Hi Googlies, 12/7/10

Praise Jesus! Thank you Mama Mary!
Herald Sunday Mirror published ‘Let Me Live a little Longer’ yday. Posting the text. I got a surprise yday when a friend called and mentioned that Navhind Times had published “Be My Grandpa” in Zest on Sat. I had sent it three weeks ago. Posting that story as well. Sajla, enjoy!
Home-schooling has got a thumbs-up sign from Glenn at last! Now I feel so impatient; want to take them out immediately but I will be a good girl and prepare the base and the place first. Got to buy the books and do some reading and make the schedules for each child. On Sat, I bought Charis a blank book and some pics of animals, birds, fruits, etc to get her started on recognition. She was happy with the colours I purchased and promptly started colouring everything in sight. No writing till she is five yrs at least. Want her to enjoy her childhood. Shall have a 5-day week of school. Sat will be housework and cooking day. Sunday for prayer and talent and also visits.
Yday Aaron swabbed one room and Nathan another. Kirsten swept the whole house and swabbed the hall while I did the kitchen. no work for Glenn coz he had the cooking to finish. Sun is my day ‘off’ from cooking!
Chalo then. Enough of me and my big plans. Take care n write in.

From the heart,
Auriel.

Let Me Live A Little Longer

Psychologically, our society is geared to the young. Movies, sports, advertisements, fashions all stress the importance of youth. So the elderly have less of a role to play and unless younger people help their elders to overcome the frustrations of old age, they will live out their twilight years fading out instead of blazing out.
Stop and ask yourself this: “What do older people want to get out of life?” Years ago a member of the Society of Friends summed up the basic needs of the aged thus: “Somewhere to live, something to do and someone to care.” How can you help your old family members fulfill these basic desires? You can do nothing at all unless you put yourself in an older person’s place. To do this, you must first rid yourself of these two misconceptions about aging.
Myth 1: Old age makes people different. Most of us feel that the moment a woman becomes a grandmother, she automatically assumes a halo of sweetness. And the autocratic penny-pinching dad transforms into a mellow gift-giving grandfather. Or we take the opposite view: that old age makes people crabby and cantankerous. Any elderly person has taken a long time to get the way he is, and he is going to remain that way. If Grandpa refuses to stop smoking in bed, or Grandma won’t change the fashion of her clothes, neither should be forced to do so. To accept direction (spelt correction) from those you used to have authority over in the diaper and romper stages can be a bitter pill to swallow indeed.
Myth 2: The old like to be in a safe and cozy nest. No older person likes to have his life planned for him, whether his children tuck him in an old people’s home or put him in a gilded cage. Many older people are forced into loss of self-assurance by their own children. Children may coddle aged parents not only out of concern for them but also because they really want their parents to live restricted lives so they will not interfere.
Most older people are remarkably tough and capable, even if they have physical limitations.
So plan with, not for, old people. If your older relative wants to cling to the living quarters where he’s been content for so long, stand up for him. Older people value their own homes first, and privacy at all costs anywhere. It is more economical in terms of the eventual strain that will develop on both sides to help him stay where he wants to be even if the monetary expenditure is greater.
Help the elderly person by making him know he is valued. You can ask advice or confide your troubles to him. You can ask him to write down his memoirs or to preserve family heirlooms for the grandchildren. Encourage him to pursue a hobby he loved doing in his younger days or one that he never got around to doing because of job pressures. I have heard of a man who entered medical college at 70, got his degree with honors and became an eminent physician. Another man went to law school at 71 and is now an active lawyer. Then there is this woman who learned to paint at 77, held a ‘one-man’ show at 80, and today, at 86, is still going strong. It never too late to add another ‘skill’ to the repertoire. It keeps the mind active and awake.
A few words to the elderly: A psychologist’s recipe for the elixir of youth, as given by George Lawton in the American Magazine, is what I give to you. He said: “Age cannot be measured by the number of your birthdays. As the years pile up, biological time slows down. Different parts of you grow old at different rates. Your eyes began to age at 10; your hearing around 20. By 30, your muscular strength, reaction time and reproductive powers have all passed their peak. On the other hand, your mind is still young and growing at 50; your brain doesn’t reach its zenith until 10 years after that. And from 60 on, mental efficiency declines very slowly to the age of 80.”
Older people frequently suffer some loss of memory, but creative imagination is ageless. Our judgment and reasoning powers improve, as does our strategy in tackling problems, thanks to a wealth of experience. That is why the old doctor, the experienced craftsman, the veteran lawyer can hold his own against younger and more energetic rivals. Keep your mind awake and you’ll stay young all over. Take an interest in the world around you. And make it a point of learning at least one new thing everyday. Keep up with newspapers and magazines; busy yourselves with creative hobbies, preferably ones that use the hands as well as brains. A housewife at 50, with no previous experience, made herself into an outstanding industrial designer. A retired electrical engineer has become a highly paid ceramic artist. A woman of 70 – whose children thought she should retire to the shelf- conducts a successful cooking school for brides.” Closer home, Mohan Bhandare, at 75 years, held his first solo art exhibition here in Goa at the Big Foot Art Gallery, Loutolim in May 2010. The ‘Golden Girls’ of Goa are yet another shining example of the ‘joie de vivre’ that the elderly can possess with their infectious enthusiasm for life.
So I raise a toast to the elderly - May you always have somewhere to live, something to do and someone who cares for you. May your children and your children’s children be your solace and comfort as you live the most satisfying years of your life, blazing out in glory.

BE MY GRANDPA! (Short story)

Sahir was on his way to school. The winding path, leading to the main road where he caught the bus, was a long one. It passed through a tiny hamlet. Uncle Arnold, a septuagenarian, lived in one of the ancient Portuguese houses all by himself. He would wait every day for the little boy to pass by, greeting him with a toothless smile and sometimes an offer of some delicious toffee or chocolate.
Today, Sahir looked expectantly towards Uncle Arnold’s house but the old man was nowhere in sight. “Whatever could be the matter?” thought the young lad, alarmed. He was debating whether to go in through the gate, when the next door neighbor popped her head out of the window. “Hello, Sahir. Looking for Uncle, are you? He’s not in; had a bad fall yesterday so we had to rush him to the hospital.” she said. Sahir felt sad. He walked off to catch the bus in a morose mood.
At school, Sahir could not concentrate on the lesson. His teacher, realizing that the boy was troubled, took him aside after class and asked what was wrong. Sahir told her the whole story. His teacher advised, “Why don’t you visit your Uncle in hospital? He’ll be happy to see you and you can offer to help look after him when he returns home.” Sahir’s eyes lit up. He thanked his teacher. As soon as he returned home, he told his mother, who promised to take him that very evening.
In the hospital, Uncle was all alone, looking sad and forlorn. His right leg had been put into a cast. Sahir handed him a small bouquet of assorted flowers picked from the garden Uncle tended so lovingly. “Oh, how thoughtful of you to come and see your poor Uncle!” said Uncle Arnold. “Are these from my garden? I hope someone is watering my dear friends for me.” Sahir said he would be happy to do it till Uncle was well again. ‘Come here, little one.” said Uncle, tears glistening in his aged eyes. “You do love your old Uncle, don’t you?” Sahir nodded and hide his face in the Uncle Arnold’s chest. The old man lovingly caressed his head and sighed. “I wish my own children cared as much. They are so far away. I’ve sent them news of my accident but no one has come or called yet.”
Sahir knew Uncle had a son in the States and two daughters, one in Mumbai and the other in Dubai. Aunty Carol had died a decade ago and since then Uncle Arnold lived all by himself. The children would visit in the holidays but apart from those annual visits, no one bothered with him. Sahir loved his Uncle Arnold and so he decided to look after him.
After a brief spell at the hospital, Uncle was brought home. Sahir would visit him regularly after school and in the evenings, after he had finished his homework. He cleaned the house for Uncle, watered the plants and ran errands for him. He read to him from the many books Uncle had in the library room or from the daily newspaper. Sahir’s mother sent food for him till he could move out on his own. On Sundays, Sahir would take Uncle to his house where they would play cards or carom. Sahir’s Dad would discuss current events with Uncle as they ate up Mum’s delicious luncheon.
Slowly but surely, Uncle improved in his health and was well once again. But his eyes never lost their sadness and Sahir knew why. Uncle was still waiting for his children and grandchildren to come and visit him. He would take out the family album often and look at their photographs, tears welling up in his eyes. Then he would sigh and go to his favorite rocking chair, close his eyes and dream of happier days. “How I wish I could tell them how much he misses them!” thought little Sahir. “Why do adults not care for their parents anymore? I will never leave my Mum and Dad alone like this. They will become sad, just like my Uncle Arnold.”
The little boy hugged Uncle Arnold and said to him, “I love you Uncle. I miss my grandfather so much and you remind me a lot of him. BE MY GRANDPA, PLEASE!” The old man returned the hug with tears in his eyes and replied, “You really do love me a lot, don’t you, little Sahir? Yes, dear one, I will be your grandpa. Thank you for choosing me. You have made me very, very happy indeed.”

Hi Googlies, 7/7/10

Praise Jesus! Thank you Mama Mary!

We attended our first home schooling meeting on 4th. It was a lovely outing and we met new faces as well as the oldies Valyana’s kids (they are in States), Maria & her kids, Milagres & family, Joshila & Benjamin, and Michael & family. We were at Lewis & Zenita’s palce in Verna. Their eldest Son Luke celebrated his 9th? bday so we sang for him as well. The meeting was very informative; got many doubts cleared. Have decided to home school but need Glenn to say Yes as well. The only fear right now for him is will the kids be able to support themselves in the end. I think that is up to God to provide for them and if they follow him, giving up all they possess including their intellect and ambitions, He will do what is required. It is easy to preach Jesus but difficult to actually leave all to follow Him. I would like to reach that poverty level where I have to depend entirely on Him for everything esp. how and what to teach the children, and to keep my focus on God and not on the world. A great challenge but I love challenges! Please pray for Glenn to also get this courage and plunge in. Without his Yes, I cannot proceed. I would love to take the kids out right now but it will have to be next year or Kirsten will get upset. Let him clear his papers and the CET exams before I take the plunge.
We started storytelling in the night before sleeping. Aaron likes it but Nathan and Baby get easily distracted and distract everyone else. I think I should get Aaron to read first to calm them down. I let them choose a book from the Lion Story Bible series which are written for small kids. Must search for Catholic stories on the net. But when it si in a book with pics they get more excited. Aaron tries to write like me now. Yday he even did illustrations for his stories. Nathan will be my clown; he is forever doing headstands and somersaults. Charis Ann loves to jump onto anyone’s back and ride them like a horse. Nowadays Aaron is her favourite ‘horsey’.
One of the parents who has started home school for his daughter sent me a Times of India Article on a IIT topper who was home schooled. Posting it here for you guys to read.
Chalo tehn. Bye and do send in posts so we can communicate.

From the heart,
Auriel.
TOI Article:

BRAVEHEARTS It began with a simple wish to give an extended childhood to their children. Meet Ruchi and Tapeshwar Kumar Kaushik who decided to break the mould and start home schooling their children, Saras and Sahal. Last month,14-year-old Sahal Kaushik, gave all his parents' critics a fitting reply by becoming the youngest ever Delhi region topper in the IIT JEE exams and also bagging 33rd rank in the country! Vishesh Prakash It all started with a fairly innocuous conversation on their honeymoon, when they were talking about the kind of life they wanted to give their children. And, both Ruchi and Tapeshwar Kumar Kaushik, decided that one thing they wanted for their kids was an extended childhood! When it was actually time to send their children to school, they decided against it, choosing to go in for home schooling instead. Now, in a country like ours, that was akin to challenging the whole social structure. 'How can a child not go to school; 'What will she/he do at home the whole day'; 'How will she learn to interact with the kids' etc They heard no end of these questions from their friends and family. But they stuck to their beliefs and continued with what they believed in. For years they heard all kind of comments and questions thrown at them about how they had robbed their children of their childhood and how they were 'cruel' parents Last month, their 14-year-old son Sahal silenced all his parents' critics by becoming the youngest ever Delhi topper of the tough IIT-JEE. Not just that, he bagged the 33rd rank in the country! Now, what caught the nation's fancy was that Sahal had defied the conventional logic by not attending school (in any form) pretty much till 2006,when he enrolled with a relatively unknown Sangwan Model School, Rohini,to enable him to sit for his 10th standard boards. Then in 2008, he enrolled with Vandana International School, Dwarka, which helped him take his 12 board exams. At the same time he was enrolled at the Narayana Institute to prepare for his IIT-JEE exams. Then, last month he became the toast of the whole nation! Now, that was as big an innovation as it could be in the field of education! Is it possible for a child to study at home and still come out on top in the education 'system' Throw these questions at 49-year-old Col Tapeshwar Kumar Kaushik, who is presently posted in Assam, and he says, "I have always been a firm believer in the doctrine that anything can be learnt at any time. All you need is the right environment and an interest in the subject."Adds, 45-year-old Dr Ruchi Kaushik,who gave up practicing medicine around a decade ago to enable her to home school her two children, "If you decide to do home schooling, then one parent has to be a home maker. You have to give them full time."Not just Sahal, his 12-year-old sister Saras too doesn't go to school and is presently being home schooled by her mother. Ask the mother about the methodology she adopts while teaching her children, she says, "I don't really follow a structure or a curriculum. If you want to do that, you might as well send them to school. We basically go by what we want to read about. Sometimes we might study history for days on end, and at other times just decide to read a novel till we finish it. I don't try and impose on my children as to what they should study. The whole idea is to give them the freedom to choose what they want to study. "And, if that ends up with the child performing a rare feat as Sahal's, well, no one's complaining! Does the achievement of Kaushiks mean that the schooling system is actually an overrated phenomenon? The Kaushiks themselves are quick to deny it. Says Col Kaushik, "No, we don't want to run down the institution of schools. They are a very important part of education systems, especially in a country like ours where the number of students is so huge. "They go on to add that they would just like parents to consider that there is an alternative way of educating your kids. Says Ruchi, "It's a lot of hard work, but very rewarding too. We feel that this is an appropriate way for a child to learn, without having to face pressure of any kind. "Well, that's certainly worth thinking about!

Hi Googlies, 3/7/10

Praise Jesus! Thank you Mama Mary!

Wrote a letter to Herald asking to inform about my status with the middles as they have stopped printing my articles in the fortnightly slot. Today one I sent in June has come but the ones sent in Dec 2009 and Jan-Feb 2010 have not yet come. Altogether 8 are still pending with them. They are - My Little Princess, The Sacrosanct Secretary, Dead Man Listening, Hotline is Busy! Try Later!, How to Get Fat in 10 Days, Madness for Madeira, A Few of My Favourite Things and SMS Mess.
Postin ‘My Ivory Tower Garden’ for you; the unedited version, of course.
Maria, Junior Herald editor, said that Short stories will be stalled for now as no ILLUSTRATOR! I am extremely surprised that they are so disorganized. Why tell someone to write if there is no one to illustrate. And why have a stupid policy of illustrating stories in the first place. Are all stories illustrated? I have so many un-illustrated books written by Enid Blyton in my library cupboard. I think its all hogwash. I’ve sent one story to Navhind Times for Zest which is printed on Sat. and two stories to Young Buzz, a children’s newspaper that invites short stories for writers. Let’s hope they can do my stories justice. Keep praying for this, Sajla. Sahir deserves it; he is such a sweet boy.
I end with a saying “Every new opinion, at its starting, is precisely in a minority of one”.---Thomas Carlyle.

From the heart,
Auriel.

MY IVORY TOWER GARDEN.

The monsoons are soon approaching; perhaps when this goes into print it will be in full spate. The sowing and planting bug has gotten to me too. Like the farmer who sows seed in hope of a fruitful harvest, I have planted my favourite little herbs and shrubs, not in a vast field, but in tiny little pots in the space beyond the grille of my box window.
I feel the same anxiety that the farmer feels when I rush every morning to see if any sapling has shot up from the brown mud. Ah! At last! A chilli sapling peeps out at me from its bed of nutrition and solid foundation. I touch its tender leaves gently, marveling at their beguiling green colour and delicate greenish-white, almost opaque, stem. In my excitement to reap a rich harvest, I have sown too many seeds, I fear, for many more shoot up the next day.
An orange-blossomed ‘abolim’ shrub has survived its transition from a neighbour’s garden to my cosy little pot. I caress as I sing songs to express my love, for it brings back memories of my childhood. Being a city girl, I longed for the annual holidays to Goa, when my cousins and I would collect the flowers from a neighbour’s garden and string abolim garlands. We would then run to a nearby cross and offer them up alongwith a fervent prayer.
A dying lemon grass plant has found its home in my window garden. Its aromatic flavour spices my tea as it refreshes my soul. As does the tulsi shrub that was near-death in the dried-up bed of my Society garden. I do so favour the tulsi as a medicinal herb and an air purifier.
I have sown a handful of coriander seeds in a pot but I do not see any life there yet. I hope and peep, and hope again. The fragrant mogra plant in the Society garden blossomed the other day. I have been plucking a few of its flowers for my altar at home. Some, I place at Mama Mary’s feet as she blesses me with her presence. I had cut off a budding branch of this lovely shrub last week and potted it. Now, in anticipation, I check each part of the slender stem for signs of life and breathe a sigh of relief that, at least, it hasn’t withered away and died yet.
The ‘money plant’ occupies a quiet shady place in the corner of my little garden. As it grows and twines around the grille in my window, it will frame my garden with a natural arch. Some say growing a money plant brings wealth; for me it is enough that it gifts me ample oxygen and adds beauty to my window garden.
My son Aaron has been my source of inspiration; he learnt the skill of potting a plant at summer camp “Mama, I want to plant a sapling” he said to me one fine morning. So we potted our first, a curry leaf sapling. I, who had no time for little pleasures before, have suddenly found a hobby to give me happiness.
The friends in my window garden are good friends – they teach me something new everyday - like hope, patience, joy, disappointment, abundant life. When I talk to them, I hope they listen. When I sing to them, I know they dance. They give me, not just material benefits, but spiritual gifts as well.
I have prepared the compost for ‘friends’ yet to come and collected discarded pots so they can stay with me for a long time. I don’t know as yet which ones they will be; I pick them not for their usefulness or beauty but for my happiness, you see.
Plants need love and quality time just like we do. A renowned scientist, Dr. J.C. Bose, once proved to the world that plants too have feelings. He even recorded those feelings using a device he invented called the crescograph. He showed how delighted plants were to hear soft soothing sounds like that from a violin and how agitated they got when loud screeching music was played, like acid metal rock.
The friends in my window garden have very little space to grow in the concrete jungle I call my home. But I am certain they feel at home with me because I do love them with all my heart. (735 words)

Hi Googlies, 1/7/10

Praise Jesus! Thank you Mama Mary!

Was really delighted to see my first OPininionatED printed on 29th. Topic was ‘RTE: An Act of Child Labour.’ I told Glenn to post the text of that article with my last posting so you all have already read it by now, I guess.
Maria, I scanned the photos you sent but could not figure out who Charmaine is. Tell her I loved the cake she made for RM. I sent a ltr to Roshan Dixit but no reply. If you are in touch, tell him I said Hi.
Vishu has written the second part of his new book. I hope you are accessing his blog. He tells me when he posts now so I can read and he accesses my blog as well. Hi, Vi$h!
Here is “How to Get Fat in 10 days.” especially for you, Sajla. ENJOY!

From the heart,
Auriel.
HOW TO GET FAT IN 10 DAYS

My mirror cracked! “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, tell me who is the fattest of all?” Yeah, that’s exactly when my mirror let out a huge chuckle and cracked up.
I have been battling with my senseless senses for as long as I can remember. My mind tells my body “Control”. My body tells my tongue, “Not another binge.” My heart tells my mind “I’m so miserable.” My mind tells my hands, “Just a nibble, a small bite.” But from that one delicious tempting bite, it becomes a mega-bite and then a giga-bite till my stomach protests “Time to quit”
Actually, it’s really easy to get fat. You just need to find an excuse to stuff yourself with all the forbidden foods not likely to be in the beauty pageant’s a la carte. So here’s my recipe of the perfect diet for those who want to ‘Get Fat in 10 Days.’
· Wake up in the morning to a fully loaded breakfast of butter paranthas, milk straight from the cow, followed by an hour in front of the idiot box, crunching salt-smothered wafers that are chock full of calories.
· For lunch, a mountain of white rice drowned in coconut curry, fried fish/chicken if you are not a veggie, paneer tikkas if you are, followed by a huge bowl of ice-cream or pudding. If you have place left in your tummy, a second serving of dessert is advised. Or even a third and a fourth. Feel free.
· An afternoon nap is a must to avoid any exertion after heavy meals.
· Wake up in time for a scrumptious tea accompanied by oily pakodas or oily bhajias or oily pancakes. Oil, butter, ghee; these are the only tools to quick weight gain, supplemented by lack of exercise, of course.
· Dinner should be taken just before going to sleep so all the calories gained can be put to good use to increase the fat in your body. Have a blast! Going to a trendy restaurant will enhance your chances of adding more weight. They do the ‘oil thing’ with style. A late night movie especially a long-winded Hindi melodrama will also give you sufficient time to dig into a wholesome tetrapack of butterscotch ice-cream, emptying it right down to the bottom. Or you could finish that huge box of chocolate Aunty Anita sent you from the States, what do you think?
· In between these four main meals, be sure to throw in many mini-meals of oily snacks, chocolates or anything your mother or teacher says is unhealthy for you.
· Try alcohol if you are the adventurous type: beer has been bad-mouthed as the drink for ‘waisters’.
If you follow this diet for 10 days in a row without throwing up or flushing down, you are set for life, let me tell you, because once you put on those extra kilos it is impossible to get them off. Ask my mirror, if you don’t believe me.
A friend of mine wanted me to enroll in an aerobics class. “No way!” I exclaimed, “I tried that once.” “What happened?” she asked, looking puzzled.
“I went, and I twisted, hopped, jumped, stretched and pulled.” I replied. “And by the time I got those darn leotards on, the class was over!”
Fed up with her obesity, a colleague of mine decided to join the gym. She told me she was having a great time but I could not see any significant change in her weight even after a month. So I asked her what she had gained in those 30 days. She slyly disclosed to me that she was going there to flirt with the trainer. “No gym. Just him,” she quipped. Eventually, she did get down to business and lost 4 kilos in 4 years and one husband in a heartbeat.
Being obese is much like carrying two fully packed suitcases with you all day long. The only time you get to put them down is when you are six feet deep. Plus the tremendous pressure on your lungs and heart is awesome. When I climb a flight of stairs, I palpitate as if I have just beaten PT Usha at the Olympics. I huff and puff like the Big Bad Wolf when I make my way up the slope to pick my son from school. My triple chins sit comfortably on my buxom chest; my ‘perpetually pregnant’ paunch completely overshadows my feet. My upper arms jiggle when I do the Birdie Dance; if I liposuction that area, I could fuel an entire city for a day. I fear that the pall-bearers will go on strike when they are commissioned to carry my rotting body to its final resting place. Only the maggots will have a feast, gorging on my voluptuous body and will most certainly ‘Get Fat in 10 days’.
So all you XXXL people out there, I waddle off with famous last words to you “A good time to keep your mouth shut is when you are in front of the fridge” To those who want to reduce, shun all the fun foods that cause your salivary glands to go into overdrive and exercise insanely. To the ultra-slim cocktail stirrers, I have just four words “Get Fat in 10 Days.”

Hi Googlies, 30/6/10

Praise Jesus! Thank you Mama Mary!

Sunday Mirror published an article of mine titled ‘No Presents Please’. Posting it today. Glenn forgot the pen-drive at office hence this is slightly delayed. If you like the art. n any other that I post pl. do forward it to your friends and colleagues.
Milagres, thank you for inspiring this recent article. The retreat has helped me immensely. Am practicing forgiveness as a daily dose of medicine for the soul and it is really working wonders for my spiritual health!
Maria, looking forward to the DVDs of your family and Baby’s christening. Next bday is Reuben’s. Won’t forget this time. So sorry for forgetting Kevin’s, really. Send my Arts to Reshma and Charmaine, ok?
Have decided 100% on home-schooling my smallies. We may movenext year to Old Goa to be close to Glenn’s office. All of us have told Glenn we want a house this time, not a flat. Children are making their list of animals that they wanna have. Sajla, guess the cow will come to our house instead of yours now! J
Have a blessed week ahead to everyone who is reading this mail.. Do write in and give me your views on the article.

From the heart,
Auriel.

NO PRESENTS PLEASE!

Some years ago, we received an invitation to a wedding of a close relative that ended thus: ‘No presents please!’ I gathered that the bride and groom alongwith their parents were saying in effect that ‘we’ were all they needed to make their celebration complete.
Recently, at a programme on child-rearing, I learnt that there are three things a child needs from conception to age seven:
1. Acknowledgement: When the child is conceived in love, it feels wanted. If the parents resent the pregnancy, the child in the womb senses this and feels abandoned. To acknowledge the child right from its moment of conception and to accept it as a gift from God no matter what the circumstances at the time of conception is very essential. This is difficult though when the mother has been raped or is ostracized because she is unwed. Such a woman would rather her child not live to bear the burden society puts on it. But if she understands that the child is innocent and has the right to live just as she does, she may accept it and this will give the child a sense of belonging.
When a child is born, the mother’s presence is very important right from the start. Nowadays, doctors allow the mother to suckle the newborn even before it is taken for a bath, which is a good practice because the baby has just gone through a stressful experience and needs its mother’s presence and reassurance to calm it down.
Women should consider the option of staying at home to nurture the child for the first seven years after birth. I know that most women enjoy working and, for some it is a necessity, but it is in the interest of your child that I make this appeal. When my eldest son was kept in a crèche so I could work, he told me one day that he hated the place because they made him sit in one place all the time and when he felt cold, he was too scared to ask for a blanket. This shook me up so much that I got my husband to adjust his office timings so our son could be at home with one parent all the time. Later, when we moved to Goa, I decided not to work as we had two boys and a third was on the way. Today, I can say with joy that I am happy to be a stay-at-home mother. The kids too are glad that I am there to wake them up, see them off to school and that I am at home to greet them when they return from school.
2. A listening ear: Parents are the best counsellors for their children, provided they know how to listen well. Often we hear the words that are spoken by our children and we react to them. We fail to read the non-verbal communication that is going on alongside. If parents learnt how to interpret this, a lot of the problems that they face with young children and even with teenagers could be resolved. Parental discipline should be administered with love, not as an assertion of one’s power over the child. Putting aside all work and looking at your child directly as he talks to you is a sign to the child that he is important in your life. Ask lots of questions if you are not sure what is being said. As parents, we do tend to assume a lot and understand so little. Get them to solve their own problem by carefully steering them to an appropriate choice so that they feel that the final decision made is theirs, not one imposed by you.
3. Lots of hugs: Apart from acknowledgement and a listening ear, lots of physical touch like hugs, kisses and cuddles are also important for the proper growth of your child. It is easy to cuddle a little baby, but do you cuddle and hug your seven-year-old? (Believe it or not, even my teenage son loves a hug now and then.) Hugs are the best way to say you are sorry when you’ve hurt their feelings or to say they are special when they’ve done something you approve of. A cuddle at night before they go to sleep will leave them with a sense of security as they drift off into Dreamland. Many parents make their small children sleep in a separate room from them. This can be very frightening for a small child, so its best to let them sleep with you until they volunteer to sleep in a separate room on their own. Allow your children to hug, kiss and cuddle you whenever they want to and see the difference it will make to you. (One night, after the rosary was over and we were blessing one another, my three-year-old daughter decided to give everyone a bonus kiss on the cheek. It really felt special.)
If spouses show love for each other in front of their children, it gives them a great sense of well-being. Just by sitting close to your spouse as you’ll watch TV together and, maybe, holding your wife around the shoulders as she snuggles into yours, tells the kids that Mum and Dad are doing OK. Children are very sensitive to feelings and moods; they may not say it, but they sense when parents have had a fight, even if it wasn’t in their presence. So it is important to show them that you are a team after the fight has been resolved. When siblings fight, get them to make up with hugs, cuddles and kisses.
Your children are precious gifts from a gracious God; they deserve nothing but the best. Give them your acknowledgement, a listening ear and lots of hugs so that they grow, bloom and bring fragrant peace to the world around them.


RTE: AN ACT OF CHILD LABOUR.

With a sinking feeling, I read the news that the working hours of schools may be increased to 45 hours per week. (page 5, Herald, 24 June, 2010). That sounds like one more hour a day of imprisonment for teachers and students alike.
A typical school day for an average child begins at 6 am. He is rushed through breakfast and toilet chores, dressed hurriedly for school and then driven at a dashing speed so he can enter the school premises before the warning bell is rung. For almost three hours at a stretch, he sits in one place as one teacher after another walks in, teaches and leaves. Then, for barely 15 minutes, with one eye on the clock, he gets to exercise his cramped muscles in the break. If the mid-day meal is served in those 15 minutes, all hope of getting even this exercise is lost. Then, once more, he has to sit in cramped conditions for another three hours before he is ‘released’. If anyone has seen children leave for home after school, it looks as if prisoners are being released from a jail. Is this the kind of life that a child from three-fourteen years of age is condemned to live?
And what exactly is done in school? The text is read, explained, answers written and rote-learned and some extra-curricular activities thrown in for good measure. Teachers, bogged down by completion of syllabi and corrections of books, have neither the time nor the energy to train all their students for these ‘extras’, so they choose a few ‘good’ ones while the vast majority is left by the wayside. The school prides itself on its trophies, shields and certificates and those who earn these prizes for the school are applauded.
If working hours are increased, the children would be imprisoned for another whole hour every day. Ask any child if he wants that and the answer will be a flat and empathic ‘No’. But who is concerned about the needs of children after all? They must be educated; the Right to Education demands this. Whether the means satisfy the ends or not, it doesn’t matter. The means cannot be altered so the sheep must be herded; the cattle brought in faithfully.
Parents ought to seek other options and one emerging on the horizon is HOME SCHOOLING! After all, the present generation of parents are an educated lot. Why can’t they teach their own children? If the government allows parents to prepare their children for examinations held periodically, home-schooling would enable parents to be teachers in the home. Activities like dramatics, dance, music, elocutions and debates could be organised in the school premises and sports could be conducted on the grounds on a regular basis for interested students. The home schooling programme presently prevalent in Goa prepares children to appear through the National Institute of Open Schooling (NIOS), which has ‘a mission to provide relevant continuing education at school stage, up to pre-degree level through Open Learning system as an alternative to formal system.’ It provides opportunities to interested learners by making available the following Courses/Programmes of Study through open and distance learning (ODL) mode.
· Open Basic Education (OBE) Programme for 14+ years age group, adolescents and adults at A, B and C levels that are equivalent to classes III, V and VIII of the formal school system.
· Secondary Education Course
· Senior Secondary Education Course
· Vocational Education Courses/Programmes
· Life Enrichment Programmes.
In NIOS, one can choose the subjects that the child is comfortable learning to train him for these levels. For example, a child weak in Mathematics can drop it entirely; this option is not offered at the mainstream level. English and Hindi are offered at the SSCE level so those who find it difficult to cope with Konkani need not learn it. Parents can begin teaching their children at any age. The ideal age to begin reading and writing would be six years as against that of the formal system which prepares children at three years of age. A child can be taught at home by the play-way/ Montessori method from three to six years of age.
The advantages of home schooling is that children get personal attention and the strengths of each child can be enhanced. Children get closer to their parents when they spend more time with them. The financial costs of schooling is restricted to the purchase of text and note books only; no uniforms, shoes, bags, water-bottles, etc. Time-table is flexible; it can be geared to the child’s optimum level of attention. As the child learns at his own pace, stress on him is zero. Children do not have to be ‘reached’ to school so their safety and the transport expenses involved is avoided. Children with learning disorders thrive well in this system as they would be harassed and ridiculed in the mainstream school by teachers and classmates. One can incorporate many syllabi like CBSE and ICSE alongside SSC and use varied audio-visual aids at home, making learning a fun experience. Mainstream schools do not stress on moral values as much as they do academic performance, so with home-schooling, a parent can instill the right values right from the beginning.
The disadvantages of home schooling are lack of social interaction and lack of discipline. To overcome these two obstacles, parents have to make a significant effort to seek avenues where children are exposed to social activities in the community, religious institutions and support groups. Parents, themselves, need training on teaching methods, creating an environment conducive to learning, how to instil discipline and so on. As the children learn organisational skills and team work from interacting at various social events, there will be a more disciplined approach to life on the whole.
Home-schooling is a tremendous challenge for parents as one has to swim against the tide. Society questions such changes and tends to put down those who want to make a difference. The government needs to re-evaluate its RTE policy to include home-schooling for those who can effectively implement it. Today education has become a business of sorts; a stormy situation. Let us not be pulled in by its treacherous undercurrents, but learn to survive the tempest by seeking better options for our future generations. If any educational policy is child-centred, it can never go wrong.

Hi Googlies, 6/6/10

Praise Jesus! Thank you Mama Mary!

I have made a wonderful retreat for the first time and feel I can now cope with my problems. Every time I attended retreats, people told me my problems would be solved; no one told me to go to get to know Jesus only. This time I went to learn about pro-life so I had no desire to be healed or anything. I think because my intention was according to His will, He gave me his healing too. I have to work at my insecurity problems but I now have the key in God’s Word. You know what I mean, no? When you need to enter a room full of treasures that is locked, you need the key. So, to get out of a room filled with insecurities, I need a key too. It is not a one-second instant healing but I feel this is far better for it will be forever now. Like a never-ending journey with a beautiful scenic view.
The kids were safe there even though they were not supervised. I used to pray before the sessions for their safety. Baby did trouble me periodically but it wasn’t that bad.
I could get almost all the teaching.
Two days more and school will begin. I wish I could home school my ‘smallies’. I am praying for home-schooling for Charis Ann. When I think of pulling out Aaron and Nathan though I get jittery but the preacher said he had taken his daughter out when she was in the 9th Std. Also Glenn must agree. And I must be confident of the method. I have prayed for discernment. I always had this thing in my head that children should not be pressurized to perform and that is why I never sent Kirsten for tuitions in the tenth and even now in 12th.
My middle ‘Playing Second Fiddle’ was published yday. Posting the unedited version here for you all to read.
Take care. Have a blessed week ahead. Do write in and give me your views on the article.
From the heart,
Auriel.

PLAYING SECOND FIDDLE

Someone asked a famous conductor of a great symphony orchestra which instrument he considered the most difficult to play. The conductor thought a moment, and then said: “Second fiddle. I can get plenty of violinists. But to find one who can play second fiddle with enthusiasm – that’s a problem. And if we have no second fiddles, we have no harmony.”
In every home, office or public place where a group of people get together to create something new, there are people who are called to play ‘second fiddle’.
Take the home arena for instance. The boss of the house, the one who always blows his trumpet or twangs the strings, is the husband. The poor wife often has to play second fiddle, doing all the household chores without a ‘note of protest’. The wheels of the house run smoothly because of her. Harmony in the home can be rightfully attributed to her patient humble service. Although she may sometimes nag her husband within the four walls of their humble abode, you will rarely hear her speak against him when they are at a party or any such public gathering. In fact, she will grab every opportunity to praise him to the skies and will accept his condescending remarks with the grace of a well-seasoned martyr. A good wife knows how to create harmony by playing the second fiddle to the hilt.
We see the same scene at the work place. The workers, peons, janitors, deliverymen all serve the purpose of second fiddles. They weave their invisible selves into the tapestry of every day routine; without them, the CEOs and Managers would be stumped. Every time the workers’ union decides to go on strike, management gets into a tizzy. Each unproductive day costs big bucks. So you see, our second fiddles at the workplace create the much-needed harmony, after all.
In the public arena, a leader naturally hogs the limelight along with his coterie of ‘chota’ leaders and embryonic leaders-in-the-making. He wins all the applauses, hogs all the credit and is given substantial perks, which could swell his head to blowing-up proportions. What about the ‘second fiddles’- the body guards, PAs, secretaries? Even a bonus is given to them with reluctance.
Flip the coin and you have lazy second fiddles. The peon who sleeps with his mouth open or the janitor who drags his feet as he drags his pail to pass the day. Government offices seem to have people especially trained to be such second fiddles. But don’t they reflect the attitude of their bosses? I would say boldly, if I may, that the attitude of the boss determines that of the worker.
Happy is the second fiddle, then, who knows he’s a second fiddle and accepts his role with enthusiasm, taking the cue from his conductor and creating harmony in the Orchestra of Life. He has the best quality that God looks for in his creation – Humility! He works, not for fame or money, but out of an inner desire to be one with his group. To take them to greater heights. And when the stage is lit and the leaders strut the ramp to take their bows, the ‘second fiddle’ sits in the corner of the stage, manning the curtains. For him, there is not much gain except his pay packet, but, because of him, everyone profits and there is prosperity all round. Take him out of the equation and what have you? Utter chaos! Only Noise!
So it is time we salute the second fiddles in our homes, our place of work and in the public arena. Smile and say a Good Morning or Namaste to your peon or janitor today. Like Munnabhai MBBS, try a ‘Chappi” on them if you can. Learn the name of your garbage collector. Visit your maid at her home some day soon. Give your postman a glass of cool water or sherbet as you enquire about his work.
The municipal workers are busy digging trenches to combat the ensuing monsoons. Stop and show genuine interest in their work and supply them with hydrating fluids as they slog in the scorching summer sun. Don’t wait for annual festivals to give them that much-awaited ‘Bakshish’; your words of praise are worth more than that small perk, I bet!
We ‘trash’ migrants because they are a threat to our employment and environment. But they are only playing second fiddle to the mega-buck builders. They too need our concern and care.
Lastly, don’t forget to acknowledge your wife’s contribution in making your home a heaven on earth. Treat her to a special outing, just you and her, and shower her with daily doses of love and appreciation. Help her complete her tiring and tiresome chores quickly so the two of you can spend some ‘We’ time together.
And if you are a second fiddle, play your piece with enthusiasm; create soulful music for your Creator. And if you feel no enthusiasm right now, motivate yourself by fine-tuning your strings. For without you, there is no harmony. If music be the food of love, play on. (850 words)

Hi Googlies, 29/5/10

PTL! Thank you Mama Mary!

I celebrated my 41st Bday on 26th with family. Nothing special; just shopping at Panjim. My brand-crazy Kirsten bought an Adidas for the next academic year and I picked up an equally expensive school bag from Poshak for Nathan. Glenn had taken the smallies to Campal grounds where they had a blast on the slides. The kids voted for Pizza at Domino’s, Porvorim as their dinner, which I regretted agreeing to. Was ripped of Rs. 600/- for two measly pizzas. The crust was great but I could have made a better filling, I do declare! Well, no more ‘branded’ dinners for me ever and that’s a vow, not an empty promise.
The ‘pig’ incident with Carmona, Churchill and Raheja tickled me no end so I wrote a story which I will post here as Herald refuses these kind of ‘poking fun at pols’ articles nowadays. ENJOY! Hope you all liked the previous play I posted; that too was a Herald ‘reject’. Herald resurrected one article I had sent to Goa’s Heartbeat three months back; gave it a makeover and so I was pleasantly surprised. Ana says its my bday gift. Yeah, Well? So this month has been a good one with five articles printed so far.
Hols are coming to an end and I am the same size, weight and off chocs and sweets but I can’t seem to give up my coffee binges. God Help!
This Sun., I become a godmother for the third time: Baby Rosemary is in Australia so Maria has made her friend Reshma as my proxy and her hubby Victor to substitute for Glenn.
Chalo then. Do keep reading and post some feedback please to glenn@microngold.com

From the heart,
Auriel.



THE FOUR LITTLE PIGS
(adapted from that popular tale of triumph of good over evil)

Once upon a time in the sleepy old village of Carmona, there lived four little pigs. They were the protégées of a massive mother sow who was respected for her pedigree and yearly donations of piglets to the villagers.
One day, when the four piglets went for their regular morning stroll around the village, they noticed that the vacant plot next door, belonging to Pedro Camille, was filled with rubble. “What’s happening here?” exclaimed the eldest piglet. “Looks as if the owners were digging for gold but have found rubbish.” “Rubbish, my foot.” countered the youngest piglet. “This is land-filling going on, if I’m not mistaken. Let’s go tell Mummy.”
The four piglets ran back to the mother sow and told her what they had seen. Listening patiently, the sow nodded her head once or twice, then bored, she gave out a loud yawn and went back to sleep in the pool of mud. The four piglets were perplexed. “Why is Mummy not bothered about this?” they wondered.
Just then, the Sarpanch of the village came down the lane. He was going for a morning walk. The piglets stopped him and narrated what they had seen. “Oink! Oink! I know! I know!” said Panch de Carmona. “Pedro told me he was developing his plot. So what’s the problem?”
“But ‘Punch’ uncle, we saw a big sign there that read ‘Ra Hijda builders’. It was a strange name for a Goan so we got worried.”
“What! The rascal! He very clearly told me that he was employing a local builder and the flats would be sold to our people. I must look into this matter immediately.” squealed an obviously agitated Panch. He marched off to have a word with Pedro.
The piglets returned back to the sty. Their mother was still lolling in the mud. “Mummy, the sarpanch says that there seems to be something wrong going on in Pedro Camille’s plot. We fear that things may go wrong here as well. Let’s build our own home and be safe.” So the mother sow stood up, shook the mud off her body and waddled off to the market with the four piglets. There, they bought straw to build a house. They started building their house as soon as they reached Pedro Camille’s plot. The house ready, the family of five settled down for a cosy siesta.
Soon their calm afternoon was rudely disturbed by a loud yell outside the door. “Oh, Du-khors, come out of your house. I am hungry for ‘Du-Du’.” The mother sow peeped out and saw a Big Mad Wolf, standing on the doorstep, huffing and puffing like a steam engine about to begin its marathon run. “Children, we must flee at once. The BMW has come to eat us up.” Exiting from the backdoor, the four piglets ran with their mother into the neighbouring plot.
The BMW huffed and puffed vigorously and blew the house down. As the straw flew into the air, he let out a huge guffaw and sang in a baritone voice, “The answer, my friends, is blowing in the wind, the answer…..” The four piglets were incensed at this arrogant attitude, but being small and helpless, they knew they were no match for the BMW.
“Let’s rebuild the house. This time we’ll make it stronger so that the Wolf won’t be able to tear it down so easily.” said Mother pig. So once again the five squealers went to the market where they purchased logs to make a cabin. Upon returning back to Pedro’s plot, they saw that the panch members had gathered the villagers there and they were shouting slogans. Some villagers came forward to help the pigs build their house, saying: “Even the pigs of our village need a home to live in. We won’t allow Pedro to sell his place to a Hijda.”
And so once more, a sturdy house built of logs was erected for the pigs and all was well for a while.
Then a terrible storm rose up from the South. The pigs heard a loud ‘honk’ of the BMW coming down the lane. “Who has dared to build a house in my territory?” thundered the furious hillbilly. “I will transfer him to Pernem!”
The piglets shivered with fright but the mother pig was brave. She told them to hide under the bed. The BMW huffed and he puffed and the cabin came down. “Ha, Ha! Now I will finish you pigs. All you know to do is squeal when you are caught.”
The pigs somehow escaped his clutches and fled to the hills to hide until he had left. From a distance, they could see the Wolf discussing something with Pedro, who seemed visibly upset. Then he shoved a fat wad of notes into Pedro’s greedy hands and left.
The pigs were feeling down in the dumps but far from defeated. They rested awhile, then went once more to the market for building materials. At the market, they met the Sarpanch and told him about the exchange of money. “Oh, we know about that. Foolish Pedro will sell his ancestors for a song. He only lives to drink these days. The BMW will be the one rolling in wealth, you just see.” he said, when they had finished.
“But we must do something about it. We cannot allow this to happen to our village. We must kill the Big Mad Wolf!” cried the four little piglets.
They made a plan. Soon the pigs and the villagers were busy at the plot, building a solid concrete house of cement, mortar and bricks. Pedro, in a frenzy of fury, hurled abuses at the men but he was no match for them. He ran in to call the cops but they were at the casino, spending their illegal money at the gambling tables. He called the BMW but the Secretary said he had gone for one of his interminable red ribbon ceremonies. As he ran back to stop the villagers by himself, he tripped, fell into the pig sty and landed in a pile of shit.
In the meantime, the house was ready. The pigs inaugurated it, inviting all the villagers and they had a merry time. When it was night, mother pig kept a huge ‘koso’ of water to boil in the fireplace and they went to sleep.
The BMW, on hearing the news, was furious. He huffed and he puffed his way to the newly constructed house and tried to blow it down. But try as he may, the house, which had been built to last with strong material and stronger intentions, just wouldn’t budge. In desperation, he sought to enter the house through the chimney but, to his bad luck, he fell right into the pot of scalding water and was killed instantly.
The next day, a procession of the BMW’s shrivelled carcass was taken all over the village, dressed in colourful attire, a juicy apple in its mouth. The Sarpanch announced: “Let this be a lesson to all of us – Pedro, greed got you into deep shit. Mother pig, if you had wallowed in the mud, nothing good would have happened. These piglets have proven that where there is concern, courage, unity and a good plan of action, the impossible can be attained.” Throwing the body of the Big Bad Wolf into the River Sal, the villagers returned home to live happily ever after. (1239 words)

FINDING THE DEEPER MEANING OF MARRIAGE.

The idea of being a part of something called the Marriage Encounter Weekend seemed interesting so when I got an invitation for it, I jumped at the opportunity. OF course, convincing my very reluctant husband and freeing my kids from school was another task altogether; but God seemed to be on my side, and I got my family ready for the trip. Eager to get going, we woke up early and tumbled into our van, the boys tired and sleepy, baby cranky, Glenn wary, Kirsten happy to bunk school and myself hopeful. Thus started our journey for the SVD Seminary, nestled in the hills of the sleepy village of Raia.
We arrived as the first session was already underway. A Jesuit priest, Fr.Leslie, was conducting the session along with a team couple from Benaulim, Vicente and Valene. He told us to introduce ourselves to the other four couples and say one good thing that we liked about our spouse. Then he gave us two questions to answer: “Why did I come here this weekend?” and “What do I hope to gain?”
My husband said he had come because I had wanted it and he didn’t want to disappoint me. I said that I had heard about the weekend when my parents used to go for it in Mumbai but never got a chance to do it myself. When Valy and Anna, the organizers, said I could get the kids along, I jumped at the idea.
What did we hope to gain? Well, I said that I hoped to gain insight into the mistakes I could be making in our marriage and to find a way to resolve them. I also hoped that my husband would do the same. Glenn hoped to get a better understanding of me and to build our marriage and family bond.
And so we began the exciting journey into the steps of the Marrriage Encounter weekend. We had to write many love letters, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Glenn warmed up to the talks after the first day and he too enjoyed the letter-writing and dialogues we had in the privacy of the bedroom, with the kids out of our hair for once. We were able to talk freely about our fears, hopes and disappointments in the marriage and to seek and give each other forgiveness. I cried a lot and Glenn tried to understand my fears. It was a momentous turning point for us when I finally felt he understood. I realized that I had been living a married-single lifestyle without even being aware of it and that it was affecting Glenn in a big way.
We decided to make time to dialogue everyday and when asked to write on how we were going to share our couple-love, I wrote “By holding hands and being close together in public, by visiting others as a couple and, by opening the door for Glenn when he comes home tired from work and giving him his cup of tea while he relaxes in bed.” Glenn wrote: “Plan outing at least once a month with wife only, visit the sick and old with wife, and kiss my wife when I get up in the morning.”
As we returned home, Glenn and I were happy to have gone for the weekend, sad to have said farewell to our new friends at the retreat and fearful that the loving atmosphere would vanish once we landed back home.
The next day, we wrote our first love letters at home and discovered it wasn’t difficult at all. I even sent Glenn several love mobile messages through the day and dedicated a song ‘There’ll never be another you’ for us on the radio.
Yes, we are on our way to sharing our feelings, not just with each other, but also with our kids at home. (640 words)

Hi Googlies, 24/5/10

PTL! Thank you Mama Mary!

Sunday Mirror in Herald printed ‘Families Are Forever’ yday. Posting it today for you to read. They also printed my email address for the first time so I can get feedback. The article was long so it was edited. Am poating the unedited version here.Enjoy the article. Comment please.
Will be attending a prolife retreat at Porvorim from 31st May - 4th June. Keep me in your prayers.
The hols are over so soon; can’t believe it. Next year will be tiring with Kirsten in the 12th. He enjoyed his classes at Arena Academy and I’m praying that it is his line. There is a course where he can learn to illustrate: maybe he can do the illustrations for my books in the future J
Have sent a middle “Playing Second Fiddle” which I hope will come this week, also none of the short stories have come so hoping and praying that one will be published today.
Take care and keep smiling. God loves you; he does not make junk. There is no one who can be you. Love your family and friends; respect your elders and listen to their wisdom. Roshan, Neel, Vi$h, Rio, and all my ex-students in Mumbai who are reading this – I love you. Make me proud of you, ok?
From the heart,
Auriel.

Article follows:
FAMILIES ARE FOREVER.

A friend of mine, who lives in the USA, has a daughter who is in KG class. One day, the little girl came home from school, saying she needed to take a T-shirt the next day. Her teacher was going to iron an anti-drug message onto it. Unable to find a blank one, my friend sent her off with a shirt that already had something lettered across the front. That afternoon, the daughter showed off her new T-shirt. On one side it read: ‘Families Are Forever’. And on the other side: “Be Smart, don’t Start’.
Jokes aside, let me ask you a direct question – If you had to choose from a) An interesting job. b) An independent income of Rs. 60,000. c) A happy family – Which would you choose? Do you know what husbands and wives answered when asked this question? 80% said: A Happy Family.
When a boy and girl fall in love, they seek to seal their commitment to each other in the holy bond of matrimony. A newly-wed couple needs time to get to know each other well, even if they have been in love for years before they were married. But once they are comfortable with married life and with the in-laws, it is time to have children.
Sometimes, young couples postpone children until they can afford them or if the wife wants to pursue her career so they can buy a home. “We seem to be drifting apart,” a worried husband revealed to his counselor once. His wife and he had decided before their marriage that she would continue to work until his salary was up to Rs. 40,000 a month. Six years into their marriage, he was still short of Rs. 10,000. For six years, they had said in effect: “We can live without the risk of children until we can have children without risk.”
Having children is a physical process, involving nine months of expectancy followed by the painful act of delivery. This is always borne by the wife and therefore most women would rather postpone or avoid getting pregnant. But the experience can be a spiritual one as well. When a mother holds her little baby for the first time (even if its her fifth delivery!), it is as if the Heavens have opened and an angel has been placed in her hands.
Someone said once that a baby is a ‘gift’ you give to your spouse. It is a tangible expression of the love you have for each another. As you learn to be parents, there is continuous sacrifice to be made. Friends and colleagues blur into the background as your little ones become your main focal point. You have to juggle the finances to meet their needs and, sometimes, their ‘greeds’. As they throw tantrums and test your temper, you learn that Love is a decision, not a feeling. And that it has to be UNCONDITIONAL to be true!
With your spouse as well, the relationship switches from gratifying yourself to pleasing the other. Sex for pleasure is complemented by sex for procreation and that, in itself, is a purely spiritual experience. There is a transition from living for yourself to doing things together as a couple. I always used to admired a couple who would do the family shopping together. They did not go to the market, split the grocery list and shop separately to save time. They would walk together from shop to shop, hand in hand, drawing envious looks from the women and raised eyebrows from the men. The whole family would sit together in the church, occupying an entire pew (they had five children). Once, their teenage son protested saying he wanted to sit with his pals instead. His father convinced him that they were a family and so should stay together.
It is an oft repeated argument that lack of money causes marital unhappiness. But if you check out the divorce courts, you’ll be surprised to see that rich couples are more eager to spilt. A hedonistic lifestyle may be one reason; another could be the immoral irresponsibility that some of them freely indulge in. When a married man or woman puts “ME” before “WE”, extra-marital affairs and a ‘singles’ lifestyle will surely abound.
Having a child is the final and strongest pledge of a couple’s love for each other. Sometimes, a child could be the reason for couples, on the brink of a marital breakdown, to reconsider and get counseling to save the marriage. A child should never be sacrificed for other needs like a career or a fat bank balance. It is better to stay unmarried if you wish to amass wealth or fly high in your career. Once you get married, your children are a testimony that your marriage is a complete one. For those who cannot have children for medical reasons, adoption is one solution. Sometimes after adopting a child, couples have been blessed with children of their own.
Marital life is a continuous struggle; one has to balance at the fulcrum while making both ends meet. Children can seem a burden at times especially when one has to manage home and work at the office. And nowadays the nuclear family system makes that even more difficult. Children have to be kept with inept Ayahs or in questionable crèches, and both are expensive options. So couples think several times before trying for a second child, let alone a third or a fourth.
There is no substitute for mother’s love, of course, so women could perhaps consider opting for a career as a ‘homemaker’ instead of working outside the home. There are many ways of using one’s talents and educational qualifications; an enterprising woman can start an entrepreneurship right there in the home itself. I am a stay-at-home Mom who writes. This gives me scope to use my talents to earn a little to supplement the household income and still look after my four kids.
Quality time can never substitute for a 24*7 Mom at home. My mother worked and I hated the maid who looked after me. I often remember pleading with my Mom to leave her job and be at home with me. A job does give women freedom and self-esteem but when it comes to children, they need the continuing warmth of a mother who bore them in her womb for nine months. At least for the first five years.
I think it is time that organizations in India rethink their policies on working mothers, especially those with tiny tots, and reshape them to the advantage of the women and their children. The working woman is here to stay and it is time that conditions are made feasible for her to look after her children while working from the home. After all, if they can do it in Japan, why not here?
It is said ‘A happy family is but an earthly Heaven’. Families are forever. Let us uphold the dignity of the family by choosing to nurture our children well, looking after their mental, psychological and spiritual needs first. A fancy car, a posh bungalow, a banknote-feathered mattress can never replace the warm, tender caresses of chubby fingers or the sweet cherubic glow of a child’s countenance. I cherish every moment of love I experience when my little ones nestle close to my heart as I sing a lullaby to them each night. May that joy be yours too. (1,241 words)

Hi Googlies, 17/5/10

PTL! Thank you Mama Mary!

Sunday Mirror in Herald printed ‘The Modern Mother’ yday. Posting it today for you to read. The editor had a word of praise: I am carrying the article on Mother in Mirror, 16 May issue. It is well written, keep sending such articles, simple yet superb.
My middle ‘The Tamarind Tree’ shd hopefully come in my fortnightly slot i.e. May 21st. Shall post it on 24th.
We went for a tiatr ‘Chol-Ia-London’ yday at Kala Academy. It was hilarious but Baby was not comfortable and so our attention got disturbed. Next time, only Glenn & I will go for these kind of shows. Kirsten can baby-sit for us; he’s old enough now. Later, after the show, we took a round at the jetty; I clicked a few photos there.
I got news that Tombat is resuming in June. Have asked Sharmila to make me an appointment. Hope I can get a weekly slot as I just love writing the middles and now the short stories are also shaping up well. In fact, I am thinking of coming out with a book of short stories but that is being too ambitiousJ
Enjoy the article. Comment please.

From the heart.
Auriel.
Article follows:

The Modern Mother

I was listening in to the messages relayed on the radio on International Mother’s Day (May 9), when I was highly amused to hear a caller complaining about his mother. He said she was always nagging him and he was fed up with the harsh treatment. Much to my delight, the RJ countered that by saying that it was a common way for mothers to show their fierce love and protectiveness for their children.
Yes, as a mother, I totally agreed with the RJ. No doubt, it is because of our love that we attempt to mould our children into good persons. It is a difficult task since we are not perfect ourselves and often sadly out of ‘sync’ with the times.
‘Mama knows best’ – this used to be our slogan when we were growing up. We listened to our mothers, went to them for ideas and ideals, cried on their shoulders if things went wrong and hugged them around the waist when things went right. Oh, we were tempted many a time, but we always remembered their words of caution and behaved with propriety.
Today, mothers are losing this power over their kids. And why not, when they themselves are not around much to wield that authority. A tired mother, back from work, cannot hope to compete with an over-energetic and hyper-smart prodigy. Most probably, after a minor tussle of wits, she gives in, guilty to have left her child the whole day in the hands of servants or worse still, all by himself.
Modern mothers work outside their homes as well as in the home. There seems to be no respite for them at both ‘places of work’. The husband continues to be the factory worker/businessman outside the home and the hide-behind-the newspaper ‘guest’ in the home. He ‘visits’ for three-four hours in the night, has his dinner in front of the TV, then yawns himself to bed. The next day he wakes up to bed tea, a piping hot breakfast and an extra-large tiffin to carry off to work.
In contrast, look at the plight of the modern mother. She wakes up before the proverbial cock to prepare not only breakfast for her family but also their respective tiffins for work and school. She cuts and sautés the preliminary items for the midday meal if she is privileged to come home to cook it in her afternoon break, otherwise it is a whole meal that she has to prepare in advance in addition to breakfast and tiffins. Then she hurries off to work after giving proper instructions to the maid (if she is fortunate to have one, that is!). After a slogging and mind-boggling day at the office, she detours daily to the market to replenish her larder before returning home. Once home, she has to referee endless arguments of her kids, supervise their homework, besides getting the dinner ready for them in time. If a child has to be bathed or a shirt button is loose, Mom is commissioned into service. It is amazing how engrossed Dad becomes in the paper/ TV/computer and how well the kids are conditioned not to disturb him at all costs.
For stay-at-home Moms, it is no different; the only plus point is that they have more time to do the jobs listed above. It is a rare Mom that is blessed with a helpful Dad.
I asked a neighbor of mine why she puts up with it and, believe me or not, she said it is her duty to do everything. So she plods on smiling outwardly and grumbling inwardly. The husband of a modern mother has his bread buttered on both sides – a wife to cook, clean, baby-sit and also bring in the big bucks!
A child needs the undivided attention of his mother for the first five years – not a stressed out, frustrated woman who has got the worst of both sides. I am told, in Japan, mothers are asked to work from home during the first five years of their child’s life and even the father is not allowed any overseas job in that time frame. Times have changed, technology has advanced. When are our attitudes toward women, their work and their worth ever going to change? Most women seem to be tolerating this discrimination while fighting for other rights. Will 33% reservation really make any difference to the average woman who cannot even raise her voice to fight injustice in her own home? When will women ever be ‘equal’ to men in this important area of their lives?
I salute all mothers for their love, dedication and sacrifice to their families at the cost of their own personal freedom but I also wish them a lot of God’s grace to change their future for the better without compromising on family values.

This came today so am pasting it unedited.

THE TAMARIND TREE

There she stands, in the corner of my huge building complex, aged yet strong, her withered bark curled and crusty. A strong sturdy tree she once was and decades have not diminished that power. But there is a deep sorrow in her form these days as memories of years gone by creep up, causing her wrinkled brow to frown with disdain.
Once, long, long ago, there was a wild forest around her. She was one among many and her days were filled with the merry singing of birds in her hair, the gurgling of a little brook at her feet and the prancing of tiny animals up and down her trunk. As seasons changed, the world around her changed from green to yellow to red. She reveled in it and in the Artist of Life who had created her and her companions. She basked in the hot summer sun, shivered when gusty winds swept around her body and teased her hair, smiled at the rain pouring down her back and waved out with dainty hands to the clouds that brought relief to the scorched earth.
Birds would seek refuge in her, making homes for their tiny ones in the nooks and crannies of her magnificent body. She protected them with the fierce love of a mother for her child. And delighted with the mother birds when the fledglings took their maiden flight, falling clumsily to her lower branches. Often, squirrels ran up and down her trunk, calling out to each other as they played ‘Catching Cook’ and ‘Hide-n-Seek’ with gay abandon. They would nibble nuts and berries hidden in her cavities for the winter nestling contently, safe in her warmth.
Ah, those days were long gone and so were the birds and the squirrels. Her companions had been chopped down mercilessly to make way for the concrete jungle that were homes to the human race. ‘Why did you spare me’, the tamarind tree seems to cry to them. ‘I can’t bear this life’. I watch her weighed down by the abundant fruit she yields every summer and can almost feel her sadness. It bespeaks of the horror that is called progress. Development at the cost of Life.
The children of my complex run to the tamarind tree every morning and pelt her with stones. She endures their unkind ways because she knows they desire her fruit. Maybe that is why I am still alive, she muses. Because I am useful to them. My friends were not needed anymore. And not for a single moment did they consider the life of those innocent, helpless birds and squirrels.
Once in a blue moon, a band of monkeys come and assemble in her branches. They too are out for the fruit and leaves, it appears. The tamarind tree shows delight to see a shadow of her former life reappear but it is short-lived. Having used her, they leave without even a ‘Thank You’. They ravage and plunder just like their human cousins.
Still, the tamarind tree smiles her sad smile as she awaits the final stroke of doom. It almost seems as if she wants it now and I can understand why.
When you are unwelcome, you do not want to prolong your stay. You hope for a better place, a warmer welcome somewhere else. Life is like a prison for a living entity like her. Life hurts when she knows the future of human life without her and her kind is destined for extinction. They will realize their error too late, she fears. Can they survive without her? Maybe Yes. But without her kind? Certainly and absolutely not! (606 words)

Hi Googlies, 8/5/10

PTL! Thank you Mama Mary!

Herald printed my middle ‘Feel the Rain’ yday. I am feeling relieved but still not sure that I have been reinstated. It is in my usual Fri slot and with the title ‘From the Heart’ which was the one Mr. Gadgil had assigned to me when he gave me the fortnightly slot. He told me last week before leaving that Mr. Tombat had also liked my articles and said that I had improved with each one. Anyway, I rely on my God to decide if he wants me to continue writing or not. Shall only be at peace when Mr. Tombat says it is Ok and I can do the fortnightly slot but I am praying for a weekly one. All in His Time and Will.
Sent mail to Mr. Averthanus. I was very happy to know he knew Dad and his elder bro in Dadar. Small world, I always say! I hope to learn more from him and have requested for his blog address. Let’s see if he replies.
I am posting the original text of the article as a few examples were deleted for lack of space perhaps or maybe irrelevance. I am quite pleased with the end result as it has not ended abruptly like the previous one did. I wonder if the ones I sent earlier are canned; they are just not giving me any feedback.
You guys all take care. Live life, Be Prolife. Strengthen The Family Safeguard the Society was the theme of the prolife seminar that I attended last week.
God bless and have a great day!
From the heart.
Auriel.

Article follows:

FEEL THE RAIN

It’s the season of the Green Carpet event once again; of life springing up from Dormant Earth. As the rains wash away the dirt and grime of a dusty summer, Nature gets a fresh makeover. The forest comes alive with the vibrant colors of wildflowers and the exuberant peacock shakes out his resplendent plumage as if to say “Come dance with me” In a dazzling display of dashing moves, he pays homage to the collecting clouds in the sky. Frogs in the pond lend their resonant voices to the orchestra of thunder and lightning in the firmament.
Have you ever danced in the rain? I used to wait eagerly every June for the first rains to come so I could run outside and get thoroughly drenched in the pouring shower. The smell of the mud drove us mad as my friends and I sang and laughed, abandoning all inhibitions to the wind that swept around us. The cooling waters cleansed our spirits and revived our souls. It was a truly awesome experience.
I relived this experience when I watched a Hindi movie many years ago; when Kajol urged the timid Akshay to fling away his umbrella and come feel the rain on his face in “Dillagi” Later, they danced in abandon to a rain song. Recently, in the movie ‘Rab Ne Bana De Jodi’ the hero Sharukh tells his beloved Tanni, “Pehli baarish me beegte jo mango woh zaroor milta hai. Just close your eyes and let every drop of rain reach your heart” When Tanni opens the window, recalls his words and feels the soothing sensation of the rain on her face, the experience is life-changing for her.
The farmer longs for rain; no sooner has he ploughed the field then he prays for it. A year of drought spells doom for the farmer who survives on rain to water his crops to abundant life. In ‘Lagaan’, at the first glimpse of the rain clouds, the drummer, in a drought- stricken part of Rajasthan, beats his drum to call the villagers’ attention to the much-awaited sight. The villagers, gazing with delight writ on their faces, dance in gay abandon to please the Rain God, pleading “Megha Re, Megha Re, Pani To Barasao Re”. Rains are indeed the lifeline of farmers and their families in such places. A year of drought could bring a flood of suicides for the debt-ridden’ men of the soil’.
Rains are vital not only for farmers and the growth of their crops, but also for all of us. We need water to drink, bathe, wash utensils and clothes and to nurture our gardens. Many a times, we grumble when we see an ominous black cloud, dreading the impending monsoons because of the inconveniences it brings. Slush, drenched clothing, waterlogged gutters, floods, cyclones; these are the other side of the coin. But if we take proper precautions to prevent them, the monsoons can be a joyous season for us all.
As a school-going child once recited, “Tis fun to splish-splash in puddles And then get Mom’s scolds and cuddles”. Parents are careful to see that their children don’t get wet in the rains for fear that they might fall sick. So they protect them with raincoats and umbrellas. Aren’t most people always cautious about stepping out when it’s pouring cats and dogs or taking shelter when caught in a sudden unexpected downpour? So little wonder then that they have never savored a rain shower or reveled in a rain dance. I may sound childish to some of you who will scoff at its therapeutic effects. But if you are feeling sad, upset or even angry, JUST DO IT once! Go stand in front of a shower hose, just close your eyes and let the water flow onto you. What you feel then is exactly what you will feel when you dance in the rain.
The only time I have seen adults enjoy the rains are in Hindi films. In fact, most movies are incomplete without a love song where the heroine is thoroughly drenched and having the time of her life. The umbrella becomes an excuse to draw closer to the hero, but soon it flies away, and they are back to being ‘Wet, Wet, Wet’. What an enjoyable way to romance!
Numerous songs have been composed to give expression to the feeling of joy when the monsoons come; Raag Malhar is a ‘classical’ example. Poetry and essays have also been written, but my favorite was the ‘Rainy Season’ drawing we did every June when school began. Then there were some cute nursery rhymes we used to recite with gusto like ‘Oh! Where do you come from You little drops of rain?’ and riddles like ‘What goes up when the rain comes down?’ In college too, we had a special cultural event called MALHAR during the monsoons which was a hair-hanging-down time of fun n-frolic that all of us looked forward to and thoroughly enjoyed.
So grab the opportunity this monsoons. Feel the rain on your skin, revel in its feather-light caresses on your soul and experience God’s Love in the life-giving waters that spring from His heart to yours! (864 words)

Hi Googlies, 5/5/10

PTL! Thank you Mama Mary!
Its been some time now since my articles in Herald was printed. Seems like a cooling off period. I felt bad but now I am calmer; have placed it in His hands. If He wills it, no one can stop it.
The reason I write thanking Mama Mary is coz I prayed to her at our feast Mass and one article was printed the very next day so I believe she has blessed my work.
On 1- 3 May, I attended the prolife seminar at Raia. Organised by Artists for Life. A Catholic group that promotes prolife in Goa. The seminar was a wonderful experience. The atmosphere was also homely; the people who attended as well as the people who organized the program were all committed to the prolife cause. Talks were on respecting the Body, Evils of Contraception and how NFP helps in spousal communication. Then we learnt about the 5 languages of Love. Mr. Averthanus spoke on how to defend life and Milagres the leader of the group spoke on the role faith in prolife work.
I was delighted to learn that Mr. Averthanus knew my Dad and his brother because he too lived in Dadar before he moved here. Small world, nah? I have written to him and hope to keep in touch. There is so much more to learn. I didn’t want to highlight my problems with Herald with him because I want to win this on my own. Only Him and me.
I also took the opportunity to meet my dear friend Sajla. We share a unique relationship even though we come from different strata of life. I learn a lot from her and she too I guess learns from me.
A play of mine was rejected by Herald so I thought why not display it here? So I say bye for now. Enjoy the play and if you can send it to Remo, I’d be delighted.
From the heart.
Auriel.

Play follows:

WATER WAY TO GO! – Paradise Lost, Paradise Found.

(Scene opens on the deck of HMS 9 Entertainments. Captain Remo is seen, strutting back and forth, his medals gleaming on his breast as he checks the list in his hand. A group of men, all dressed in white are seen huddled in a corner, their pockets bulging.)
C. Remo: (Sniffing with disdain, his smart spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose) These vermin! What are they doing here?
Chief Officer: They are on the list, Sir. Caught for looting, that’s what it says in the file.
C. Remo: (reading from list) Says here that they come from a place called Paradise. Where in heavens is that?
C.O.: Why, Sir, don’t you know? It’s D spot for nirvana, for drugs, for…….
C. Remo: (dismissing this trivia with a wave of his hand) Let it go, man. Tell me why they’ve been sent to us, for Maria Pita’s sake!
C.O: (sighing) Well, the file says that they sanctioned too much Paradise to outsiders so the insiders want them out.
C. Remo:(with a loud guffaw) Want them out, eh? The ‘in’siders want them ‘out’! Well, that’s our job and we love doing our job, right?
C.O: Right sir. Dead right! (Chuckles at his own joke)
C. Remo: (Summoning a cadet) Son, take these prisoners to the galley and make them run the ship. Let’s see how well they can do that.
(Cadet mobilizes the white-clad men to the bottom of the ship and assigns them their task)
White-Clad Man 1: As I’m the leader of this party, I’ll supervise……
Cadet: You just sit down and row, you stupid moron. Prisoners don’t rule on this ship. I’ll do the supervising, you do the perspiring.
(The prisoners sit quietly, but not one lifts an oar.)
Cadet: (Impatiently) Well, what are you waiting for? A tender to be passed? Get to it and quick!
(The white-clad men pick up the oars and begin rowing frantically. The ship leaves the port, swaying like a drunkard.)
C. Remo: (screaming from above) What is happening down there? Someone’s in a hurry to flee or what? We can’t leave till we get the signal. Turn back, I say. I order you to turn this ship back to port.
(Cadet whips the prisoners and they turn the ship back to port, grumbling as they do so.)
C. Remo: (Appearing in the doorway) What are you chumps grumbling for? You didn’t make a noise when your Paradise was being raped, did you? Says here in your file – Prisoners made merry when Paradise lost her cherry.
(Suddenly a commotion is heard on deck. Captain Remo rushes up to see another group of white-clad men on deck.)
W-C Man 2: (bowing to the Captain) Sir, we would like to join your ship. We heard it’s the safest place for us to be in right now.
C. Remo: (condescendingly looking them up and down) And who might you Papadums be, pray tell me?
White-Clad Man 2: We run the most powerful game in the world. Ever heard of the IPL? We rule the IPL, Sir.
C. Remo (scratching his semi-balding pate) Yeah, Yeah, heard of it. But you don’t look like cricketers to me. You look a lot like those oafs down there in the galley.
White-Clad Man 2: (peering over Captain’s shoulders) Those worms! We don’t belong to their party, Sir. We lost Paradise to them!
C. Remo: (Losing it completely) Well, see here, all who come aboard are prisoners and will have to steer the ship from below. Get it? So now tell me, do you still want to come?
White-Clad Man 2: We will come but give us some other task. If you put us down there with that group, there will be chaos and division.
C. Remo: (thinks hard, then beams) O.K. I got it! What about scrubbing the decks and aiding with the mast? Can you wimps do that?
W-C-Man 2: (Looks around at his group, gets their silent Ayes and nods) Sir, we would be happy to clean up and set sail for you.
C. Remo: Ok, then let’s get cracking before another group decides to join us. My ship will surely sink with more of you heavyweights around.
(The port guard waves his green flag, signaling that the ship can now leave. Suddenly there is utter chaos heard in the galley. The two groups are engaged in a free-for-all, each trying to oust the other out. They kick pails of water, hit heads with mops and bottoms with oars.)
C. Remo: (Roaring above the cacophony) Stop it! Stop it at once! (An oar hits him on the head; he sees red) Dump all of them, I say. Dump the whole lot in the sea. Sink the ship. (To C.O.) I command you to sink this ship.
C.O. (Stammering) Sir, Sir, we can’t do that, Sir. Environmental regulations and all that. It could pollute the sea.
C. Remo: (Eyes bulging with rage) I don’t care, I tell you. I’ve had enough of this Harami Mantri Ship. Sink it now!
C.O: (trying to stall) Sir, another problem, sir. If you sink the ship, you will have to go down with it. Rule Numero Uno, you know.
C. Remo: Oh, my, I’d forgotten that Rule. But they must go. Forget the Eco Rule. Let’s just throw them in.
(The crew gathers around, ambush the white-clad men and dump them into the sea, where the weight of their bulging pockets aid them in sinking faster.)
C. Remo: (Gleefully rubbing his hands) And now, compadre, let’s head back for port.
C.O: (Puzzled) Why Sir?
C. Remo: Don’t you see? (Pauses for effect) With these men gone, Paradise will need a new ruler!
(Curtain falls as Captain Remo stands on deck, his face turned towards port-and Paradise)

Hi Googlies, 20/4/10

PTL! Thank you Mama Mary!
On 15th, I finally sent a letter to Maria, the Junior Herald Editor, asking her for the negative ltrs and pleading for my fortnightly slot. I haven’t got any reply letter but today one of the middles was published. It was a great relief, I tell you! I started sobbing when I saw my name. Actually these days I have been going to the paper reluctantly esp. on my allotted day i.e. Fri and today too I just didn’t want to be disappointed because none of my features or reports were being published and I felt I was being boycotted. I was doing some work on the comp and Glenn comes into the room and say, “You’re back!” and I was like ‘What?’ Then I saw they had published ‘P’ for politics, ‘P’ for prayer. Of course, they had used the scissors profusely so I’ll post the original version here as well as the edited one. Mama Mary worked this miracle for me coz I prayed to her with tears yday at Mass.
Celia just called to congratulate me and Ophelia and Anthony S. sent smses. I send the alert to 10 friends in a distribution list whenever my article comes in Herald so they can read. They have been following my work and enjoy them.
Before that, she worked another miracle: Glenn had said No to being Rosemary’s Godpa. I had already booked myself as Godma even before she was born. Yday after we returned home from mass, he came by himself and said Yes. Maria had told me to pray and ask again on 19th but I was feeling bad to say its No so I waited till we came home. Imagine my surprise and delight when Glen changed his mind! So I say it has to be Mother’s doing.
The parish is having their fete from yday evening. Kirsten is volunteering in one of the games stall. We went down for the entire show yday and will go again today and tomorrow. On 22, Glenn & I have a date – we are going for the tiatr while Kirsten babysits. Russel is here to stay for these three days; he’s my s-i-l’s son and our godchild. He has grown so tall; my eldest son looks like a dwarfed version of him. They both are like bros and so they roam together and tease girls together and …
Chalo, bye for now. Got to cook lunch for the hungry bunch. Just making chicken as Glenn made a huge stack of chapattis to go with it. We snack at the fete in the night so I don’t have to cook these days. Small mercies, huh?
From the heart.
Auriel.

Article Follows:

‘P’ for Politics, ‘P’ for Prayer.

‘Mr. M.P. charged in land-filling case’, ‘Mr. J.F. held for rape of R…’, ‘UP Minister caught in sleazy video’, ‘CM runs away from home’. Oh, I can go on and on and on. A single thread runs through all these headlines – a politician’s human failings and subsequent falling. As recipients of the decisions these men and women make for our welfare or ‘woe’fare, we have the right and responsibility to act. Often, however, we only react. Either we get volatile, spewing venom, or we remain passive, ‘tut-tut’ing in protest. In rare cases, we act, as the villagers did at the rally on March 4th to implement the RP.
I must admit, at the onset, that I too am guilty of reacting to the deeds of our politicians. Who likes to hear heinous tales of a hormone-hippy MLA or a money-mad MP? Whether one rapes a woman or a piece of land the havoc created is the same. People are hurt, lives are destroyed, trust is lost. Of course, it angers me when I see the poor victimized so that the rich can buy them with their own money. It saddens me to think of women treated like prostitutes in their homes or workplace, abused and misused just because they are dependent on their ‘bosses’. I am aghast to hear that hospitals leech their patients dry when they should be giving them a new lease of life. And I have to hang my head down in shame that I have elected to the chair a person who is most likely going to bring the downfall of my country or state.
So I urge my fellow compatriots actively engaged in the battle to create a change of heart in our leaders, to get down on your knees with me and pray for them.
Jesus said once, “Have the faith to move mountains.” Is our faith that strong? When Joshua believed God and circled the mighty wall of Jericho, it came crumbling down. David defeated and killed the giant Goliath with stones, flung from a child’s catapult. Daniel was protected by God in the lion’s den and Joseph was given the post of governor in Pharoah’s court so he could save his family. God is definitely all-powerful. I am certain He alone can turn things around, if we only give Him full control. We need do only whatever he tells us to, and our actions should always be coupled with compassion - for our politicians were created as pure as we were in their mother’s wombs.
Pray for them – ‘They do not know what they do’. When the rich man died and went to Hades, he realized too late that all the ill-gotten wealth he had accumulated was of no use. It could not even get him a drop of water to assuage the heat of Hell’s fire. Many of our politicians amass wealth for their children and their children’s children at the cost of our children and our children’s children. They need our prayers desperately for their children will inherit their sins as well.
Pray for them – ‘They do things so that people may see and praise their deeds’. Ever heard of the herd mentality? We see it in young men and women, teenagers especially. ‘Everybody is doing it so I too must join the bandwagon. If I don’t I will be sidelined, ostracized even. I will lose my position, my power, my prestige.’ Our leaders too are rarely ‘one of a kind’. They all ‘herd’le together forming a well-knit family of fiends. The Zilla Parishad elections have been a classic example of this herd mentality. The fanaticism each party exhibits and upholds so fervently is distressing. So pray for true democracy and for ‘one of a kind’ leaders like we had in the past – Gandhiji, Nehru, and now Rahul Gandhi.
Pray for them – ‘Their God is money.’ All politicians begin with good intentions but somewhere along the line they forget these and embrace the immoral ideals of stalwarts in the field. Who ever heard of leaders having cars and houses on a meagre salary in the past? Even if they claim to be doing honest work, is that the right example to give the aam aadmi who has to walk with blistered feet and live in thatched huts? Even the attire they don is as expensive as their taste in branded models. Khadi, once spun by Gandhi on a chakra for a song, now costs a bomb. Visits to casinos, fist fights in airplanes, manhandling reporters are all signs of a power-puffed politician.
I have great faith in prayer to move mountains, and in God to achieve the impossible. My only fear is that he will ask me to find five righteous people so he can avert the destruction of the ‘Tower of Babel’ing fools and I will not be able to get even one, not even myself. (823 words)

This edited version came on 20th April 20, 2010

‘P’ for Politics, ‘P’ for Prayer.

‘Mr. M.P. charged in land-filling case’, ‘Mr. J.F. held for rape of R…’, ‘UP Minister caught in sleazy video’, ‘CM runs away from home’. A single thread runs through all these headlines – a politician’s human failings and subsequent falling. As recipients of the decisions these men and women make for our welfare or ‘woe’fare, we have the right and responsibility to act. Often, however, we only react. Either we get volatile, spewing venom, or we remain passive, ‘tut-tut’ing in protest.
I too am guilty of reacting to the deeds of our politicians. Who likes to hear heinous tales of a hormone-hippy MLA or a money-mad MP? Whether one rapes a woman or a piece of land, the havoc created is the same. People are hurt, lives are destroyed, trust is lost. It angers me when I see the poor victimized so that the rich can buy them. It saddens me to think of women treated like prostitutes in their homes or workplace, abused and misused just because they are dependent on their ‘bosses’. I am aghast to hear that hospitals leech their patients dry when they should be giving them a new lease of life. I have to hang my head down in shame that I have elected to the chair a person who is most likely going to bring the downfall of my country or state.
So I urge my fellow compatriots actively engaged in the battle to create a change of heart in our leaders, to get down on your knees with me and pray for them.
Jesus said once, “Have the faith to move mountains.” God is all-powerful. He alone can turn things around, if we only give Him full control. We need do only whatever he tells us to, and our actions should always be coupled with
Pray for our politicians They do not know what they do’. Many of our politicians amass wealth for their family and descendents at the cost of ours. Pray for them. They do things so that people may see and praise their deeds’. We see it in youngsters, teenagers especially. ‘Everybody is doing it so I too must join the bandwagon. If I don’t I will be sidelined, ostracized even. I will lose my position, my power, my prestige.’
Our leaders too are rarely ‘one of a kind’. The Zilla Parishad elections have been a classic example of this herd mentality. The fanaticism each party exhibits and upholds so fervently is distressing. So pray for true democracy and for ‘one of a kind’ leaders. All politicians begin with good intentions but along the way they forget these and embrace the immoral ideals of stalwarts in the field.
Who ever heard of leaders having cars and houses on a meagre salary in the past? Even their attire is as expensive as their taste in branded models. Khadi, once spun by Gandhi on a chakra for a song, is now exorbitantly priced. Visits to casinos, fist fights in airplanes, manhandling reporters are all signs of a power-puffed politician. (513 words)
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