Mental Dental

After years of procrastination I finally went in for a dental clean up! Yucks, what a topic to blog on. But, no I’m not going to disgust you with the details. The doctor was a very nice and gentle lady and told me all about what was happening. She told me there would be a "little" pain and sensitivity.


As I lay back, opened my mouth and closed my eyes expecting the worst, I was reminded of this poem written by Ogden Nash which we studied at some point of our schooling. The rhyming’s almost perfect! Here goes :

THIS IS GOING TO HURT JUST A LITTLE BIT

One thing I like less than most things is sitting in a dentist chair with my mouth wide open.

And that I will never have to do it again is a hope that I am against hope hopan.

Because some tortures are physical and some are mental,

But the one that is both is dental.

It is hard to be self possessed

With your jaw digging into your chest,

so hard to retain calm

When your fingernails are making serious alterations in your life line or love line or some other important line in your palm,

So hard to give your ususal cheerful effect of benignity

When you know your position is one of the two or three in life most lacking in dignity

And your mouth is like a section of road that is being worked on

And it is cluttered up with stone crushers and concrete mixers and drills and steam rollers and there isn't a nerve on your head that aren't being irked on.

Oh some people are unfortunate to be worked on by thumbs,

And others have things done to their gums,

And your teeth are supposed to being polished

But you have reason to believe they are being demolished.

And the circumstances that adds to your terror

Is that it's all done with a mirror,

Because the dentist may be a bear, or as the Romans used to say, only they were referring to a feminine bear when they said it, an ursa,

But all the same how can you be sure when he takes his crowbar in one hand and mirror in the other he won't get mixed up, the way you do when try to tie a bow tie with the aid of a mirror, and forget that left is right and vice versa

And then at last he says, That will be all, but it isn't because he then coats your mouth from cellar to roof

With something I suspect is generally used to put shine a horse's hoof,

And you totter to your feet and think, Well it's over now and after all it was only this once,

And he says come back in three monce.

And this O Fate, is I think the most vicious that thou ever sentest,

That Man has to go continually to the dentist to keep his teeth in good condition

When the chief reason he wants his teeth to be in good condition is so that he won't have to go the dentist.

Enjoy the poem. And by the way, to minimize the chances of going through this experience, take care of your teeth! I’m also trying…

Flashback: A thirteen year old struggling with numbers and symbols, prayed thus.

गणित तो है इक बला
मैंने गणित पढ़ा
लेकिन वह तो मुश्किल बड़ा
सो कुछ भी मेरे सर में न चढा
बेचारा पेन भी बोर हो पड़ा
काश जा सकती उड दूर
दूर इस गणित को पीछे छोड़
लेकिन है मेरे पैर जड़े
ये धरती से कभी न लडे
गणित तो मुश्किलों से भरा
ले जा प्रभु मुझे इक ऐसी दुनिया में
जहाँ हो न गणित जैसी बला
अनुराधा शिवदास

She was desperate.
But later came to love maths dearly.

Caroling Pics

Here's some pics of the caroling... :)
First Rehearsal : : Everyone was shy... :)

Oh what fun it is to...

Shirt is too small, or Santa's too big...;)

Alexandra, sewing caps for Santa...

The German carolers (Silent Night was best in German!)

Trying Hard to Learn the Lyrics...

The Malayalee Team...

Santa on Drums!

A French Young Lady/Indian Dress/Mexican Hat : : Alexandra

The Santa Caps are Ready...

Santa Beard on the Make

Playing Santa with the Treasure Bag...

One Drummer Coming Up!

The Angels... :)

Make-up Artists at Work...

Cutest Angels on Earth...

Jannet, the coolest organizer with Santa...

On the Move...

Singing!

Drumming...

Santa's here...

Merry X'mas...

So Tender & Mild...

More Singing...

Tutti Pranav with Ravi, Our Fearsome Security Guard!

The Core Team!


It was great fun!

:)

December...Lovely December...

December; the end of the year... Sometimes I have thought, the ending and beginning of a year is not so significant, since a 'year' is just another way of keeping time.
I have always believed that traditional calenders which mark the agricultural and astronomical patterns are much more realistic than some emperor guys changing the calender to suit their tastes! (But this calls for a complete blog, so more later...)
This December was made wonderful by the joy and love that a bunch of trans-cultural explorers, infused in all of us.
Zoom to : Dinner time : I'm whispering to G, "Can we go Xmas caroling 'round the village?"
With Jannet, the organizer as the driving force, that whisper grew to downloading carols from the internet, practice sessions with pathetic efforts at singing 'Silent Night' (Except for Tara, who sings like a sweet lil birdie, shy and so beautiful), Gautham's funny histrionics with the 'Rudolf' song, German carols by Marsilia & Frank, everyone singing 'Yahoodiyayile' in their wonderful Malayalam and dressing up Rajeesh as the Santa, thoughtful Jannet making toffee-filled stars for kids, the two angels-in-white, Alexandra & Soumya, the drummers, and kids joining in the carol group... It grew into a lovely night singing under the stars (though the singing was a bit off-key and the drumming was maddening at times).
Then there was the Xmas feast, which I sadly missed, we went home to bangalore to amma's feast... :)

(To be continued...)

Chasing the Monsoon

Working in a village, isolated from the world, I read Alexander Frater's 'Chasing the Monsoon' by the dying light in the evenings. I was transported to Thrangali, my tiny village by the River Nila in Kerala.
Our school breaks were in May-June unlike the other schools which had it in the hot months of April-May. So, June was always a lonely, dreamy month...My little brother and me, we learned to keep ourselves happy with such fantastic games of childhood, and also to dream in solitude. Towards the end of May, everyone would start grumbling about how hot it was becoming and if only the rains would come down to cool the earth...And then, on June 1st, inevitably by about midday...the distant sky darkens and down comes the large drops of the year's monsoon. Soon, the courtyard becomes a network of torrential streams, whirling past the high steps to the house. All morning, in anticipation of the rains we kids were rushing about with old newspapers making paper boats not wanting to miss the chance of sailing them over the rain streams.
That afternoon and the ones to come were spent happily racing our boats, fragile yet brave...All this play would surely end in a bath and a dance in the rain...
In the evenings, tired out from play I'd sit by the large windows with a favorite book in hand and daydreams...Weaving stories watching the rain, the fields and thinking of the swollen river across the railway line...
The evenings gradually creep in, darkening to darker shades of black...the dripping green foliage, the heady smell of freshly damp earth, the chirping insects setting up a chorus...No electricity...hopefully till the next day. The lamps are lighted...And the short lived white ants fly suicidally towards the lamps...
Then some wise guy from the evening 'sabha' at our house suggests making a bonfire in the courtyard so that all the tiny lives attracted by a bigger, glorious death rush over to it...I'd rather not, but my voice is tiny, sleepy and they want to go on discussing marx and parallel cinema and intellectual capacity building and small-scale rural industries without getting ants in their mouths...
I go to bed, and I sleep dreaming of a huge fire in hell(so I presumed) towards which lots of men and women are flying to...I start in my dream and the scene in my dream changes to a dark forest with a girl sitting under a huge red flowering tree...

Sabse Khatarnak Hota Hai Hamare Sapnon Ka Marna

There is nothing more dangerous than the death of our dreams.
These lines by the Punjabi Poet Paash are what Safdar Hashmi lived by. How do Safdar's dreams survive today in the changed context?

Safdar Hashmi was born to Haneef Hashmi and Qamar Azad on 12 April 1954 in Delhi. He spent his childhood in Aligarh and finished his schooling in Delhi. He did his M.A. in English literature from Delhi University. After short stints of teaching in the universities of Garhwal, Kashmir and Delhi he worked in the Press Institute of India and then joined as the Press Information Officer of the Govt. of West Bengal in Delhi. In 1984 he gave up his job to work full time as a political cultural activist.

Safdar, a founder member of Janam, was a brilliant theoretician and practitioner of political theatre, especially street theatre. A versatile personality, he was a playwright, a lyricist’ a theatre director, a designer and an organizer He also wrote for children.

His film scripts were much acclaimed. He wrote on various aspects of culture and related issues in journals and newspapers. Safdar was a member of the C.P.I. (M). His creativity and ideology were inseparable. In recognition of his contribution to the street theatre movement and to the growth of a democratic culture, the Calcutta University in 1989 conferred on Safdar the degree of D.Litt. posthumously

On January 2, 1989, the convenor of Janam, Safdar Hashmi, died in a New Delhi hospital following a murderous attack on Janam activists the previous day by anti-social elements patronized by the ruling vested interests. Janam was performing Halla Bol in Jhandapur, Sahibabad, in support of the workers’ demands led by the Centre of Indian Trade Unions (CITU). People from all walks of life – workers, political activists, artists and intellectuals – came together spontaneously in a massive, unprecedented protest against this brutal murder. Today, Safdar’s name has become synonymous with street theatre and the progressive cultural movement in India.

My memory of Safdar is of a book lost somewhere on the paths of my childhood. It was a children's book with lots of poems and sketches in it...I remember falling in love with the writer, who was only a name and the book to me.

To be Continued...

Cleopatra

"For her beauty, as we are told, was in itself not altogether incomparable, nor such as to strike those who saw her; but converse with her had an irresistible charm, and her presence, combined with the persuasiveness of her discourse and the character which was somehow diffused about her behaviour towards others, had something stimulating about it. There was sweetness also in the tones of her voice; and her tongue, like an instrument of many strings, she could readily turn to whatever language she pleased."

Plutarch, Life of Antony (XXVII)

I’ve been obsessed with Cleopatra since I was a dreamy kid…immersed in the worlds contained between the pages of my constant companions, books…

Don’t laugh at me now, but I compared myself with her, in all innocence, I swear. At that age, I never associated her charm with physical beauty…To me she was a very intelligent, ambitious, and strong woman…And her speech and knowledge was her allure…

Even now, while I realize that most of her fame is connected to a turbulent life of love affairs with the most influential men of her time, I find it plausible that she was a very strong and capable ruler. When she came to power at an age of 18, she was highly educated, spoke several languages and was mature beyond her age. Her abilities were evident early on as she helped Egypt survive a severe drought and launched lucrative economic reforms.

Cleopatra's famous alliances with Julius Caesar and Mark Antony were as political as they were personal. Through them, Cleopatra shrewdly secured her throne and preserved Egypt's status as an independent nation for more than 20 years, despite the increasing power of Rome. To judge from her appearance on her coins, she was not a beautiful woman in any conventional sense. But the most interesting aspect of her image in Arabic texts is that of a scholar who made significant contributions in the fields of alchemy, medicine and mathematics. She is shown conducting courtly seminars attended by scientists from different fields, at which she contributed to the discussions as a polymathic scientist.

In the words of the traveler and historian Al-Masudi (AD 956), "She was a sage, a philosopher, who elevated the ranks of scholars and enjoyed their company. She also wrote books on medicine, charms and cosmetics in addition to many other books ascribed to her which are known to those who practice medicine." Cicero wrote in the first century BC, "Her character, which pervaded her actions in an inexplicable way when meeting people, was utterly spellbinding. The sound of her voice was sweet when she talked". The realization that personality, charm, and sexuality are all parts of actual beauty is not a new notion. Plutarch makes this distinction in his first century piece, The Life of Marcus Antonius. He reports that her beauty is not insurmountable but she has an inner spark, which draws men to her, especially Marc Anthony. She is a powerful, intelligent, sexual woman, and is in some ways physically beautiful as all women are.

Cleopatra's beauty or lack of it has been through great debates, through the ages, but somehow I feel it’s quite unnecessary and irrelevant since we’ll never know precisely whether she was physically beautiful or not. And not being beautiful will not take away the adventure of life she had. Her death is also fascinating as it is a brave attempt at remaining undefeated in life. Fearing that she would be forced to live as a slave in the land she once ruled, Cleopatra decided it would be better to end her life. According to legend, the former queen asked that an asp, an Egyptian cobra, be delivered to her in a basket of figs. The asp was a symbol of divine royalty to the Egyptians, so by allowing the asp to bite her, Cleopatra is said to have become immortal.

And immortal she is, in the inspiration she has been to playwrights and movie makers, and thus living on in our minds.