Sunday selections

The title might ring a bell to Keralites of my generation. All India Radio, Trivandrum used to air a programme for dedicating songs, every Sunday at 3 pm. Not sure if they still have it. That was a time when cable TV was unheard of. Probably, it was the only programme where the audience could mail requests to broadcast English songs dedicated to someone of their choice. I don’t know if it was a popular programme because English songs were (and are) alien to me.

Today, TV channels are inundated with mutants of phone-in/write-in/SMS-in programmes.


I pooh-pooh the people who calls or writes with much passion and enthusiasm. Who has the time to do all these? Non-bloggers might be thinking the same about bloggers.

Then I realised I am a hypocrite.

Long back, I too had written to Sunday Selections. Well, not exactly. I hadn’t even heard about this programme until a hostel friend explained it to me. We were a gang of 17 gals and had named ourselves DDTs. Can anyone guess the expansion? We even had a logo. Okay, let me not digress. We made sure to celebrate everyone’s birthday. A gift was given and a treat was taken in return. Once, for G’s birthday, R came up with a new gift idea – to dedicate a song to G through Sunday Selections. That was when I first heard about it. We bought a post card (15 paise – misers we were!) and sent in our request. I don’t remember the song we had requested. G would be at home on Sundays. Somehow, we managed to get her listen to the programme, without revealing our secret. Those who were doomed to be in the hostel got a pocket radio. A red one, I remember.

So we sat at different parts of Kerala on that Sunday afternoon eagerly waiting for our letter to be read. Sadly, it was never read. Later, someone told us that they would give preference to letters written on fancy papers. Our humble postcard didn’t even stand a chance. Next day we told G about our failed attempt to sponsor a song for her.

I remember listening to Sunday Selections a few times after that. But it didn’t have the charm to retain my interest. But our excitement and the later disappointment is something I should consider while scoffing at the participants of today’s programmes.

Other than the song dedication programmes, I don’t like the reality shows, which many are crazy about. I can watch the former for its songs, but I can’t stand the latter. Facebook is another place where I feel lost. All these “What kind of a cat/dog you are”, “Do you have brains”, “Which famous people share bad hair day with you,” stuff do not kindle my curiosity. I ignore requests to join groups like “I love Upma”, and “I like the smell of drain – oops, rain”.

Does age has anything to do with lack of appreciation for all these new trends? Maybe.

Who’s stinky?

Oh! Life’s so boring. Nobody wants me. Come rain or shine, I stand here day in and day out. No one wastes a glance at me. (Sob sob…)

Eh! Who’s that? Here come two well-dressed ladies. I guess they are mother and daughter, going home after a big shopping. They’re checking the bills. Ladies, if you don’t want them, give it to me. I’ll take good care of them.

No! They dropped the papers on the roadside and left in an auto. Am I not standing just 3 ft behind them? Still… (Sob sob...)

Now, where is that stink coming from? The garbage van has already left. Good grief! Smells like she and her clothes haven’t seen water for ages. I don’t like stinky people, though ignorant people call me stinky. What’s this mad woman doing? Okay, she’s having food. After eating, she’ll leave all the trash behind. I’m sure.

Ugh! She’s even peeing there. Disgusting! Doesn’t she know only men can pee in public? Where are our culture police?

She’s leaving at last. I can open my nose and breathe now. But she’s coming towards me. What! She’s stuffing me with the leftover food and waste paper. I can’t believe this. I feel happy. What if she’s stinking? She’s using me.

Hey, she’s crossing the road. Be careful, dear. These drivers are mad nowadays. What’s she doing? Picking up something form the middle of the road. What’s she going to do with an empty cigarette packet and bits of paper? She’s coming back to me. She has also picked up the papers dropped by the ‘ladies’.

She’s giving me all the trash she picked up. Am I dreaming? Let me pinch myself. It’s real!

Sorry my lady. I was so rude to you earlier. I even called you stinky. Now I wonder who is stinky. You or those ladies.

From Waste Bin Diaries

Get in touch and deal

A friend of mine was forced to do cooking, serving, and cleaning, when he was a kid. He hated doing this, but there was no choice as his parents chose to turn a blind eye to his plight. They were scared of his paternal grandfather. I don’t know the details. Whatever it was, this boy grew up with anger towards his parents and hating any sort of kitchen/house work. When he was able to stand on his feet, he confronted his parents and told them how angry he was and how they had let him down. After this, his anger subsided, but could not bring himself up to do any housework. He adored his wife, but never helped her in the kitchen. It was fine with her as she was not working full time; she enjoyed cooking; and there was a maid to do washing and cleaning.

Then, wife became pregnant. I went to see her during the initial months of pregnancy. That day, it was he who had cooked lunch. I was surprised. This guy, hurt by his parents’ insensitivity, wants to a better parent. And he’s going to try real hard. To overcome his negative emotions about cooking, he decided to cook a meal all by himself. “It was terrible. I almost relived the pain of my childhood. But, it’s worth it. I don’t want to set a negative example to my kid by showing dislike to housework.” he told.

Another friend also was abused as a kid. He had to work in a relative’s hotel, deliver food around, and was ridiculed by family members. After he got married, he refused to do any work at home. His working wife had to take care of everything from cooking to getting his shoes ready to wear. On Sundays, he would ask her to cook his favourite food and go out to play cricket with friends. In effect, he expected more of mothering from his wife. Again due to whatever he suffered in his childhood. Wife, due to her own childhood baggage, was eager to please him and accommodated all his demands initially. Later, she started complaining about his insensitivity, but it was of no use. He didn’t even think he’s insensitive; so where is the question of changing?

I’m not in touch with them now. I heard the wife is expecting. Does this father also try to deal with the childhood pain and get over it? So that he can set a good example to the child? I hope he does. We want more sensitive kids in this world.

So far it was about others’ experiences. Though not of such magnitude, I have been able to trace out the roots of some of my behavioural traits and pull them out. I’m pretty sure that many of us will be able to track the origin of certain irrational behaviour, anger or hatred and deal with it. In some cases, because of the pain we had endured, we would’ve suppressed it deep in our minds. We would not even admit that the wound is there. It’s a kind of defence mechanism by the mind to escape from the pain. Unless we probe our minds and get in touch with it, it’ll manifest in our behaviour. It’ll be painful to do this, but the results are worth the effort.

Parenting saga

Normally, I would not have read this interview. But the blurb – “I will spend every rupee I earned on myself. Let my kids fend for themselves” - caught my attention. It was actor Nazaruddin Shah’s response to a question if he had received his share of fame and money from the film industry. Answering in affirmative, he said he would not leave any of that for his children.

Shikha Sharma, MD & CEO, ICICI Prudential Life Insurance, also has similar views about leaving an inheritance for her children. To quote from an interview, “They have to earn on their own. We’ll fund their education, but they are not getting any inheritance from their parents!”

I couldn’t but appreciate the detachment they expressed. Shah and Sharma would not have kept aside their dreams to support their children. But most middle-class parents slog their entire life to ensure a comfortable life to their kids. Their responsibility does not end with providing education. Daughters have to be married off lavishly with a hefty dowry. A host of other society-enforced demands that follow the marriage and birth of grandchildren have to be taken care of, which only translate to more expenses. Money need not be spent on sons’ marriage, but they have to deal with the expectations on their wealth – be it the house or that hard-saved fixed deposit.

Where is the end to the expectations on parents? Are they meant to live and die for their children? When will they gather enough courage to declare that their children would not inherit their money? When will they stop feeling guilty in spending money on themselves instead of saving it up for kids?

That expensive sari or much-dreamt-about vacation was rarely affordable in their prime years. At least, in the old age, let them live out their postponed dreams.

So much I don’t know!

I went there to help them learn
And, I learned how much I don’t know
Or how much I am yet to learn!
I don’t know what to do…
When a kid refuses to respond
When a kid keeps fidgeting
When a kid says he/she hasn’t seen
The things we take for granted
I don’t know what to say…
When a kid stumbles at table of two
When a kid can’t read ‘tie’
When a kid says he/she couldn’t study
Because parents were fighting
I know I’ve failed to help them learn
And I’ve failed to learn
Still, I am trying…

(Thoughts from my volunteering experience at Akanksha, an NGO involved in teaching less-privileged children)

Let the kids walk a bit

You are rushing to office on a bike. The road is blocked with haphazardly parked cars. Isn’t it normal that your blood pressure rise and you curse those stupid car owners/drivers? Well, I used to face this every weekday when I was in Chennai.

Unny used to drop me at office before proceeding to his office. There is a school along the road we took regularly. (The other option was an even more crowded main road with many signals.) Parents or drivers stopped the cars at the school gate and took the kids to the classrooms, creating major traffic blocks. Not to mention the incessant honking! Everyone competed in getting as close to the gate as possible. If they could get the car to the classroom, I guess, they would’ve been extremely happy. I used to get furious at this insensitivity to other road users. Why couldn’t they park the cars where it caused less inconvenience to others and get the kids walk a short distance to the school? Need the kids be pampered so much?

However, I also thought that I was just being jealous. My typical middle-class character couldn’t digest the comforts enjoyed by others. We have only a bike. I was getting irritated because they had cars. So, other than sharing with Unny, I kept my complaints to myself. Unny said that one could not expect those people to behave the way one wanted. Ok, fine, I said. I’d try to finish the chores and get out of the house early, even if it meant getting up earlier than 5 am.

Later, I remember reading about some other schools in Chennai banning the dropping of kids at the school entrance, citing the same reason – traffic congestion. I was happy to know that I was not alone in finding this as a problem.

Today, there was further justification to my anger. Though, in Mumbai, I was not caught in any such traffic jams, I was really happy to read the news “The State Transport Ministry mulls ban on cars for students”. According to a report by DNA, the ministry aims to keep school areas free of vehicular congestion and also spread the message of equality among students.

The proposal is at a primary stage, and there’ll be a lot of hurdles to clear before it can be enacted as a law. Still, it’s a welcome move. It is inspired by the Cathedral and John Connon School in Colaba, Mumbai, which promotes the use of school bus or public transport by its students. Meera Issac, principal of the school, and Indrani Malkani, one of the parents, launched this well-thought-out ‘Model School Bus Service’ in 2002. According to them, parents welcomed this move and that was why the plan worked for the past six years. Even taxis are not allowed near the school gate. A wise move indeed!

Now, we have a car. But I am glad to realise that I retain the old mindset. I never try to park the car close to my destination, even for a short duration, if that causes nuisance to others. I may use the car for convenience, but I can still walk.

I hope those kids also get to walk a bit.

To tie the knot or rakhi?

I’ve been doing it for the past eight years. It’s become a habit for me - to hold Unny’s hands when we walk together. Sometimes, people stare at us. I don’t care. For me, it’s a comfort.

It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow. I don’t celebrate it. Does anyone need a day to celebrate love? Can’t we celebrate it every day? Every moment? Neither do I celebrate other such days as Women’s Day, Friendship Day, Mothers’ Day,... It’s obvious that these days are promoted by those with vested interests. But, I am not against anyone celebrating these Days. It’s their prerogative.

Some people think otherwise. The so-called protectors of Indian culture do not want anyone to celebrate Valentine’s Day. They are planning different things. Apart from violence, which they plan anyways, one group (which one? I forgot) has threatened that anyone publicly displaying their affection will be either made to marry each other or tie a rakhi.

Is holding hands a public display of affection? When we go out tomorrow, will we be asked to tie the knot or tie the rakhi?