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)
Monday, May 31, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
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)
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)
Monday, May 17, 2010
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)
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)
Friday, May 7, 2010
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)
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)
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
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)
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)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)