Happy days are here again....

                             
                     ...Nahin koi gam mujhe nahin hai gila 
                      Zindagi ki raah mein mila hai jabse tu mere humdum...
                            

Oops !  So happily  engrossed was I in humming this delightful song that I not only bumped into the husband but also managed to, literally,  step on his toes. Expecting to hear  an  'ouch' and a 'watch your step' I was surprised to see a moonish look on his face. Well, let me preempt your what's a moonish look question by confessing that the answer to that completely eludes me.However, inconsequential matters, like not knowing the meaning of a word , have never stopped me from using the said word /s.  So, coming back to the saga, the husband was looking pretty moonish,  as in romantic. That was enough to stop me in my tracks- but only after I had managed to step on his toes- and look askance at him. The husband replied by singing ... .  Zindagi ki raah mein mila hai jabse tu mere humdum...

 OMG! The poor thing was under the impression that I was singing it for him !" No, no. That humdum is not you -it's Modi". To give the devil his due he took it pretty manfully ,infact he even guffawed. But the final nail in the coffin was when he said," why him?"  " Because he is the King of good times", I said. The husband sniggered and told me that Vijay Mallya was the king of good times and that he was bankrupt-of  finance  and  of ideas. I roundly ticked the husband off for nitpicking about  acche din and good times and also for taking Modi's name in the same breath as , well, anybody else.

" Acche din ? Where are they ? You made  shahi paneer without tomatoes and served some desolate looking  cucumbers as   salad  because veggies are expensive; the bijli ka bill is an all time high of fourteen thousand ; milk prices have gone up twice in the last two months..." I expertly cut in with, ' Well, that's not his fault. This is a bad time of the year every year-prices always shoot up in these months; and then you need to factor in the  El Nino effect on the monsoon...Plus, goverments are  not all about prices- they are also about other things like accountability, transparency,  communication with the people, the human touch....."

This time it wasn't even a guffaw- it was derisive laughter. " Yes, ministers in the Goa government going off on foreign junkets costing crores is transparency and accountability; MP's from  alliance parties shoving food into unwilling throats is human touch, deafening silence since the victory speech is communicating with the people ."  There is silence  for a minute. I am thinking furiously for a good defence line. Then I get it.  "Nobody can beat him in sartorial elegance. He has the best collection of kurtas and jackets this side of the Sabarmati. And now he is going in for slim fits for his trip to the United States."

You know what the husband says? He says-"Stop mooning over Modi".

Shopping for books in 2014

Last Sunday , on our way  back from Gurgaon, we spotted a quaint shop on M.G road. The quaintness came from the fact that  it had oodles of wooden furniture juxtaposed with an equal number of  glass almirahs groaning under the weight of books. For once the husband didn't have to be nudged, prodded and coaxed into doing some  'shopping' .

An hour later we were done. The shop owner and his assistant staggered out with the pile of books we had settled on. Let me tell you about the treasures I picked up.

 The Young Wives by Olivia Goldsmith
The Greek Villa by Judith Gould
Double Jeopardy by Catherine Coulter
The Judgement of Paris by Ross King
Rising Tide by John M Barry
  Killer Weekend by Ridley Pearson
Maps for a Mortal Moon by Adil Jussawalla
Life after life by Kate Atkinson
The Last Summer by Ann Brashares
The Wonderspot by Melissa Bank
Gandhi and Churchill by Arthur Herman
River of Smoke by Amitav Ghosh
Slap Happy by Thomas Hackett 
Sea of Glory by Nathaniel Philbrick
Foster Child- A biography of Jodie Foster
The Red Hat Club Rides Again by Haywood Smith

And 10 more....    Including the whole set of Game of  Thrones  ....

And which one am I reading these days ?  Gandhi and Churchill by Arthur Herman

Cheers !
     

Our politicians are so right,it's the six year old who is to be blamed for getting raped...

  I write this today with a sense of pride in our ruling class, a pride that I am sure you all ,my countrymen, would also be experiencing. Our politicians have vindicated our faith in them, and of course, their faith in themselves.  Please join me in  applauding  the stand that they individually and collectively took on rape, wherein they apportioned the blame on the victim, the one getting raped. 

 Since the hypotheses of the politicians is based on the theory that men are blameless and women are shameless let’s examine their praiseworthy statements in   the context of the rape of the six year old, school going Bangalore girl.

 So, when Asha Mirje, NCP leader said in January 2014, and I quote: "Girls should be very careful about what they wear and at what time they move out in the city. Their body language should not invite the attention of the potential rapists lurking around in the streets" , unquote, I applaud her sagacity. The six year old was obviously inappropriately dressed in her school uniform. Her body language was, equally obviously, such that it invited attention. Yes, Ms Mirje, you are right. The girl should have been given body language coaching before being send to Kindergarten. Did I hear someone say when? Well , the earlier the better, so maybe the coaching could start when the child is being breast fed. Lesser  danger of these little  nymphets  enticing innocent men.

And can we forget the January 2013 statement of Babulal Gaur, BJP leader that  "Western culture is not good for India. Women in foreign countries wear jeans and T-shirts, dance with other men and even drink liquor, but that is their culture. It's good for them, but not for India, where only our traditions and culture are OK.”  Yes,  Mr Gaur. We hear you that our culture is O.K. It is definitely par for the course for six year old’s to begin their life by being raped. Let’s put our hands together for the great Indian culture .

Talking of culture vultures, brings to mind  NCW chairperson, Mamta Sharma’s "Women should be careful about the way they dress because such incidents are a result of blindly aping the West. This is eroding our culture and causing such crimes (rapes) to happen." 

We are so proud that the National Commission for Women has Chairpersons who have the ability to put matters in the correct perspective. The school girl was  inappropriately dressed in her school uniform and  therefore she was raped.

 Samajwadi  Party’s  Abu Azmi leaves one speechless with his  :"Girls complain when someone touches them, and even when someone doesn't touch them. It becomes a problem then, and the man's honour is ruined in this. The solution (to rape) is this: any woman if, whether married or unmarried, goes along with a man, with or without her consent, should be hanged….”

The  Samajwadi Party obviously indoctrinates its members well and Azmi seems to have being only  toeing  the official line made clear by  chief Mulayam Singh Yadav's remark  that "mistakes by boys happens sometimes. Rape accused should not be hanged".

Naturally, whoever raped the child in Bangalore was just being a boy and since boys will be boys we should not be spoilsports and meddle with their harmless games, the favorite being ‘how about a rape today’?

The Trinamool Congress also seems to be  having  a clear policy of the Shishya following the Guru. So, when Guru  Mamata Banerjee ,West Bengal Chief Minister, said  "Earlier, if men and women would hold hands, they would get caught by parents and reprimanded, but now everything is so open. It's like an open market with open options. Rapes happen because men and women interact freely" , Shishya Chiranjeet Chakraborty ,Trinamool Congress leader  had to come up with , "One of the reasons behind the increase in incidents of eve-teasing is short dresses and short skirts worn by women. This in turn instigates young men."  Pray, Ms Banerjee, could you please throw some light, even if it is blue,  on your free interaction theory viz a viz  the six year old raped in a school in Bangalore?

I cannot end without remembering Sheila Dikshit’s ,former Delhi chief minister ,quote: "One should not be adventurous being a woman." 

So, hear you , all parents of small girls, you are being unnecessarily adventurous by sending your daughters to school. The fault is not ever of the boys/men. It is always of the girl/women. Says who? Say our politicians.

The devil comes in many guises...

waiting at the traffic signal...

The countdown to the traffic light turning red had started - 9 8 7 6 ....The car raced to beat the countdown but a mother and child crossing the road thwarted its attempt .We screeched to a halt . The driver looked straight ahead.  I idly turned my gaze left and then wished I hadn,t . A ( here I grope for the right word- so used am  I  to using 'it' for them) eunuch had just swayed towards us ."Please, please don't let her/him come to me". It didn't.

 A red santro had drawn alongside and proved the adage right that red cannot be ignored

 ( o.k - I admit I just made up that one !). Just then my cell beeped a message and with  reflex reaction I reached for it and looked down to read it ( last chance to avail of a discount on a treatment for balding). In the meantime a conversation had started between the driver of the red and the  eunuch .   I was really not paying much attention to the conversation but just then the car occupant said something so lewd that my ears started burning . I kept looking at my phone, pretending to message, just wanting to be out of that place. The eunuch  said something in reply .This was met with derisive laughter and an even more indecent something  than the first.

Thankfully, the pressing of horns indicated that the light was green. The driver put the car into first gear . Just as we were pulling away  I looked at the red car .I had to see  the scumbag . What I saw was even more shattering than what I had heard. The driver of the car was a very young , good looking ,educated ( looking) man. Just the type any parent would approve of for their daughter!!

The feeling of unease stayed with me for very long - as also two convictions. First, that something has to be very wrong with a society in which the unfortunate are treated so very unfortunately by the 'haves'.

Second , never trust  a baby faced man . The devil comes in many guises.

The best of times, the worst of times : The highs and lows of classroom teaching

Standing there, in the middle of a smoldering June afternoon, facing a window which had been shut to keep out Delhi’s heat and dust, cynosure of thirty odd pairs of eyes-the only words going through my mind were Charles Dickens lines from A tale of Two Cities: ' It was the best of times, It was the worst of times'. I looked abstractedly at the class .My head felt as if it was full of nothingness- all woolly headed. I knew there were a barrage of questions to be answered -the expectancy on those faces showed that they were waiting for me to say something. The patter of voices seemed to mix with the rhythm of the lines ,'...the worst of times, the worst of times, the..' A voice from somewhere  inside the nothingness of my head mockingly whispered-"serves you right for being so chuffed up about yesterday's session. Pride always comes before a fall, dear Anju". Yesterday! it seemed to belong to another age , to another person .

Yesterday was a morning session. I just about made it in time and rushed inside the classroom , convinced that there would be only a handful of students braving the blistering heat to attend an introductory session for their newly launched  batch. I scampered to the front of the classroom and turned to face the class. Surprise, surprise! the room was packed. And then the door opened and some more came in. They kept coming and suddenly it dawned that this was going to be the largest group I had ever taught-about sixty bright eyed, confident youngsters. I said something and it drew appreciative laughter. Encouraged, I carried on , ad libbing, involving them - telling them what needed to be told  and, miraculously ,making sense to all of them .After sometime it sank in that they were eagerly hanging on to my words, hugely enjoying the process of induction. And  I? -I was shamelessly playing to the gallery, speech full of witticisms, fielding queries effortlessly. Did I notice a touch of hero worship on a few faces? Maybe .Anything seemed possible that morning. My face flushed with the exaltation that comes with success, I ended the session and left.

A titter from the group sitting at the back brought me back to the heat soaked  noon. I opened my mouth and said something. It seemed to open a floodgate of more questions-" how?  Why not option a?  And why not option c?" And with the questions came the realization that somewhere, like Arvind Kejriwal, I was losing the plot .That I was , again like Arvind, allowing myself to drift. Was I going to let it happen?

Nah, certainly not.Not I.

I looked at the tittering group at the back and asked them to repeat their question. One of them did so .Making the question a take off point I launched into a lengthy , elaborate and technical explanation of the concept behind it. Twenty minutes later I stopped and said ,' ask me". Most of them by now had a glazed and glassy look in their eyes. The group at the back was quiet. A couple of queries were raised and  duly answered.
And then I announced- o.k, since all the concepts have been revised and queries answered let us get into test mould. There were no titters to be heard after that.

I had managed to salvage the situation. Will Kejriwal be able to do so?

The Paper Damaadji

The daughter rings up to say that she is getting a friend for lunch. Nothing new and I say "o.k" unenthusiastically while conjuring up an image of the already cooked lunch-  black dal and masala bhindi . I wonder if the ladyfinger veg will stretch to feed  one more mouth and then decide that it will just have to. The daughter is still saying something and somewhere I catch a "he". So, I ask her to repeat whatever it was that she was saying. " Mom, if you have spinach at home then just make some. He likes his greens". My back straightens and my voice quivers as I gasp out an astonished "he"? An irritated ,"I just told you I am getting S for lunch", floats back .

 The news  is music to my ears.Finally the daughter is getting a boy home !I ring up the husband and tell him the news. The excitement is palpable in his voice-" what ? she is getting a boy home? what are you going to make for him?I am coming home stat- you want anything from Haldiram or Bikanervala or Kaleva or..."? We  confabulate and settle for  Rasmalai and boondi laddoos from Bikanervala; dahi bhalla and papdi chaat from Haldiram and some chocolate pastries from Wengers. I rush to summon the maid and tell her to set the table . She moves towards the steel plates and katoris and steel tumblers. " No, no Phoolmani. No steel today. Take out  the white plates which have a blue border pattern on them. The ones we use for Very Important People".  

I look at the clock. They should be here anytime soon. I throw a glance around- flowers: check; table: check; palak paneer : check; pulao : check; husband : check. Just then the door opens and the daughter rushes in. She dumps her bag full of a week's worth of laundry and hugs me. I have eyes only for the boy who has followed her in. Pleasant, definitely pleasant. My chest begins to swell with pride. What a fine damaad the daughter has got for us. I look at her approvingly and lovingly. Used to my critical 'once overs' she is nonplussed and looks towards her father for an answer. The husband in the meantime has taken 'him' to the formal living room- the one we use just about four times a year. I am all aflutter- should I first serve him my special ginger ale or should it be raw mango panna?

Lunch is over. S has polished off everything I ladled on his plate, confessed to having never eaten such good palak paneer and regaled us with campus anecdotes involving  the daughter. All  very well but I feel that it is now time to squeeze in some business and so ask him, ever so innocently, what work papa does and who all are at home. Turns out that papa has import export ka business and S has only one sibling. I roll my eyes meaningfully at my husband and he rolls his meaningfully in reply. The daughter , happily munching her second laddoo, catches all this rolling of eyes and looks askance at us. I pull her away from her laddoo by declaring that she just has to see what I have bought for her and take her to her room.

" Mom, what's wrong with you and papa? why are you both behaving so strangely? and why did you go so over the top- there were atleast a dozen things on the table. "?  I look at her tenderly. What an intelligent girl she had turned out to be- belaying all my fears about being woolly headed and fuzzy notioned and...
" Because, S has come to our house for the first time. When papa had come home for the very first time naani had made about 2 dozen dishes."

" Mom, you are truly crazy. S and I are just friends. Besides, S is engaged to someone in Mumbai. He wanted some ghar ka khaana and so I got him over".

In love with Iron Man

Last evening ended on a magical note because of Iron Man , the 2008 American superhero film . It was one movie I had simply never got round to watching, in spite of hearing a lot of positive talk about it. And am I glad  I finally got to see it !!!

 The story is simple enough- Tony Stark ( Robert Downey Jr)  inheritor of   defense contractor, Stark Industries, is in war ravaged Afghanistan with his entourage to demonstrate the new missile "Jericho" from the stable of Stark Industries. The convoy is ambushed and Stark is critically wounded by one of his own missiles; he is captured and imprisoned in a cave by a terrorist group the . An electromagnet, grafted into Stark's chest by fellow captive Yinsen keeps the shrapnel  shell shards that wounded him from reaching his heart and killing him. Ten Rings leader offers Stark freedom in exchange for building a Jericho missile for the group, but Tony and Yinsen agree Raza will not keep his word.

They secretly build a powerful  arc reactor powered by an electric generator , to power Stark's electromagnet, and then begin to secretly build a suit of armor powered by the reactor, to escape. Yinsen dies in the escape attempt- but not before speaking one of the most memorable lines of the movie, “Don’t waste your life".  It's good advice, but there's no worry about wasting our precious time  on this movie.

 After being later rescued by Rhodes, Stark returns home and announces that his company will no longer manufacture weapons. Downey is a delight as the playboy in the early scenes. This Tony Stark is so much fun to be around we're almost sorry to see his transformation take place. His business partner, Obadiah Stane (a splendidly bald, bearded Jeff Bridges), is also unhappy about the change.

The movie has a brilliant  scene in which Tony invites his assistant, Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow in a perfect fit), to reach into the hole in his chest and fix his battery is a cheeky cocktail of trust, disgust, love, sex, fear and courage (it also plays  a key role  in  subsequent developments), but above all it plays funny. When a movie is firing on all those cylinders, you know it's a winner.

 "Iron Man" is a supremely confident, well-tooled entertainment. The action  is absolutely dazzling, the dialogues  are  exhilarating, the comedy is scintillating and the whole enormous movie  throbs with dramatic energy.
On my agenda- the sequels to Iron Man!!