Thaka Dhimi Thaa

Guess the status message on my face book wall that got the most delirious responses and ‘likes’ from friends and distant family? The one  announcing  that I had resumed dance after 30 years. Six months ago, I posted that message rather diffidently, seeking reassurance from those who matter. And was clearly overwhelmed by the response.

I was taught bharatanatyam as a child. It was the norm in Brahmin households to train girls in all classical art forms – carnatic music- vocal or instrumental and bharatanatyam. I learnt all of the above.

My week days after- school hours were devoted to vocal and veena lessons and weekends were devoured by dance lessons. While I went to the next street from our home to learn veena and vocal music, a couple came home to teach me bharatanatyam or their version of it. I must confess that I enjoyed none – in vocal classes, I looked forward to the ‘prasadam’ ( usually a banana with some sugar sprinkled on it!) paattu mami gave me after class more than the geetham or varnam she painstakingly taught me, her hands moving dexterously on the harmonium.

 Veena was slightly better. I first learnt from an ill-tempered old man who had a permanent scowl on his face and later from a more genial family who took turns to teach in between their household chores. The only thing I remember from those classes is the delicious aroma of rasam that emanated from their kitchen as we students twanged the veena in the next room. Nevertheless, I won a few music competitions playing the veena, more as a reward for transporting the instrument with it’s paraphernalia than for the quality of music it produced in my hands. 

  

As for dance lessons, the couple came home during weekends and almost settled in. Since we had a famous hotel and a never ending supply of milk, coffee, snacks and food at home, hosting dance teachers was never a problem. No wonder I was their favourite student whose latent talent they seemed to recognise! The lady sang and her husband did the nattuvangam. I was coaxed into practising a few hours a day. My grandmother, mother and aunt closely followed my progress and insisted I do the ‘arai mandi’, footwork and hand gestures properly. My father hated this noisy intrusion in the house and chided the women for torturing the ‘poor child’ and not letting her study! My brothers were ambivalent. One of them, very musically inclined, knew all my dance songs and sequences by rote and annoyed me, singing them all the time at home.

Was I really interested? Not too sure. Parents barely cared if the child had interest or aptitude for something and considered it their bounden duty to enrich them culturally. Which I think is a great idea since we do end up appreciating the art more later on in life, even if we don’t make a living out of it.

 My debut performance was when I was 8 years old, in a small hall near our home. If wearing heavy make- up and glittering costumes was exciting, the praise and accolades after I got off stage were heady. That’s what egged me on. I performed very often, in every major event in school and college, in most family weddings with cousins and sabhas all over Salem. So much so I came to be known for my dance more than anything else. When I visit Salem now, my children are bemused by the nostalgic praise I still receive for my dance from elderly neighbours and friends, almost as if I was a legend in my time!

Marriage decisively closed the door on my dancing and I was strangely relieved with the respite it provided. However, over the years, whenever I watched a dance recital, I felt a pang. My feet involuntarily tapped to beat as I tried to recollect the adavus I had learnt. But apart from ensuring that my daughter Tara started lessons when she was 7 and accompanying her to every class, I did nothing about it. Tara hated it too, and just went through the motions with utter indifference, just to please me. Luckily, after her arangetram when she performed exceedingly well, she has never looked back.

 

But for some inexplicable reason, I have had more people assume that I am a dancer than the lawyer that I really am, and I wonder what special looks a dancer is supposed to have that sets them apart? Does learning the art influence one’s gait, stance and posture? But each time someone  made that mistake, I couldn’t help feeling elated.  Tara’s guru and students in her class urged me to start dancing again. I always dismissed the idea as improbable, even ludicrous. Somehow, bharatanatyam as I had learnt it then seemed a piece of cake. But in Chennai with so many dance schools propagating various distinctive styles, the art form is intensely competitive and requires disciplined hours of rigorous practise by an aspirant. I was not even vaguely tempted and was happier seeing Tara blossom into a fine dancer, fulfilling my aborted desire.

Then fortuitously, Tara started Kuchipudi lessons and I happened to watch one of her sessions. The alluring sound of the thattukizhi and the lilting tune of the jathis haunted me. Could I possibly start dancing again? After a month spent in thought and hesitation, I approached her Guru,  almost expecting  polite rejection or even ridicule, considering I am in the wrong side of forties. On the contrary, he welcomed me with open arms, pointing out to a 63 year old retired bank officer who started learning bharatanatyam and kuchipudi at the grand age of 57 and has done arangetram in both! I started classes – twice a week and love every minute of it. Our classes are a great leveller – from 6 year olds to a 63 year old, we come in all ages and sizes. And that is what makes it even more special.

 I sometimes wonder what stopped me from taking this leap a few years earlier. But, I am glad I listened to my heart now. Better late than never!

No Place like home!

(An edited version was published in The Hindu- Sunday Dairy on June 23, 2012)

It’s been 6 weeks. I was dying to get away from Chennai’s scorching heat and sweltering humidity.  And was excited to head to Canada to visit my daughter.  It was wonderful seeing her with her new family and we have been basking in their warmth and hospitality.
Canada is a beautiful country.  The air is pure and unpolluted, the water is sterile enough to be drunk straight out of a tap, roads are squeaky clean, cars are big and state of the art, homes are spacious and opulent and people are gracious and friendly.  There are lakes and streams everywhere, verdant parks and gardens in the middle of a big city.  Every street looks the same and homes are designed to have the same façade. Every city has the same chain of restaurants and coffee shops.
People respect lines and solemnly queue up for everything. No mad scramble to get to the counter before you. Discipline, punctuality, civic sense, dignity of labour, mutual respect for fellow citizens are qualities imbibed by Indians living here, while also trying to retain the flavour and ethnicity of their home country. Every Indian has stories about failing the driving license test a few times before getting one and being handed the infamous ‘tickets’ from traffic cops for over -speeding, bad parking or jumping signals. Indian men help around the kitchen and do chores, children help with clearing garbage, women work very hard at home and outside and everyone strives to fit in, in an alien country they call home now. So much so, they find India too dirty, disorganised, corrupt, convoluted, crowded, chaotic, with nightmarish traffic and people prying into each other’s lives and getting entangled in family politics and gossip. While men may consider returning to their home land someday, I suspect the women may never allow that to happen, as traditional roles have rather blurred and been blotted out here, much to their comfort and convenience. The weirdest thing for me is to hear our kids speak the American way – accent, twang, shrug, rolling eyes and all…it’s almost unreal, coming from an Arjun, Shyam or Divya! I sometimes wish they should be genetically modified to have white skin!! And first generation adults have a confused accent, as if they can’t decide which way to go.
Chennai is everything that Canada is not. Yet, I miss Chennai – its heat, humidity, crowd, noise and all. Chennai throbs with art and culture. There are people on the streets, at all times. Groups of youngsters hang out near tea shops and juice centres all through the day. Posters scream welcome to some politician attending a meeting or gracing an occasion; banners proclaiming successful completion of a term in office of a minister claim our attention; our ubiquitous Chief Minister smiles and greets us from every highway/ over bridge/ traffic junction from giant-sized posters sponsored by sycophants; fan clubs celebrate their favourite film star’s birthday with posters pasted shabbily on walls; and then there are random, ugly graffiti all over our walls in ‘Singara Chennai’! There are vendors and hawkers on every street, however posh, selling fruits and vegetables. There are roadside eateries doling out just about anything, including ‘panneer butter’ and ‘Andhra style chinese items’.
 We wake up to a cocktail of sounds and smells. Smell of food from neighbour’s  kitchen, vehicles plying and honking on the road, M.S.Subbulakshmi chanting from a distance,  Ilayaraja blaring from somewhere, cycle bells, an old lady loudly selling keerai, fragrance of agarbathi and flowers from puja rooms, our  neighbour mama ringing the bell as he completes his morning prayers, dishes clanging as our maid cleans them.
We can hail an auto or a cab if we need to go out. We can stop anytime anywhere and get directions to get to any destination. Auto drivers and pedestrians are aplenty and willing to guide or misguide you. No need to use a GPS - the clever device that tells us which exit to take on which highway.
I miss the people. The simple folk crisscrossing roads all day.  Who are always toiling to make ends meet and yet do not complain.  Who work for us for a pittance and yet respect us as masters. Who are grim reminders of how fortunate we are in more ways than one.
   There is something about home and routine. When we are caught in it, we long to get away from the madness. When we are away from it, we miss the very same madness!

Parenting, no child's play!

An edited version was published in 'The Hindu' open page in Feb 2012.

I was recently invited to give a presentation in a seminar organised by a school in Coimbatore about parenting in the digital age. I am not a qualified child psychologist. Neither can I claim expertise in guiding parents in their role as parents. The only qualification that I can think of - I am a mother of 3 children who have grown into adorable adults – and I cannot take the entire credit for this impressive achievement. But today, that seems to be the only achievement I can boast of in 46 years!!

For starters, having 3 children is enough to raise anyone’s eyebrows. I normally don’t hide my age or the fact that I have 3 children. And people always give me an incredulous look - I can’t tell if it is the  ‘come on- you – must - be – crazy’ kind of disbelief, or ‘wow- how –on-earth-did-you-manage-raising-3- kids’ kind of  admiration! But I love that moment- when I reveal the great truth and see the recipient mentally calculate my age in proportion to that of my eldest son.

 I stepped into the role of a mother with equal ignorance as I had done into that of a wife. The idea of 3 children was my husband’s - he is an only child and felt duty bound to make up for the lapse on his parents’ part.  And since planning of any kind is alien to me- leave alone family planning, I willingly embraced motherhood, having 3 children in 7 years.

I became a parent when I was 19 years old!! That is the time most teenagers today rack their brains studying for engineering exams, preparing for CAT or dreaming of a Masters degree in a well known university abroad. And I stumbled into motherhood uninitiated and unprepared as it were.

Anyways, whatever age one chooses to become a parent, fact remains that raising a child can never be taught....it is a process that one learns along the way, and the path is fraught with pain and joy in equal measure.  One needs patience, perseverance and stoic acceptance.

 Babies are relatively easier to look after, if you ask me. All they need is - to be fed on time, their diapers changed when wet, be put to sleep and wake up at will. It is in the ‘terrible twos’ that the woes of the parents start. Toddlers are ‘cute’ for an outsider but a handful for the parent. They have to be potty- trained, force- fed, baby-talked and protected from mishaps waiting to happen. They seem like angels only when they are asleep!

Teenagers are a nightmare in comparison though. Atleast young kids can be admonished and yelled at when they don’t behave. But teenagers can give you a hard time with their defiance, disrespect and mood swings. And then of course, raising a daughter has its own set of challenges. We want to protect them from the big bad world and watch over their whereabouts; ensure that they don’t fall into bad company; lecture them on late nights and the lurking dangers in pubs; fret about their clothes (or lack of them) – and be considered old fashioned pests who never understand them!

Add to this the stress of getting children into a good school for which admissions are booked even when they are in the womb and tutoring them till they come to a class when we can no longer teach them math or science. 10^th and 12^th have the board exams looming large like a formidable demon that has to be held by its horns. And parents go into a self imposed exile shunning tv, friends and any social activity for a few months, vicariously living through the ordeal of their children. Then begins a mad scramble for application forms, entrance exams, professional courses, universities, admissions and capitation fees.  A lot of work, let me tell you!

But a few decades ago, parenting somehow seemed a cake-walk! How else would you explain couples having 5 and 8 and 12 children as a matter of routine? It was not uncommon to have the mother and daughter pregnant at the same time- without feeling embarrassed at the prospect of a child born along with its aunt or uncle!! We now shudder at the thought!!

Parenting then was not taken too seriously, I think. It was a joint effort – with grandparents, aunts and uncles freely chipping in to raise children. And parents were not too sensitive or possessive about their children – it was okay to have them disciplined by a relative in the family.

 I am the 5^th child after 4 brothers and don’t remember being disciplined by either of my parents. We were all brought up by our grand-mothers and an aunt who lived with us.  And our mother never once defended our misbehaviour or resented the interference from her in-laws. And I think we grew up to be reasonably good individuals who understand people’s idiosyncrasies and are tolerant to their quirks- exposed as we were to various such characters in our childhood.

To me, parenting means being there for your child.  Do what it takes to ensure your child gets the best out of life; understand  that each child is different and celebrate that difference; never compare the child with its siblings/ cousins/friends; recognise their interests that may not always be in sync with yours; foster their individuality; nurture their talent; tell them it’s okay to make mistakes; teach them to learn from their mistakes; love, adore, hug and kiss them; cook for them and clean after them; teach them the simple pleasures of life – such as going out for a walk to the beach, chatting with grandparents, sharing their thoughts , enjoying a home- made meal with everyone; and above all don’t pretend to be their friend – they already have them- just be a good parent without trying too hard.

My eldest son was never into academics – he loathed studies and enjoyed playing outdoors, tennis, swimming and music. Ditto with my daughter – she loved theatre and dancing. My son started music lessons when he was 7 years old – he holds a Masters in classical music today and is a promising veena artist. He is 27 and has decided to make music his living. My daughter is a classical dancer who has dabbled in english theatre as an actor and in movies as an assistant director. But she was never keen on music – would always dodge music lessons and ensure that the teacher was frustrated enough to give up! My last son is the only one who did the predictable – a brilliant student, he excelled in school and is now pursuing electronics and instrumentation in BITS, Pilani. But he studied despite us....we never forced any of our children to study hard or top the class. I would go to their school only twice a year for PTA meetings.  Never stressed over their performance.  Never compared notes with other parents, leave alone with other children. Never lost sleep over their marks. I am not sure if my attitude was good or bad – and I am certainly not suggesting that it is the ideal. But my heart swells with pride when I see the three of them so close to each other- with no comparisons or complexes, taking pride in one another’s choices and looking out for one another’s welfare. And I choke each time someone compliments me on what wonderful children I have- how happy, warm and affectionate they are!

Today, parenting is a challenge. Parents give more than the child needs and on the flip side expect much more than the child can possibly do. I find a lot of children unable to hold a conversation with real people – unless they are on sms/ chat/ skype/ g-talk or whatever.  Most of their time is spent in attending classes – tuition, dance, music, skating, even story- telling! Today’s children get the best of everything- education, gadgets, clothes, gizmos, holidays, pocket money.....but do they really have a childhood??