of the scene, though daily baths were incomplete without a face wash made of besan(garbanzo flour), fresh cream(skimmed off the top of just-boiled and cooled fresh milk), and turmeric powder.

Somewhere in the sixties, mothers became less strict, or more observant , depending on who was looking. Education was a happening thing, women had routinely started working, and appearances became important. The first beauty parlours were often oriented towards women of western sensibilities. Slowly , as the clientele increased , many more places opened up, and college girls and others started thronging there.

The same mothers who avidly plaited our hair, introduced us to places where tweaking of eyebrows resulted in an improvement of the original model, and hair was "styled" to suit your face. Beauticians doing their thing before wedding receptions was a mandatory thing now, and brides even went for a hairstyle and makeup rehearsal in some cases, a few days before the event.

And so when Meera announced the opening of her parlour in our vicinity, we were very pleased. A part of her apartment was cleverly altered to be useful as a parlour with a separate entrance. Her husband did interiors and he cleverly converted an extra room into a parlour, which at night, often doubled as a guest room , if you didnt mind mirrors on one entire side.....

Up a set of dark and cool stairs, you entered into a small set up, where hindi songs played on the radio, and pleasant smells pervaded amidst Meera and her assistants bustling around, a smile here, a reassurance there. A grateful goodbye nod to a departing lady, and Meera would close shut the cash drawer and get back to the work she was doing.

Little girls now came demanding "Princess Diana cuts" , and duly sat on a huge cushion on a chair, to see those happen. Their mothers stood around chatting about schools, and shopping, and left with a delirious child who was always given a chocolate candy from a container kept high up somewhere on the shelf. Teenagers, convinced about being shortchanged by the Maker, insisted on getting all kinds of transformations. Flips, curls, straightening, Perming, coloring, streaking, anything to look like those on , say TV.

Her mother stayed with her, and kind of ran the house so she could attend freely to her parlour. Of all the numerous languages spoken in India, we both spoke the same one, and it came to pass that I was able to get some old magazines in our language that her mother wanted. We'd discuss our children , their schools, their hobbies, their naughtiness. My daughter swam competitively, and she advised her on a nice cut, easy to maintain after 3 hours in the pool, and yet in fashion. At one time there was a bride getting intricate henna designs done on her palms and forearm, and my daughter, then 8, looked at the whole thing very wistfully and with great longing, followed by a nudge-nudge, and accusing look at me.



Peace was finally achieved after Meera guaranteed her there and then, a completely free, full arm henna design, the day she gets married !

Meera and I soon became friends.

So it came to pass that the year my mother turned 80, she happened to be staying with us that month. She would observe my teenage daughter spend hours fiddling around with some creams and her hair and similar things. She would shake her head, but then indulgently smile as grandmothers do. She would encourage me to take off, while she was around to mind the house and family, and go visit the parlour and get things done.

I was mentioning this to Meera once and she called me a few days later asking if my mother and I would come by one morning. We agreed, and my mother looked forward to meeting Meera's mother too. I did not realize it was a Monday, and a slow day at the parlour. My mother fasted on Mondays and took only fruits and milk.

We reached , and Meera took my mother around to show her the tiny parlour and the facilities. She mentioned that her mother was performing some puja (Worship ritual), and would be with us presently.

Then she took me aside.

"You know, I have actually kept this hour free. I thought we'd give your mother a special 80th birthday facial. I am sure she hasn't had one.....Would you cajole her into trying one ?"

I was overcome. What a wonderful gesture.

I asked my mother, and she never had a chance in the face of Meera, and her assistants, all clamouring to give grandma a birthday facial. She went through the various steps and then lay down as Meera sat behind her with all her jars and stuff, a bowl of ice, and slowly and with a great amount of feeling, massaged her tired face and neck. Pads on her eyes, music in the air, and someone massaging her tired neck..... she slipped into dreamtime. Gently cleansing the face, Meera applied a herbal face pack and went to attend to some other stuff as it dried.

After some time,. I noticed that , other customers were coming. I noticed the time, and asked Meera, if it was time to check the face pack.

And we suddenly heard someone snore.

The eighty year old tired body, had been lulled into a deep sleep with all the wonderful massage and therapeutic finger touches. My mother was absolutely fast asleep, on the only couch in the parlour.

I opened my mouth to say something.

Meera held up her hand.

"Let grandma sleep. Its absolutely OK. It doesn't hurt if the face pack dries for for some more time. We'll wait"....

Saying so, she got started on some customers who had come for stuff NOT requiring use of that couch. She pulled the curtain to avoid troubling my mother with the lights.

When my mother actually woke up ten minutes later , with a start, she took a moment to figure out where she was. Then got all apologetic. Meera sat down to complete the facial, treating the old, tired ,thin skin, like she would a baby's new, thin skin.

Grandma stood up, adjusted her saree, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Both she and Meera looked at each other. One after having given a facial to her oldest customer, and the other , in wonder at the young girl her daughter's age, who had such wonderful fingers, and attitude.....

We went in to meet Meera's mother, who was in on the whole plan, and was ready with a great cup of tea and fruits. The two Grandmas chatted, probably about their grandchildren, and the old days, and about Meera.

Not a single of Meera's customers , then waiting, complained about the delay. They thought this whole idea of an 80 year old grandma having a facial was brilliant. Meera's mother came to see us on our way out.

And Meera excused herself and returned to her work, but not before bending down and touching my mothers feet; something we all do when we meet elderly people our parents age.

My mother is no more, but she never forgot this wonderful gift. She came home that day, had a light meal, and nodded off into a deep nap that afternoon.

I am sure Meera will do well in life.

It's not about how good she is at her craft, it's not about how efficiently she manages her resources and her money, It's not even about how quickly she learns new technologies and methods in her field.

Its because Meera is a "giver"....

Its all about knowing how to give, when to give and where to give.