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.....

She clicks, you click, we all click .....

Photography is the best form of imitation .

Don't know who said that, but I guess I just did .

National Geographic Moment Awards are happening, and the daughter, a completely self taught photographer is participating.

Photographs in five categories have been invited : Wildlife, landscapes, conservation/earth/, people, India........

Found out about this only recently, and looks like the last date might happen soon .

This is an appeal to all my friends to click below and vote on all her photos. She will be greatly encouraged!

It only asks for your email address, and a person can vote for a photo, only once.

The link

 Thank you, Merci, Shukriya, Dhanyavad, Dhanyabad, Aabhaar,  Danke schön, arigato gozaimasu , Terima Kasih, Mamnoon, Obrigada, Спасибо, Nandree,  Dhanyavaadaalu, Gracias, Asante, Kiitos, Diolch, Teşekkür ederim, Dhan Waad, Grazzi, Dziękuję,  Gamsahapnida,  Grazie, Euxaristo, Todah, Salamat, Shokrun, Xie Xie.........!!!

The Flash of Knowledge...

Staying in a college hostel as an undergraduate, meant you went home during vacations, and thanks to my father's transferable job, I often ended up going to new places, most of them in mofussil areas.

This was the late 60's.  The living spaces were all in special colonies, some with old British style houses, with  wildly growing gardens, and very often, a very propah club, where you went in the evenings to play badminton, talk, and watch folks playing bridge and argue about calls. Typically in the outskirts of small towns, with hardly any traffic, and then there were the fireflies !  No, we didn't catch them and put them in bottles, but always marvelled at the scene and wondered, as we walked home through the trees...

I remembered the fireflies, when I recently came across this wonderful visual above (with explanations) , posted by my FB friend Suhas Baljekar .....

Lots of fires and flies in Mumbai today, but a sad lack of fireflies.  

 I learnt how these insects had really, one of the most energy efficient lighting systems .

And there was actually a  Devil in the Details.....

Fireflies contain a pigment called Luciferon. In the presence of a body enzyme called Luciferase, a dollop of ATP (Adenosine triphosphate, which is like an energy molecule) and oxygen, the pigment oxidises  to create light. 

There are several theories about how the fireflies set the light on and off, having to do with controlling oxygen, or the nerve cells , but what is very noteworthy, is that the production of light here is very efficient. 100% of the energy is light energy here, with no wastage in the form of heat. In a normal light bulb , 10% of its energy is light, with 90% being wasted as heat ....

Turns out , that all this flashing around of light by the fireflies, has a purpose. Firefly larvae use this light to tell predators that they have defensive chemicals, bad taste, and they better stay away. When worried, the larvae also increase the frequency and intensity of glow. Male fireflies,  flying around ,send flashing glow signals in specific patterns at certain times at night, to stationary female fireflies, who fittingly respond only after a  fixed time delay.  There is much flashy communication between the two, before the male finally decides to  come down and meet.

This bioluminescence , as the glowing is termed, serves various purposes like camouflage, attraction, repulsion, communication and illumination.

 Scientists at Syracuse University found a new way to harness the natural light produced by fireflies using nanoscience. Their breakthrough produces a system that is 20 to 30 times more efficient than those produced during previous experiments. Using different lengths of what they call nanorods, they are able to produce  different colors in the visible spectrum, as well as in the invisible spectrum.  And it is all about converting chemical energies to light .

   Scientists can now identify the gene that causes the glowing in the firefly, and this DNA structure  can be cloned into a host using what is called Recombinant Gene technology,(  joining together of DNA molecules from two different species that are inserted into a host organism to produce new genetic combinations that are of value to science, medicine, agriculture, and industry.)

Which opens up a world of possibilities.

-You can have trees that light up at night , without having to be electrically wired . Think of a onetime cost, and no maintenance.Think of kids in unelectrified areas , or areas with electric load shedding , being able to study when they want, not decided by official fellows who did bad resources planning.

- You can have plants that glow a certain color when they are in need of watering. Think of less wastage of water and optimum irrigation based on types of plants.

-- You can have certain cells in your body organs light up whenever certain conditions are true. (There are some cancer treatments currently being experimented  using the glow factor to highlight the cancerous cells to the medication being injected)

- We have several hormones in our body, the dynamic balance of which greatly affects our physical and mental well being. When the values go haywire, we do not realize it till we see some physical symptoms like hypoglycemia(low sugar),  hypo and hyperthyroidism (many symptoms), anxiety/depression/panic (serotonin levels), kinases (muscle breakup enzyme found in liver)....  

 What would be nice if some kind of light could alert us to any immediate sustained  change in these levels or an imbalance.  In an age when pacemakers are installed in chests and insulin is released through skin patches, some kind of standard nano chip in the human body should not be difficult.
 
Like something that senses blockages/inflammations in  key areas , and alerts us, and we don't end up waiting till we actually get a stroke or a heart attack. (It is well known that medical intervention in the first 90 minutes of an episode, leads to a better prognosis).

I wonder if this glowing light firefly technology, can be used to monitor early dangerous changes in brain activity. 

 Like fear, violence, anger, sorrow and so on.   Scientists are today able to pinpoint parts of the brain that deal with these emotions. I wonder if something can alert us , by lighting up to indicate abnormal situations.  Even for situations like a beginning of schizophrenia, depression, and so on.

I wonder if at some point we will be able to save lives by preempting some one's violent behaviour, and stop someone from behaving irrationally in the face of fear.  I wonder if we can personalize education across a set of children with a spectrum of various abilities, by being aware of changes before they physically manifest themselves in a person .

A kind of real time monitoring of folks before things get serious in anatomical terms.

Of course it is impossible to have an Utopian life , where there are no problems, or easy solutions exist for all problems. If life was all about Utopia, there wouldn't have been any reason for research, and effort at learning.

So, it is very interesting to note, that the fireflies, who we try to applaud and emulate for their glowing abilities and technology,   are not such saints themselves. 

And they have possibly learned something from other species.

Turns out that Female Photuris fireflies are known for mimicking the mating flashes of other "lightning bugs" for the sole purpose of predation. Target males are attracted to what appears to be a suitable mate, and are then eaten.

 For this reason the Photuris species are sometimes referred to as "femme fatale fireflies."

Ah ! A bit of reverse engineering and adulation,  that ...... 

The Onco Society

I have often thought of the similarities between our human body processes and our country/society as it exists today.  It very uncanny, but you may mentally superimpose one on the other and see.

We have  an entire set of rivers flowing from the mountains into the oceans. Some big, others small. Most of them being subject to, as they say in medical parlance, environmental insult.  The Ganga, of my younger days, is now  a troubled flow, replete with the silts of progress, industrial  effluents, and sewage of a shameless humanity.

What can you expect of a people, who gave up sensible seasonal organic eating, a daily high-movement lifetsyle and avidly pursued food studded with trans fats, additives, banned chemicals , heavy sugar, heavy salt and phosphoric acid, and messed up their own Ganga , the Aorta , the main artery in the body; with blobs of sticky plaque all over, and sometimes, even stretching encroachment outside its 3 layered banks, in the form of blooming aneurysms.

Of course there are rivers like the Brahmaputra , that are cursed for changing courses, and creating new channels of flow. Maybe, like collateral flows (compensating alternative blood flow  paths ) that happen in our body when faced with blocks in the normal flow, the river too, took corrective action. 

A sense of intense greed makes us reclaim land from what is normally a free wavy sea, and  we show off smooth and posh constructions unconcerned about the fact, that somewhere else,  the sea will have to make up for being driven out. And so you watch, ladies traumatised by age , using Botox fillers to reclaim youth and beauty, unaware that this is going to show up at some point , problematically somewhere in the body, which has a fixed capacity to throw out junk.  In various places , we artificially try and flatten, raise, and sculpt the body parts, just like we flatten entire forests and hillocks in the interests of landgrabbing and progress.

And then there is the business of the genes.

These are in the nucleus of the cells, millions of which make us what we are. These genes, basically contain the operative instructions for the growth, maintenance and running our body systems. Some of these genes we inherit from our parents/ancestors and we call them traits/predispositions. Others we are born with. 

While we need to be aware and knowledgeable on what genes we have inherited, turns out that some of the other genes get affected by things like environmental insult (smoking, unnecessary scans, UV radiation), and the coded operative instructions inside them get smudged. 

The understanding between the cells and the genes is lost and the cells go wild replicating themselves, and the gene is said to have mutated. Of course, there are also other genes which specialize in various repairs, and they try to right the situation.   When it's a lost battle, we realize that we have an unnecessary proliferation of rogue cells, thanks to some terribly messed up , misguided genes, and we say that it is cancer.

Can anything be more different in the country ? 

There was a time when the entire country was united; education was still taken seriously, and educators were greatly respected. Money had quality, and not just  quantity. There was an  ethos, a predictability and sense of balance about society, a graceful seamless taking over by the young of the old. 

But at some point, there were disruptions , of standards. How you got money became unimportant, how much you got made you great. Lying and indulging was considered OK, so long as you achieved your ambition.  The killing gene in society was rampant. Someone didn't respond to your overtures, throw acid on her; someone blocked your path from thieving, push them out of a train; don't like your election opponent, bump him off.

So many rogue genes in society, forcing some many other hesitant genes to change for the worse. Cheating in exams, in diagnosis, in following rules, and even in living, became rampant. Even those who were supposed  to save society from the bad folks, became evil themselves, as in the recent news about the Haryana Women's Homes, and ruthless female infanticide by doctors and ill educated husbands in Beed, Maharashtra.

It is as if a cancer is growing wild and rampant all around us.

While our bodies get subject to extremely invasive treatments for the management of detected cancers, with outrageously expensive treatments and medications being the norm, all this at a huge other cost to the human body, I often wonder what we do to eradicate or even fight these mutating  goonda genes in our society.  For some, it is simpler to turn Goonda themselves.....

Like in actual cancer, there are , in society, some repair-gene like folks, who work towards trying the stop the wild multiplication of the societal cancer cells.

That is where the similarity between the cancer in our body and that in society ends. 

Current cancer research focuses on identifying the defiant gene(s) in the cell, that are responsible for a particular cancer, and creating medication to straighten out the undisciplined tendencies of that gene, so that orderly cell activities can take place.

A simple look at a newspaper on any given day,  shows more and more innovative wild proliferation of society cancers. With so many genes  in society giving in and  mutating to take the easy way out, i shudder to think of the world that lies in store for the Generation Next.

Welcome to the Mutating Onco Society......

The YBIMB Gene

Think about the creation of the universe/humans whichever way you want. Big bang, whimper, design, evolving from the amoeba . or what have you. But whenever, whatever, or whoever dealt out the various genes and chromosomes, I am convinced , that , all the YBIMB genes , came to us . To those of you who are acronymically disabled, that is the "Your Business Is My Business "  gene.

While this is called Fine Industrial Espionage in say, management circles,  for those of us living humdrum ordinary lives, this takes the form, of bare acquaintances, and sometimes even total unknowns,  pretending to be suddenly casual and making it their business as to ask questions, which are really none of their business.

38 years ago,  standing at a suburban rationing office window , for adding one's name to the ration card post marriage, we submitted the documents. In those days, the legal marriage certificate was not mandatory, but was part of the sheaf of documents we submitted anyway, since it was logical.

The guy inside, normally not  having encountered one  so far,  thought this was really glamorous, that maybe we had to get a certificate because standard modes of marriage (priest, parents, hordes of relatives, hall, 500 guests, massive lunches, receptions, decorations) were not available to us;  he  perused the documents, looked up at us through the window grill, and with a snide smile, said "Runaway marriage ?"   After an initial shock , he was told in no uncertain terms about  how he shouldn't worry about whether we walked , ran or leaped,  and where was his boss's desk anyway?  Several pairs of idle eyes looking at us from inside, wondering how runaway types could look so boring.  By and by the work was done.

Eight years ago,  I voluntarily retired from my job  because I had to take up some family responsibilities regarding my parents. The spouse worked in the same organization, and had several years of fruitful service left.  Walking out of the campus hospital after some test, a sometime aquaintance, walks up to me in great urgency and asks " So, he is going to America ?"

Nonplussed, for a moment, I thought it was someone behind me being addressed. Then I realized that folks who had no clue about  my parents, assumed that I had resigned so I could accompany the husband abroad. This "abroad"  stuff was news to me. I asked where he heard this amazing America news. To which I was told that it was a natural conclusion because I had resigned. I told the guy I would ask my husband if he was going to America and let him know. The fellow sheepishly walked away. 

A few months ago, we were seated in the waiting area of the OPD in a large leading  hospital, as we had an appointment with the doctor. Being a specialised OPD, consultations were often time consuming and there was a TV , kept soundlessly on, for the entertainment  of the waiting folks. Cricket was on, and the spouse  was intently watching it. I normally carry a book to read whenever one has to wait, and I sat a couple of seats away where the fancy lighting was a bit more conducive to reading.

A one time acquaintance walked in. Highly educated. Brimming with confidence.  Or possibly bravado. I don't know. He too had an appointment, and  sat down amidst us, talking about the old days, other folks, heart problems, costs, advances in technology today, the hospital etc etc. Each other's children were enquired after, the state of the nation was commented on, and the spouse got up to go out and attend to a phone call.

Suddenly this man turns and  asks, "Why are you sitting there, so far away ? "

" Oh . I don't care for TV and I have this book I am reading. The light is better here."  Me.

He looks at me as if I am lying. The book is lying by my side, as it is impolite to read when someone you know is having a conversation with you.

" No. But why there ? He (the spouse) is sitting here. "  Insistent. Digging. And honestly, none of his business.

" Ah .  It's OK."  I spy the spouse returning. " Why don't you ask him ? "

The man gets embarassed. Of course he doesn't ask the spouse.  They sit.

He casually  bends. " What is this book you are reading ?"    

I hold up the tome. With both hands. It's heavy. In weight and in the amazing content.

"The Emperor of Maladies", by Dr Siddharth Mukherjea.   A wonderful book. "

The conversation ends. Small talk on this book is not possible. I let him stew in his puzzled thoughts.  Maybe he thinks I am hiding something, maybe he thinks I am a supporter of Monarchy.  

I don't really care what he thinks.

 I open my page and continue reading, in the same seat, as the spouse enjoys some soundless exciting cricket , a  few feet away, till we are called in by the doctor.

I wish someone would come out with a tome on Social Maladies. They will find several Emperors .

And you know what ? More the education, more the Emperors..... 

The Best Gift of All....

Like Winston Churchill said . "“I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.”....

Sometimes I need to say that too. 

Tears, toil and sweat are almost mandatory in Mumbai, whether one likes it or not. Given the messed up infrastructure, crowds, and the weather.  And when it comes to blood, whether in wartime or peacetime, one way for ordinary folks like us to give blood , is to "donate blood"....

I was initiated into this 42 years ago as a young adult in Pune. My parents recommended such things.  The late 60's  was wartime in the country, our college, one of Pune's finest, had organized a blood donation, and we went in droves.  The experience was interesting to say the least, and some of us  learned that we could withstand the sight of 350 cc's of blood, without falling into a dead faint.  I followed that up    off and on , and today, my children do the same.  It helps if you stay in an institutional area where proper camps are arranged with safeguards, instrumentation, attending doctors, and  adequate patient care and excellent documentation and checking of individuals. 

I have known folks, fairly well educated,  who avoid talking about this. They alarm their kids, albeit unknowingly, with misinformation. Mobilizing blood donors to  contribute for a friends  major surgery, and trying to do the transport arrangements, some folks I knew well, even started crossing the road away from me, seeing me come by.  

A few young folks , curious about all the noise and rushing around, came to ask details . Can you get up and walk afterwards ? Do people faint ? How long does it take ? Does it hurt ?  Will I miss classes the next day ?   What about getting infections through the syringe needles ?  Can I go to work straight from there ?

Yes. Anyone above 18yrs who weighs 45+ kgs and has a hemoglobin count of more than 12.5 can donate. Remember, there is no factory to produce blood except the human body.  Every unit of 350ml blood collected saves 3 lives, the 350ml is buffer blood in our body and is re-generated within 24 hours.  Today, a fresh disposable syringe/needle is used for every person, who is deemed fit to be a blood donor. 

You are queried about your medical history, medications, etc. Your weight, blood pressure and haemoglobin is checked and recorded , your blood group is ascertained, and those satisfying the set criteria are allotted a specialized blood collection bag. You then lie down as instructed, quietly squeezing a rubber ball in the donating hand, and your blood pressure is constantly monitored. I have seen folks nonchalantly messaging away on their phones and playing games with the free hand while the blood donation is in progress.  Nothing dramatic happens, your 350 cc is collected in no time, and they disconnect all the paraphernalia and ask you to lie down for sometime.  Ointments/tiny tapes are put where you were poked by the needle.  

You then relax in an area where they serve you  tea, coffee. fruit juice and biscuits.  You are ready to go.  To work, to school, home , anywhere. I know someone who even went swimming after 2 hours.  The personnel at these places are almost always gracious,polite and grateful to you.   You get a card as a blood donor with details.  Should anyone ever need blood, your card will entitle them to a bag of blood, no questions asked.  Those who have had to mobilize blood for  major surgery at one of the lesser hospitals will know what I mean. 


This time , it was at one of the most upmarket areas near us. A very posh supermarket near  fancy shopping areas and coffee shops, alphonso mangoes cascading on show outside, cars driving up to a hotel , with valet parking happening, and folks in their casual Sunday best ambling in to shop. 


 Those like us who knew about this event and came specifically for it, went ahead with the process. As usual , I was rejected because of age , but the daughter sailed through and donated her blood. 

This was an event specifically to help people who had Thalassemia.  This is a disorder of the blood, where the patient has problems with the haemoglobin in the blood. This affects carrying of oxygen all over the body, and the thalassemia patient needs to have blood transfusions every 15 days. Which causes its own problems with iron stores in the body.   There are 1 lakh thalassemic chidren in the country and a thousand of them are receiving regular transfusions in Mumbai alone.  To know more about this please see this.  


There was a steady stream of folks coming in, mostly young, many of them ladies,  but many in their 50's and 40's too.  And there was a wait for beds. Which was great......


Outside, in the sun, a  midsize car swathed in a huge banner announcing the blood donation event was parked at a vantage point.  There were these young folks standing outside holding placards saying "Donate Blood" in glorious red and white.  Almost marketing the event. 

I've never seen this before.  Real time marketing of the event.  Yes, there are normally welcome arches, and folks volunteering services, but inside the venue, with the documentation, refreshments, assisting the desk people etc etc. I have never seen anyone standing outside  and urging folks to go in.


But this was like advertising the event, looking so much a part of the supermarket ads announcing deals and stuff.  

It can be insensitively abused. 

Visions of "Donate blood and get 1 dozen mangoes free" or what is worse, some unscrupulous educational institution coming up with  "Show cards for 2 blood donations and get 10 marks added to your total" .......  (I've known of people who showed up 5 times for some  social service class in Dharavi as part of NSS, in the late 90's,  and added 5 marks (or was it 5 percent?) to their already outrageous totals , now exceeding 100 as a result. Happens only in India....)

There are no deals in blood.

Donating has to be completely voluntary. 
 
But we are a country where folks are blind to blood when its a matter of their life, death or surgery, but very much aware of it when they query the biological background of an adopted child of marriageable age. 

So much of  educating of the public still required .....

The S-Pad : Designing as if women mattered.....

No, it isn't the non-egotistical version of the I-pad. Far, far from it.

But something that predates it by decades and centuries. Something every woman has to live with, in what maybe, learningwise, her most productive years.

A year ago , i participated in a local Women's Day essay competition on womens' empowerment, and in the course of researching came up with some shocking information.

A study done by Ms Fernandes of WaterAid,  in Chhattisgarh, documented the menstrualhygiene practices followed by rural women, and highlighted their impact on the availability of education for women. 

Schools, typically,  had inadequate toilet facilities for girls. Shame at being noticed by boys during “those days”, having to come to the one single tap to wash, and inability to change, were cited as reasons by many young girls for giving up school. In some societies in Madhya Pradesh, the girl who was menstruating was prohibited by her mother from using the one bathroom of the house, because she was “impure”.   In Sheopur district , a woman mentioned that she had been using the same cloth for 4 years, sometimes, inadequately washed and dried, and was helpless.   In some tribes, the menstruating women were confined to cowsheds and ended up using paper, straw, and cloth, including their clothes to contain the bleeding. Infections and diseases of the urinary and genital tracts were rampant, thanks to having to share premises with cows, dirt and dung, while their families, treated them exactly the same; like cows , dirt, and dung.   

While discussion on these subjects were socially taboo, greatly influenced by  ancient customs and fears, the end result, was that so many  women were unable to go to school, get educated, and look for a better life for their families.   .

Thousands of miles away in the South, Muruganantham,   son of a weaver and a farm laborer, earned a meager sum as a helper in a machine workshop.  He once observed his wife, who was a Plus 2 level educated woman, furtively pass by with something she wanted to throw, and chanced upon the dynamics of the women’s curse, as it was perceived.   Sanitary napkins were known, but for a poor family, it was either that or the daily supply of food.   To the intense displeasure and embarrassment of the women of the family (who thought he was out of his senses), Muruganatham embarked on basic  R and D about what the fancy sanitary pads contained, and started his own experiments. 

 

Suffice it to say, that he was able to devise a simple cotton pad with cellulose.  He decided to design a low cost machine that would make these pads.   He sought help and advice from medical colleges and some IIT’s, eventually came to the notice of MIT, who purchased his machine for use in Africa.  Typically, once the West acknowledged, our IIM’s sprung into action, and invited him to lecture them on his entrepreneurship.   Muruganatham decided, that he would sell these machines only to rural self help groups of women, train them,  he would provide the raw material, and women in that area would benefit from better hygiene and better health, some income, and,  , possibly better education.  

Read all details about this here.   The details are amazing .

Kudos are due to Muruganantham, for not selling out to one of our big industrial houses,  and increasing the number of middlemen.

  

From Kashmir to the South, several women’s cooperatives and self help groups, today,  locally provide these pads   to women.  Old taboos, propagated by the older women in villages are disappearing...

Today, these women’s groups are manufacturing sanitary pads, that cost as little as Rs 3; a huge difference from those, unaffordable, manufactured by MNC’s and advertised by page 3 types on television, wearing white capris and leaping over boulders and streams..

Muruganatham’s effort educated us about one aspect of empowering women in the realm of education and health.. 

Why am i recalling all this now ? Because I recently attended a womens' blogmeet where we heard how one of the biggest multinational pharma companies manufacturers of Stayfree , and Unicef,  are now working on a special project in Bihar and Jharkhand , having to do with health, sanitation, hygiene, and education for women in rural areas. 

 We also saw a wonderful  AV called "Mujhe pankh do" (Give me wings) , made as an anthem ( lyrics/music : Prasoon Joshi-Shubha Mudgal)  to celebrate and encourage folks to participate in this project.

There are excellent schemes being announced where if you pay Rs 575 as a donation, the rural woman will be provided with  sanitary pads, folic acid and calcium free, together will a medical consultation, over a period of several months. 

But I wonder.  Will this be like a handout ? And go the way of all handouts ? Will the problem again be in the implementation ?

Is Muruganatham's project still on ?   Are the multinational folks and the Unicef people planning to collaborate with him ?  In his scheme of things, the women are a part of the movement that works for their own betterment. By being part of a sanitary pads producing small scale set up, they learn so much more, earn an honorable  livelihood, and contribute to increasing opportunities for their children in the future. This is so much more sensible than just being the recipient of a fancy package every month. 

Is some agency planning to improve sanitation facilities for children and specifically girls in rural schools ?  

These are times, unfortunately, when we seem to be obsessed with entrance exam pyrotechnics for admission to engineering and medical colleges, and we agonize over whether 3 is better than 2 and 2 is worse than 1 exam.  Nothing is being said about primary education , facilities for teachers who are posted there, and special facilities for the girl child.  Right to Education is not about acronyms,  words in the Constitution; it is about creating an environment where girls will rush in because they want to study and learn, and be a useful part of society. 
 

Empowering does not happen by decree. It does not happen by issuing edicts from a distance. 

The empowerer, must have a vested interest in the “empoweree”, must share the joys , troubles and sorrows, and be directly involved in the empowering process.

Empowering also never happens automatically.   Many have hampered their health, been deprived of education, and continue to lead substandard lives, because they didn’t meet someone like Muruganantham., when they needed to.

Today's Times of India (30th May 2012, page 16) has a feature on   how the women in the a Dakshin Kannada district of Karnataka, have set up a small scale Muruganantham style sanitary pad unit and  and with orders pouring in from school districts, and hospitals, banks have also shown great interest in helping them with their capital, so that more and more of these set ups can be created and maintained. empowering the women of the region. 

The brand name is "Safety-Feel Free" .  (It will then later be possible for the woman to StayFree..... ?  )

 But we have a long way to go. 

Ajibai, the mother of my household help "S.", recently stayed over at "S"'s house for a fortnight . 1.5 rooms, choc-a-bloc with 3 sons, 1 daughter, 3 daughters-in-law, 4 grandkids, and S herself, because everyone wanted her to and she had not come to stay in a long time.  Every morning, before day break,  one of the ladies, (S , daughter, daughters-in-law) , would slowly walk the  old lady of 80, down the road , some distance away, to the public toilet facility, to avoid the daytime rush of males.

This in Mumbai,  hankering to become Shanghai, and having sister relations with all kinds of European towns, and now boasting the highest real estate prices , many more 5 star places, infinity swimming pools on the 15th floors, and  folks buying fancy accessories stuff at prices, that would be enough to build three bathrooms for a rural school, , say 60 miles from Mumbai.. 

It isn't about investments per head, how many crores in the donation, who made the donation, inaugurating schemes, and doing publicity. 

It is really about designing something , as if women mattered.......   

 

"S" and her own Satyamevjayate.....

Sunday mornings at 11.

Satyamev Jayate happens . The daughter watches . I am busy with something in another room. My household help, "S", (who has appeared on this blog very often)  is just back from a long break, and is getting things organized in the kitchen, from where she can see the TV, and she is making a much needed decent cup of ginger tea for the three of us. She isn't really watching TV, but glances that way intermittently.

Somewhere during a break, the daughter comes into the room where I am , aghast. Reading stuff in the papers is one thing. Seeing an actual person telling about it is something else.

The story  (watch post minute 17.00)  of Nishana. The lecturer from Madurai's  American College, whose parents acceded to every demand of her in laws, during and after marriage. Money, gold, vehicles, and the oddest demand, cosmetic surgery on her nose. Then  her verbal humiliation regarding her looks, from her husband rubbishing her looks in public phone messages. The slow sharp denting of a mind, and how a cheerful girl, whose parents gave her everything that was demanded pre and post marriage, finally killed herself.

"S" came in while I was listening to this shocking story.

"How can parents listen to such nonsense from in laws? " she asked.

And then she was telling me about her own daughter.  (S has three sons and one daughter, all adults).

Married off with  great celebration to someone who lived in the district next to Mumbai, on some relative's recommendation, it slowly became clear that there were a lot of lies and untruths dotting the landscape of the in-laws.

The boy was supposed to be working in a printing press.   He wasn't. He didn't have any job.

The entire family depended on his income.  There were days when there was no food for 3-4 days.  A case of mixed up and messed up priorities, and parents with a vagabond undisciplined lazy son.

Strangely, there was a TV bought on installments, and the company was  threatening to recover the TV if the payments were not made. And so , S's daughter started getting hints of how her folks should come up with ten thousand rupees.  Not stopping at commanding the daughter, the family independently communicated this to S.

The brothers were prepared to mobilize things somehow, for their only sister. But the daughter called and  conveyed her displeasure with all this and told them to bluntly refuse. S was worried.  She herself had been rescued , 30 years ago, from a drunkard, violent, psychotic husband by her parents , and she worried for her daughter's future. S alone was now father and mother to her grownup kids. 

The young girl was humiliated, beaten frequently by the husband in a drunken stupor. One day, he beat her, dragged her to the nearby suburban railway station, left her unconscious on the platform, and disappeared.  I don't know why no one on the platform questioned him, since our platforms are perennially crowded regardless of time of day.

When she came to, some vegetable vendor ladies were sprinkling water on her face, and trying to revive her. They listened to her story, and one of the ladies took her to her own home to feed her. Accompanied her back to her mother's home, almost 2 hours away by train, late that rainy night, and told everyone what had happened.

A few days later the father-in-law came. With a helpless look and a semblance of an apology.  S, who has had the worst kind of marriage and married life herself, thought it over, discussed it with her daughter,  and the fellow was given one more chance. In her own case, 30 years ago, no one was apologetic, no one even saw her out when her parents came to take her back home , and there were whispers.

The daughter went back.

Two months later, the beatings and drinking had commenced, and slowly , so did new demands.  The daughter sat the family down. In front of her father-in-law, she said she had tolerated a lot, even agreed to give the fellow a second chance, but this was it. She mentioned the name of the intermediary who had suggested this alliance.  Telling him this story would expose her in laws.  They were wary of that.

She demanded that she be taken back to her mother's place, and she would not be returning. She packed, and left with the father-in-law, came back home, and despite several entreaties, requests and pleadings, her mother and brothers not only refused to send her back, they even initiated divorce proceedings, that documented the fellow's behaviour etc, and saw it to completion.

She has her own name back.

S's daughter  has trained in stitching clothes, as a beauticians assistant, and has a daily job in a ladies hostel as a cook now.  She contributes to the family kitty, volunteers to look after the nephews/kids when she is free,  and S,  is currently tension free.

 Though she will often discuss with me how she wants to see the daughter  independently settled in her own lifetime...

The great thing is that she learned from her own experience and her daughter's. And took action. She has the confidence to face the chatterers and the gossipers.

With zero formal education, her own life has shaped her thoughts, and she doesn't worry if  someone is shocked by her thinking.

She was shocked by the story of Nishana.  More so by the capitulation by her parents to the in law's demands.  Nishana , like her(S.),  and  S.'s  daughter, should have been brought back by her parents to her own home,  and should have been alive today. 


In her own way, S. has her own SatyaMev Jayate......

Kyrabai of Kokan

She has mostly forgotten about being Elena.

She is Kyrabai now, ever since  she married Suryakant , as he is called, in Velas, the village near Ratnagiri from where his family hails. 

They change the bride's name after marriage ,  Aji, the old matriarch said.   And so , she is now Kyra. Named after Kairi, the raw mango.

Aji often complains about the sun these days.  It wasn't like this when she came to live in Velas , many years ago, as a new bride. She'd then be out on the beach, waving goodbye at the boats, as they bobbed on the waves, flags aflutter, or waiting for the boats , in the evening or late afternoon, sometimes helping with some  general boat repair, and daily sorting of the catch. A decent rub of coconut milk and oil, and a scrub of turmeric and she would be fresh for another day.  Life was all about making a life in Velas, under the guidance of the elders.

Then her eldest, Suryakant, left the village to earn some extra money at a job in the plains , against her wishes. Life changed.   And he returned, with Kyra as his wife.

A very lively and active daughter-in-law, Kyra participated in everything, learnt the traditional cooking, and everyone was curious about her....

At first Aji would laugh at all the stuff that Kyra used to put on her face, when she went out in the sun.  But then she learned something.

Like the institution of the family, the Sun too had changed. Authority was being challenged in subtle ways.   A protective layer way up in the sky, above the clouds,  that filtered out the dangerous variety of Sun's rays, had developed, holes, like the Mumbai roads, thanks to a sudden rush of various machines like refrigerators, that used and emitted some undesirable gases. And the Sun, like a fellow gone berserk in a BMW  without a driver's licence, simply pushed on, down to us, with all the dangerous components in its rays.

And so Kantabai from two houses away had developed these spots from working in the fields last summer, and Bhaurao's folks complained of uncomfortable scratches and rough scaly skin after having to travel daily  for hours on foot , to the Taluka place.

It all changed after Kyra arrived.  She would have these bright yellow tubes in her bag. And particularly when she planned to be out for a longish time, and almost daily in the hot summer, she would apply stuff from the tubes, to all the exposed skin.

Sometime in March, when the Olive Ridley Turtles (for which Velas was justifiably famous ) hatched, there would be droves of people coming in from the cities, to participate in the Olive Ridley program, where the hatched turtles were escorted safely back into the sea. Kyra was a member of a local NGO, that did this work, with some others, with great dedication and care.   

Of coure, Kyra and Suryakant  made many friends with the regular visitors,  and some of the girls had volunteered to get these yellow tubes for Kyra.

And so, Aji had some applied on to her arms ,face and legs, when she was to walk to the next village for a pre-marriage ceremony in the family.  Suryakant's cousins who accompanied her, made use of it too.  It is an Indian company called Lakme, and Aji is very proud that they make, what she calls, "all these fancy things, like in films".

She doesn't mean the Bollywood movies. Thanks to the cricket mania now prevalent through the length and breadth of the country, Aji saw all these grown up chaps slathered with off white stuff on their noses and cheeks , on the cricket pitch on TV. Her grandsons clarified that this was called "sunscreen ", like a "purdah" to shelter you from the bad effects of the sun.

The guys on the field looked a bit stupid, but Aji is just happy, that women like her, Kyra and the younger ones, who gallivanted in the mango orchards up the road,had something that you could properly rub in, was invisible, and  much better.  Some of it was even sweat proof, and didn't run .....

This summer is a bit special. Kyra and Suryakant are starting a seafood restaurant down the beach , some distance away.   Some of Aji's great traditional recipe's will be made for guests.  The cousins are polishing up their English.  Some fancy glasses like in films have been purchased to serve Kokum juice and Soul Kadhi in a very posh way. 

Aji is preparing some dry masalas for them on a grand scale. Some of the whole masalas  were drying in the sun, outside the house, watched over by the younger kids.

Till Aji got there.

They waited. A day in the Sun, always meant Aji's tryst with the Lakme Sun Magic....

It wouldn't take long at all. Aji would be there in five minutes ! ......   


(This is being submitted as an entry for the Indiblogger Lakme Diva Blogger Contest. )

Mothers and mothers

As a child, there was a certain no-nonsense element to her growing-up years. In what was then called the outskirts of Pune City, in a very traditional , conservative locality....

At a time which really set the standards in what she hankered for, what she got and what she learned....

She remembers, in 4th grade, being totally impressed with buckram frocks (that kept things permanently flared), and what were called rock-and-roll shoes. While the former was acceded to by the elders in the form of a buckram slip you wore inside a skirt, there were fine skirmishes on the subject of the shoes.  Naughty Boy black shoes in school, keds for games,  sandals/chappals otherwise, and her lifestyle really didn't demand the rock-and-roll shoes, heels and stuff. She got them, when she was much older, in high school, but always looked on in awe seeing her 5th grade friends wearing them on school birthdays .

Pune Camp was a different place in those days, with a full Anglo-Indian/Parsi/military ethos, folks in suits and frocks, high heels clicking, air kissing and stuff, Jim Reeves singing in the background, and people talking of "jam sessions",  and her biggest mortification was when she once ended up going there with her mother, wearing a pale green and black zari  bordered parkar polka and ran into one of her classmates called Darius Cooper walking with his Mom. While she , dying of embarrassment, tried to hide and look elsewhere, Darius's mother simply loved the parkar polka, and had a discussion about it with her Mom.  A small learning about how you may be simply making a noise about something unimportant to other folks, so chill!

For a while, she started behaving like the fashionable folks in her class. There were these strange things that were followed, like not fully eating or drinking whatever was on your plate/glass. And so we used to think we were being extra modern when we left a centimetre  of colas and fruit juices to waste in the glass, and remnants of food on our plates, with a fork placed just so. Polishing up your plate was infra-dig and not done. You also didn't turn the glass upside down, swallow the drink till the last molecule, and then make air-swallowing noises.

This worked, till her mother noticed it one day, and declared in no uncertain terms, that nothing, but nothing on the plate was to be wasted, and same held for whatever you drank. At home, you dare not turn up noses at food, you ate whatever was served initially on your plate, and seconds were your choice. But the end result had to be a clean plate . (Sometimes , we even looked at our image reflected in it :-)....)

In her childhood, the recommended  movies were either mythologicals, or something like "Tenzing Conquers Everest"; the Indian News Review before a movie was never to be missed in those non-TV days; you saw umpteen shots of Nehru cutting a ribbon to inaugurate something, shots of molten steel flowing in some factory,  a bunch of worthies walking in a shop floor both hands clasped behind , as was the approved officially favored style, and for a long time she would think that big hockey games (that were shown there) were played with lilting fast background music.

 In all this strict lifestyle, the parents however, encouraged hobbies in elocution, writing, music and the arts and sports.  Sometimes in the face of disapproving smirks from folks .

By and by, she slogged a lot and she sometimes succeeded. But she learnt, as they say, to treat ecstatic wins and depressing losses with the same equanimity. She never went overboard, and hissing a loud "yes" and pumping of her  hands did not happen. She simply got on with what she had to do.  There was, really,  no lottery mentality in her life.

She studied and worked as an adult and  had the same philosophy. Sometimes she succeeded and sometimes she didn't, despite the slog. She also learned , that there were different rules for different people at work. But so firmly was the work ethos dinned into her head, that it was clear that she worked to her own ethical and work standards, within the rules.

Funny situations like  someone who did not do any work, being favored, occurred. She explained it to herself, saying, she worked at stuff that was evaluated and subject to acceptance levels. Those who didn't do any work, had nothing to be evaluated, and hence by default, people simply overlooked that part of the evaluation form !  Whether it was work, sports, or even catching a bus , a decent dedicated slog was always her first difficult step, and she would then reach some place from where she could see the top in the distance.

And so, today,  she is surprised , that in her old age, when there is nothing of work left to evaluate, and no new opinions to be formed, she is suddenly tasting , an enjoyable  success of sorts.  A childhood hobby of writing was brought out of storage and dusted clean. The technology is different, there is no one to draw a red line through words, and glare at her. She blogs and writes poems. Sometimes she also thinks she is an artist.  And she doesn't care who laughs and /or passes snide comments.  The younger working years and her childhood,  have toughened her.

Strangely, there is now, what can be called, a lottery element in her life. Though nothing  ever, like scratching cards in malls, all expenses paid holiday trips,  winning 15 gms gold or maybe even a car......:-)

 She tends to win prizes for what she writes. She blogs and she has many virtual friends.

It started with writing a  tribute post on a retired cricketer and winning his coffee-table book as a prize.

Then a series of writing  competitions based on specific subjects  related to Mothers, Fathers, Friends , Country etc etc , where she won gift vouchers and painstakingly made, one at a time,  a set of 6 personalized coffee mugs depicting a recent family trip.

Then there were some Facebook competitions where you captioned pictures and they had daily prizes in the form of hefty gift vouchers.  She won one !

A travel portal had a Haiko tweeting competition, and her practice at writing instant poetry helped. She won three times.They sent her a camera bag, a 16GB SDS  data card, and an electric kettle !

The same portal then had a poem constructing competition, where , given some previous line, you completed poem lines, one a day, and they selected daily winners.  She won once and was the proud owner of a journal and a Schaeffers  pen.

In between A Women's Web portal held a few competitions. She won twice, and was presented with gift vouchers of amazing amounts and mugs to commemorate that!

Recently, she was one of the 5 main winners of a sunglasses company blog post competition organised by the same folks who gave her her first win, the Cricket book.    A pair of amazing Rayban Aviators came in the mail.

And very recently, she participated in a Family Memories Blog Competition,  and was lucky again to be declared the winner, the prize being a Flipkart Voucher of , what she actually considers, an obscene amount.

It isn't a surprise that every time something has to be spent online to use an earned voucher, the daughter desperately needs something, and has been looking for it.

Naturally, the 16 GB SDS card doesn't work on her old ancient camera, but nicely works on her daughter's new  DSLR. The camera bag holds the daughter's old camera, batteries, and stuff from her pre DSLR days. The daughter  must use the Schaeffers pen for an official workshop she is attending as part of her job, and various kinds of Green tea have been imbibed in the assorted personalized mugs.  Then, of course,  her daughter's 346 friends on Facebook have recently found out that she always wanted to get Rayban Aviator sunglasses, and guess what, here they are !  

Like she says,  there  now appears to be a lottery element in  her life.  And looks like, also, in her daughter's life.....

And so she looks back at her life, and her childhood with great nostalgia,  and thinks about those gone before and now no more, who encouraged her in her hobbies in her younger days and also taught her to ensure that her feet were always touching the Terra Firma, particularly when the mind tended to soar.......

She also thinks they are watching, and what's more, they think that grandchildren can do wrong......

 She looks up, and thanks them .

She should have actually done that long ago.

 But Mothers Day is happening, and it seems to be a good idea to do that now !