A Picnic to the Zoo, and a New Year Resolution

A Picnic to the Zoo, and a New Year Resolution

On Sunday the 20^th Jan 2013 we made it to the Delhi Zoo, perhaps after a lapse of twenty long years. This was with a mission to familiarise Chakku - sorry- Aditya. Aditya by his own self addressing system has corrected us from calling him ‘Chakku’. He only takes his name ‘Aditya” and we have no other option but to follow suit. Chakku will soon get into archives as Aditya is emerging strongly.

Zoo had Lion, giraffe, tiger, bear, deer, crocodile, swans, ducks, pelicans, parrots monkeys and many more were there. He liked them or not, but from his enthusiasm it seemed he enjoyed the over four km walk in the clean environment. Normally he is being taken to concrete-electronic jungle “the mall” but this time, it was for a change.

Recently I took part in a “New year Fun- Resolution’ contest held by TERI. My entry was selected for the first prize. I reproduce the entry below, but on the subject I wish to state that my entry was selected not because it was any literary marvel, but for the reason that scholars in TERI did not whole-heartedly took part. I had won a first prize on another occasion too.

The prize winner resolution was like

I will pedal my bicycle to office, drink from the tap and say no to recycled water,

Will have tea with Gur and Tulsi  in a mud pot, ‘n’ say no to cup of China Clay.

Switch off A/C, use inland letter pad to write a mail, and stop e-mail henceforth.

Carry a Motorola walky-talky, ’n’ will throw away my Nokia X2.

Take a dip in Yamuna River once a week and call CM’s help line ‘181’ when in need.

Put on a Gandhi topi and a Khadi Kurta to office ‘n’ say no to Polyester and Terry-cot.

Switch off FM when playing ‘Chipkale….. Fevicol Se… and

Will only listen to music when playing Meri Man ki Ganga Aur Teri Man ki Yamuna ke

Bol Radha Bol Sangam Hoga ki Nahin…..

Mushkil Hey, Magar Na mumkin bhi Nahim !

A Confession, An obituary, a Regret and more

A Confession, An obituary, a Regret and more

Amnesia, is it that, makes me forget a thing in a minute or two. Of late, it becomes hard to recall a thing I remembered a minute or so back, it is becoming tough by day. Many a ‘things to do’ does not figure in the day’s ‘list of things done’ at the end of the day. May be I have to resort to some kind of tonic for boosting memory.

I remember solidly my memory power that on a fine afternoon session in Class X, my Sir, respected V P Narayanan Nair- who is no more- caught me straying out of the window while he was lecturing the non-detail “Tarapatham”. He threw a piece of chalk, which hit my forehead and raised his finger pointer, asking me stand abrupt up, shooting a question from the lesson he was lecturing. Double sure to beat me literally with the cane, it was a long sentence, a stretch of twenty to thirty words, that he poked on me. I was shaken for a moment. But recalled all what I heard last and recited back without any error. The boys went on a loud crack, and Sir had to retreat.

A Teacher-revered- Fr. Paul Koodapuzha was the Principal of Holy Angels School, Sahibabad, when we ‘migrated’ to Sahibabad from South Delhi. Father was very kind in admitting Swapna and Lisa in Class V and III respectively. Seeing Swapna’s zeal for reading, he used to lend her books from his personal collections. He was the Principal and Head of English in the School and simultaneously held responsibility of the Parish Priest. I was selected to be the Secretary of the Parish Council at his instance. We together worked to bring new vigour in the Church community. All parishioners, then a ninety -family strong community, took part in the newly introduced changes for good. I had Fr. Paul’s whole hearted support to get things brought to the community  which  became catalysts to church’s many social initiatives. Introduction of the Celebration of the Parish Day with sports and cultural programmes being one of them. Vincent D Paul Society was brought to Sahibabad Parish.  

Father  left for his heavenly abode. His last days were in Bharananganam.  He succumped to Cancer. He was a disciplinarian in all respect. Not known for any unhealthy eating habits or smoking or drinking.  Robin Joseph, father’s nephew- had invited me for the  memorial mass( 41^st day) at Sahibabad. It was held in the Convent. Father’s lively smile  still afresh, I noticed persons who were close to him missing in his memorial. It was also a revisit of old faces. The mass was conducted by Fr. John Prakash, a friend and longtime associate of Fr. Paul himself.

Once I had an altercation with Fr. Prakash, in the church. I was overboard in the act, it was more so for instant publicity which I used to enjoy. I should have realized the fact that though father was making a false statement from the Altar, he was doing his job, and that he was trying to do it diplomatically in his style. Anyhow, it was his job he was carrying out, which I interrupted with my inflated, plummeted ego. Later, years after, realizing my fault, I called him over phone, and apologized. Sincerely hope he took it in the right spirit  and forgave me. On the memorial day when we met after the Holy Mass we hugged each other and I appologised in person once again. If it was for an ordinary person, I would n’t have gone for any repentance. But here the other person I hurt with my words was no ordinary. He was a respected preacher, a scholar, a person held in high esteem by the church and school community and also senior to me in age, he also qualifies to be respected for the reason that he has gave away his personal luxuries for the cause of the church. Though I scored an immediate point, lost a long-time friend and left a scar of guilt of hurting a person, which I could have avoided. Sorry father, I regret.

Salute to Ammachi

In the month of June, every year, I wish to go back to Kerala due to the



unbearable heat in Delhi. My secret agenda  had Ammachi's cuisines. This year too. It so happened that I had to rush to Kerala on an emergency call.


My mother in law – Ammachi for all of us - was an adorable person. Mother of Six


children, she was a great cook, a farmer, a home maker, above all a good


host. Till the last moment of her lively tenure, she lived for others. Her


children and grand-children. Last time she had gone to the nearby Mother


Mary’s chapel to light candles for ‘Sonu’ her much loved grand-son. She did


not light the candle, she fell down before Mother Mary’s statue, a place


she has been visiting for the past 50 years or so. She broke her hip bone,


was taken to Hospital in Quilon, where she was operated upon, metallic


supports were inserted into her pelvic area. All in vain. She did not


stand up again. We reached in time to see her alive. Lying on a cot, unable to lift


herself, suffering in pain, but yet,  in full of life,  enthused on a good music tapping the


mat with her frail palm at times, making us all break in to laughter, in tears. Least she showed her agony to others,like Bhishma on the “Shara -Shaiyya” she suffered with a smile. Like a sage in the indian mythology or history, she took her own life. Ever since she was hospitalized, she abstained herself taking solid food. As days passed, she restricted her intakes to a spoonful of water only. She committed a willful “Atma Thyaag”.


As in life, It was a fight to the end.On June 12th our beloved Ammachi passed away. Mrs. Mariamma Kurien, went along with her ancestors, to rest in peace.

We could not return what she had give us. We Salute her.

The not so pleasant stories appearing in the media these days tell us the lives of some colourless living beings, anglicised by the name “maid”. These stories also bring to book the true colours of some of the colour-conscious households which employ these under-aged, undernourished, under literate, and under poverty line young girls, who move by flock from villages to big cities in search of two time meals and a cotton saree to cover, perhaps. The shining Indians show kindness in keeping them at home, give them two time ‘roti’, used -old cloths (invariably larger than size) to wear for waking up early in the morning, washing few utensils, a few daily wears of the household, preparing meals for the whole family, besides looking after kids and be a watch dog of the house.


They are also provided with a shelter to sleep in the night( a store, besides the kennel or kitchen back room) The Shining India’s highly ‘literate’ masters also occasionally take the maid for “outing’ when the entire ‘master’ household is set on a dine out. There also the ‘maid’ will accompany the masters with their baby in the cart, and sit at the corner of the place looking after the toddler, her face to the opposite till the masters finish their meals.

For all these and more the maids occasionally are put under discipline drill by pulling their hair, burning their body parts, beating, many a time by the kids of the family for fun and pleasure. Cases of rape is not un-heard. Media stories are umpteen for you to believe.

Neha Afreem was born to a Bangalore couple three months ago. She died recently. The cause of the death was due to torture meted out by her own father. Report of children even toddlers raped and killed all over the country.

The story of hapless innocent Neha Afreem gave me a thought. It may not have happened in any of our families… Many of you girls are lucky to have caring parents and relatives. Beasts like Afreem who fathered Neha are still around and kicking. Birth of a Girl is a sad story in the Indian Continent.

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Oh! My God! It’s a girl

(A mini Story by M.M. Mathew)

While swimming in the water in the limited territory of her mother’s womb, she got her first shock when her Grandma was heard making a prayer, to the Alimighty.

“Oh God, My Lord, let me have a grandson”

Grandma also offered a bribe to God for gifting her with a grandson only.

Gee Maa.. you will certainly have a grandson, after all, what use to all your prayers and your offerings to God ? Is HE blind, No, not at all”- Her father, instilled confidence in Grand-Ma.

This was reason for a double shock as she heard her father supporting his mother. She was actually looking forward to the day when her dear father would jump with joy at the time of her arrival. But Nine months and Nine days , Nine hours and that many minutes and seconds, she craved to hear anyone making a prayer for a her. Bribing the Good God for A Girl Child. They prayed, wished and longed for the arrival of a boy, a BOY only.

She did not want to come out of the shell she was placed, with her inferior identity, she knew for sure that her existence will not be welcomed.

She now look up to her mother, who, for sure, would be the happiest person in the world when she actually put her foot down.

The D-day.

She wished she could stay on.

But despite her wish, she could no longer hold on to her egg shells.

Crying, shivering, as though frightened to be caught she slowly slid out of the shell.

Alas ! Heaven fell … Volcano erupted…storm, thunder, lightning and rain….

Grand Ma beat her forehead and repeated on her chest with both hands,

Severely weeping, blaming God for cheating on her, for being ungrateful.

And her mother

Mother, lied beside her bearing a blank pale and sad look as though she committed a deadly sin.

Relatives soothed her father…

No matter “Lakshmi Ghar Aye he…. Next one will be certainly a BOY”…. They ate Burfi and vanished.

A few years after.

Her mother gave birth to her second child, a BOY.

She saw her Grandmother distributing sweets to her friends and relatives..

Surprised … Grandma was dancing and yelling at others with joy - I have a Grandson born. After all, God listened, God is not blind.

They told her he was her brother.

She grew in the midst of Do’s and Don’ts particularly set for her

She was taught, cursed and scolded for

Sitting, standing, racing, singing, laughing, the wrong way

She was not allowed to wear clothes of her liking…. She was given food after her father and brother ate….

Le me sum up the story….

We wrote a rule book for HER.

MOM &MAGGI

Mom & Maggi

That was a week-end off-day.
Mom was showing signs of fatigue.
Why not?
She has been working like a non-stop machine all the time.
Though they were seeing her from day Zero but of late knew it for sure that
Mom’s style of work is the cause of her weakness.
She needs better managerial skill and health consciousness.
Children always advise her to take care of her health, but she finds no
time for the same.
She shut her ears to all their advises all the time.
Children got worked up. Their valuable advises were turning to vapours as
if poured on a hot pot kept upside down.
So, on the week-end off-day, they decided to teach Mom some basics.
They decided to show her how to manage home with minimum stress and maximum
results.
After all, they were taught of time management, space management, stress
management etc. etc. and “why not” put them to use at home also.
They also studied to face work with a smile and enjoy it.
Children took the task of home management on their shoulders, for a day.

Mom’ enjoy a day’s off.

They decided to share work, you broom, I mop;
You wash rice; mix dough; I cut vegetables, boil milk;
You make break-fast; I make lunch and we together prepare dinner – exactly
as Mom does.
You wash utensils; I clean table, spread bed cover, dust sofa, side tables,
glass panes;
You put clothes in the W/M; I rinse, you spread, I press.
All work decided, to share and there they both set out for work.

The beginning was great, started with morning Coffee, then breakfast – of
course toast & butter – time is important.

Broomed all the rooms… mopping followed… But it took little time –
inexperience, after all – with time things will speed up …

Washing clothes took a good long time, rinsing made hands burnt, reddish…
It’s OK!
It was almost time for lunch. They decided to make ‘Kitchadi” – A quickremedy - All in one, very healthy, with Achar (mom’s own yummy item).
Lunch finished, utensils to be cleaned, clothes yet to be rinsed, spread
and later pressed. Children needed a quick nap… Before that they decided
the dinner.
We will have “Maggi” for dinner.



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Travencore Syrian Christian Succession Act - A salute to Mary Roy

As an an LIC agent I contacted a subscriber who wished to propose a policy. Well, being an Agent myself, I provided her with all the necessary advises, documents to sign and explained to her the merits and demerits of a Life Insurance. She wanted the insurance be made on her Son’s life.
Well I did exactly as she wanted.
Exactly like an enthusiastic LIC adviser, I knew the Lady also has a daughter, elder to the son and I wanted her life too got insured. She declined saying “ No, Mathew ji, she has, in any way, to be married off soon” .
What she meant, as I could guess, was that the daughter will be sent off with a dowry, a bargain will take place later on and the amount will be fixed and the girl will be sent off. Any other investment on her will be futile.
The person whom I was interacting with is a professional and learned Lady, a mother, a wife and before that she was a daughter too. This is the attitude even educated persons hold for a girl child. That too from a member of a Syrian Christian clan, for whose girls’ rights, Mary Roy fought for twenty five long years from a Magistrate Court in Kottayam to the Supreme Court of India to gain this legitimate right of the Christian girl to have equal share of her ancestral property. The Court verdict made history. The 200 odd year old Travencore Christian Succession Act was changed to include the girl child for equal right in her parental property. A fundamental right, every other Indian is guaranteed with, but the Syrian Christian women. You know what, A girl in the Syrian Christian family- prior to the verdict- was entitled for a mere 5000 Rupees or land or property worth not exceeding this amount, come what may be the property of the family. Though, the verdict had changed the law, the mindset is still rampant in the Christian Community, who preserve their wealth for the boy. Mary Roy is the founder Principal of “Copper Christi” now known as “Pallikoodam”, she also may be, if necessary, addressed as mother of Arundhati Roy “ the creator of “God of small things”.

I know a Lady, who is also one of my best friends, who gave up her marriage to take up the responsibility of her ageing mother and ill-employed brothers. I also has a person in my life, who is a very ardent critic of mine, much more than a best friend, cool-ly telling ‘boys to be’ that her parents are her responsibility and watch them vanish.

Why Not Quit

Being Swapna’s B’day, 17th Feb, as usual, a family outing and dine together. We assembled from two directions at 2.00 past at Essex Farms, a place we used to go from days as back as Swap and Lizu were a little bigger than Chakku. This time the food was not worth its money. As can be expected, u know !
That’s OK. But I have made a resolution that day, “I will not dine in a Restaurant of that sort, henceforth, for a different reason.
While we were busy with the stuff served, there came a family stylishly attired women and men. They were five of them. One of the women was also mother of a baby. The Baby was being carried by a teenager, who, I suppose, may not be over 12. The girl was shabbily attired, looked frightened and confused. Soon the ‘Malikin’ mother took the Baby and lead the carrier girl to the green lawns outside the restaurant for her to wait until they finish their ‘cosy’ meals.
On the way out we saw the baby sitter sitting and munching a roll of dry Chappatis which may be a left over of previous night. I was wondering, why the woman offer the ‘baby sitter’ a child herself, the food she eats. The lady wants her little one be looked after by the teenager at her best attention and without any harm and discomfort to her child. On the other hand, she refuse the other person, a child herself, the basic right to food, cloth and a human dignity. I may not have explained it in its severety owing to my constraint with the language.
It pained me, irritated me, and saddened me. I wanted to call the dining family and ask them to behave. I also wanted the ‘child labour’ issue be brought up before the police. I could’nt do anything. For reason that my family will not support me for sucha an act, they would yell at me asking me to mind my own business, not to spoil their moments of fun. That way, I am sure, lakhs of poor children are treated brutally every where, and will continue so unabated so long poverty prevails in the ‘shining India’.
I have decided, I will not dine in a food joint where a poor child will be kept out starving or with a roll of ‘sookha’ roti. Also it is a sheer waste. Why not quit !