Category: Musings

Musings

Burning away the pain

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After a long time I found myself at a Holi celebration in Maharashtra. At Harali, it is a grand affair.

A big pyre made with firewood and dried coconut branches was ready. It was lit after performing a Puja. After a minute or so the dry coconut branches ignited sending spectacular sparks in the night sky. Boys ran around the fire screaming traditional couplets in a call and response format, using pent up energy and venting their frustration.

The Anandshala students staying at Harali, on a piece of paper wrote down feelings, memories, habits or anything they wanted to discard, things that did not serve them anymore. These were attached to the pyre before the ritual. The girls fixatadely looked at the pyre and saw the discards burn away.

I wonder what they wrote. Whatever it was, I hope it was a cathartic experience.

Musings

Birds, trees and other things

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When we moved to our cureent place in January, I was heartbroken as I couldn’t see or hear a single bird (except of course the basic pigeons, just 1 pair). The old place had a forest behind and peacocks flaunting a palatan of peahens. Kites nesting on the pole in front of us, Woodpecker sharpening its beak on our window frame and variety of other small and medium sizedbirds. We also saw a few migratery birds making a quick stop. 

Jamun fruiting

It was too cold in January to explore surroundings of the new place. I had to travel for work as the weather started warming up and was back only in early April. So it was surprising to see the Jamun tree flowering. I missed the Neem blossoms. Plenty of neem around us, must have been beautiful amd fragrant. 

I wake up everyday now to bird song. Today I saw a Haroli. It was breaking dry twigs of the Jamun tree. A nest is coming up somewhere. Haroli reminds me of a comment a friend made our first spring in Delhi. It is a state bird of Mahrashtra so when I saw it in Delhi, he said it was welcoming me home. I cherish that thought and feel at home everytime I see it. It is still coolish enough in the morning to keep the door to the balcony open. From my desk I can see the shenanigans in the Jamun tree. Once it fruits, I am hoping to see more birds.

I miss the peacocks though. landing with a thump on the roof at 4:30am. Eating young shoots, but then strutting on the parapet wall when I sat on the terrace as if mounting a special fashion show only for me.

Musings

दोन कळस तो तांडा

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जिथे दोन कळस तो तांडा. अस कोणीतरी म्हटलं आणि मग एक पांढरा शुभ्र आणि एक रंगवलेला अशी जोडी लांबूनच दिसायला लागली कुठेही कामासाठी फिरताना.
पांढरा कळस सेवालाल महाराजांच्या मंदिराचा. रंगीत जगदंबा मंदिराचा. ही रुद्रवाडी. शेजारच शिखर नसलेलं समाज मंदिर. तिथे आनंदशाळा चालते.


A Banjara Tanda always has two spires, I am told. The white one denotes the temple of Sevalal Maharaj and the colourful one of goddess Jagadamba. The one without a spire here is the Samaj Mandir or community hall where Anandshala is conducted.

Musings

Wondering and wanderings

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Coming back to Delhi, there were two kids on the plane, probably flying for the first time. They thoroughly enjoyed every bit of the experience and I enjoyed listening to their reactions. Started with shrieks during take off and then commentary on everything they could see from the window and inside the plane. Reminded me of a conversation with the girls from Anandshala staying at Harali. They were super excited to learn about what it means to fly, when they realized I was travelling to Delhi in a plane. A snippet from that conversation:

“ढग कसे दिसतात?”
“कापसा सारखे”
“ताई हात लावून बघा जाताना आणि सांगा कापसासारखेच लागतात का हाताला”
“हात बाहेर काढता येत नाही.” (I explain in detail about air pressure, pressurized cabin etc.)
“फोटो काढ मग ढगाच्या वर गेल्यावर”
“अगं विमान बंद असतं सांगितलं ना ताईनी, फोटो कसा काढणार.”
“ए, काच असते म्हणली ना डोक्याएव्हढी गोल.” (a quick retort followed by a hopeful glance at me) “येतं ना ताई काढता फोटो?”
“हो येतो. मी फोटो आणि व्हिडिओ काढून वनिताताईला पाठवून देईन.”
“नको ताई, तुमीच घेऊन या. मग गोष्ट सांगा “

English translation:
“What do clouds look like?”
“Like spun cotton”
“Tai, touch them when you fly next time, and tell us if they feel like a cotton ball?”
“Can’t take out your hand when flying” (I explain in detail about air pressure, pressurized cabin etc.)
“Take a photo when you are above the clouds then.”
“Didn’t Tai tell us the plane is closed, how is she going to take a photo?”
“hey, she said there is a glass window, the size of a head” (a quick retort followed by a hopeful glance at me) “you can take a photo, right?”
“Yes, I can take a photo. I will take photos and videos and send it to Vanitatai”
“No, tai. Bring it next time with you and tell us a story”

Musings

Back to school

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This was an interesting eye-opener about how the discourse of learning-loss with respect to students feeds into the deficit mindset.

The middle school boys from Bhosga last year who took harvest contracts and earned money during the pandemic, we see you. We see that you are doing your best to learn from life and thrive in the present circumstances.
We see you now coming in for the Anandshala everyday late at night after a days work. Especially the girls who have the added responsibility of the household chores. Prithvi, we see you, working the whole day and then teaching the kids in the evening with so much enthusiasm. Managing in a room without a door, taking the light bulb with you every night so that vandalism would not affect the learning on the next day. We acknowledge you attending the facilitator’s meeting on the phone while you were harvesting soyabean.

Although the video referes to the American educational system, the discourse is no different in India. The rhetoric of skill-loss or learning-loss is all pervasive with the AP report and a variety of education experts commenting on it primarily as they build an argument for schools to open again.

I am not against schools opening. It is necessary in most places. However, focusing on the skill loss puts us (teachers, policy makers, administrators, education experts) on the defensive. Can we acknowledge that the children lived through a pandemic just like we did. They learned to live in a pandemic, they survived. Can we plan teaching and learning acknowledging the fact that each child brings something to the table? It is not just the teachers or the people who design the curriculum that have things worth giving.

Schools are not the only places learning happens. Children coming back to school are not leaky buckets left half empty that teachers now have to fill upto capacity with herculean efforts. Pandemic did not freeze them in place. Just like all of us adults, they lived through it. Lets try to connect back with that experience in mind.

Dilli Diary · Musings

Gardens that kept me afloat

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I started keeping a facebook photo diary on my terrace garden in Delhi. As I share happenings in my garden, Facebook also keeps showing some memories long forgotten, and I wander reminiscing. Experiencing all over again the feel of each and every plant; the excitement of the first sprout, first flower, first gourd flower turning to fruit; taste of home grown veggies; mystery of unknown plants cropping up.

My garden in NYC started with a Mogra plant. I had a habit of wandering in the neighbourhoods on my way home instead of taking the subway near my university. One summer walking home from the medical campus I was pleasantly surprised, shocked, overwhelmed to see a mogra plant in a small shop selling garden supplies somewhere in Washington heights. Mogra is my soul flower. It was like a call from home. So I bought it for $14.99. An exhorbitant price at that time. For comparison, my eating out/pampering myself budget was $5/month.

That started me off on my journey of window boxes in the 1 room I shared with Selen. One room meant, 2 windows, 1 with a heating coil under it so effectively just one window. When Parag moved to NYC and we moved into a 1BR apartment. Suddenly there were 4 viable windows beckoning me. Unfortunately, as we moved in the dead of winter in January, in spite of all the wrapping and blankets, the first Mogra didn’t survive the move.

In spring, I experimented with daisies, asters. Mums in fall. With plants at home the empty squares on the sidewalk beckoned me and I started putting in seedlings wherever I found place. Everybody stared, finally a well meaning granny pointed out that I was digging in nasty stuff that should be left unturned. haha. Don’t remember how many of those sapplings took root, but that activity gave me a better eye for wild plants, flowers, generally flora and fauna. I suddenly started seeing many more minute details, the little critters, new life after the first thaw, changing textures and colours.

The NB apartment was the epitome of luxury after the cramped NYC apartments. We had a longish balcony, an actual open space attached to the house. Plenty of space and height for the indoor plant we inherited from Perien while we were in NYC. All the plants moved with us from NYC, and moved again to PVD, finally in their own space to expand rather than the cramped window boxes.

Providence garden finally provided the space for experimenting on a larger scale. Growing vegetables, trying out different seasonal plants etc but what I remember the most is the first spring and the entire summer after that. As the ground thawed, we saw various flowers and sprouts coming up one after the other. Some places like the corners next to the steps, obviously had some plants in hybernation but I did not expect the surprises popping up everywhere as the temperature increased. Grape hycinth, white grass lily, to bearded iris and black eyed susans. All an enigma.

Each and every garden was a salve for the soul. A link to the distant home, warmth and sign of life in the dead of winter, and as we grew with each other, a way to find home in the new places.


Musings · Social Media, Technology & Education

care-free

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https://www.transformingsociety.co.uk/2020/03/31/childrens-photos-reveal-need-for-a-new-narrative-of-care/

This article reminded me of a conversation on one of my research sites. A group of facilitators were discussing challenges teaching children of migrant workers in the week before. Someone says, children from other age groups are also arriving for the sessions. Many echo the same problem.
The solution provided is: Patiently clarify the time assigned for their age group.
Some facilitators then mention how older children come with their younger siblings. This includes older siblings as young as 3rd-4th grade and their siblings who are toddlers.
The solution provided is to send them back and tell their parents to not send the toddler or both are not allowed. This is necessary to keep the quality of learning/focus during the 2 hour session.
The facilitatators ask: What if the parents don’t send the child back?
The answer is: that is their problem. They need their child to learn so they have to deal with it.

The realities of life for some families in this way are completely written off. As the parents and everybody of working age goes to the field, the 3rd grader has the responsibility to tend for the toddler. An urban middle class family can afford to/takes it for granted that school aged children will live their lives unencumbered by chores. In schooling this reality is taken as a given. The systems are set up with that assumption. Children are expected to be ‘care-free’. But is that really the gold standard?

Wendy Luttrell similarly talks about children of working class Americans, the expectation of school aged children to be ‘un-burdened’ by care and the reality of their perception of care duties. In a project where the children were given a camera to capture their daily lives, they captured their and others’ care work. For them it is much more than duty or obligation.

When we imagine care duties like cooking, cleaning, babysitting, taking siblings to school, looking after elderly or unwell family members, we think of it as an adult responsibility or work to be transfered to others for pay. Children are expected to be ‘care-free’. Luttrell comments that freedom thus is about not having to care. On the other hand, the children from working class families she followed, thought of “care as a concerted, collective effort that enables their own and others’ participation, learning, and sense of belonging at home and in schools”

Depending on the hamlet they lived in (the overall afluence), the children at my research site, fetched water for the use of the household, cooked, cleaned, looked after siblings, looked after domestic animals. Older children in grade 7 or so also helped their parents in the field or in the shop. Can we reimagine our learning systems to work around these tasks that are inherent part of their lives? Can we imagine a way to design the learning process that acknowledges these parts of their lives – a math problem that builds on these experiences, for example, rather than an antiseptic problem of a tap and a leaky drum?

Musings

Covid Diary: I can’t smell

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Everything went quiet. I did not realize till now how much of the experience of life was smell. It was a meditative silence at times turning eerie. I talked about the especially unsettling eeriness during the lockdown. Now I wonder if part of it was not feeling the nature and people around me through smell. 

The aromatic herbs we eat, how much of the taste is actually smell? The Lucknow Saunf I so love has a beautiful sweet taste that is not much affected by lack of smell. Pudina however lost its personality. The taste doesn’t seem to be its key strength. The gaminess of meat is a lot about smell, I knew that, but experiencing it was a revelation. Without the overpowering smell, I experienced the nuance of texture and tastes more deeply. Lack of smell accentuated feeling of other senses.

My strong sense of smell is not just my own, it is an asset for my household. We realized that as we keep adding to the pile of burnt vessels every day. Over the years, we have been depending on my nose to tell us when the milk is boiled; when the butter is clarified; when the khichadi is about to burn and needs water. Without my nose we need to have other processes like standing there and visual inspection to manage these tasks.

My sense of smell is waking up again. I got a whiff of a strong-smelling ointment as if it was the light aroma of Jai Jui from the neighbours’ garden on a summer breeze. You feel it for a split second and it is gone before you can acknowledge it to yourself. It is the most pleasing sensation. Whiff of eggplant roasting was like heaven. I would have been fine without the whiff of open sewers but even that was mesmerizing. As if I am waking up from a deep sleep.

Dilli Diary

Eerie quiet

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This is the second week in Delhi lockdown. The second wave or whichever wave it is, has been quite deadly and devastating. The appeals for oxygen, hospital beds on twitter, WhatsApp are heartbreaking. We are thankful to just be out of lozenges and other medicines that have substitutes.

The most surprising part has been the pindrop silence on the weekend it started. Generally, there are kids flouting the curfew. People walking. Vehicles passing by. This time it feels different. The air is thick with foreboding. I realized it a bit late in the week as we were struggling with health ourselves.

Then I start hearing reports of people from our 4 household building. An elderly neighbour is unwell and being treated at home with oxygen as there are no beds available. Another family in isolation. So 3 out of 4 down. And it dawns on me that each and every building around the neighbourhood garden in front of us must have covid positive cases. Delhiites otherwise do not let go of their daily rhythms for pesky rules and shutdowns.