Children, no more children

A lost childhood is the worst that one would want in one’s life. The crisis that India is beginning to face. Interestingly, there was a similar article in India Today Magazine with the title “No Kidding”. I am referring to the new fag that has set in. Cosmetic Surgery for Children. What rules in an Indian household today is what the children say. When I talk about children I am referring to those that fall anywhere between 6 to 16. Cosmetic change –laser surgery, breast implants, health spas, manicure, pedicure, facials, bleaching, hair coloring, nose correction. What is astonishing is that these children are being accompanied by parents. Rakhi Sawant, the controversial item number of Bollywood who underwent a breast implant says she was surprised when she found a 15 year old kid in the same hospital to which she went to. And she adds that she felt happy to know that they were other women (quote , unquote) like her who wanted to undergo a change and feel more liberated. A 15 year old is not a woman and undergoing a breast implant at the age of 15 is not liberation. Doctors have guaranteed that Breast implants are completely safe for adults. It is not medically safe to have one done in children. The silicon may interfere with the underdeveloped breast tissue and cause permanent damage. The question under consideration here is why surgeons take up such operations. It is these people who can place a firm standing on the argument, it is the surgeons who would be taken seriously if they advise the parents about the seriousness of this issue and not an editor of a newspaper or a blogger like me. When some children were interviewed for the reason that made them undergo the change, many quoted they wanted to be like certain celebrities and others said their boyfriends/girlfriends were not too happy about them

Bombay which is a hub for the new fashion has a umpteen salons and spas and parlors that are specially made for children. Fashion houses have started to dive into the beauty industry since it is one that is thriving in India. There are 2 sections of parents- those who are helpless and are forced to take children to cosmetic surgery hospitals, spas etc and others who think it is worth the money. There is a Gym for children in Mumbai where a lot of 6-7 year olds visit. Weekends are spent on making oneself look better while people of my generation used to play and enjoy the freedom that the week gives to us. Looks didn’t matter to us. As long as we looked clean and tidy, it was good enough. We were children. We didn’t need to look “good”. I also read about a girl who is in her 9th standard from Pune and spends a minimum of 3000-4000Rs at the parlor. When interviewed on why she spends such exorbitant amounts, she justifies herself by telling that she frequents the pubs, meets a lot of friends and hence it is a necessity that comes along with all this. There was another case , where a mother and child pair came to a hospital along with the photo of a celebrity and the mother demanded that her daughter be made a look-alike of the person in the photo. One section of doctors in India are fighting to remove this evil while another are pocketing the huge sums of money that they receive to perform the personality change surgeries on young children.

Kaya Skin Clinic offers laser permanent hair removal surgery and one of their advertisement picture has a young girl being operated at by a professional. These clinics are the branded ones in the country , hence come with a big price tag and drive a huge hole in parents’ pockets.

Why are these children wanting to become adults very early and at an age when they should be rejoicing their childhood. And many of us here, at this point in life would do anything to get back to good ol’ days. Are these the necessary evils of an easily westernizing world?

What is even more surprising are the rates that an operation would cost to a parent:

I have picked a few :

Breast Impant: 1.25 lakh Rs

Nose Correction: 50,000-75,000 Rs

Laser Hair Removal surgery: 25000 Rs

Love is in the air

Incongruous behavior, insatiable quest for knowledge is what describes me- Shreya Kamal

 

I sit at my office, the sun beaming in with all its pride. Sometimes I so hate you. Wish one could change the season according to one’s mood. This set-up is so inappropriate to my mental state. I see that pictorial masterpiece of the frame. The picture perfect frame- of me and Kamal Kashyap that Sampada our friend gifted us. Mom used to complain about me using "€œsweets" to refer to kamal before my in-laws or any of my relatives for that matter. It all seems so alien now

 

In the subway when I was traveling back home. This day hadn'€™t been more beautiful than ever. It had just been three months since I got married. After the elaborate wedding at India, we got back to the place that played with our destiny- New York. The train was crawling screeching and halting at every little station that passed by or at least that's how it seemed like to me. I wanted to rush home. I looked out and saw a carpet land right next to the window and there he was- Kamal sitting on the carpet with the Aladdin-like clothes. I scurried to the window waiting it to open up. A mighty halt met me and I realized my silly fantasies and got ready to get down at Amsterdam Avenue. Finally it came. I was very fast-paced. Today, I had decided to get back home, set right the mess in which our house was, cook the yummiest food that kamal would enjoy. Oh yes, forgot to mention It would be a candlelight setup to celebrate our three months of tolerating each other. With all these thoughts filling my mind, I stopped at the Indian grocery and picked the essential. Carrot, Cucumber tomatoes for soup, capsicum, tomatoes, onion for salad, atta and radish for the brilliant mooli paranthas, paneer and peas, and other greens for the peas pulao and paneer sabzi. (Too elaborate I guess). Meeting Julia –my neighbor on my way, I described to her my happiness and she was very amused at the way Indians celebrate and value little things in life. At this point I am telling you, we Indians are born that way. We don’t want to lose what we have. And if it is a person, you do not want to even joke about it. And for those Indians living at a home away from home, this is more important. Shreya –me is very keen on celebrating little things in life. Now you know why three months after marriage matters to me a lot. I opened the door like how a hungry animal would if it knew its prey was inside my door. In 15 minutes, the house sparkled with the lighting that we purchased at Home Depot last month. Finally, I wondered, it came to be of some use. It added to my romantic mood. I carefully collected those multi-colour pebbles that I been saving for long and rolled them out of my hands into the exquisite glass bowl. I saw the pebbles merrily dancing and sliding by the side of the glass bowl as though relieved to be out of my hands. I called up amma and told her I love her. Asked her last minute tips for the grand meal. I prepared the meal, the appetizers and the dessert in a jiffy taking all care not to heat them even for an extra minute. The doorbell sang. I hopped and danced to the door in my white dress that seemed to merge with the lighting. I checked myself in the mirror right beside the door for any last minute touch up that would be needed. I looked like an angel. There he was standing mighty, tall, dusky, handsome, messy hair- which I like the best in him. I could see that he was tired. Not giving him a minute to settle into the atmosphere that he was being welcomed into, I gave him a huge bear hug and told him to be ready in 20 minutes for the celebration for which I have been planning for the past 3 days. Kamal – looked around like a lost cat, thinking for a second if he was in the right house. Our house had never ever been so beautifully lit. We do make an effort to keep the house tidy but sometimes a house is a house only if it’s messy. I saw him limping down the stairs but just ignored it thinking it was one of those old cranky jokes. We went by the pool side and took our places at the table that I had put there with the lovely white lace drape flowing so perfectly over the table only to match my dress. As we ate the lovely meal, I started talking about those days when we used to meet to get to know each other better, those days when both are parents used to call anxiously to know whether we liked each other. He kept listening and laughing at the same time. As we finished our desserts. I felt a hand hold me hard and swing me into eternity. As I swirled and turned and tossed, I wanted to look back and see who it was. I wanted to know where I was being pushed into. I wanted to be there by my house enjoying and swallowing every little thing of this beautiful day. I wanted to keep replaying this every year. I had a wet feeling. A feeling that I was going to drown into reality. And then I felt the hand hold me again. I cleared my eyes to see the truth, the life that lay ahead of me. Then suddenly that hand seemed familiar, only to notice that it was Kamal. We had thrown ourselves into the pool. We floated with ecstasy. Singing merrily, dancing around. I thanked god for what had been showered on me, for the love I got. It was a day to remember, a day to relive

What does this look like?

Hey,
Guess what this looks like. The clue is it that we have played with this when we were young, in fact many of us have constrcuted this even ...
____________________________________________________________________

And this?? easy one
____________________________________________________________________

Memoirs

How more delightful can life be.

Watching water flow on round ,dark, light, and mysterious pebbles . How I wish I could be a pebble , allowing beautiful things pass by me and oblivious to the happenings around me


Feeling the first few drops of rain .. fall on me and transferring me to another world where I am showered with the love. All by myself, nothing to worry about...



Watching the spider web after rain......




Licking the dew drops left by the mighty rain on the innocent flower.... I can feel the drops sliding down my throat and purifying my soul..



A gush of wind against me... Supplying me with the wings to fly over places...




Dance of joy.. like no one is watching me.



Guitar Prasanna's music filling my soul


Reclining on the rocking chair. thoughts evading me...

An Untold Story

Mr. Srinivasan got up to the first streaks of dawn that filled his bedroom. He quietly glanced to see if Radha was sleeping. He was never given the chance to wake up early . It was always her. As he leaned over the bed, he found his object under suspicion . Radha was there , beaming with the usual smile and coffee as though god had come down to have her "Narasus" coffee. Krishnan meticulously got up from his bed and headed to the washroom. When he reached the "Thinnai"( sit-out) his morning was made. The hot and just-brewed coffee lay with the newspaper to accompany it. The couple in their late 60’s helped themselves. Radha made the coffee in the right proportion. Little water , more "Narasus" coffee powder with the right amount of milk . No sugar even on days when Srinivasan begged for one teaspoon of it. She always used the traditional coffee filter. Never bothered to even have a look at the priced Café Maker that her son Seshadri had sent her from USA. This was how every day started. Srinivasan was all geared up for his bath. He convinced Radha that he could manage without her help. Radha anxiously waited outside the washroom like how every man waits when his wife is in labor. Radha heard the thud and tears came streaming down her turmeric-bathed cheeks. She forced open the door only to find Mr Srinivasan helplessly fitting himself to his chair. This was what happened every day. Mr Srinivasan , a retired Southern Railways Accountant and now a Stroke patient assured Radha that he was fine. He was then brought out of the room fresh and clean in a veshti . Reading the newspaper was the ritual that followed next , even though only Lord Venkatesha knew what he could comprehend. He would shake his head in agreement as he flipped through the pages , occasionally looking up to see if he was being watched by his wife. If that was true, he would smile sheepishly. Radha in the meanwhile cooked the food that suited his taste buds. If it were his favourite Saathamudhu( Rasam) or the famous beans kootu , Radha would be greeted with a victorious smile otherwise there would be mumers when the food was fed into his mouth. Radha then updated him with the serials screened on Tv and also about the well being of their relatives and neighbors. Every day Radha would run to the room to wipe her tears in between the feeding process. Her mind ran to memories about 20 years back. Seshadri her elder son, who used to study at The Indian Institute of Technology ,would always be around during weekends to assist his mom with her daily chores and help Sampath, his younger brother with his studies. All changed when Seshadri finished his MBA from IIM, B ( Bangalore). He got an offer at The United States of America and flew to the greener pastures never to return to India . Sampath also followed suit. Only difference being he went to the United States Of America immediately after his B tech. She was interrupted by constant coughing. Mr Srinivasan was having troubles swallowing food. She assured him that his sons might be thinking of him . He beamed a triumphant smile . If only Radha could tell him the truth behind the Fake Calls that she made from the nearby ISD booth asking a guy there to speak like her son. Seshadri , the guy who used to do his "Sandhi" everyday and knew the Vishnu Sahasranam, ShreeSutham, PuruSutham by heart , could hardly utter the word "Sandhi" ( pronounced it like " Sindhi" ) now. The door bell rang. Radha hurriedly stuffed some food inside Srinivasan’s mouth and went to answer the door. It was one of those cheques from Germany and USA. She would always think ,behind every ring of the door bell were her sons. Seshadri’s and Sampath’s children could not take the heat and pollution in India. They were scared that the cows near their Triplicane house would hit their children. Radha couldn’t travel abroad because there was no one to take care of her husband. Radha was caught up in this confusion. She had played the roles of a mother, wife , mother-in-law, grandmother way too well.. As these thoughts filled her mind, her stomach grumbled out of hunger. She realised that she hadn’t fed herself.

This is very common in India especially in the South Indian families. Why is it that Seshadri and Sampath couldn’t come back to India even for a visit ? There are many more Radhas and Srinivasans in India. Why is it that the children are never there for parents when they need them most. What aged parents demand is a visit now and then . Why are the very many Seshadris and Sampaths’ not able to fulfill this. Are we going to make any difference in the lives of our own Radha and Srinivasan ?

Impressions ...........

The sun beamed high.. but the black clouds were hiding him.. There was some melancholy in the air.....much could be noticed in the clouds... They were not moving... It felt to Anjali that every little thing that contributed to Mother Earth was mourning. A sorrow deep within.. an untold sorrow .. an unspoken grief... Memories rushed into her mind... This was something which she didn't want . Anjali looked back again .. just to push back the memories.....! What had happened to her...Why had she been reduced to just another entity in his life....Emotions took over her... There she was sitting on the sands... with a twig in her hand.. ready to remind herself of her errs ONE LAST TIME... She started to carve her memories into words.. . every tear that had been shed was now crafted into words.. words that had depth .... words that spoke of herself.... words that she never wanted to even think of. Finally the one word that was putting her mind under pressure came out............ Vinay...that was it....Anj couldn't resist.... Its her last time... If only these would stay on sand...Life had always been gay and happy.. Anjali had never seen pain or failure......Her Pa(father) gave her everything that she craved for.. be it love or wealth or comfort ......... Being a motherless child didn't upset her... Never! Anjali took a casual glance at the waves roaring at a distance ....This was how her life was too... Suddenly things changed....life took a tough turn....Her own home gave a deserted look.. ..with Pa gone..... she wrote "That was when Vinay blosommed as a flower in my life "...He gave her that unique feeling of warmth .. of love and what not......Days spent laughing ..... Nights spent in unison.....The long walks.. the umpteen roses... And then that fateful day came like how another wave roared at her. Anjali sighed! If only he hadn't left ....some incidents in life go unnoticed...some leave a deep scar.... This was one of the latter....She thought it was a Vinay without Anjali.... But she had been wrong.... Anjali wrote further "When I went to meet him...he just shooed me away...Now I can hear the wedding bells.....".....................A drop of tear fell on the sands that felt like rock ...And the waves came and wiped off the impressions and the soul that wrote it....now all that lay behind was
Anjali's favourite Red duppatta that Vinay had given her.................

On the Road to Failures….

**** We always talk about our ingress into the world of success .
But have we ever thought about the Road to failures..****

So there I was on my road to failure…
Taking along a hefty amount of pill to cure,
Not me but my weak heart at all times
Because Man is one who can never change,

I met the Man of Err.
Sleeping on his Chair
To be woken by none
Because he is one who can never change

I did meet the Man of Truth
Who never bothered to offer the fruit
Which every Man yearned to attain-The fruit of Success
He knew I was lead by the Man of Err
Because He knew Men can never change

The road to Failures was not an easy one though,
Heaped with many a foe,
And few a comrade,
And my hope to succeed the stones of the road did fade,

Alas I did meet Man of Hope,
He did give me his fruit,
The extremely valuable one
Which none yearn,

But I did because on my way to failure
I had sowed the seeds of success……

By
Saru

NO title

I could not decide what topic to give it as otherwise the essence of this poem will be lost..

Stepping into this world with two impressions!

Helped into this world by you don't know who!

O man of little faith have you're cup of tea!

And believe in "me" at least to sustain!!!

The less of "me" the more succinct you are

"Me" the cause of you're worry

The more of "Me" the less abrupt you are

Not to wince you any further

"Me" the cause of worldly happiness too!!!

At you're ingress into the gate of mortality

"I" was not there but "She" was

When you r are alone "I" will be there if you think I should

And to tell u "She" will vanish!!!!!!!!!!!

You man of little faith, at the end of this poem I know you still dont have the "Me" in you and the "She" is there in you, because the"Me" is hope and the "She " is confusion

Now you r spell bound!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My very first blog in 2003

IT IS AN ADIEU BUT IT IS REBIRTH!!!!!!!!!!

I place my foot into this mud of knowledge

Before a river and now a tributary that I have chosen

That river of mine is stalked in me

I have bid adieu to my comrades and pledged myself into this new world

That laughter I left in my pre-birth will be in mind curled

I take up those soils and myself into renaissance

I hope happy would be a few more than those who are to me new

Or whom I little less know!

That would be a little too much I know you would think

I crack out from a nut into which I was previously stuffed

And now all on my own I am to fight through this strenuous sand dune I would say, puffed

Fight, fight and just fight it out that was the phrase I heard or

rather adage I would say to be precise

But when I entered this era

I thought...

No ! life is not so tough compete, compete and you have to!!!

(By a school student)