Saturday, November 19, 2011

Apps and App-Nots

http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/en/thomas_suarez_a_12_year_old_app_developer.html

What a celebration of creativity and the way the lives of many have been touched by technology and innovative energy !

While I enjoyed the TED talk and smiled at the clarity of this young man's ideas and his authentic, candid and honest voice, I am also reminded of the chasm that exists between such stories and the realities that exist in our world, our Board, our communities and in homes. Kids with headphones tucked into their ears, that go into an empty pocket (note to self: just remind them to put it away safely, don't ask them to hand it over, there may not be one in that pocket).

Like laser eye surgery, once the lens of equity fits an eye, you don't miss a thing. Very exhausting work, and very, very necessary.

Night is ending....

The Quest Conference for Increased Student Achievement and Well Being: 3rd day of workshops began with a Markham school's presentation. Students and VP on the stage danced the bhangra. YR is growing up. And I'm lovin' it. Clapped till my hands were sore. And my heart is still soaring.

How do I know when the night is ending and the day is beginning? When I look at the hill in the distance and I recognise the two people there; one is my brother and the other is my sister. That's when I know that the night is ending and the day is beginning.

Rashmee, still here, still me, and walking... Except I am not alone..

Friday, November 18, 2011

Quest: The Cedarwood Way.

Yesterday the Quest came to us: we had a traveling and later structured Quest Corner. The iPad and L@S netbooks traveled to the community class where our students used Doodle Buddy to draw lovely pictures in their favorite colors. At recess, some grade 8 students responded to blogs and at lunch the Quest Corner travelled to the staff room where teachers could respond as well. It was very meaningful to see teachers read the Student Voice blogs of the students they had taught in kindergarten or grade 3. We later pulled out some photographs and saw the same shiny faces in kindergarten. Time flies, students grow up, we make memories.

At the Intermediate Literacy block, more students came in small groups. In the interest of time, some blogged in pairs, some in threes. Some asked me to scribe for them. If an iPod was taken by a more assertive peer, a student mustered up the courage to step up and ask for it. We chatted about equity, bullying prevention, activism in small steps, affordability with new toys that often causes the divide between haves and have-nots, gaps in wellness and cause rifts between hearts.

And that was the deeper learning: spaces will always be limited; we can't take all our students to a conference, we can't all take our students to a conference, many students have no access to basic items for survival. The step forward is to break barriers of exclusivity and elitism and open those doors: to rooms, to laptop carts, to iPod cases and above all to hearts that can connect and take the conversation forward. Many asked if they could go to Quest next year, some are looking at student voice projects at the Ministry level, others have their gaze on the student trustee opportunity to serve their communities.

Now that's a strong network.

No connectivity problems or any jostling for attention. the students show the way: this is how we do it at Cedarwood.

The courageous conversations continue. With one magic weaver on-site at the Quest and another magic-weaver on-site at Cedarwood, with many more magic weavers who complete the circle,so much was possible.

Our students will rise. They will shine, they will soar, they will write their names in the stars. I am a dreamer, but not the only one.

Our school, our students, our way.

Friday, November 4, 2011

ESSAH: A step forward

November 1st, 2011 was a very special day. It was the launch of Educators for Students of South Asian Heritage (ESSAH) at a Markham school. This group of committed educators had existed within our Board for many years and now has it's new avatar.

Inaugurated by our Superintendent of Schools, it was well attended by over 40 teachers, administrators, EAs and SOAs.

As discussed in many intellectual gatherings (including the forthcoming Quest conference), the achievement gap for our students from historically and currently marginalised communities are direct result of many factors such as:

  • social and cultural capital (therefore my children have advantages that my students do not)
  • socioeconomic status
  • lack of equitable access to information and resources
  • invisibility amidst mainstream populations that hold and withhold power
What happens to students is also happening to many teachers who reflect these communities. These are the silent voices. One needs to reflect about the working conditions of disenfranchised teachers who are unable to stand up for their students until they first stand up for themselves.

It is upto each one of us to strengthen our voices against discriminatory practices so that we can learn how to support one another and our students in more respectful ways. And how to educate others with empathy and insight.

I would like to invite you to my classs to learn with us sometime. Thanks to the Literacy@School initiative, we are able to afford technology that we can now embed into our learning framework as we become critical consumers of information.

 And we continue to push back the boundaries. I have been engaged in courageous conversations this week to pave the way for my own advocacy journey. The future is promising.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Decisions, decisions

Days
just hurtle out of control
and I stand in the midst of each
and try to breathe
deeply and think
of leisure
of sitting with the children
and reading something for fun
of just being quietly
in a bubble of time
yet I know that is
my decision to choose
this life, this pace
and I must go the way I have charted
for myself
as I see time ticking
towards every January
when one more leaf
falls to the ground.

5:30 am on October 17th
After several weeks of 17 hour days.

Friday, October 14, 2011

How are you?

Hope all is well
I wonder about the silence
as I remind myself
that we are ourselves first
and free to decide whatever we do
whenever we do
but you promised to tell me
you were leaving
so I would know
not to think of you
like this
on rainy days.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

I, The Elder

I, the Elder now
wait for news of birth
and wellness
and celebrate
from my recliner
technology is my Sanjay

I, the Elder
am asked
"What time was I born, Didi"
" What was my birth weight"
Sometimes I remember,
at others, I don't
as I was not an Elder then

I was just a little girl
7 or 10 delighted to have
a person to hug
and lug around on my hip
and love

And now, I am the Elder
the only one who is witness
to their journeys
And I know now
that if I do not remember
I can make something up

there is no one who will
refute my claim
As I am the last one standing

I, the Elder
But I don't
I tell them the truth,
that I do not remember

I was too busy dancing for joy then

And we remind ourselves
that we will tell our children
and we will write it down
We will take pictures, we will blog, we will record our voices

So they all know..

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Is it?

I wait for the one
who is ever-elusive
perhaps this is love

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Mystery

I wonder about
the sad deprived state of mind
where those who have the most
are still miserable.

As someone who grew up
in a quiet, verdant village
in Goa in the 70s

with no tv,
or radio,
or Internet,
or FB
or what-have-you

Yet enjoyed watching fireflies
on summer nights
and raindrops
on the window pane,
butterflies hatching out of
a small cardboard bex
and ferns on the inside
of the backyard well

and thankfully still retain the wonder
and the joy of starlight
I can safely say that
I am rich beyond compare

What is your loss little one ?
that you are
so easily displeased

(a question to the children I see around me whose parents strive to give more and do more and buy more just for that one look of satisfaction)

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Sprained Ankle

Pebble on the road
excruciating, and now
I can read my book

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

If only..

How easy it is
to move one step further and
let go, live again

Heartstrings in Shantikunj

This being away
at times feels so very light
at others, heavy..

Veena's Feet

Minutes after birth
the little feet, so soft, yet
they know the journey

Adu and I in Naigaum Park

The wise one, just five
says to me, love in her eyes
I see me in you.


 
She frowns like me, this little one, my brother says and has dimples too when she smiles. Ah, immortality.

Hello me..

This glorious joy
at finding myself this way,
my heart overflows

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Master of what now?

I sit here rather lie here this grey Sunday evening. Two of my favourite people lie beside me; my daughter and my cat. One rushing around braiding her hair, asking about this and that, the other: calm and lolling.

I have just opened several browsers/windows/whatchamacallits: I am looking through the Master's requirements for my course that will start soon. I am excited and apprehensive at once: what was I thinking to enroll for this when the kids are not yet fully grown, when the weather will turn soon and when I have already so much to do at school,so many new things to learn and do, show for and stand by? Crazy.

Then I go back to 1987 when I wanted to stride ahead but Life had other plans. At that time, I had moved forward and had done what I was called upon to do. So this is my time, I tell myself. I close my eyes for a while and let the feeling seep. I drive through the gates that I had once only dreamt of and then passed by on public transit. The kids were younger then and I was new to my life here, yet I had made it through.

I remind myself to stay with the now. That will help. Don't rush on and project what may be and don't feed the fears that raise their scary heads. This is a past sensation of September winds that blow through my mind. I have done this before and well. I will do this again and better.

And that Ph.D cannot be far behind now can it. Shhhh, just the Now my dear, listen to your heart.

Remind me, my friend

As I read your words
reminding me to accept...
my silver hair shines

( written in response to this haiku posted by an unseen friend):

Accept gracefully
Human being yourself now
Surrendering fears



Azaadi, 15th August.

I have never known
anything other than this
Azaadi, a gift

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Good morning, Day 1

"Good morning, Day 1. I wonder what you are going to learn today"

Days went by in Dhamma Torana and I was able to track the time in a new way. Luckily for me, I have developed the habit of NOT wearing my watch on weekends during the work year and never during the vacation. I guess growing up in Goa as a child helped me to stay connected with nature. Long before I had even heard of the wonderful Mr Howard Gardner and his Multiple Intelligences Theory, I was most at peace watching the sky, listening for a rustle in the bushes and just being me.

So this was not going to be hard, I thought as I settled into the sqaue sheet of sponge. And I was wrong, very wrong.

What was interesting was the intensity of my connections with the outside world. I was not trying to suppress my thoughts. I had read enough about mindfulness and staying in the moment. But as Goenka ji says, I was still in the 'intellectual' stage of wisdom. The experiential was miles away.

Here is what happened:
"I wonder what the kids are doing"
"I wonder if the school SharePoint has been updated yet"
"I wonder if I will be able to cope with the demands of the new year with
my Masters programme and my school work"

And on and on and on it went.

The first day in session, I learned just one simple thing. And staying with that one set of directions was HARD, DIFFICULT, EXCRUCIATING.

Just that?
What do you mean focus on just that?
This is it? Come on now !
I need a wall to support my back, I am wobbly.
My tailbone hurts.

There it was, I understood my own frailities. I wanted everything NOW, yet I was not ready to stay in the NOW. For this day, I was taught just this one simple thing.

That is all the Buddha wanted me to do.
And I was trying...

Dhamma Moments: 4 am

20th July. We left London to go to Burlington. I sat in a Starbucks logged into the world. After lunch, we went to the Centre. After registration, we handed in our phones and other connections to the outside world. After a light meal went in to to receive instructions men and women live in separate dormitories. Two people to a cabin with a washroom to share and from that evening's session of sitting, we took the oath of silence.

21st July:
It was a struggle. The gong went at 4 am the next day and again at 4:20. I am alone with my thoughts. And I wrapped myself in my blue shawl and made my way through over the winding path towards the Dhamma Hall.

After the first day of 4 am sitting (always easier to meditate in the hall where the steady breathing of others keeps me on track). I was able to discern when I was awake and when I slipped into sleep.

One moment, I can hear the fan and then suddenly there is silence. It is like falling through a wall or wakefulness. I am here now and hearing the fan. And suddenly, I am in this peaceful place where there is no sound. The sudden realisation that I was able to differentiate between the two stages of wakefulness and sleep, were strange at first. That scared me, this new awarenessof ME and I thought to myself in that 4 am movement: maybe dying is this easy.

Friday, August 12, 2011

Rules? Whatever.....

Can't be a purist
how then will I know what lives
in your heart today

Your choice

My words, a window
to who I am right now, Jaan
take it or leave it

Gm,gn, great life.


On my little solo jaunt, I went to the UK for 4 days ( can you believe that?) and had a great time. From Gatwick, straight to Stonehenge and then to Birmingham for the night.

Then, over to the Lake District which is super quaint and to the Beatrix Potter Centre (not read much of her work to the children but Peter Rabbit has a frown just like Ashray did when he was a baby so got him a little momento.) The kids are anyway interested in a certain Mr.H.Potter, so that's that.

Then Stratford to visit the Bard, a tribute to my mother who had introduced me to his work as early as grade 5, bought up all the titles of Shakespeare for kids with all these really nice illustrations, kinda like Duffelbag Theatre, demystifying Shakespeare.

Then a day in London with a walking trip through Chinatown and onward to Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery where I 'met' some greats again. Just soaking in the diversity standing on the steps seeing the monuments and the simliarities in architecture between London, Mumbai and Ottawa puts things into perspective.

And two weeks later, London was burning, raging fires from suppressed anger and who knows what else. Sad that. Friends who call it their home were disappointed at the crumbling of the facade of normalcy. And I, saddened watched the parade of the sameness of life everywhere and the hatred that calms down over time. Riots in my new home too whether over a G20 summit or a hockey game, the ugly face of humanity. Yet when all this is over, many watch fascinated as 'those people' scramble for their lives and freedoms over rubble created by the corridors of unseen, frightening power.

A very solemn reminder that arrogance is just a precursor to a rude awakening that we are more similar than we like to admit.

The sun does not set anyway, whether on the British Empire or elsewhere. The world just turns and we, with it.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Breath

This day is heavy
and every breath comes with pain
let go, let go, now


I thought I was just writing about myself, today. But on second reading in response to a 'like' realised that I was narrating the quiet moment last December as I sat beside my mother as she slept her final evening in this mortal world. Tired as she was, trying to hang on and wanting to let go. I guess I wrote for the both of us.

Bugs live

At Vipassana a few days ago, we followed the 5 Shilas one of which was not to kill any living being. On metta day, when we could finally speak, the discussions were around this very fact: "OMG I just realised that day, that included bugs. They are living too"

If only we looked at all beings with the same grace as when we are in silence. What would we see?

Keep me with you

This morning, I was inundated with chores. My daughter woke me early as she wanted my laptop and decided that she would explore my room. A light sleeper as I am, I could not go back to sleep. So I was up and about. Then with the day came the trip to Staples for the Teacher Appreciation Day. I returned home for a quick lunch and went to my favourite 'adda', the haiku page. Some friends online, others posting haiku like bright stars that twinkle one by one in the twilight sky. And I did not want to leave.

I will never be
able to leave you, my love
your words keep me here


As I went to the Physio session for the neck injury I smiled at the constant reminder of anichcha. Then off to the gym for Ashray's workout.

Sigh

there is a lull now
and the words won't come to me
writer's block or love?

What's the matter with you?

Today has been a difficult day although sunny and cool. The mind has its reasons. One part of my brain says: "What's your problem, look outside, get a grip" These are the remnants of my past, from years of social conditioning from being always ready to face the day whether or not I was ready really.

But this is me now and I sit here and observe the peace come in softly on butterfly wings. And my breath eases, and then eases some more and then this is what my heart replies:

This day is heavy
and every breath comes with pain
let go, let go, 

now

A writer's journey

One day, perhaps day 5 or 6 when I first had the aha moment in the Vipassana journey, I thought to myself: "Darn it. No more writing for me. No more angst, just observation. And just when a publisher was asking me about my 2nd book. I am glad I did not sign anything" Funny thought that, walking along the winding paths of Dhamma Torana. A rustle here, a quiver there, watchful unseen eyes in the undergrowth my companions even as I walked from room to hall to lunch to clear my pace.

After my return two weeks ago, I have not been reaching for my journal as much. I have not written long drawn out outpourings of the heart. I no longer run on with my pain, the wheel of misery does not roll on and on.

I have been wriiting haiku though. Quite prolifically I must say. Now always proficiently. And there are gentle guides along this path who suggest a second look or encourage me with their likes.

I had always admired the brevity of the craft and had always thought myself unable to confine myself to the 5-7-5 pattern. I kept returning to the Facebook Group and reading the expressive little gifts left there by so many talented writers. Yet not until my own journey came to be a series of moments did I write with this freedom. It is not until I remembered the sensation of this very moment and that very glance was I able to free myself from self imposed labels of not being able to do this or that.

Constraints imposed by
those who benefit from them,
you don't have to stay

So I take another moment to see this woman sitting with me. I think I like her.

With you

Thunderstorm today
drenched and laughing with you as
the sun smiles softly

Sigh

I will never be
able to leave you, my love
your words keep me here

Stuck

there is a lull now
and the words won't come to me
writer's block or love?

Just go..

Constraints imposed by
those who benefit from them,
you don't have to stay

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Editing Error

Fixing my typo
inadvertently, your like
deleted, sorry

Love poems

Many haiku, I
wrote today for you, my love
yet you are unmoved

Not in my backard

Not in my backyard
is the general refrain
yet each one is scared

For you, as you grieve

You were so proud
of your new country,
all the joy in your eyes
when you spoke of your people
and their strengths
and foresight

Now as the fires rage around you,
I hold you in my heart
and say this

forgive the lapses
for we are all people
deep inside

with anger
and prejudice
and hatred
and envy

yet there is also
deep, deep love
and this too shall pass

nothing lasts forever
not the mirage of normalcy
nor the anger
all passion is spent
sooner than later

and then comes the calm
the regret

and the peace
slowly poking its head
from amidst the ruins

and we build again
as we have always done
through centuries
of existence
all that lives on is love

remember that
as your heart beats on
and place your hand over it
as I would have done
had I been beside you tonight

.

Green dot

I know you are here
yet you are silent these days
so I don't like to pry

Hear it?

Enjoy sitting in
silence, no need to chat on
I can hear hearts beat

Monsoon Metaphor

It rained heavily
here, just an hour ago
and my chai missed you

Monday, August 8, 2011

Respiration

Quiet afternoons
thoughts of you come unbidden
I breathe through each one

EST

Time zones don't matter
when we meet together, here
and heartstrings quiver

Gn, tc

I am somewhere else
yet you live on in my thoughts
as time trickles, slow

Held

As I sit alone
In silence, the gathering
dusk, holds thoughts in place

Summer thoughts

Quiet afternoons
thoughts of you come unbidden
I breathe through each one

My students' gift

In teaching you how
to write haiku, I also
freed my soul some more

Writing lesson

Just learning to write,
I love the imagery,
that brevity brings

Shhh

Sitting in silence
I see that there is much more
than what I perceive

Friday, August 5, 2011

Islands

I have been back since Sunday and life goes on. The silence and peace of Dhamma Torana is a thing of the past and that is as it should be. Before I pay my dues through performing my duties, I cannot think about going back to silence and being that other person.

Life comes knocking every minute of my wakeful hours: lunch to pack for the child who wakes oh-so-early to volunteer, pack a snack for the personal trainer ( aka my 13 year old son) who patiently sits through my morning chores until we walk in through the doors of GoodLife, toothpaste to buy, burgers to grill, onions to slice.

And I am typing with my left hand as Ashray is cuddled on my right shoulder. Soon he will be 14. And off to highschool, and so on.

Until then I am here, breathing.

Anichcha.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Me

I have always had this visual

of myself as a wheel
with many spokes
and each one is
a set of needs and
it is okay to
have many of those

for years, I was tired
of being asked to explain

why I need to write,
or listen to music when I cook
or walk in the rain
or hug the kids to bits everytime I see them
or kiss the cat on her soft head

I did not explain it
I just smiled and
connected with my journey
and lived my life

therefore I am the enigma
I do not explain you see

and I do not seek to
solve the questions
that arise in your mind

Monday, August 1, 2011

August 1st 2011: One am observations

Hello World, I have to tell you this. I did not miss you as much as I had thought I would. I have been back since 10 am today. Only I knew when I left on July 20th that I would make it through. The naysayers love me dearly, they just don't know me very well.

I find my sensitivity to sound has sharpened from the 10 days of silence. The tv or even raised voices are hard to bear. I am still able to enjoy the simplest moments, like being in splits and needing to take a break because my stomach hurt so much from laughing as we watched Pink Panther 2 together after supper. Amazing also, how quickly I have gotten used to fruit and tea at 5 pm, how my internal clock and discomfort of folded feet in adhithhaan led me to come out of meditation in an hour even without a clock or an alarm beside me. How I knew to go to respiration when the sensations became gross and solidified. Oh, explicit teaching and repetition of instructions do work.

I am secure in the feelign that this is my experience. I have not felt the need to account for every moment. I do not strive to explain my 10 days to my family. I tell them if they ask. I am not into the 'this is what I learned and I am going to tell you about it now".Isn't it like the blind men and the elephant. All the words that mean so much to me are just jargon to someone else. Why burden them with this?

Somethings change and I observe I am making progress in these areas. In others, I observe that the road ahead is difficult and needs more work. What matters is that I am able to be here, right now and go with the awareness and equanimity.

Sleep comes slowly tonight. I observe the apprehension for tomorrow and breathe a little deeper.

Anichha, anichha, anichha.

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Crossroads Wisdom

10 days over. Of observing, accepting, letting go. This morning after all the residents of A and B had made their way home and I finished saying goodbye to all the me's scattered through the forest paths leading all around the Centre, I went through the rain to the kitchen to fill cereal containers and jars of yeast for breakfast. I realised that I belonged here as much as I possibily could anywhere else. The safest place I have known so far, to have slept so soundly without even a lock on any door.

So many memories are infused into the new me: the little pink nose of the mole that did not hear my footfall through the torrential rain yesterday, the subtle fragrance of the trees at 4 am, the soft light of dusk that caressed the trees as we came out of the 6 pm sitting and the shared smile at a pre-mature ever-so earnest 'sadhu' chanted by that one faceless voice with endearing regularity. And finally the freedom to chuckle at this.

I learned so much from everyone just by being in the same room, or walking the same path: how to weed a rosebed when you are deep in thought, how to stand by the edge of the ravine in deep concentration after aditthana, how to check your carotid pulse when you have finished a sitting, how to wait and let someone else pass, how to watch what happens to the person ahead of you who ate that berry off that bush (and lived).

And we were driving on home...

Just as I was looking out in the distance and the car was waiting at the stop sign at the end of Egbert and Road 56, there was a bump. A car behind us had hit us. My ever-so-patient husband, fuming now, jumped out and walked over to get the information of the driver behind us. And a familiar face popped out from the car, one of our fellow students,a server with whom I had just washed lettuce. Her husband had picked her up at the same time mine had and they must have left a few minutes after we did. I knew her name, we had laughed together just moments ago, I had thanked her for her service during my stay.

As the men sat in the car through the pouring rain and exchanged information, I stood with her in the rain and waited for her to stop shaking. I look back now and see myself at crossroads. I had just stood there and watched the horses grazing, I had reassured my fellow traveller that it was okay and neither they nor we had been hurt. We stood together for a while and soon it was time to go our separate ways. One to Kingston, one to Markham.

I had also remembered the horrible crunch of my car from last June when I was hit at dawn, just minutes from school on a quiet Markham street. As I stood in the rain, I felt the sensation of that sound subside, the taste of that fear dissolve, I felt the 'panya' and relief that this was just a fender-bender. After months of physio, tests and early morning tossing and turning with pain, this was just a scratch. As they drove off and we did too, my husband looked at me quizzically. Since my accident, I had been jumpier especially as a passenger. I wasn't this morning. My side of the car had been hit, and he said I had barely flinched. Wierd.

I had lived my first real life 'anichcha' a mere 5 minutes out of the centre.

The Buddha does not wait for the grass to grow now does He?

And Dhamma works.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Me

I have always had this visual
of myself as a wheel with many spokes
and each one is
a set of needs and
it is okay to have many of those
for years, I was tired
of being asked to explain
why I need to write,
or listen to music when I cook
or walk in the rain
or hug the kids to bits everytime I see them
or kiss the cat on her soft head
I did not explain it
just smiled and
connected with my journey
and lived my life
therefore I am the enigma
I do not explain you see
and I do not seek to solve the questions
that arise in your mind

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Journeys

I told my brother I was going to Inglistaan tonight and he asked: Why UK.
Well, why not UK? For one, if dear Kate and Wills can visit The True North Strong And Free, surely someone should pay a return visit. We know our manners. eh?

To answer that question less facetiously: to meet Amma through Shakespeare, Jane Austen and a visit Westminster Abbey. She opened the world of language and reading for me as a little girl as did Pappa. She sat patiently on the stone bench in Panaji, Goa teaching me to read. Even before that, she would read aloud to me and translate difficult words to Konkani. Gently, every so firmly, she reminded me to write like myself, not someone else; a tall order for a while who devoured Enid Blyton's stories of eggand cress sandwiches and hard boiled eggs, heather and moors. But I did it, slowly and steadily, I learned to tell my own stories and the tories of my people in words that were authentically mine.
As the first born with three younger siblings, I had been sharing her since 6 and left home to get married at 27. I was never given the opportunity to travel alone with Amma in her lifetime, so this is it. Now I can take her with me wherever I go and this is the place that comes to mind. My literary jaunt with my mother.

AND they speak the language !!!

My camera, my journal and mindful moments are on the agenda.

Also I need the experience of travelling alone without dread to break the cycle of seeing Amma hurt and in pain. Both times in 2009 and 2010, I did that. When I flew to Mumbai within 24 hours armed with an emergency visa from the Consulate, I knew or at least anticipated what I was going to.

This time, it's for me. The moment I saw her lying there, minutes after she passed, the picture I carry in my cellphone, I was inspired to live my life not just for my children but also for myself. Although I have Veena, my new born niece waiting in Mumbai, I do not yet have the courage to land in my city and not find Amma; yesterday I had a meltdown just thinking of that.

UK tonight and Vipassana on July 20th are two such attempts.

Yesterday, Disha helped me plan, pack, cull and repack. Ashray helped me pick a camera and is going to teach me to how to operate it. It takes great courage for parents to let their children test their wings. However it takes immense and unconditional love on the part of children to let their parent be a person.

Amma gave birth to me, but my children are helping me grow. They are pushing me out of the nest and waiting for me to test these new wings. What more could I ask for?

"Look Mamma, I made my own lunch, you don't need to worry about me"
" Go Mamma, just go"
" Mamma, I am soooooo proud of you"

I must have gone through multiples lifetimes of misery and strife to be gifted two children as caring, loving and so soul-connected as these two. Now, does that somehow sound better than being asked: "What have I done to deserve children like this". I must tell Amma that when I see her in London.

So back to the question" Why UK"

Surely there is a primordial connection between this place and my soul. The language I learned as a 5 year old has paved my way to take my place in a new world on my terms. Although I mostly think ( and rant,... Oh no, I DO NOT SWEAR) in Konkani, English is my language of expression whether to appreciate the thinking of others or to express my own. I am fascinated by history and how that of my people and my country of birth are intertwined with this place. I smile when a dear, dear friend urges me to sign up on Multicultural Day on behalf 'of the Mother Country' and then curl up in a chair laughting beside her at the gaffe. We went to London for our visa interview in 2001, I delight in the narrative of P.G. Wodehouse and believe me, have received the serendipitous visual treat of seeing a fine gentleman step out from the Underground (I am told Professor Dumbledore has that map on his thigh) in a bowler a la Bertie Wooster.

So this is it: my first ever solo pleasure trip. I have travelled on work, travelled to welcome, travelled to say goodbye, to mourn and grieve. I have travelled to answer questions about my suitablity to settle in Canada and I have travelled to get somewhere.

This time, I am travelling just 'cuz I can. And a soulmate on a sunny patio reminded me the other day that it is okay to do just that. Hungry eyes here too.

Who knows where I will go next: Panama to visit my brother, Antarctica to pay tribute to Jacques Cousteau, snorkelling at the Great Barrier Reef, the tomb of Ho Chi Minh in Hanoi, watch the sunrise over Fuju Yama....

That should be fun. Wait for the postcards.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Happy Birthday, Gurudutt maam

Born Gurudutt Padukone, this fine film maker went on to make some excellent pieces that won critical acclaim. Maybe it was more artsy to be considered Dutt than Padukone ( well, those were the days before dear Deepika).



As I was growing up, my father explained to me the play of light in the song Bichde Sabhi Bari Bari, to me the first born; the pain of the disappointed dreamer in this song. I would go with my parents to watch movies such as Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam and my Pappa explained to me the symbolism of the clock maker and the tyranny of entitlement (zamindari in that time, another breed today). I remember him laughing with heartfelt delight when at the end of the film, I had asked where the money had gone that the Bhootnath had given Chotti Bahu for safekeeping, the empty shelves were scary; little did I know the meaning of waning fortunes of any kind. Today National Theatre in Panaji lies in ruins and I walked past with the children on the way to 18th June road to buy a classy Titan watch for my son last year. Sudhakar's newspaper stall was still there.
I must have 9 or 10 then. I had enjoyed seeing the world through my father's eyes as he connected with the immense talent of Gurudutt and paved the way for my appreciation of film and story telling. it was our time together, movies and discussion. Today when I talk about books and films with my children, he comes to visit. He stays a while. he would have loved talking about Harry Potter with these two movie buffs that are gifted to me.

Today as I see a photo with a bird perched on the head of the Mahatma, I think of R.K. Laxman, another Pappa link and the question arose: Jinhe naaz par Hind par woh kahaan hai? And a voice softly answered: Right there in your heart, little one. You are proud of your roots aren't you. That's all that matters.

Thank you Gurudutt maam for sharing all this in such a short time. And thanks Pappa for your eyes and your passion.

Family Time

Had an amazing time yesterday with my brother and his family. I had woken up and suddenly realised that it was July 8th, the day I usually landed in Mumbai. See how easy it is to get used to something. I do something for 3 years and it becomes ' my thing' now. And the tears just wouldn't stop, I cried and cried and cried sitting on the swing for a long time.

The pain of thinking of Amma's aging and the shock I used to get every year as to how much more has gone away, how angry I felt at all the people who did not acknowledge the passage of time and treated things as if they would never end and above all my own pain at not being able to accept this change, seeing even my own mortality in her face. The inability to just blink and makes things to what they were, whatever that phase was that I was used to, warts and all.

And I wondered aloud at the Universe about how this day would end.

I guess getting up and living the next moment is the best way to move on with Life, and that is what happened. My daughter woke, we went to the gym, then we shopped some at the mall, came home to pick up my son, got dressed and left for the friend's home.

I want to write more but right now the words do not come, they will later, I know. Until then, the warmth in my heart will have to do. Do you feel it?

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Irony

my honey eyed love
waits for me with open arms
yet, I am still here

Writers' Flock

unconditional
presence of friends who are here
invites me to write

Homecoming

6th July, my day
to fly home to my childhood
this year, empty home

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Summertime Sisters

A sister takes naps
Another, sings joyful tunes
It must be Summer

Love, suddenly

When love comes to me
In various forms, I smile
and thank you for it

My Commendation Letters

I was invited one day
before a long ago TPA
include your commendation letters
to your binder, if you wish

And I realized that I did not have any
Not one, not a single one
I had something else though
that cannot be filed away
and framed on walls

I have a crowded classroom though
and it fills up everyday, until there is only standing room
My students are shy sometimes
And bold some days
as they enter the room
with their rich, rich schema (a favourite word in room 206)
of many things I do not know, can only imagine

I have to bring in more chairs
For their mothers and their fathers
For their grandfathers and grandmothers
For their uncles and aunts

I see their dreams shine
Whenever I meet them
And they dream just like I do
They want the same things that I want, and you do
For our children

That their child is safe
That she can learn and be happy
and cared for, and fed and celebrated for

Whatever they understand
As a respectable job, not precarious, no layoffs
Schema again.

“Doctors, engineers, dentists”
They say,
as many scoff at
their ignorance of choices

that is our ideal, too isn't it?
Of not being frowned upon
Of having food on the table
Of having enough for our children, and they for theirs?

My students are my badge of honour
They shine and they glow
Yet I have no commendation letters

I have memories,
of food brought, piping hot, vadai, sometimes pongal
Mangoes in May, of tears shed at Grad
of hands held in hallways, with sisterly concern
of phone calls when my child was ill

And the reassurance
That a women’s group at the masjid was
also praying for us

“Borders do not exist between hearts” I say to them always
Dilon ke beech deewarein nahin hoteen
Our countries had fought several wars, you see

And that warmth, this love is what I hold in my heart
Everyday, as I walk with you.

I have no commendation letters.

Dappled, green

It comes suddenly,
this pain and loneliness
and the question
whether you are awake yet
half a world away

no bags to pack this July
and no stifling humidity to stare at
with sleepy eyes at midnight
no cool floors to walk on

just this sadness
and this knot of longing

and the realisation
that this parting is not about me
it was intended
as an answer to your wish
to be safe and free
and well

in whichever form
of energy
you currently inhabit

and the slanting rays
comfort me
as you always have

Haiku one stifling afternoon

cool east facing room,
amid blue walls, enjoying
haiku and blessings

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

A time for forgiveness: On my terms baby !

I am told this is a time for forgiveness.

I am informed that it is my duty to conform
I am reminded that Life is too short
( yeah right, you remember now)

I do not say anything, to those wise words
of vested interests
the very thought that
this is a changed time and
a changed me

that oppression cannot touch me anymore,
or my children
is uplifting and fun somehow

this time the rapid heartbeat
is elsewhere

I wonder what..
I wonder why...
I wonder when..

Ah, the total absense of fear
intoxicating

I cannot forgive
without her permission, y'know
al the 'Me's that reside within ..

the me in 1993
the me that Wimbledon night
and the me at the other time

I smile patiently
and listen to all those me's

and I let each one grieve
and anger
and vent

I sit with her in love
without judgement

And I wait
and seek permission from

all those Me's
to guide me forward

Friday, February 25, 2011

My Past Tense Life

" I love having a Mamma"

quips my quick-witted child
and I cannot see the road ahead anymore,
for the tears that come unbidden

I, bratty inside
stamp my foot, mentally though

I did too, until recently
to talk to, laugh with
to read between the lines of her stories
to guess what bothered her today
or who

or what she yearned for,
just out of reach

that grief comes in trickles somedays
on others, as waves crashing through
for just a moment or two though,

rations of sadness
that's all I am allowed

as a mother myself,
with jobs and roles
the mask musn't slip

"I live for thee", she'd quote often
today it is my mantra

cursed as she was
to smile through my tears

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Education View

Recently I received this link shared by a friend http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2011/02/17/business/global/Teach-slideshow.html


Interesting articles, clearly a different way ot teaching and learning. However having been educated in India and Canada and now teaching in Canada, I have also been in close contact with friends and family whose children go to public schools in the US as well. I would not ' throw the baby out with the bath water'. The Indian system of education is definitely changing but once again for those who can afford it. And that is the story everywhere. The rich get the resouces, the poor cannot even afford a midday meal to get them through the school day.

Make no mistake, there are huge gaps in the education system here as well that are rarely highlighted in media around the world. The feel good stories are always from private schools and elite populations.

Books have been written and films have been made about the disparity of access within the same country. The Freedom Writers Diaries and Waiting for Superman have been instrumental in highlighting these issues of access or lack thereof.

http://www.waitingforsuperman.com/synopsis

http://www.freedomwritersfoundation.org/site/c.kqIXL2PFJtH/b.2335915/k.D66F/The_Book.htm

These two websites and many others are worth a closer look to inform ourselves that the 'Us-Them' divide is alive and well.

Illiteracy is high in spite of free public education , math concepts and numeracy skills are not much to write home about. And the most dismal part is that excuses are made as if to say that ' marginalised communities ( read visible minorities) and newcomers ( read new immigrants) are to blame for this. Up close, I can see that even in self identified native English speakers ( read third and fourth generation Canadian) communuties do not necessarily use algebraic terminology and science terms at the dinner table. There is a huge population of elementary teachers who do not always have degress in math, science or English. Speaking English as a first language alone does not allow me to be an expert English teacher ( iambic pentameter, what's that??) Similarly being able to add grocery costs in my head does not allow me to teach algebra to grade 8 students in prep for high school. High schools require their specialist teachers to have a specialisation in those very subjects that they teach; they surely get regular shocks in term 1 of high school when their new grade 9s come to them with a wide range of abilities in math, science and technicalities of reading and writing in English. In elementary schools, the only subjects that are mandated to be taught by specialists are French and Music. Everything else is chalta-hai !

Therefore it is safe to say while teaching and learning has to become more inclusive and engaging for students, a little bit of rote learning and the old ways of pre-teaching vocabulary as well as hiring and training specialist teachers to teach specialist subjects in higher grades of elementary school ( perhaps grade 4 onwards?) are some factors, clearly the way forward. In addition, inviting parents and guardians to participate in the education of their children on a ongoing collaborative platform rather than bracketing them as ' Those parents just want test scores and marks. They never look at the big picture'. Perhaps 'those parents' have understood that the factors that still keeps them in the survival job market and handling multiple jobs sometimes are the ones that their children have to overcome if they have to move forward and take their rightful place in society. No one has the right to say to students (with impressionable minds) that their parents are wrong to expect more from them. This creates a rift in fragile relationships when parents ( whether due to the generation gap or due to being born or educated in another country) are made to feel inferior and pushy for wanting something better for their children. As I had asked my professor while doing my B.Ed in Canada: " Had I not had an A average would your selection committee have touched my application package with a 10 foot pole even? How then can anyone scoff at ' us' who work towards the marks that make or break lives?"

Socio-economic conditions are the critical factor that make or break an education system as well as the dignity of the student. A country that uses education to create a sub-class (whether obedient subjects /a clerical cadre in the colonial context or blue collar workers out of an immigrant population) will not make a quantum leap ahead: after all the system is driven by that very idealogy. Only when a few committed individuals work to take such experiements forward can we safely say that change comes and it is refreshing.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Watching, just that

I am sentenced
to watch
just watch you suffer

unable to do anything
to reduce the agony
and make things better

as your eyes beseech me
and implore that I not stand there

helpless
shaking my head
making inane sounds
as you writhe through excruciating moments

I, who am supposed to know
the answers
merely by the pecking order
of parenthood
know nothing
except to make one more
seemingly futile appointment

And I wait for the day when
your feet, once poking out through my skin
walk the hallways of my life

and you stride again
with your smile and
soul intact

Friday, January 28, 2011

When I Write

it is usually a tribute to a feeling

that I am currently in
or one that just passed
leaving me on the shore of

a more peaceful place
sometimes you may find
yourself in it

and sometimes
you may wonder
who caused the pain

sometimes I write from
the lens of another
whose situation is
very inspiring
or thought-provoking

as when I wrote about
being released from
Arthur Road Jail
(never been there, magar yun-hi)

either way
let it be
as I am
letting you

live your life
by your rules
what else is there

but to observe
and walk by

especially when
you chose that option
long ago..

stay safe
know that you too
are special

who caused the pain
or you
who were the best friend

why wonder

did I even once
say your name?

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Freedom Of Another Kind

The soul-mate ring I bought
for myself
at the Ex years ago adorns my
heart finger
and matches the silver
that shines in my hair
deeming me an Elder

And I smile
when I realise the freedom of that

the angst comes when we expect
people to do for us
what we want for ourselves
and I guess I can nurture myself well
if I recognise
that I know myself best.
oh the joy of that
the peace

All the love I have
is still in my heart
it is sent to you and you and you
and of this I am not ashamed
nor sad
'cause all the selves I ever was
who love you and you and you
are still there
inside me
to keep me warm
 
and with those soul-hugs
I feel your love and laughter
that was once lost
and is now found

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Coin purse

In from the softly falling snow

buying coffee
to keep me going through

the next few hours
the change in my purse
makes me smile

some rupees, some two
some dollars, some quarters
and dimes

just like me
all mixed up together

the Indian and Canadian bits of me
with a `small decaff, one milk please. To go` here
and a `kitna hua`there

and each part special
each part just right
just me

Sleepwalking

Milliken Mills Library

Tutoring on a snowy day

January 15th, a month
after I made
my last heart-bursting trip

I think back to
all your wisdom
your softly spoken words
and your reassurance

This too shall pass
You do not know how strong you are until
you are thrown into the deep end
I live for thee

and many more

I now whisper them
as I shush myself to sleep
pretending as if

it is really you
who talks me through
my dreams

and I oversleep somedays
meandering through the twisted trails
of oblivion

hoping I bump into you
we'd stop for a chat
sit on a park bench together

walk a while
and laugh as we did before

yet the incessant alarm bells
of technology
and my own clock
trapped inside
nudge me forward

to wakefulness and
to face another long day
with just
the whiff of you

Look Amma, I am growing up

The disbelief comes and goes and that is okay. We fear the emotions because of how they make us feel. But it is the real thing to sit quietly and acknowledge them as they swirl through the fog and rise to the surface. We cannot neglect them or negate them or ignore them. As I take them to the front of our consciousness, I find that they change, they evolve from grief to sadness to acceptance and they move on to become a deeper connection with something special that Amma means to me, just me. As I take from that pain perhaps one smile, one memory, one tearful laugh, it is now some other feeling.

Sometimes two feelings exist side by side and I am surprised at them too. Relief that she is out of pain and grief that I can never hear her voice. Then relief that I remember how she sounds and joy that she enjoyed her birthday. This is meditation. We do not have to go sit under a tree to find salvation. The Buddha did it for us and His lessons are out there for us to learn from.So I sit and without judgement, observe my pain as I would observe clouds change shape in the sky, watch a fish glidethrough the water or a bird fly in front of me. I observe and let it move through me.

This seems to be working for now. I do have moments of gut wrenching grief and soundless sobs that wrack me and sometimes quiet tears that slide down my face. That too is okay.How unrealistic it is if we expect to feel nothing after so many years of being gifted this wonderful person in our lives. That would not be fair. So I must not expect ourselves to 'recover' from this ever. We will get better at the 'observe and move through' stages and also with the realigning of our frequency with her current wavelength.

What dreams may come, I must acknowledge them.







Look Amma, I am growing up.





We found her

We finally found her
both of us did
together

that girl
from 25 years ago
who  is a silver haired Elder now


and she remembers one thing
after another
as do you
and you wait patiently

as she sifts some and
you pick something up
a trinket here, a sliver there

the trip to IIT on high heeled shoes
the fainting after
the blood donation at the gym

the Annamalai trip
sleeping on an icy bench at Pollachi

and how you looked after her
when she was in pain
as you travelled without reservations
on a shoestring budget
the whistling school boy
as we sat in sunshine
under the sprawling tree
on the hill

she does not remember
your eyes
when you decided to leave

she does not remember
the goodbyes
there were none

she doesn't remember asking why
or begging you to stay

she did not plead
because you did not say
you were on your way

unwillingly
your hands bound
by the aspirations
of others

and she believes that
the parting was bigger
than both of you

and sometimes, just sometimes
when the Universe

has unfinished business
it allows U turns

Make Music

The floodgates have opened,
there is no going back now.

silently, without warning,
another thought drops
into my consciousness
making me smile

And I wait for more..
Music
and your voice
to find the tunes again

to receive a tiny airplane
fixed with tiny pins, (taachni I said and
you smiled)

until then we have my poetry
till your prose turns
into melodies

Lenses

A visual treat of

photographs

viewed by sensitive eyes
woke me up
to my reality
this early morning

as I inhabit
the time zone of my birth
once again, waiting for pieces of
myself to coalesce into who I am

I saw in those images
the wistful touch of gnarled hands
on cool marble floors
praying for something unseen

my own people
seen as the other
a sister, force fed
to prevent tainting
the conscience of
those who don't care as much
as they are supposed to

souls, soles and stories
told by an unseen brother
Sanjay

who lives up to his name
and helps me see
sights far away
from my physical self

Monsoon Girl

I grew up on the west coast of India where the Monsoons herald a break from the stifling heat and bring cool breezes and green vistas. ( and food in bellies too) Now in Canada, I hear so many complaints about the weather ( sure it snows, did we not hear about that in that latitudes lesson in geography class?) Clearly the himmat of Mumbai has spoilt me.

I continue to revel in the rain and this sometimes irritates people around me. Someone once grumpily said to me: Stop smiling, you are not in Mumbai anymore. Stop enjoying the rain"

And I quipped, still smiling: "The trees and plants in Canada need water too, don't they"

I am glad we have not yet messed up up this beautiful pattern and pray that we never do. The turning cycles of the weather teach me hope.

Monsoon girl is still smiling.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Sleepwalking

Milliken Mills Library
Tutoring on a snowy day
January 15th, a month
after I made
my last heart-bursting trip

I think back to
all your wisdom
your softly spoken words
and your reassurance

This too shall pass
You do not know how strong you are until
you are thrown into the deep end
I live for thee
and many more

I now whisper them
as I shush myself to sleep
pretending as if
it is really you
who talks me through
my dreams

And I oversleep somedays
meandering through the twisted trails
of oblivion
hoping I bump into you

we'd stop for a chat
sit on a park bench together
walk a while
and laugh as we did before

yet the incessant alarm bells of technology
and my own clock trapped inside
nudge me forward
to wakefulness and
to face another long day with
just the whiff of you

Coin Purse

In from the softly falling snow
buying coffee to keep me going through
the next few hours

the change in my purse
makes me smile

some rupees, some two
some dollars, some quarters
and dimes

just like me
all mixed up together
the Indian and Canadian bits of me

with a `small decaff, one milk please. To go` here
and a `kitna hua`there

each part special
each part just right
just me

Friday, January 7, 2011

A new year, a new me?

I did not expect to feel so settled therefore pleasantly surprised. The first few days back were brutal and then it sinks in that this is it. And I have to move forward. Small routines, like waking up at 5 and sitting with a candle lighting up the serene face in the photograph. The candle flickers on and I brace myself to get through the next step: just get ready and get through that door....

The siblings sounds so grown up now when they call. They want to see how I am doing as I am here by myself. They apologise for asking questions about this and that related to our loss. "Do you feel as if you grew up twice, Didi? Once when Pappa died and again now" Oh, they were so little. And to think now they stand taller than I do.

The void is what got to me at first until I look inward and in doing so fill in the gaps.
And the circle of love that held me this week: the children with their unconditional love, Deval with his no-nonsense management of day to day matters, the students who scan my face for signs of grief and even when I am not teaching them, pass my door asking " Are you okay, Ms. Karnad-Jani" They sometimes just stand there and watch me go about my filing and marking and then they say bye and off they go, reassured that I will make it through until I see them again.

My sisters at school, with an early morning hug, a passing smile, a kind word. And the stoic presence of the brothers who stand beside me; the banter, the silent glance, the wave across the hallway.

I am thankful for so much love, so many blessings. A new year, a new me. Amma has left me with enough to get me through the rest of my life. She has left me the resilience to face each day, the grace to give thanks, the courage to keep standing. And above all to believe in her oft repeated reminder: This too shall pass.
Three weeks ago, I remember sitting and observing myself beside her still form. Today, I marvel at the innate strength she left in each of us.

This too is immortality.

Monday, January 3, 2011

Mee Mumbaikar

Mornings meant tending to the ceremonial lamp for 13 days in my parents' home surrounded by memories. And in the early hours before my daily puja, I walked the streets of my beloved neighbourhood.
A former hub of the textile industry, Naig...aum-Parel is now the elite mid-town for those who have the land. For those who did not have anything, tuberculosis was the gift.

Slum Dog indeed. What do you know?
It takes a certain grit and determination to live through the squalor. And to live with dignity, to wear crisply ironed clothes to work and to school, to line up for crowded trains where at anytime the random bullets of a glassy eyed gunman can make one a mere statistic. I return to the street of my Mumbai, as a Mumbaikar. Never as an expat, never as a First World Citizen. I return as a daughter and I am welcomed with open arms.

Mee, Mumbaikar.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Just sitting

this is not even grief: no stages here
it is a deep despair
like oil slick
that threatens to cut off my breath
like falling down the rabbit hole that never ends

and when people
however well meaning
console and counsell,
I wish they had learned to just sit
and be there
instead of wanting to

make themselves useful
and get inside my thoughts

and not seek to tell me
how their grief was worse

and mine is better
as I had three hours before the end

why is it about you I want to ask
and risk the outraged looks: after all the trouble
they went through to support me

I have one title less than before
I have one question now:

Do I cease to be a daughter,
now that
I am an orphan?