Desicritics Category: Culture: Home

Book Review : Diplomatic Baggage: The Adventures of a Trailing Spouse

Kim — Sun, 27 Jul 2008 09:41:54 EDT

As a Trailing Spouse to Egypt, this was a book recommended at an Inter-cultural training session that I attended.

I am glad I waited 2 years to read this book (I might have been terrified of the move) although I'm kicking myself for spending money on it, even though I got it at a discounted price on Amazon.

I got carried away by William Dalrymple's (an author I greatly admire) review of it: "Brigid Keenan, is a new comic genius.... very, very funny"

Later in the book, I figured out that he spent time at their house in Damascus, while researching his book From the Holy Mountain.

Why did I hate the book so much?

Except for the last chapter, the author was constantly whining and groaning about the hardships that life had tossed at her. This after choosing to marry her husband of her own free will, knowing the kind of job he did and loved that it would take him to obtuse corners of the world. It was a fully informed decision that she took. Even spending some days with him, in what she calls a "chicken shed" in Kathmandu before deciding to marry him.

She constantly whines about everything from the help, to the kids, to her husband, to location.... in short, she whines about -Everything.

The life of a Diplomatic Trailing Spouse is much easier than that of other Trailing Spouses. Accommodation, household help, office help, everything is put in place before the diplomatic family even arrives at their new location. Brigid's grouse is that some of the other European embassies provide more services to the spouses than her husband's European Commission ambassadors office does.

She promotes herself as a glamorous, successful young London fashion journalist, but later in the book accepts and acknowledges that her children were the worst dressed in their school.

I do not know Brigid personally, but what I read in her this autobiography of hers, made me think of her as a spoiled, over indulged wife who can never find anything positive and good in life.

Granted she had a few scares like the maggots that got under the skin and had to mature and grow and eat their way out, but those kind of experiences were less than you could count on one hand. For the most part, she was preoccupied with how to find white gloves for a 6 fingered servant in India and wondering why there was no association to put beggars to sleep the way Animal friends do it for animals! At the same time brushing aside her daughters experiences with pedophiles and exposers as casual asides.

Brigid has written about Kashmir's art and crafts and co authored a book on Damascus; which may be worth looking at, but Diplomatic Baggage is not a book you want to buy or gift a friend who is going to be a Trailing Spouse, not unless you want them to cancel all plans and send their spouse to live abroad on their own.

Of Cats, Dogs and Individuals

RukmaniRam — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 00:20:43 EDT

Last week, I visited Fox- friend, kitten lover and a SPCA volunteer. As always, I found a kitten (this time around, it was Peekaboo) she was fostering for the SPCA. But there was also another cat, Harlequin, who "found" Fox and often came to eat and snuggle. Fox tried to find the owner of the cat. But when Harley was still homeless after a few weeks , she was taken to the SPCA to be cared for and hopefully adopted. Having grown up in a country where cats, dogs, cows and other such animals roam the streets with authority, I wondered why Harley had to be adopted or stay at the SPCA. Couldn't she just be a cat that wandered the neighborhood? Apparently, not. She had to "belong" to a family. She *had* to be a pet.

The same goes for dogs too. It was then that I realized that I had hardly seen a stray animal in the 11 months I have spent here in the US. Fox tells me that I had to look in the right places to find them. Besides, those animals did not want to be seen by humans- either because they once belonged to a family and later were dumped, or had been mistreated by people and were so affected that they feared us. These animals had to be pets (or livestock a la barn cats), because they could not survive on their own. If left to themselves, what happens when they are sick/hurt? They would have no one to take care of them. I have also heard that the "wild" ones would run loose acting out their whims and fancies with no one to regulate them.

My mind kept drifting to the dog that gave birth to her litter underneath the staircase of my aunt's house in Chennai and then I felt I had heard something very similar before. Of the need to "belong" and "not be just a cat"… Oh yes, I know what it is. It's the older generation referring to me! But of course! You had to be part of a family. You *had* to be a pet (or in some cases, livestock too! :P) and belong. You couldn't be just a person, just a woman. I could also see the other parallels… People disliking or being afraid of society: either because they were disowned by it, or because they were taunted by it.

When I told someone that I enjoyed living by myself I was accused of abandoning my responsibilities towards my family! My desire to live alone as an adult is seen as unnatural, and I was branded as "Americanized". Wait… what? Why? "Because in India there is no life living alone. There isn't meaning to your life unless you have someone to live for (or had someone who lived for you). An individual life has no meaning at all." If you are defined by your job, you are a workaholic; if you live alone and go to grad school, you are a student; if you are married, you are a wife (and if you stay at home too, you are a housewife... being the wife of a house is something I find highly amusing!), you're a daughter in law, a mom, a sister (or a son, brother, father, husband- I hear this isn't gender specific!). I always thought these were roles we played in our lives, and who we were was defined by our interests, our passions, our principles and our beliefs.

Another person I have known for a very long time loathes the word "independence", because, to him, it implies defiance of authority.I don't get it. Independence, or as I like to call it (and think is more appropriate, seeing as human society is inherently interdependent) – self reliance (emotional, physical, financial- anyway you see it) is real hard. It is a lot of responsibility- towards yourself and towards society. It's not about not having a boss; it's about not having someone to lead you on. It is not about not having anyone to answer to; it's about being answerable to yourself. My reluctance to go back and "belong" to the structured society also stems from the fear that the freedom of thought and (to some extent) action that I have developed over the past few years will be unceremoniously taken away from me. I live with the elders, I'm always someone's beta, and a Beta is never an Alpha.

I'm not saying I do not like being part of a family. I'm only saying; don't feel sorry for me if I don't. I'm not saying that I don't need people around me. I'm only saying; if there aren't I'm still going to be okay. I'm not saying I don't want to be a pet. I'm only saying; that sometimes I want to be just a cat.

P.S: To all the PJ masters out there, I am speaking metaphorically. I do NOT *actually* want to be a cat.

What Do You Do For A Living?

Deepti Lamba — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 05:57:43 EDT

So, what do you do for a living?

Ah!! you're a homemaker...

Yeah, that's the end of the conversation with me.

Back in Delhi when I bumped into an old school acquaintance I decided to tell the truth that I was a writer and quite a lot of my stuff was published. Where? Skin mags!!

The babe looked flustered and shocked and I was smug. It sounded better than stating a flaky - I am a homemaker

Recently I blurted out the truth in a more creative fashion - I am retired and since I am a woman of means I don't need to work. Thanks to my husband I am lucky enough to be able to devote time to my passion and my family.

The individual who asked me What do you do for a living? spluttered and was left speechless .

Most people are unable to earn money from their passion. Most people are unable to devote time to their passion. Come to think of it, a majority of people don't even know what they are good at. They work because they have to, not because they want to.

Few people are eager to go to work on a Monday morning. The few who do look forward to their work are generally self employed or enjoy great deal of autonomy at their work, others crib about their work environment , their bosses, colleagues and the list goes on.

All that is discussed after I am politely ignored for leading an 'idle life' and I find myself wondering time and again whether my 'stress free life' ( yeah, even I had a boss yelling at me at one point) isn't better than dealing with the egoistical bosses and bitchy colleagues.

When they compare their stressful lives with each others I remain quiet. My stress is different from theirs- I go sleepless at night because I write late into the night not because I have a presentation or assignment to finish. I get up at crack of dawn because I have tiffins to pack and chores to do and not because I have to drive from one end of the city to get another to work. Basically I am the mistress of my own time and of my mind.

Sure, I have to deal with people who think I am a lazy babe without an identity; some even called me a doormat. Doormat and me? Just because I don't get a pay cheque at the end of the month?

I'm already working but I don't have to prove my worth to anyone.

The way I see it- when I am on my death bed I am not going to regret that I didn't have a nine to five job but reminisce more about relationships gone sour or dreams left unfulfilled.

Related Article : What Do You Do By Mark

Short Story Review : "Supriya at Fifty" by Prasenjit Gupta

Shantanu Dutta — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 12:38:28 EDT

Supriya Moitro is a girl born in a well to do Bengali civil servant family in Gorakhpur in 1935. She grows up in Moradabad and then goes to college in Allahabad. Against mild parental unease she then moves to Delhi to study for her MA in Hindi. Their unease is partly because of the daughter leaving home and partly that she should have chosen to study Hindi, a language generally looked down upon by the Bengali educated classes. From there Supriya moves to Aligarh where she joins as a lecturer in Hindi and where the first bend in the river occurs. Supriya falls in love with Ashok Dixit, a colleague and a non Bengali. Her parents come rushing down mortified at the thought of their daughter’s cross cultural marriage but return with a reluctant blessing.

Shortly after they get married, they move to the United Sates and effectively settle down there, though they will never admit that truth to themselves. Their only son Subodh knows no other home but the US and on their increasingly infrequent visits to Kolkata, he is distinctly uncomfortable. Not that Supriya herself is very comfortable. Each visit to Kolkata finds her retired parents, older, greyer and frailer and less able to cope for themselves. Though Supriya has a sister and other family, each visit leaves her groping with guilt about the choices she and her husband have made.

Time goes on, Subodh finishes high school and goes on to University. On one of his phone calls, he announces that he is bringing his fiancée Janet home (Oh mom, we met at grad school!). Supriya and her husband with the same perplexity and unease they had gifted their parents all those years ago. Supriya at fifty is the semi autobiographical reminiscence of Prasenjit Gupta masking as a short story through the persona of Supriya looking back on her life on her fiftieth birthday. Gupta is a Delhi University graduate now living and writing from Iowa. Through the character of Supriya, he asks many questions about identity that continually confronts people who have left their roots behind and attempts some answers.

The results for third culture people are mixed. As Supriya would recall, as a Bengali brought up in UP and later settled in the US, she was well versed in three languages: Bengali, Hindi and English: she was as comfortable reading Tagore as with Premchand or later Shakespeare or Wilt Whitman. Quite an accomplishment considering most of her erudite friends and those of her husband knew one language only – English and nothing more. It is possible for her to be equally at home in different parts of the globe without any discomfort in her campus apartment in the American university as in the gullys of Uttar Pradesh or the decaying bungalow of her father in Kolkata and that was more than could be said of her son, who had never been to the small towns of UP and found even a week in his grand parent’s house too suffocating.

Yet Supriya realized, she truly fitted nowhere. She lived in the US and yet she was not quite American. In the early years, her husband had encouraged her to switch from saree to skirt but she had demurred. She spoke English fluently and yet taught Hindi in the local university and cooked Bengali food like Doi Mach at home. She and her husband had so wanted to find a nice Bengali girl for their son before he surprised them so. Christmas meant nothing to her and yet she felt so nostalgic at the time of Pujo, the Bengali festival corresponding to Dusshera when the whole of Kolkata would dance with delight.

There is a certain intangible part of humanity that is associated with one’s own soil, culture and norms that is irretrievably lost as one moves to be a citizen of the world from being the native of a town. The process is enriching, yet the loss of what might have been, the friendships that might have been cultivated that have been lost, the bonds that have shrunk because distance and geography played their part, the opportunities that have been gained and the opportunities that have been lost all come together in one giddy cocktail. As Supriya would put it “ …her experiences, her culture, her traditions have dissipated themselves in three different ponds, whereas if all her life had been spent in one language, think how large a lake it would be, how deep, how profound ,with all the consecrated wisdom of her ancestors…”.

On the whole, life has been good to her. She has had a good husband, a good son and is on her way to have a good daughter in law for after the initial misgivings, they have grown to be fond of the girl their son would marry and who has gone to great length to accommodate and adjust to her fiancée’s parents. But in reverse, she has been away in the pivotal moments of her family’s happenings in Kolkata, there is a very obvious disconnect that she experiences as soon as she lands in Kolkata. People have married, have had children, the children have in turn married, the older uncles and aunts whom she knew and loved have gradually passed on and to the new generation, she is just another aunty from far away who comes now and then but will never be in any sense be ever a part of their lives.

So much has been gained because of the choices that she has made and yet so much has also been irretrievably lost that Supriya at fifty. Half a century into her life she can no longer draw any conclusions. She decides that she will live that for posterity to judge and hopes that she will not be found wanting.

"Oh Boy!"

Seema Dhindaw — Thu, 15 May 2008 03:43:09 EDT

“Thank god, it’s a boy! How wonderful! Congratulations” I remember the desi uncles and aunties saying with abandon even as I stood right next to my parents. My memories of their uninhibited exclamations of “Badhaai ho, munda hua!” ring loud and clear even today. Being their first-born, a daughter, I couldn’t help being overcome with feelings of jealousy and apprehension. The realization that someone else was going to steal my parent’s attention was enough to get my 6-year old heart racing. My big brown eyes widened and filled with fear as I looked up at my parents and repeatedly asked “Do you still love me?”

As my brother and I grew older, sadly my fears became reality. The favoritism had become strikingly apparent not just to me but others as well. My aunt and neighbors noticed and did what they could to make me feel special. My grandmother, on the other hand, visiting from India could not see past my brother.

I faded into the background and all my tiny accomplishments in kindergarten and elementary school went unnoticed. I began to realize just how important it was for my parents to have a son, particularly my mother. As teenage years approached, the treatment meted out by our parents was obviously differential. He got to stay out later than I did. His mistakes were more readily forgiven. His anger and outbursts excused with “Boys are like that, its ok.” He was bought an expensive car because “it would stay in the family.” His announcement of having a girlfriend was met with pride and encouragement while even a mention of my boyfriend would probably inspire histrionics. Over the years my hostility towards him manifested and our relationship floundered.

Many Indians including Punjabis tend to agree upon the value of the male child. In Indian households and particularly in North Indian families, the son is expected to live with his wife and children while caring for his aging parents in the same house. This can be quite a lot of pressure for any son. Financial responsibilities and the lack of privacy can make life pretty miserable for everyone.

What is bothersome is not that these biases exist but that many families strive relentlessly to preserve and propagate those here in America. My own family, I feel, has been guilty of this. Many a times my mother has made statements such as “He’s a boy, so it’s different. You should be more understanding”, ” We feel sad for so and so. They just have two daughters. Who will care for them when they’re old?!” A daughter can take as good if not better care of her parents than any son could. Why such a strong bias especially when you have a daughter who cares for you? A gift from me is “no big deal” but any small card or gesture from my brother is received with open arms and praise.

How does being female somehow make us inferior? The last time I checked we were in the year 2008, weren’t we? Not 1930. One would think these views about women would be the height of the matter but surprisingly they are not! It actually makes a difference if you are thin and fair. Even Bollywood has adopted the “gori chitti aur patli” (fair and skinny) paradigm. Recently, Bollywood actress Kareena Kapoor has made headlines for becoming an unhealthy and perhaps anorexic size zero. “Zero” not only describes how good she looks but also her acting abilities.

Bollywood actresses like her wear drag-queen-style make-up to match the desired skin color to appear beautiful. Up until recently no significant effort was made towards making the nearing 40 year old balding male actors with receding hairlines and age inappropriate clothing, more appealing.

No doubt Bollywood is guilty of such nonsense but what does one say when the almost 300 lb aunties in sarees with bulging love handles, blouses that barely fit and extraordinarily huge hips casually comment on how so and so’s daughter should lose weight. “She would look so much prettier.” What about their own short chubby sons? I'd like to ask. The standard response which I've heard so often is "Oh, but they are boys, so looks don’t matter as much. It is the girl that has to get married off.” Such a mentality is difficult to change.

Enforcing these beliefs in girls raised in the United States is ridiculous. It breeds low self-esteem within an environment that values confidence and grooming over skin color and weight. Tanning salons have opened up all over and constitutes a multi-billion dollar industry. Yet you still have Indians saying “Hai! Kitni gori hai, patli hai! Changa munda milega”.

As a woman born and raised in the US, I now find myself rolling my eyes at these comments but I have to admit, they affected my self-worth deeply as a teenager. Perhaps on a subconscious level they made me rebellious as well. Why do the women have to endure phone calls and comments centered around their weight and looks? How fair is it that no one seems to notice the nice developing potbelly on my brother or the man boobs that have appeared on Kunal? Women have to deal with comments such as "moti hogayi hai na?"

It doesn't matter that you might be a successful researcher or a prominent scientist or an engineer. Fat is of utmost importance. It is the men,the sons who are complimented on their careers. Even your female friends who happen to get in touch with you online after years have past don't care about your professional accomplishments. "You've become chubby" "Moti, fat jaadi....i".This obsession with weight among Indian women in particular is upsetting.Why aren't such comments directed towards men?

Hearing such female-degrading comments from families and friends at social gatherings has become commonplace for me. However, it was astonishing to face such comments in a professional setting. My very own Indian ex-PhD advisor wasn’t afraid to reveal and act on her biases. At a lab lunch celebrating my birthday, she in a very matter of fact manner said “Indian women need to be subdued, as Seema will learn.”

On other occasions, instead of providing advice regarding my project she would make comments about how I should “lose weight” so that I can “get a husband.” “ You should work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week because you don’t have a husband or kids. Look at all the other people in lab,they aren’t single. They have families. Even XYZ has a girlfriend.” As I listened to these unprofessional comments, I couldn’t help thinking ”aren’t you a woman too? Don’t you have a daughter? “ At the time being her student, I was too scared to say anything for fear that she would jeopardize my future. As fate would have it, I didn’t have to say anything, I guess just being an overweight, single American woman of Indian descent was enough for her to screw me over on a whim.

It’s depressing that such strong biases exist in the US among Indians even today. It takes a toll on you when you hear the same comments so many times from the people who are supposed to be your strongest supporters. It is even more alarming that people with these views can abuse their power and get away it. Isn’t it about time that people do away with this mentality and accept each other with fairness and equality? Man, woman, short. Tall, fat, skinny—what does it matter? Aren’t we all human?

Fishing For Wishes: A Fish Who God Listens To

Aditi Nadkarni — Thu, 15 May 2008 00:49:18 EDT

Red was an impulse buy. He was, really. My roommate and I were at a 24-hour supermarket late one night to buy a coffee maker on a lazy Saturday for lack of anything better to do. Go figure. And there he was, in a short plastic jar looking at me. It was fate. I do not just say this, mind you. In this post I have empirical evidence to back it up. The following narrative is based on true accounts.

I was never a fish lover. But these flashy fish with their dazzling colors immediately caught my eye from an aisle away. Only one of them actually made eye-contact even from that far. I walked over and picked up the jars carrying a Betta fish each, one by one scrutinizing the brilliant fins of all the other fish. They were all jumpy. As we later found out, most Siamese Fighter Fish are. But when I picked up Red's glass it was magical. He did not jump or twitch like the others had and instead continued to look at me very intently. The only time I saw Red display any spunk was when I set his jar back on the shelf and started to walk away. He swam to the periphery, blew a few bubbles and did a couple of quick and startlingly violent twirls that caught my attention. He was the only bright scarlet one among the bright collection of Betta fish. They all seemed ferocious and a little upset. This little guy however, appeared peaceful and mainly curious. When I picked up his jar again, he continued to stare, right into my eyes, even more intently than before. I made up my mind.

That night, my roommate and I went home with a very treasured polythene bag. Every time he moved inside the thin plastic, I felt a gentle twitch on my fingers. I've felt a baby's kick on one of my pregnant friend's belly before and this twitch reminded me of that heady sensation, of how gently and unexpectedly even the littlest of life makes its presence felt.

Usually a pretty rational person, I surprised my roommate considerably when I held Red's polythene bag to the glass window letting him catch a glimpse of the world outside our car as we headed home. When else would he get a chance to look around again, I wondered. It could've been a series of coincidences but we passed on our way home, a Red Roof Inn, a Red Lobster and the song "Red, Red Wine" by UB40 came on the radio. At home as we put our new member in a bowl and turned on the TV, the feisty Red Foreman from 'That Seventy's Show' appeared making one of his dry, sarcastic quips. My friend and I exchanged glances and we knew. This was meant to be. He was christened Red.

Inside his bowl Red discovered his surroundings like a baby discovers the world around him. He moved in and out of the plastic flora and stared in awe at the sandalwood Ganesha next to his bowl. He wolfed down the small pellets of Betta fish food we had bought for him and we warmed up the apartment so that our tropical fish would be at a comfy temperature.

One fine morning Red's presence turned into somewhat of an added excitement. My friend was interviewing for a job the next day for which her credentials weren't exactly ideal. I was in the midst of feeding Red as she sat on our sofa and told me how much she needed the job. I turned to Red and for no particular reason said "Red, do you hear how much she needs the job? You are going to have to talk to God about this and make sure she gets it, OK?".

My friend stared at me with narrowed eyes as if I were nuts.

"Just wait and see" I said with a wink. Lets face it, we all do weird stuff to give our friends the extra bit of confidence and luck that they need. I have sat and patiently cracked 25 fortune cookies at a restaurant amidst startled Chinese waiters for a friend desperately looking for signs about her relationship. So praying to a fish was not odd any more. The next day my friend graciously called me to tell me she had received the job. There were so many people with great credentials, she told me, but she was the one who landed the position.

"It must be Red. He is lucky!" she exclaimed, in her excitement crediting our fish with what was most likely her own skills and talent that paid off in the interview. But word quickly spread and the next day I had a few voice messages from a few people half-joking about Red's newfound ability and half-asking me to pray for them as well. I won't lie, following this, I too whispered my own wishes to Red and watched wide-eyed as they all materialized one by one. Even the weather dodged rain and storm forecasts at Red's behest, which almost never happens in Ohio.

Someone came over and asked me to pray to Red for their sick pet and later sent pictures of their doe-eyed, recovered dog. Yet another wanted their car to be fixed. There were quite a few people who wanted that one precious job offer to come their way. And one by one Red granted them their wishes. Stock market hopes, loan needs, even relationship longings were rewarded almost instantly when I brought them to Red's bowl and made a quick wish.

Now Red's kind of a celebrity fish. I have started to maintain a notepad to keep track of wish-requests. My parents in India ensured that I receive such requests across borders as well. Friends and family call in to request that a good word be put in with Red. Red's schedule is jam packed and he has not let anybody down thus far. Every single wish has been brought to fruition...except maybe the one I made for world peace which I now believe falls out of Red's capabilities and is only a term meant for beauty pageant speeches.

Recently a fishy fungal infection sent waves of panic among the Red Wishing Club. Prayers were offered. My parents made a visit to the Siddhivinayak Temple in Bombay and my roommate and I made several trips to PetSmart looking like troubled, anxious parents. Red fought the fungus and made a speedy recovery meeting wish-deadlines with ease.

Most importantly, Red has contributed significantly towards our social life. People now call or come over if only to pay our stellar fish a visit. Betta fish are social beings to begin with and Red is enjoying all the attention to say the least. Meanwhile, funnily enough, I feel like the mother of a prodigy who needs to make sure that her wonder of a child sleeps and eats well and doesn't get an inflated ego as he goes on using his genius to do world a greater good.

One morning, a friend rendered skeptical by a recent heartbreak, after hearing about Red told me in great length about how faith is nothing but a crutch and that such superstitions just make him suspicious.

"True" I agreed much to his surprise, "I can see why you are suspicious. After all, more than anything, Red has demonstrated that faith does seem to be fishy"

Note: Red is still accepting wish-applications :)

Cartoon: The Generation Gap

IdeaSmith — Sat, 10 May 2008 14:32:23 EDT

On the weekend of Mother's Day, a look at my own mother's best medicine!

(Click on thumbnail to see the comic)

More idea-toons!

Happy Mother's Day, to mums the world over!

Preparing for Sunset

Shantanu Dutta — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 08:23:35 EDT

As a child, I used to read a Russian folk tale which went something like this. A reasonably wealthy family was living with their young son when their elderly parents came to live them as they were getting on in years. They elderly parents couldn’t quite cope with the life style of their children and besides they were in frail health. The father’s hands would tremble as he ate and often he would dribble his soup on the expensive table linen.

The mother didn’t see well and she would drop crumbs or break expensive crockery. So after some deliberation, the couple decided that the old couple would not any more eat at the family table – they would eat in a corner of the kitchen using a tin plate and a spoon. One Sunday morning, after the couple had come back from visiting some friends, they saw their young child busy carving some thing with his pen knife in his room. The child wouldn’t reveal much except to say that he was working on a very important project. After much coaxing though, he finally let on. He was working on a present for his parents- a tin plate and spoons so that he could look after them the way he was observing his elderly grand parents being treated.

The story is in itself pretty poignant without any further commentary. But I was reminded of it afresh after in read of the sorry plight of a mother who was driven out by her two sons literally onto the streets so that they could sell the house and pocket the money for themselves. It finally took the intervention of the court and a newly passed law, the Domestic Violence Act to get her a shelter under her own roof.

Sita Yadav, the lady in question is lucky that she had access to the courts and a sympathetic magistrate as well as a conducive law – had the Domestic Violence Act on her side. The law wasn’t around evena few years earlier and probably in that scenario, Mrs. Yadav would probably have been rendered penurious by the prolonged civil litigation. But more than that, keeping the Russian folk tale of my childhood in mind, I think of Mrs. Yadav’s sons and wonder how much money they would need that they needed to drive their mother destitute and seek solace from a magistrate’s court.

One of the plights of the senior citizens of today is that either they have children who live too far away to be of much help leading to stress and discomfort all around as guilt, duty and expectations all end up in an unpleasant cocktail. Given the scenario that we seem to be facing – the Delhi newspapers are full of elderly people murdered either by their domestic help in the fortunate situation where they have a roof and the money to pay for servants – or as in the case of Sita Yadav, literally stripped naked of her property and assets by her own kin.

Whether those who are elderly can now be reconditioned to accept the social realities they are confronted with is a difficult question to answer. But what is certain is that those who are in their middle decades and have the shadow of old age and retirement hovering around need to make preparations. It may be a difficult to digest that in the land of Shravan Kumar and Dashrath –Ram, filial piety is one on the wane but that is what the evidence seems to indicate.

Although the void of the Shravan Kumars will take a long time to fill, the way forward seems to be new initiatives to serve the senior citizens in the changed context of today. A couple of initiatives worth mentioning are those of the Dignity Foundation whose initiatives like the Dignity Helpline and the Loneliness Mitigation Project are worth mentioning. Similarly the Harmony of the Ambanis is worth mentioning and of course Helpage.

With the newspapers likely to increasingly capture stories of the Sita Yadav, it is time for every one to begin preparing for the sunset years and start recognizing the work of foundations like Dignity, Harmony and the others and getting acquainted with what they do and how they do it, so that they get better at it.

Increasing Communication - Declining Communion

Shantanu Dutta — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 11:45:44 EDT

An interesting article from the British paper, The Guardian caught my attention recently. It bemoaned the fact that a large number of post offices were closing in the British country side, particularly inconveniencing the elderly for who the post office was more than a place to buy stamps and post letters; in deprived urban areas, post offices are banks for local people and crucial sources of benefits. In rural villages that have lost schools and every other shop, it is often the last local service left standing. The post office is the last community hub left.

India’s villages haven’t got there yet, but our towns probably have. We don’t have any more community hubs left any more and a sense of community in the bigger cities is all but gone, surrounded as we are by walled houses, often enclosed by high gates and fences and manned by dogs and security guards. In fact the one thing to be said for slums is that because of their forced deprivation of space and privacy, they have to create communities to manage their clutter and chaos.

As in many other cases when environments change rapidly, the elderly are perhaps the most affected. In the area where I live, in the parks that still fortunately still survive in some numbers. They throng the neighborhood parks in the evenings and some times in the early mornings but though they have the companionship of their peers, they appear lonely. The young are missing as they are busy with their own pursuits; some times grand children are to be seen, but this strange bonding is often the bonding of the bizarre – the grand parents are stand in baby sitters for their sons and daughters and baby sitting is the chore that they often perform as a retainer ship for their board and lodge.

The younger lot often has set up shop in platforms like Facebook or Orkut. There is a community for folks who live in my community to meet up on line or Orkut and Facebook and BigAdda and all the rest. Whether the online communities will really amount to any thing, I suppose only time will tell, the research is too young yet for us to have any clear findings on which to base conclusions.

Coming back to the closing post offices, one of the key reasons cited for their closing is the fact that due to the ease and cost of sending e mails, no one or virtually no one in the UK is writing conventional letters, sticking stamps on them and then trundling along to the post office to post them. For some, real time communication is every thing and instant messaging has begun replacing e mail which is slowly becoming passé. Similarly another key revenue stream for the Post Office, the greeting card business in the holiday season – with people sending fewer and fewer Greeting Cards.

I do not know how many of us still have old letters – papers yellowing with age and fragile; but billowing with emotions and over flowing with the fragrance of friends, love and laughter. Although I too have moved with many others to the electronic era and write few letters myself, there is still the sense of mourning at the passing of an era that I at one time have known and loved. There are letters that on a given day I might still take out and read – letters with a hand writing, some smudged ink and perhaps a fraying envelope but encased lie within words that inspired and encouraged and conveyed hugs and embraces that physical distanced dis allowed but an envelope with a stamp and a heavy footed post mark could still convey.

Can a print out of an e mail do that or an emoticon on an IM? Sure they have their uses and are fast, reliable and robust for business communication. But outside of Business, though e mail is not going to go away any time soon if ever, I am sure that an e mail print devoid of signatures, distinctive hand writing styles, words and letters can never replace the sense of communion and community and friendship that can really nurture on life’s long and often lonely journey.

Travel Report: A Short Trip to Egypt

Kim — Wed, 9 Apr 2008 10:19:28 EDT

Being in Egypt for the last 18 months, I receive a lot of requests from friends asking what they should plan in their itinerary in Egypt. We have been here for ages and manage to do a lot more than an average tourist can hope to accomplish unless they are the type with endless vacation time)

This article is written in my 18 year old sisters voice. So it may not read like anything I have written before, but please bear with me. Its a new style, I'm experimenting with. Comments on the style are welcome, provided they follow the Desicritics code of conduct :)

I approach the city of Cairo from the air and the first thing I see is the river Nile, which shimmers and glistens catching the rays of the rising sun. I am lucky enough to be on the left of the plane and catch my first view of the Pyramids of Giza, right outside the city which still stand majestically even after 5000 years – a silent testimony to the grandeur and glory of ancient Egyptian civilization. We circle and then land. It's been over 5 hours since I got on this flight & I’m ready to come back to earth. I rush through Customs and baggage claim, eager to meet my sister (who currently lives in Egypt with her husband)

We then drove back to my sisters house, while she pointed out a few statues, an obelisk and some other famous constructions along the way. Cairo pretty much resembles Bombay. The Shanty towns, crowding, pollution and above all non-observance of any rules related to traffic.

Our first visit was to Saqqara, the site of the Step Pyramid. The Step Pyramid is the oldest and the first of the Pyramidal Structures from which all other Pyramids evolved (Tombs of early Egyptian kings were flat mounds called mastabas) The step pyramid was designed to serve as a gigantic stairway by which the soul of the deceased pharaoh could ascend to the heavens.

We then proceeded to Giza, the place of THE Pyramids. The pyramids of Giza are the only remaining wonder of the 7 ancient wonders of the world. The Pyramids were built by Khufu, his son Khafre and Khafre's son Menkaure. The biggest and tallest Pyramid of all (the Great Pyramid, as it is referred to) is the Pyramid of Khufu. The Sphinx (built by Khafre) was supposed to guard the pyramids.

The next day we went to the Egyptian Museum. This place is filled with artifacts taken from various ages. Most notable of what I saw were the innumerable gold treasures taken from King Tut-Ankh-Amun’s tomb and the mummies of about 30 famous kings and queens.

We spent the next few days visiting the Citadel, which is the old city enclosed by a huge wall built by Saladin. We climbed inside the wall and visited the beautiful Mohammed Ali Mosque (Incidentally Cairo has the most number of mosques compared to any other city in the world).

We visited quite a few old Coptic Churches (Egypt has a lot of significant churches along the path taken by Mary and Joseph when they fled to Egypt after the birth of Christ) and a Synagogue .

We finally went to the Khan-el-Khalili market. We climbed the Bab Zuwayla – one of the 3 remaining gates of the original walled city – and both its minarets (about 8 floors high) and had a wonderful view of the whole city around. You get all sorts of hand crafted items in this market – hookahs, colourful tents, Pharaonic souvenirs, galabeyas and belly dancing outfits to name just a few

We also went to Fayoum Oasis and took a boat ride to observe the water birds. I also rolled down a sand dune thrice near the Oasis which was loads of fun (It was the only safe place to do this as there were no scorpions in this part of the desert)

The next day we took a flight to Luxor to embark on a 5 day cruise on the Nile between Luxor and Aswan stopping along the way to see places of Interest. After breakfast, we boarded a Bus to go to the Temples of Karnak and Luxor. (The Ancient Egyptian Kings built temples to Glorify the Gods / themselves) One of the biggest reasons these temples / monuments are almost intact is weather oriented. As it hardly ever rains in Egypt, the low humidity has protected the structures except for the ravages of time over 5000 + years.

After Spending around 2 hours at Karnak, we drove to the temple of Luxor. The Temples of Karnak & Luxor are about 3 Miles apart. During the reign of the Pharaohs they were connected by an avenue lined with Sphinxes on both sides. The Pharaoh used to go in a grand procession from one temple to the Other. Today you can find about 40-50 metres of Sphinxes before each temple. Civilization has crept in in-between with Houses and roads.

We left on the next day to the West Bank & started with the Valley of the Kings where most of the Pharaohs are buried. King Tut's tomb and treasure was found here. We visited the 3 tombs opened for that day. These tombs are shafted deep into the mountains and are decorated with a lot of paintings from the book of the dead on the walls and ceilings. Some of the colours can still be seen today .

Next stop was the funerary temple of Queen Hatshepsut. She is famous for declaring herself as Pharaoh and ruling as one, depicting herself as male (with a false beard) in all the representations around her temple. She was recently in the news for her mummy being successfully identified.

After that we got back and set Sail for Edfu where we visited the Temple dedicated to Horus.

From here we sailed to Kom Ombo crossing the locks at Esna which was an interesting experience to say the least. As we waited for our turn to cross the locks at Esna, we were besieged by rug sellers in tiny boats who surrounded our moored boat and engaged everyone on board with hectic and loud bargaining and banter.

After dinner we had a "Galabeya Party". Galabeya is the long gown traditionally worn by most Egyptians. Almost all of the tourists, had bought Galabeyas from the boat salesmen and got all dressed up. We had some singing and dancing to the melodies of Nubian Music.

The Next morning we docked at Kom Ombo and visited the temple dedicated to two Gods. Sobek (the Crocodile God) and Horus. This temple is located at a bend in the Nile where crocodiles used to congregate until their movement downstream was stopped by the construction of the dam at Aswan. Hence the need for a God to protect the Egyptians from the crocodiles.

At Aswan the next day, we took a motor boat from a small ferry landing, to the Island of Philae. This is one of the many monuments that was affected by the building of the ASWAN dam. This temple was submerged (partially) under water before it was moved block by block to its current place on the Island of Agilika. The project was one of the two funded by UNICEF. The other was the masterwork of moving the temple of Abu Simbel.

The temple of Philae, dedicated to Isis, contains a lot of Greco-Roman and Egyptian architecture. As these lands changed hands frequently in ancient times, you tend to find some of these temples containing influences of various cultures. (Greek, Roman & Egyptian) There are even some Coptic crosses etched in some of these temples from the days when the Copts hid from Muslim raiders on these premises.

We then proceeded to the Aswan dam and then took a bus to Abu Simbel. This is the second temple that was moved to a higher ground to avoid being submerged by the water from the Aswan Dam. This temple is dedicated to Ramses II and his queen Nefertari. The Main temple dedicated to Ramses, has four 18 Metre statues of Ramses in a seated posture at the entrance. A couple of metres higher than the Gomaeshwara at Shravanabelagola! This is followed by a hallway lined with eight standing statues of Ramses (4 on each side). The Inner sanctum contains the statues of Ramses and 3 other Gods. Twice a year, on Ramses' birthday and on the day of his ascension to the throne, (February 22nd, October 22nd) the rays from the rising sun stream all the way into the inner sanctum about 100 metres deep inside the temple.

This happens to this day, even after the temple was moved from its earlier place. A work of sheer genius on the part of the ancient architects and the modern ones who shifted it. The modern architects constructed a huge dome before relocating the temple over it, to ensure that the phenomenon would continue.

The adjacent temple of Nefertari, has Six 15 Metre statues at the entrance (4 of which are of Ramses and 2 are of Nefertari). Ramses, just did not get tired of his face !!! The notable feature was that for the first time, a Pharaoh depicted a wife at the same height as himself. Otherwise wives and children were always shown below knee level to emphasise the Pharaoh as a God and everyone else as his subjects.
We then took the 4.5 hour bus ride through flat arid desert back to Aswan and boarded the flight back to Cairo.

The last day we drove to Alexandria (A port built by Alexander the great) explored the complex Catacombs a couple of feet below the ground, visited the Bibliotheca Alexandria (One of the largest libraries in the world, at the site of the original Library of Alexandria) the Qaitbay fort - built over the site of the Ancient Lighthouse of Alexandria (another wonder of the ancient world) and we admired the wonderful Mediterranean sea and its many shades of blue.

We returned to Cairo the same night and packed our bags and left to the airport. As I looked out of the window I felt despondent to leave Egypt with its 7 centuries of historical monuments, its wonderful feteer, koshary and Cinnabon rolls and my darling sister.