This was when I was 16 years old and substituting for my mother in the All Saints' High School, Hyderabad.
She was the class teacher for 1st standard - 1C to be precise.
It is a boys' school.
There were classes for English, Maths, Social Studies, Hindi or any optional language, Drawing, Music and of course, P.T. (short form of 'Physical Training').
I used to take all the boys of my class to the Music Hall where Mrs.Burns would conduct the music classes. She would play the piano so well. She would imitate the sound of thunder and the gentle flow of a brook through her gifted swift fingers. I would look forward to these music classes more than my tiny students!
I would sing the rhymes in perfect tune so she would admire my singing and ask me to sing more and more songs other than rhymes too. We all enjoyed those music sessions so much.
Drawing class was another eye-opener. Never imagined what all resides inside the heads of tiny tots' as they doodle away to glory on any given topic. I just loved watching the young boys draw pictures of parrots, crows, carrots, scenery, etc. I would secretly laugh at some drawings as they were wild imaginations and yet, some were so beautiful, you would think he could be the next Ravi Verma in the making. Wonder what those boys have become now and where they are! They were all 5 years' old then!
Well one boy named Mirza from 1B, from the next class, sneaked into my class one day and hid under one of the benches, while all the sections of the 1st standard boys were busy attending the PT class in the huge playground below. That was our free period and we would mostly be correcting the scrap books.
Some boys must have brought the matter to the attention of the Mr.Dayanand, P.T. master-cum-dance master-cum Hindi teacher.
He may have been more harsh with some students and made them kneel-down or stand in the hot sun for long. Our Mirza must have gone through some incident to make him scared to avoid the PT classes totally.
This P.T. master came to my class and beat the boy up, dragging him to the grounds. This sight was shocked me no end. The boy was trying to cling to me in desperation and here I was voiceless not knowing how to react to all that.
There was no way I could speak up for the boy whose class teacher was another teacher called Mrs. Iona.
This matter went to the Rev.Brother. The boy's parents were asked to meet him. Permission was sought for their ward to be excused from attending PT classes in future. There were arguments and counter-arguments to that. The class teacher supported the PT teacher saying, 'PT exercises are a must for all boys', 'If one boy shows the way, the other boys too will excuse themselves from attending further PT classes' etc.
I told my mother about this incident and forgot all about it, until next time I substitued for her. I found little Mirza in my class! Later mamma told me, the boy refused to be in that section as the class teacher and the PT teacher were both very strict about his attending the PT classes. Their parents requested the Rector to transfer him to 1C, as my mom was quite mild with all the boys in all classes.
Mirza escaped PT classes by bunking school on those days which had PT period! My mom too was saved from facing any complaints on this issue.
There are so many memories of my days in All Saints' High School as a substitute teacher.
Maybe when I remember them, I shall share it with you all. Until then, cheers!
Mahalakshmi.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Good Karma
A month back, my husband and I were invited to the wedding of the only daughter of Mr.T.Nataraajan, at the Mayor Ramanathan Hall, Santhome Road, Chennai.
The invitees must have easily exceeded 2000.
The marriage hall is huge and roomy, therefore, accommodating guests in thousands should not have been a problem. Right from managing the car parking, ushering in guests at the entrance, to directing them to the lift, hall, etc., were very well co-ordinated by a core group.
The marriage was well-attended, very well organized and the host circulated and attended to all the guests personally. The chaos which is typical of huge weddings was absent, meaning every little detail must have been taken care of with meticulous planning much ahead of the event.
Yet this blog is not about any of the above!
It was about the wedding invitation itself.
The host personally came to invite each one of us. The words he spoke, while handing us the card, were very sincere and touching enough to indicate that our presence meant a lot to him.
The wedding invitation card strictly requested us not to bring along any gifts of money, bouquets, etc. instead we were invited to grace the occassion and bless the couple for a long and happy married life.
The purity of thought made me re-read this humble, multi-dimensional request until its import could be absorbed fully.
Marriage is basically wishing the couple, gifting, mingling with guests who don't often meet in person except for occasions like these, catching up with the latest in each other's lives and enjoying the wedding feast.
To get an opportunity to celebrate, invite everyone known, attending personally to guests, and serving food to thousands without any expectations is in itself an act of good karma.
Here's an example of doing all of that in a single stroke.
This adds up in one's personal balance sheet, on the credits side, under the heading 'Good Karmas'.
Mahalakshmi.
The invitees must have easily exceeded 2000.
The marriage hall is huge and roomy, therefore, accommodating guests in thousands should not have been a problem. Right from managing the car parking, ushering in guests at the entrance, to directing them to the lift, hall, etc., were very well co-ordinated by a core group.
The marriage was well-attended, very well organized and the host circulated and attended to all the guests personally. The chaos which is typical of huge weddings was absent, meaning every little detail must have been taken care of with meticulous planning much ahead of the event.
Yet this blog is not about any of the above!
It was about the wedding invitation itself.
The host personally came to invite each one of us. The words he spoke, while handing us the card, were very sincere and touching enough to indicate that our presence meant a lot to him.
The wedding invitation card strictly requested us not to bring along any gifts of money, bouquets, etc. instead we were invited to grace the occassion and bless the couple for a long and happy married life.
The purity of thought made me re-read this humble, multi-dimensional request until its import could be absorbed fully.
Marriage is basically wishing the couple, gifting, mingling with guests who don't often meet in person except for occasions like these, catching up with the latest in each other's lives and enjoying the wedding feast.
To get an opportunity to celebrate, invite everyone known, attending personally to guests, and serving food to thousands without any expectations is in itself an act of good karma.
Here's an example of doing all of that in a single stroke.
This adds up in one's personal balance sheet, on the credits side, under the heading 'Good Karmas'.
Mahalakshmi.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
The Orange Saree
Those were my college days.
I used to wear cotton sarees.
We sisters used to wash, starch lightly, dry and iron them.
One of the sarees I used to like was a mix of cotton and polyester. It was orange and had beautiful yellow-white (sunflower) floral designs all over. It din't need starching or ironing. I found it so convenient to just wash and wear it.
Light browns, beige, light pinks, light orange, rust color are the shades that suit most Asian skin colors, this orange saree suited my skin color so well that many would compliment me whenever I wore this saree to college.
For four years I used it extensively as it was my favourite saree.
At home they would joke about my liking this saree and say they wanted to see me wear different colors too.
My mother heard these comments and decided to act on it.
Here in India, we usually collect unwanted clothes and barter them for steel untensils or plastic buckets, mugs, tubs, etc. (which the street vendors carried on their bicycles) with the quantity of clothes we have. These vendors came door to door to collect old clothes and old newspaper and trade their wares. These vendors in turn wash, iron the old ones and sell it for a good price as second hand clothes elsewhere. With the money got back they would re-invest in purchase of wholesale stainless steel and plastic household articles. This cycle goes on and on.
My mother would collect everyone's old clothes in a bundle and whenever the vendor came she would barter for such things.
Mother dear threw in my favourite orange saree (without my knowledge)with the other lot of old discards and bartered them for a plastic bucket and mug. I din't know about it for a very long time. I kept searching for my orange saree and she kept mum for a very long time. One day I told I really missed my saree and din't know whatever happened to it. My mom told me she had bartered it away since I had outworn it, for the new orange bucket and mug. I fought, pouted, refused food, etc yet knew it would never come back and even if it did come back, I would not wear it as it would have been tried by someone else. I learnt to console myself.
It was one among many lessons I learnt in detachment!
There were many more to follow through the years and my learning still continues with my mom living with me. With time we learn to accept such things magnanimously and get mature enough not to fight or pout when such things continue to happen. After all my mom and I share a deep bonding which an orange saree cannot and should not be the cause for fissures.
A few years back the same happened to my coca cola brown chiffon saree which I just loved for its beautiful small prints in pink/white/green. It was a gift from my sister in Canada and I was so sentimental about it. It was the wash and wear type of saree, never faded and ever bright with every wash. That also went to the vendor in Chennai while the orange one went to a Hyderabad vendor.
But I have outgrown the anger, deprivation and frustration now. Indeed I have matured and learnt how to move on without some things which are discarded without my permission or knowledge!!
Does God need our permission to discard this body of ours, when our time comes?! So what are mere clothes and things which we use and get so attached to? What if they were stolen by some unknown person or lost in transit or my mother? Its lost and it should not matter who was responsible for that. I move on with life.
Mahalakshmi.
I used to wear cotton sarees.
We sisters used to wash, starch lightly, dry and iron them.
One of the sarees I used to like was a mix of cotton and polyester. It was orange and had beautiful yellow-white (sunflower) floral designs all over. It din't need starching or ironing. I found it so convenient to just wash and wear it.
Light browns, beige, light pinks, light orange, rust color are the shades that suit most Asian skin colors, this orange saree suited my skin color so well that many would compliment me whenever I wore this saree to college.
For four years I used it extensively as it was my favourite saree.
At home they would joke about my liking this saree and say they wanted to see me wear different colors too.
My mother heard these comments and decided to act on it.
Here in India, we usually collect unwanted clothes and barter them for steel untensils or plastic buckets, mugs, tubs, etc. (which the street vendors carried on their bicycles) with the quantity of clothes we have. These vendors came door to door to collect old clothes and old newspaper and trade their wares. These vendors in turn wash, iron the old ones and sell it for a good price as second hand clothes elsewhere. With the money got back they would re-invest in purchase of wholesale stainless steel and plastic household articles. This cycle goes on and on.
My mother would collect everyone's old clothes in a bundle and whenever the vendor came she would barter for such things.
Mother dear threw in my favourite orange saree (without my knowledge)with the other lot of old discards and bartered them for a plastic bucket and mug. I din't know about it for a very long time. I kept searching for my orange saree and she kept mum for a very long time. One day I told I really missed my saree and din't know whatever happened to it. My mom told me she had bartered it away since I had outworn it, for the new orange bucket and mug. I fought, pouted, refused food, etc yet knew it would never come back and even if it did come back, I would not wear it as it would have been tried by someone else. I learnt to console myself.
It was one among many lessons I learnt in detachment!
There were many more to follow through the years and my learning still continues with my mom living with me. With time we learn to accept such things magnanimously and get mature enough not to fight or pout when such things continue to happen. After all my mom and I share a deep bonding which an orange saree cannot and should not be the cause for fissures.
A few years back the same happened to my coca cola brown chiffon saree which I just loved for its beautiful small prints in pink/white/green. It was a gift from my sister in Canada and I was so sentimental about it. It was the wash and wear type of saree, never faded and ever bright with every wash. That also went to the vendor in Chennai while the orange one went to a Hyderabad vendor.
But I have outgrown the anger, deprivation and frustration now. Indeed I have matured and learnt how to move on without some things which are discarded without my permission or knowledge!!
Does God need our permission to discard this body of ours, when our time comes?! So what are mere clothes and things which we use and get so attached to? What if they were stolen by some unknown person or lost in transit or my mother? Its lost and it should not matter who was responsible for that. I move on with life.
Mahalakshmi.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Domestic Voilence
Our flat has a sweeper who comes in for half hour and cleans up the common areas everyday. She would constantly take leave which was a cause of concern for all of us.
She is a frail woman, very weak and always used to come with puffed eyes. She has a son who works somewhere and a teenaged school-going daughter.
Since her husband is a daily wage earner and a drunkard, she had the responsibility to supplement her son's income to run her family.
This drunkard would beat her up regularly everyday. Would question her about where she went, why she was sitting while she should be standing, (Perhaps he may also ask why the dog on the street barked thrice instead of once or twice just to have a reason to beat her up). This was an everyday ritual and she lived in perpetual fear of her husband.
She would come to work, hurriedly finish off, run back home, always be petrified with fear that her husband may have come back home. Be ready for this barbaric ritual, anyway. That was what she went through all these years. He would come to our flats searching for her, I was the one who used to turn this fellow away from the gate itself. I din't want to see such fellows around our complex. They will be emboldened to enact this tamasha in front of us just to show their power and might over their mate. I told him to his face that I would not like to see him at our place under the pretext of searching for his wife.
For for the past one month, I noticed that she appeared happier, her daughter too, who would substitute for her often, appeared much brighter and healthier than in the past.
Only yesterday when I was home, I had the opportunity to interact with her for some issues. In passing I asked her about her husband. She broke into such a blissful smile. She said his beating has stopped completely! He had reformed. I could not believe my ears and asked her how this happened.
She narrated how, one day while on his beating spree, his son who had come home earlier from work saw him at it, tried to physically separate his parents, got hit by his father and when his father din't stop beating the mother, he took his crudely made cricket bat lying around and hit him on his forehead. The father fell down more shocked than from the hit. Since he could not believe he got up and again went for his wife, this time the boy seemed to have hit his father harder. The boy also warned his father not to touch his mother and if he did so, he won't know where he will hit him the next time. He also told his mother to inform him the next time this was repeated in his absence.
Luckily there was no next time. The grown son has taken over control of the situation. He often checks with the mother on his father's behaviour while all are present at home. She said her husband is now afraid of his son. The son was behaving like the headmaster now. If he asks his father to sit or stand or go out, he meekly obeys without a word of protest.
She said she felt so peaceful and her daughter who also used to get beaten alongwith the mother, is shining with good health, both physically and mentally.
Kind words, surrendering to domestic voilence, submitting oneself to such behaviour from the other are not the answer to this problem was the lesson I learnt while talking to her yesterday. Give the doctor his own medicine in full measure seems to be the best remedy. Going on inflicting pain by one and going on bearing it by the other is not a healthy equation at all. The sufferer has to address this problem to make the torturer understand what it is to suffer such domestic voilence for whatever the reason may be for such voilent behaviour. We are not animals. Even among animals, like in dog fights on the roads, we find both parties, giving it as good as they get it.
The more the passive one suffers in silence, the more the upper hand the dominant partner takes. It becomes such a bad habit and addiction that both parties actually anticipate these sad occurances as a routine.
In the above case the woman, who is too weak physically, has been advised by her son to hit back with a stick should his father beat her while he is away. Now she says, she no more lives in a constant fear of physical abuse and torture. While she was narrating the bad treatment I could imagine what she must have gone through. The drunkard would catch hold of her frail hands so tightly that all her glass bangles would break under that pressure, at times resulting in cuts and bruises on her wrists. Pulling and tugging at her hair was another torture where her head would ache for many hours after the incident. Of course beating and kicking was expected on top of these.
Salute to the worthy son for his courage to stand up against this kind of jungle behaviour.
Mahalakshmi.
She is a frail woman, very weak and always used to come with puffed eyes. She has a son who works somewhere and a teenaged school-going daughter.
Since her husband is a daily wage earner and a drunkard, she had the responsibility to supplement her son's income to run her family.
This drunkard would beat her up regularly everyday. Would question her about where she went, why she was sitting while she should be standing, (Perhaps he may also ask why the dog on the street barked thrice instead of once or twice just to have a reason to beat her up). This was an everyday ritual and she lived in perpetual fear of her husband.
She would come to work, hurriedly finish off, run back home, always be petrified with fear that her husband may have come back home. Be ready for this barbaric ritual, anyway. That was what she went through all these years. He would come to our flats searching for her, I was the one who used to turn this fellow away from the gate itself. I din't want to see such fellows around our complex. They will be emboldened to enact this tamasha in front of us just to show their power and might over their mate. I told him to his face that I would not like to see him at our place under the pretext of searching for his wife.
For for the past one month, I noticed that she appeared happier, her daughter too, who would substitute for her often, appeared much brighter and healthier than in the past.
Only yesterday when I was home, I had the opportunity to interact with her for some issues. In passing I asked her about her husband. She broke into such a blissful smile. She said his beating has stopped completely! He had reformed. I could not believe my ears and asked her how this happened.
She narrated how, one day while on his beating spree, his son who had come home earlier from work saw him at it, tried to physically separate his parents, got hit by his father and when his father din't stop beating the mother, he took his crudely made cricket bat lying around and hit him on his forehead. The father fell down more shocked than from the hit. Since he could not believe he got up and again went for his wife, this time the boy seemed to have hit his father harder. The boy also warned his father not to touch his mother and if he did so, he won't know where he will hit him the next time. He also told his mother to inform him the next time this was repeated in his absence.
Luckily there was no next time. The grown son has taken over control of the situation. He often checks with the mother on his father's behaviour while all are present at home. She said her husband is now afraid of his son. The son was behaving like the headmaster now. If he asks his father to sit or stand or go out, he meekly obeys without a word of protest.
She said she felt so peaceful and her daughter who also used to get beaten alongwith the mother, is shining with good health, both physically and mentally.
Kind words, surrendering to domestic voilence, submitting oneself to such behaviour from the other are not the answer to this problem was the lesson I learnt while talking to her yesterday. Give the doctor his own medicine in full measure seems to be the best remedy. Going on inflicting pain by one and going on bearing it by the other is not a healthy equation at all. The sufferer has to address this problem to make the torturer understand what it is to suffer such domestic voilence for whatever the reason may be for such voilent behaviour. We are not animals. Even among animals, like in dog fights on the roads, we find both parties, giving it as good as they get it.
The more the passive one suffers in silence, the more the upper hand the dominant partner takes. It becomes such a bad habit and addiction that both parties actually anticipate these sad occurances as a routine.
In the above case the woman, who is too weak physically, has been advised by her son to hit back with a stick should his father beat her while he is away. Now she says, she no more lives in a constant fear of physical abuse and torture. While she was narrating the bad treatment I could imagine what she must have gone through. The drunkard would catch hold of her frail hands so tightly that all her glass bangles would break under that pressure, at times resulting in cuts and bruises on her wrists. Pulling and tugging at her hair was another torture where her head would ache for many hours after the incident. Of course beating and kicking was expected on top of these.
Salute to the worthy son for his courage to stand up against this kind of jungle behaviour.
Mahalakshmi.
Train Journey & The Jackfruit
This was in 1981 while my younger sister and I were working in Bangalore, when I got an offer to attend an interview in Bombay, now Mumbai, in a company which manufactured coconut oil under the brand name 'Parachute'.
Bombay being a new place, my sister and myself booked tickets to attend my interview.
On the day of travel we had loads of work at office so we had barely any time to reach the station.
Though our luggage was compact, we had bought a huge ripe jackfruit which weighed at least half a ton! Jackfruits are plenty in Bangalore but were rare in good old Hyderabad and we thought it would be rarer still in Bombay! How wrong we were!!
We wanted to gift our aunt at whose house we were to land.
Cut back to the railway station. At the station, our train was about to leave and both of us were running with that half ton load in hand, afraid we will not have time to search for our compartment, we managed to board the nearest one, thinking we could get down in the next station and board the reserved compartment. It was a night journey and we were tired already.
At the next station halt, which was half hour later, we got down with the load, got into our compartment in the dark, only to find most lights switched off inside the cabins and passengers sleeping.
To our horror, we saw our reserved berths occupied with passengers who had covered themselves with blankets and pretended to be fast asleep!!
When we tapped them gently, they informed us that they were allotted these berths by the TT. We went hunting for him. He informed us of some rule which says, if passengers don't check in within half hour of journey, the TT can allot the berths to the next in waiting. Our arguments about the next halt taking half hour and our being there on time fell on deaf ears. Luckily for us there were two berths which were vacant in the same cabin.
We landed in Mumbai, thinking, our aunt and family will be happy to see our gift for them. A cousin came to pick us at the station. On our way we passed by some local markets where we found so many jackfruits piled up! So it was not a rare fruit after all. Suddenly our arms began to ache with carrying the heavy fruit up and down all the way from Bangalore.
We enjoyed the fruit but we got wiser about what size gift to choose from next time when we went visiting relatives and friends!
Cheers.
Mahalakshmi.
Bombay being a new place, my sister and myself booked tickets to attend my interview.
On the day of travel we had loads of work at office so we had barely any time to reach the station.
Though our luggage was compact, we had bought a huge ripe jackfruit which weighed at least half a ton! Jackfruits are plenty in Bangalore but were rare in good old Hyderabad and we thought it would be rarer still in Bombay! How wrong we were!!
We wanted to gift our aunt at whose house we were to land.
Cut back to the railway station. At the station, our train was about to leave and both of us were running with that half ton load in hand, afraid we will not have time to search for our compartment, we managed to board the nearest one, thinking we could get down in the next station and board the reserved compartment. It was a night journey and we were tired already.
At the next station halt, which was half hour later, we got down with the load, got into our compartment in the dark, only to find most lights switched off inside the cabins and passengers sleeping.
To our horror, we saw our reserved berths occupied with passengers who had covered themselves with blankets and pretended to be fast asleep!!
When we tapped them gently, they informed us that they were allotted these berths by the TT. We went hunting for him. He informed us of some rule which says, if passengers don't check in within half hour of journey, the TT can allot the berths to the next in waiting. Our arguments about the next halt taking half hour and our being there on time fell on deaf ears. Luckily for us there were two berths which were vacant in the same cabin.
We landed in Mumbai, thinking, our aunt and family will be happy to see our gift for them. A cousin came to pick us at the station. On our way we passed by some local markets where we found so many jackfruits piled up! So it was not a rare fruit after all. Suddenly our arms began to ache with carrying the heavy fruit up and down all the way from Bangalore.
We enjoyed the fruit but we got wiser about what size gift to choose from next time when we went visiting relatives and friends!
Cheers.
Mahalakshmi.
Division Of Labor
The cause of all disputes everywhere is, "I did so much work", "No one helps me", "Will no one help me with household chores/tasks", etc.
These are some of the common refrains we hear across homes from most women.
As humans, we all enjoy being left alone and not made to work at something, espcially helping around house! A single person, especially the woman of the house, cannot be expected to do all the work but this is true. 80% of the work is done by 20% members while 80% escape work and enjoy liesure at home.
But the woman of the house can get around with a simple solution to this problem.
She has to take a lead in listing out all important tasks.
Segregate tasks into outdoors and indoors.
Strictly allocate all members of the family, tasks from the list, on a daily basis which they have to finish.
Tasks should ideally be rotated so that no one feels his or her's is a tough one.
This way all will appreciate what the other one has to undergo while doing each of those tasks. There will be respect for each other.
Work will get done when there's such strict rule in place.
Mom will get some time to herself and will not be taken advantage of.
All will become experts in all tasks very soon, as practice makes one perfect :D
Most times women crib that their men don't help them out. If the woman can say what tasks the men or other members in the family can do to help her, she can have free time and enjoy her liesure. She has to express this loudly and clearly and not just think they will realise on their own and come to help her out. We will be sadly mistaken if we think help will come without asking.
One caution though, is to allow others to learn to do tasks and never to offer assistance while they are doing it, never to step in to do it, if that member fails to do it. She must gently remind and insist that this member does that task unless he or she is too sick or unable to, due to some reason.
Division of labor means more free time for all, no confusion, no presumption that she or he will do some work on their own. No one likes to volunteer work on one's own. Its all a matter of compulsion for all of us.
Many wait for an excuse to escape responsibilities of this type, so ask them to help you out, anyway.
But be specific which task you want them to help you with, like J has to prepare the evening tea and serve it with snacks, M has to prepare the breakfast for all in the mornings, N has to put the clothes in the washer and fold the dry and washed ones, etc.
Simple rules to follow:
Identify the task.
Identify the person for the task.
Identify the time of the day for performing the task, eg., breakfast cannot be prepared at 12 noon, for instance.
Bring as much clarity, regularity and follow ups in the task allocations, as possible.
Cheers!
Mahalakshmi.
These are some of the common refrains we hear across homes from most women.
As humans, we all enjoy being left alone and not made to work at something, espcially helping around house! A single person, especially the woman of the house, cannot be expected to do all the work but this is true. 80% of the work is done by 20% members while 80% escape work and enjoy liesure at home.
But the woman of the house can get around with a simple solution to this problem.
She has to take a lead in listing out all important tasks.
Segregate tasks into outdoors and indoors.
Strictly allocate all members of the family, tasks from the list, on a daily basis which they have to finish.
Tasks should ideally be rotated so that no one feels his or her's is a tough one.
This way all will appreciate what the other one has to undergo while doing each of those tasks. There will be respect for each other.
Work will get done when there's such strict rule in place.
Mom will get some time to herself and will not be taken advantage of.
All will become experts in all tasks very soon, as practice makes one perfect :D
Most times women crib that their men don't help them out. If the woman can say what tasks the men or other members in the family can do to help her, she can have free time and enjoy her liesure. She has to express this loudly and clearly and not just think they will realise on their own and come to help her out. We will be sadly mistaken if we think help will come without asking.
One caution though, is to allow others to learn to do tasks and never to offer assistance while they are doing it, never to step in to do it, if that member fails to do it. She must gently remind and insist that this member does that task unless he or she is too sick or unable to, due to some reason.
Division of labor means more free time for all, no confusion, no presumption that she or he will do some work on their own. No one likes to volunteer work on one's own. Its all a matter of compulsion for all of us.
Many wait for an excuse to escape responsibilities of this type, so ask them to help you out, anyway.
But be specific which task you want them to help you with, like J has to prepare the evening tea and serve it with snacks, M has to prepare the breakfast for all in the mornings, N has to put the clothes in the washer and fold the dry and washed ones, etc.
Simple rules to follow:
Identify the task.
Identify the person for the task.
Identify the time of the day for performing the task, eg., breakfast cannot be prepared at 12 noon, for instance.
Bring as much clarity, regularity and follow ups in the task allocations, as possible.
Cheers!
Mahalakshmi.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Parenting
In the course of my work I come across people who complain about caring for babies.
For whatever reasons. Its been over a long period of time I have observed some things about managing babies.
Here are some of my personal views on the subject.
When the system of joint families was in vogue not long back, there was comfort in the feeling that you have someone else also looking out for your baby. A grandparent will keep the baby occupied, take him out for a walk, feed, when you had to concentrate on your share of work. All that seems to have disappeared with nuclear families becoming so popular.
Since the nuclear family consists of the father, mother and the baby, with one of the parent, usually the father out on work, most hours in a day, leaves the mother having to care for the baby all on her own.
The caring part becomes difficult if the baby is irritable, cries a lot, does not eat properly or refuses to sleep on time.
The mother gets tired, both on physical as well as mental level. She cannot rest when the kid eats or rests. She must do her other jobs around house, when the baby is sleeping.
She too becomes irritable and wishes she were not the only one to take care of the baby. At times she will gladly trust her baby with anyone who offers to look after her baby, even if it were for a few hours. She could get that desperate and many will blame her for being so careless about the safety of the baby.
Her husband comes home equally tired from office or work. Has time to relax before the TV or sits at the computer, eat, (comment, if the food is not ok!), go to sleep. Understandable. But the woman's condition is never understood in a compassionate way.
This is where the girl's parents come in handy. They not only take care of the baby but leave the couple to have some time with each other. But again there are men who dislike their in-laws staying with them for many reasons, little realising that the wife who stays home is perhaps over-worked than him at office! Its still a man's world.
If the woman is working, then God save the kid and the couple, if there is no help available. It's a life of tension all the way.
I have come across women who have refused to go back to their husbands when they have had deliveries and had demands on their time and emotions from over-bearing husbands besides looking after the baby. Caring for babies is not about following rules and regulations written in books. Emotional stress builds up over a period of time but we all somehow seem to go through it.
When a mother looks at the baby's smiling face, her day is made. It cheers her on to care for her child against all odds. Wonder what single parents without anyone to help, go through emotionally. It could be very difficult indeed.
Mahalakshmi.
For whatever reasons. Its been over a long period of time I have observed some things about managing babies.
Here are some of my personal views on the subject.
When the system of joint families was in vogue not long back, there was comfort in the feeling that you have someone else also looking out for your baby. A grandparent will keep the baby occupied, take him out for a walk, feed, when you had to concentrate on your share of work. All that seems to have disappeared with nuclear families becoming so popular.
Since the nuclear family consists of the father, mother and the baby, with one of the parent, usually the father out on work, most hours in a day, leaves the mother having to care for the baby all on her own.
The caring part becomes difficult if the baby is irritable, cries a lot, does not eat properly or refuses to sleep on time.
The mother gets tired, both on physical as well as mental level. She cannot rest when the kid eats or rests. She must do her other jobs around house, when the baby is sleeping.
She too becomes irritable and wishes she were not the only one to take care of the baby. At times she will gladly trust her baby with anyone who offers to look after her baby, even if it were for a few hours. She could get that desperate and many will blame her for being so careless about the safety of the baby.
Her husband comes home equally tired from office or work. Has time to relax before the TV or sits at the computer, eat, (comment, if the food is not ok!), go to sleep. Understandable. But the woman's condition is never understood in a compassionate way.
This is where the girl's parents come in handy. They not only take care of the baby but leave the couple to have some time with each other. But again there are men who dislike their in-laws staying with them for many reasons, little realising that the wife who stays home is perhaps over-worked than him at office! Its still a man's world.
If the woman is working, then God save the kid and the couple, if there is no help available. It's a life of tension all the way.
I have come across women who have refused to go back to their husbands when they have had deliveries and had demands on their time and emotions from over-bearing husbands besides looking after the baby. Caring for babies is not about following rules and regulations written in books. Emotional stress builds up over a period of time but we all somehow seem to go through it.
When a mother looks at the baby's smiling face, her day is made. It cheers her on to care for her child against all odds. Wonder what single parents without anyone to help, go through emotionally. It could be very difficult indeed.
Mahalakshmi.
Divine Community Food
I have watched some videos often yet they have kept me absorbed and glued on repeated watching. Long after the video is over, my mind dwells on issues relating to the subject.
I am a foodie. I love anything related to vegetarian food.
Ingredients, preparation, machinery, manual processes, taste, serving, packing, preserving, etc.
When I get free time or on a leisurely Sunday, like today, I watch videos of the mass roti making, plate-washing, serving, cleaning, etc., at the Golden Temple, Amritsar.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KbhmGkFvCBc&NR=1
This video is all about mechanically making rotis. 1600 rotis per hour.
There are other videos which show men cooking the daal/lentils with long stirrers and volunteers fetching buckets of daal or water and serving the hungry, who sit in a row.
It brings tears. Such a beautiful way of bonding with other humans through a simple act of sharing food, the community way. All are volunteers. Anyone can volunteer any work here, for as long as one likes.
I have not been there, yet my mind is there. Previously I used to read and imagine the scene of action. Thanks to youtube and to the videographers who share these, it is possible to actually see it in action.
I have a dream. A community kitchen which prepares only one item. A soup. This soup will have vegetables, lentils, some rice to thicken it with, salt, pepper, maybe some herbs to give it a nice aroma. To be distributed to the old and infirm who cannot prepare it themselves due to health constraints or those who do not have the luxury of a kitchen. Since it's more of a gruel, the elderly can enjoy this wholesome, nutritious meal, which will deliver some minerals through vegetables, some protein through lentils, some carbohydrates through the rice, besides salt, pepper and herbs which should enhance the taste. A gruel need not be bland. Not a bad idea at all for a social cause.
I pray to God to make my dream come true, someday, somewhere.
Cheers.
Mahalakshmi.
I am a foodie. I love anything related to vegetarian food.
Ingredients, preparation, machinery, manual processes, taste, serving, packing, preserving, etc.
When I get free time or on a leisurely Sunday, like today, I watch videos of the mass roti making, plate-washing, serving, cleaning, etc., at the Golden Temple, Amritsar.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KbhmGkFvCBc&NR=1
This video is all about mechanically making rotis. 1600 rotis per hour.
There are other videos which show men cooking the daal/lentils with long stirrers and volunteers fetching buckets of daal or water and serving the hungry, who sit in a row.
It brings tears. Such a beautiful way of bonding with other humans through a simple act of sharing food, the community way. All are volunteers. Anyone can volunteer any work here, for as long as one likes.
I have not been there, yet my mind is there. Previously I used to read and imagine the scene of action. Thanks to youtube and to the videographers who share these, it is possible to actually see it in action.
I have a dream. A community kitchen which prepares only one item. A soup. This soup will have vegetables, lentils, some rice to thicken it with, salt, pepper, maybe some herbs to give it a nice aroma. To be distributed to the old and infirm who cannot prepare it themselves due to health constraints or those who do not have the luxury of a kitchen. Since it's more of a gruel, the elderly can enjoy this wholesome, nutritious meal, which will deliver some minerals through vegetables, some protein through lentils, some carbohydrates through the rice, besides salt, pepper and herbs which should enhance the taste. A gruel need not be bland. Not a bad idea at all for a social cause.
I pray to God to make my dream come true, someday, somewhere.
Cheers.
Mahalakshmi.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
