Rendezvous with Bees and Wasps

Saturdays was the day for Sophian Boarders of the famous school Sophia Girl's school in Meerut Chhavni. That was the day for our weekly walks. These were pure walks, over the Begum Pul and into the Cantt area in Meerut. Everybody had to get into a line in twos and with partners, little ones in front and big girls in the back. There were arguments as to who would lead because if the leaders turned a certain corner or went down a certain curvy path, all of us were supposed to follow regardless of where the path led. Such was the frivolous nature of the ones who led and ones who were led. Sigh. Sometimes we stopped at old churches in meerut, UP and other times at parks, the latter always full of trees and flowers, some surviving swings but nonetheless with lots of beehives.

We had been warned of bees and wasps and many such stinging creatures. We were specifically told not to throw rocks into trees. Girls did not throw rocks! Well even if we were cognizant of such warnings, the brood of boys in the park and ones who followed us on their bicycles, at a safe distance, were not. Up in the trees hung many beehives and wasp nests. We couldn’t get honey but surely we could dislodge those bees. What did we know about the loves and hates of bees and wasps and more so of their stings?

While some of us played on the swings like good schoolgirls, others got into an ego game with the boys; who could throw those rocks higher and straighter into the beehives and wasp nests? Any time egos get involved, mayhem results and so as soon as some lucky rocks or unlucky ones hit the beehives, some buzzing was heard which soon grew to a loud noise and then into a thunderous one with hundreds and thousands of bees and wasps as they all descended on us in a great deluge. Surely this was ‘pralaya’.

If Sophian Boarders and its Nuns had not seen fear, here it was in its pure form. Girls scattered, girls fell, girls screamed, girls howled. Those who were stupid enough to stand and laugh, the ones who are called spectators - did not survive the onslaught at all. They got stung just the same albeit a few seconds later. That’s why poets warned us ‘don’t stand and stare’. Somebody lit a fire to the many piles of dried leaves. It was hard to tell - which was better or worse – smoke stinging our eyes and blackening our lungs or bees stinging us?

Nuns flew, as did the girls, as did the boys, as did everybody else. Some remembered to curl up, some rolled around on the ground and others just ran round and round the park, got dizzy and fell down. With nothing to pursue, bees must have halted their pursuit as well. I do not know the minds of bees. Finally, the drama ended mainly because the bees were dead and I suppose there was nothing left to sting. All those who could have been stung, were stung. The bees had their fill and had died protecting their honey and territory. A lot of us looked puffy and bloated. Did we walk back in that state or were we carried back; maybe the Sophia Boarding Van ‘Nirmala’ picked us up - I don’t remember. Anything was possible in Sophia Boarding, Meerut with those Nuns!

I am what I yam: When Kids Leave Home

I am what I yam: When Kids Leave Home

When Kids Leave Home

It happened and just like that I found myself with a big chunk of time. I had been wondering for the past 18 years when this would happen and how would it feel. So far, it has been a combination of exhilaration and sadness. I miss them and then I’m ridden with an unbelievable feeling of freedom. It has nothing to do with love because that unconditional thing for kids goes without saying. Now that I’ve got that out of the way, let’s see what I am supposed to do now that I no longer have to do things I did for the past few years. Just about everything has been slashed by half; cooking, cleaning, driving, dropping, picking, screaming; only time has doubled. My brain feels especially free; it is no longer centered on food and feeding; something that I am totally relishing.

Is this an angst with men and dads? Could couples without kids understand this? I doubt it. On the other hand, I now understand the pristine lives of singles and adults with no kids. This twin feeling of joy-sadness is also a phenomenon that is acute with women especially ones who were lucky to get some education and those wanting a career as well. Did I really need a college education to raise kids? Just some school, loads of wisdom and oodles of patience would have done the magic of raising children. The joy and pain is same either way. A small booboo on the knee of a child would hurt the same; a mother would cry louder than the child when his or her baby tooth had to be pulled out.

My husband has been moping around the house since the boys left home for college and the Marines. His glum face so scared his parents that they called to find out what was going on with him and his face! In the past years or so, we saw less and less of the children. Their lifestyle and timing did not seem human; it was more on the level of aliens or owls; hooting and hollering all night long and sleeping all day. No surprises there. I guess it was a way to intimate us of the movement toward moving. It’s the natural order of things; life giving small signs and signals for things to come which humans would rather not see. Kids are always growing up, leaving home, parents moping for a while and then celebrating at finding themselves again and starting the next phase of life.

To combat the effects of empty nest syndrome, my older son suggested getting a dog or a cat or a turtle or worse adopting another child. I was horrified. I could not do this. I had just gotten off the train of raising children and to think of boarding another one was going to give me a combination of toothache, stomachache and headache. Nonetheless, I discovered the long simmering activity of feeding birds and watching them fly away. So far, I’ve put up five bird feeders in my backyard; one was painted a loud red, green and yellow with the help of my husband; he washed all the paint brushes! I’m now giving ‘creating and selling’ bird feeders a serious thought and hoping to turn it into a lucrative business.

So far, sparrows have been having their fill. I’m afraid they might burst with all the birdseed they have suddenly come into. This is how lottery winners would feel. I’m thinking of putting signs directing red birds and black birds and other colored birds to head towards certain bird feeders. It might smack of discrimination but it is not because I’m just directing traffic here, trying to guide them towards the right seed much like we did for the kids. Whether the birds eat the seed or not, whether they flutter close to the feeder or not, whether they invite others to join them or not, whether they have their fill or whether they explore other feeders or not, depends on the birds and their flight. All I can wish is that the children fly nice and strong; whether they choose to fly straight or in circles is entirely up to them.

In Memoriam: My Dad

My Dad

I don't know whether to feel sad or happy because my Dad is not with me any more; he passed on, July 27, 2013 and lived a good 77 years, some pleasant and some not so pleasant. There are many who never had a dad and there are many more whose dads didn't live as long as mine; there are dads who are getting old; we all are. In our rush of marriages and children, parents are sometimes forgotten. There were many times I was irritated because my Dad treated me like a child when he walked in all directions except straight! Occasionally, I wished he would stop fussing. Well, now he will and I am wondering if I were too harsh?

I'd like to believe he's in Heaven because that's what he would have liked. What I'd like to believe is that his goodness surpassed all his imperfections therefore putting him in a good place, right in my heart, in my thoughts and feelings. Was he a perfect being? No. Was he a good dad? Yes. I am where I am because of him. I owe him my upbringing, my love for poetry, my writing, my cussing; I even behave senile like him. I too suffer from confusion like him. Some say I cause too much trouble just like my Dad. I am his daughter after all and that DNA has to be passed down! That is one of the things they leave behind, that entire corrupted DNA, which no one else wants.

I will miss my Dad. I loved him even though I told him that very rarely as an adult. I worked with him and saw him almost every day. What I missed as a child, I got back plenty as an adult. My Dad gave me enough love to scare the hell out of me. He fought with the nuns in school on my behalf. Now that is the most unforgettable thing for me. I cannot believe he is not going to crack his jokes or curse any more. Worst of all, I am no longer going to get my weekly pocket money. May he rest in peace. My Dad will be sorely missed by his family, friends and foes and most of all by me.

Bags and Men

The last time my husband bought a bag was a decade ago.  Somehow I’ve noticed men never seem to need a bag. Are they light travelers? Is that a reason they move quick from undesirable situations and people? Are they more secure in their personas? Are they pickier than women? This is quite a contrast to my women friends and I who buy hundreds of bags in our lifetime. There is one particular friend Vandana who probably has a million bags by now; I think she may have a record for buying bags every few minutes or maybe hours; I can’t be very sure, only time could tell.

So when my husband aka Bapi said he needed a bag, my mind started whirring. What could Bapi need a bag for; does he have to hide some secrets in that bag; will the bag come with furtive pockets; was he planning on a clandestine trip; was this a precursor to a separation and so on. The search for this bag began in stores and ended on Amazon. Bapi found a few, went crazy trying to choose between black and grey, abandoned some rather quickly when he saw them being advertised by men who looked very un-manly and the kinds who stood with their hips stuck out to one side; he also watched videos about the bags he took a fancy to, read reviews, ordered them, placed them in the cart, changed his mind, cancelled them and thus the bag saga went on for a while. 

I was told to stay out of it because I picked up some pansy looking bags. Bapi needed a very manly bag, which could either be grey or black and I asked him if he was deliberately trying to confuse life or me by including two colors. I suggested he carry a cardboard box, which came only in one color and one shape. The bag had to be big at least 15 inches in length and could not show the manufacturer’s name anywhere. I immediately felt sorry for the maker who could not even claim credit for the marvelous piece whenever it would have been possible for it to be possessed by some man. Finally I had to ask what exactly was he planning on carrying in this highly desirable bag. Bapi said he had his Chap Stick and keys.  Is that it, I asked because I seemed to have the entire globe in my handbag.  

Vonage Phone Service and My Dad

Vonage is a phone service that goes via the Internet and thus keeps costs low. They also offer the additional service of transcribing or translating voice messages into emails. At most times, they do a fine job but somehow get terribly confused where other languages especially Hindi or Urdu are concerned. Added to this is also the hard time they have in understanding my Dad’s messages. My father leaves these long winding messages, which even I can’t understand; he mumbles and fumbles, forgets half way what he’s been saying and leaves sentences hanging half way somewhere. Vonage is incapable of picking up dropped stuff.

Meanwhile, my Mum is on the other extreme end of the spectrum; she refuses to leave any messages but insists on calling every two seconds! I know my Mum called because I see red lights blinking furiously on my answering machine, however when I replay, there are yawning silences interspersed with sighing, bits of coughing and some oofs and ooffo and chhh sounds (all very familiar Indian sounds of displeasure). Vonage cannot translate these silences, nobody can. 

Vonage Phone Service struggles with trying to decipher what my father says. I don’t blame them; my mother, my husband, my children, my sister and just about everyone I know have a similar refrain of complaint, ‘What is he saying?’ So, yesterday, my birthday came around, my parents forgot (for which they will pay dearly with some extra cash) and my Dad tried to make up by leaving oodles of blessings and loads of good wishes. In the process, he left total mayhem in the phone service and its struggle to translate his speech. Below is what Vonage thought my Dad said. From what I gathered and heard, this is not what my Dad said.

"Father Dan there-dad-vodka-and-orange (?) just wanted to see you. Hey happy birthday. May God bless you. When you go down and then lot of prosperity. Right you-go (?) up it's like a little about that (?) I'll be done (?) I'm calling you at home. I love you, may not be able to get you in your ticket as it is. God bless you again-once (?) bye bye."     (Brought to you by Vonage)

Domestic Terrorism in America

If something is your home, it is your duty to defend it from dangerous elements. That being said, America has not been responsible with its immigration policies. A little worse than this is that it has not emphasized assimilation of immigrants into its land. But the worst is that it has abandoned the 'glue' that keeps people together. By harping on diversity, America has become a land of different groups of people insistent on their own language, culture and ways. Its citizenship pledge clearly exacts a promise from its to-be-citizens to give up all support and allegiance to foreign governments and people inimical to America.

Mark Stein explained it very aptly by saying that some first generation Americans have grown up without a sense of connectedness and allegiance to the land they live in. As a result, they tend to find their identity in something more solid and defining however evil that might be. Unfortunately, most youth in America unlike some unfortunate youth around the world, don't have much to worry about. Ease of life has tended to veer them toward something more exacting, more exciting, more lethal like Islamic Jihadism. This has been evident in the Boston Terrorism, Fort Hood Terrorism, and the most recent arrest of a young American headed off to Turkey with Al-Qaeda links, with the intent of committing violence in the name of Islam.

These homegrown terrorists seem well adjusted but also harbor malicious feelings toward a land and its people. They and their families had no compunctions in receiving various benefits and opportunities in this land but when it came to defending its values and freedoms and what America stood for, they found themselves pledging their allegiance to people and causes completely inimical to America!

Homegrown terrorists are now intent on destroying themselves and other innocent men, women and children for some strange ideology. They are willing to destroy something they never built nor created. Images of people dying or being killed in distant lands of their fathers and forefathers have become their rallying cry for destruction of America! A religion they never grew up with but became fascinated with its twisted ideology has come to dominate their life. Did these people consider leaving America and living in the distant lands they were willing to kill innocents for?

How much blame can be placed on the current American education system in schools and colleges - a lot because most schools and colleges are rife with anti-American, hate America, America the villain, blame America - kinds of teachings. A majority of the teaching staff weighs heavily in favor of socialist ideas and makes no bones about declaring them to the students. Coloring their teaching with political leanings of any kind, is not the job of teachers and professors. At most, they can give their students both sides of a problem or situation and insist the students decipher it themselves.

Incidentally socialism and communism have wrecked havoc wherever they have been! Schools and colleges here are not about teaching pride in your nation and helping students understand why America does what is does but more about condemning America. It is not uncommon to hear that America is the worst place to live in. Meanwhile millions of immigrants continue to stream into America which remains top destination for all immigrants.

It is disconcerting to think of all immigrants who made America their home when they saw a country with new opportunities and a good life. The stifling governments systems they left behind are unfortunately being glorified in the American schools and colleges their children attend. The current tilt of American education indeed makes a mockery of America's way of life and what it stands for.