Childhood days: Games, play and a lesson in togetherness

The other day, one of the ladies in the apartments where I stay was bemoaning her kids' unwillingness to play outside; she recalled her own childhood days and the ramblings/run-around that were the then norm. That was all the prompting I needed to take another trip into nostalgia (something awry here--why am I looking back, what prompts these trips--more of that exploration, later). Obviously, a trip back into school/young days also brought to mind an old song, seems kind of apt here: "Great Change since I was born, there's a great change since I was born..."

Much has been written about times when we had no TVs, no computers, no new-era games, when imagination individual and collective ruled the roost; when games were created/modified to ensure that all who could played. And many lessons were learnt while playing: tolerance, inclusion, mentoring, justice, equality...And playing was not just after school, playing was within it too. For our schools used to have a Games session, where the entire class would be out on the field, either broken up into 2 or 3 different groups or as one big group. And, no, if you thought you could go on to the ground and yet sit by the sidelines, you were mistaken; the sister/teacher in-charge would walk up and you would be subjected to the very sarcastic and finely pitched voice asking "and my dear young lady, what exactly is the matter with you, today?" That tone and the voice left nothing to chance; you needed a medical certificate cross-signed by the school doctor to be let off games...and believe me, that was no easy task. School doctors had this antennae that allows them to know exactly when a kid is playing truant...and our schools were high on physical training and games and participation therein (if you got anything less than a "C" in PT on your report card, your parents would be summoned for a talk with the principal, argh!)

How on earth did a class of 60+ hyperactive girls play, did confusion confounded reign on the playground or was there a semblance of order. Well, that depended on who the games teacher was, but for most part they were guided/controlled games. Team creation, well...we would be lined up by height (ascending order) and would have to call out 1, 2; 1,2; all 1's in one team, all 2's in the other; teams ready! Kho-kho of course required 12-member teams and a lot of agility, when the change of guard came round to you, the last thing you could do was fall flat on your face--it is supposed to be a gentle tap on the shoulder--but at times in the heat of the moment could be a thump; kabaddi, which of course boosted lung strength and the eternal favorite, dodge-the-ball! Of course, that could be because everybody got to play, no turns, as such had to be taken and aides were not required to keep an eye on the girls. So there we would be, two teams, the 1's and the 2's; one forming the circle, the other crowding inside. Rules were simple: hits had to be below waist, above waist and the throwing team lost points. And at the sister's/teacher's whistle off we went: jostling for safety, away from the ball, from the precision throwers, jumping up, dodging now all to avoid being hit by the ball. We would like to think great jumpers were identified, sprinters singled out...we would have to ask the teachers. All played, without exception, all got a chance to throw, to dodge, equally! A great leveler games were, even as they enhanced competitive spirit; ensured we exercised. There was something richly satisfying in trooping off the field after a good game, hot, sweaty, with streaks of dust on uniforms, the camaraderie that comes from a game rightly won.

You would think after returning from a full day of school (school used to start at 7.30am, end at 4pm, timings would be adjusted for winters), we would be dog tired and have no desire to play. You would be wrong. The evenings were times to catch up with friends, play games that you wanted, where you wanted, how you wanted. Of course, the underlying principles of ensuring that everybody got to play, that the little-r ones, the kiddos also participated, that they were taken care of were ever-present. In fact, the games after schools were greater learning grounds. For this was where patience, the willingness to let a younger child have more chances, the overseeing care to ensure none got left behind came into play. And how much different is that from running a KM initiative: patience, forbearance, rules, processes, explanations, inclusive actions, teams, communities where all are part, holding back to ensure that the team travels together at a mutually convenient suitable pace, hand-holding for those that are new and unfamiliar, the mentoring...

The Old order changeth yielding place to new...

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And nowhere have I found this to be so true than in the march of time as can be seen in my hometown, Allahabad and indeed in the changing landscapes of cities and towns in India

The Big White House (as named by my niece when she was just about four) is no more, it has fallen victim to changing times. A bungalow (kothi, to be very precise) sitting in majestic splendor amidst 4 acres of land …my earliest memories of the house, my maternal grandparents home –a solid haven, security and shelter away from the confusing world. The Ashok trees fronting it, shading it from the road’s view and that big circular garden, with mehndi bushes forming the barrier and the marigold plants always in bloom. Every season would see the garden resplendent in color with flowers of the season, the crude gate made with crossed branches and oh, it was the favorite playground of all of us cousins much to the despair of the gardener.

My memories are hazy, old photographs help to refresh them –there is a beautiful sepia tinged photo of my grandparents sitting by one side of the house in chairs side by side. I do recall returning to the house at my grandfather’s death - kids who didn’t quite grasp the solemnity of the occasion –all we knew was nanaji/dadaji was no more and we were not to make noise

My maternal grandmother presided over the house and its grounds as it were, in her special chair from the verandah. She had come to the house post the horrors of partition, seen her children married off from that house; lost her husband, my grandfather.

Had someone told me that I would see a part of my own life vanishing before my eyes before I would have thought they were joking, but today I stand testimony to vanishing history…

Memories bittersweet: summer nights were spent sleeping out in the open under the stars in cots (charpoys) covered with mosquito nets. No lights out rules- there were none to switch off; the only thing that stood between us (kids and adults who opted for this) was a 5ft high boundary wall and yes gates –which could be easily jumped over—but those were the days when people thought twice before intruding. How can I forget the gooly-gooly witch—the evil witch who resided in the well that lay towards the front and side of the property. She was used for a long time to scare the youngest member of the family –ostensibly to ensure he did not stray that way, because it was open and dangerous and he had an ever curious mind...

The grounds around the kothi rang to the sounds of merriment from cousins who gathered there every summer and winter holidays, were witness to us playing many games-seven stones, dodge-the-ball, chain, hide and seek, and later cricket, badminton and yes learning to master the bicycle. And, not to forget the time we got chased by an angry buffalo, running desperately away from the curved horns, finally managing to clamber up to the verandah... Today, there is only a pile of rubble left, the spacious grounds have been carved into small plots, row houses have come up and the grand beauty lost...

Mango Afficiandos

2nd Transfer from older blog, attempt to consolidate into one:

Mangoes bring to the fore a gamut of emotions: from the deep abiding passion of the one who must taste/savor the season's first mango to a bewildered shrug wondering what the fuss is all about to a dislike. It is not just humans who like the fruit though, God's other creatures also fancy it.

Waking up in the morning it is customary for me to spend some time gazing at the mango tree that presents itself outside my bedroom window. And, so it was that I espied a couple of parrots breaking their fast on the tree. This was an opportunity too good to be true, so a recourse to the camera was sought (here, I need to confess, that i am a beginner, just about fumbling my way with the lens), but they do say use every opportunity, so....

I could barely see the parrot camouflaged as it was by the mango leaves, but I tried and i think i can see the tail...

The other one flew before I could even make an attempt to focus on it, forget capture, so I set about my morning chores. About 20 min later, Razia, my lovely house-help called out to me "there are 4 poppats (parrots) on the tree, come see". Back I went and indeed there were four. Well, the camera came out again and attempts were made.
Duo at breakfast...

One having brekky, the other on guard as it were...

Contemplation: should I, shouldn't I:

Mine, all mine:

Did I hear someone come by?

Three birds of a feather, flocking together...

Face to face or is it beak to beak...

The Mango tree on which the parrots lavished so much attention...

These seem to be safe, or is it that they are still raw?

Flowers, glorious flowers: a small peek into the Annual Flower Show, Allahabad

Have had two blogs for many years; this is just trying to collate the posts into one, don't know how successful it will be, but... here's the 1st transfer

Flowers, glorious flowers, in all colors imaginable, with innumerable fragrances, shapes and sizes. This description, or rather a small rhyme that I read somewhere, author unknown, seems quite apt:

In the garden in the wild
Flower blossoms like a child
Its color brightens our way
Its fragrance graces our day

And truly, flowers seem to epitomize nature's variety and its beauty and they rarely ever fail to enthrall. And yes, the bright sprinkling of colors heralds spring. And, in many places round the world Spring is a time for celebration and also for that human endeavor called the "Flower Show". Though of course humans are not content with flowers as nature probably created them and do tinker with them coming up with variations that awe the eyes and mind.

Having returned to my hometown after 17 long years, I, too with other residents of the city looked forward to Spring and the Annual Flower show (AFS). The AFS is held towards the end of February, when the deep chill of winter is receding and days are warming up, in Company Bagh; its grounds are expansive enough to accommodate both the numerous flowers and teeming crowds that come to see them.

Of course, opportunities to play around with the DSLR are far and few, so the flower show was definitely not to be missed. Though I must admit I did cause quite some consternation at the AFS, a very tall woman totting a DSLR, capturing shots now and then. But I was oblivious to them, so I enjoyed myself thoroughly. These are some pictures that were taken at the AFS, there are many more than what I am about to upload now, but I have to admit, I am quite an ignoramus when it comes to identifying different flowers, so only those whose names I know are being shared for the now. I have asked my cousin (she is the family authority and of course, the resident green thumb) to help me identify/name others.

For the now...
Larkspur

Pansies

Petunias

Dahlia

Yes, I know I did say, I would upload only those that I could identify, but maybe, just maybe, a visitor to this blog can help me identify this one. All I know...it's a hybrid...

Lady Power: send us thy daily blessing

41degC and heating up; the loo is at its peak and of course Lady Power has taken her 1st break for the day.
For that is, verily her wont, it does not matter what the season, she is regular in her breaks, if nothing else. But of course, like all great powers that rule our lives she is also unpredictable.

Of course, ACs do not work in this heat: it being a dry one, they are supremely ineffective, once the monsoons come in, they would be of some use. Coolers are what everyone turns too, but they also need Lady Power to be merciful.

It is known that she will take her leave every morn latest by 10am and normally returns by 1.30pm; but then she is eccentric and can well vanish at any hour regardless of her schedule. Last week, she led us onto the merry-go-round, so to speak, darted in and out almost on the hr every 1.30 hrs and then vanished at night, too. And when she did return it was as a pale shadow of herself. I do believe, every living being and especially, all electronic appliances heaved a sigh of relief when she regained her normal hue :P

Dateline Allahabad: my city dusty, pot-holed...bone- and axle-breaker

Belatedly the UP Government seemed to realize it needed to spend some its Central Government outlay, hence the construction of the city-wide sewage system. For those of who might go gasp, argh, what? No city sewage system? Well, none. For a city (the modern version was laid out in British times) of this size the lack of one is surprising; but…ah well! Since April 2010 or perhaps even earlier the various parts of the city have seen roads being dug up and then re-laid, not completely, of course. At one time the Allahabad High Court had to get into the act not that much came out of it. The PW Department and the body that is in charge of the sewage line construction are too weighty in their own might to pay heed to the High Court. The city is covered in dust; trees, plants are layered and while one might wish for rains as that would help the flora get clean one shudders since that same rain may just wash away whole sections of hastily filled road.

One day while this construction juggernaut edged its way into my area of town I saw that majestic ship of the desert and right royally at home it seemed to be.

And why not, cars are bogged down in the dust; commuting time in Allahabad has suddenly tripled and quadrupled. One is never certain if the road one has taken will reach to one’s destination. For more often than not, one has to brake suddenly, reverse and then try to figure out a new way. Of course, the fact that the main city roads are parallel to one another and the radials perpendicular helps.

Dust is not the only outcome of all this digging and construction. Even as I write, about 4 telephone exchanges have been rendered “dead”, my home BSNL phone is deader than a dodo and consequently, the poor DSL/broadband is left high and dry. The digging on the city’s main thoroughfare, the MG Road is responsible for this. Banks, ATMs, institutions, medical colleges, hospitals, and residences, common internet users are all hung out to dry. And what lament does one raise for that famed MG Road or the Civil Lines area that it services: a dusty, pot-holey, shock absorber-breaking lament.

And if this state of affairs weren’t enough, preparations are being made for next year’s Maha Kumbh (Dec’12-Jan’13). Heavy trucks meander their way in and out near the Sangam area and the approach to the new Naini Bridge…ah well; it can’t be called an approach any more. The road, oh I am sorry, there is no road, it is what we know as an ‘ubhar-khabhar’ track, no two 6” across are on the same level. Vehicles traversing that section cant dangerously to one side or the other, overloaded lorries balance their way precariously; I am surprised they haven’t tumbled as yet. I had the unique joy of witnessing, indeed experiencing this section personally. Since my cousin, his wife and kids were down, we brave (maybe foolhardy) souls ventured to visit another cousin based in Naini. Dust enveloped everything, it was not yet dusk, but that heavy cloud of dust made it seem so. And as my cousin navigated the multi-leveled, pot-holed stretch, my sister-in-law’s comment was apt: “had we known it was this bad, we would have never made this plan.”

Walking is an exercise best left alone, for bones are verily in danger of being broken; nicely tarred roads have been replaced by dust-filled, wet-mud pressed tracks. The High Court's injunctions of digging a 100 mt, filling and repairing it have fallen on deaf ears. Once can only wish and hope that sanity returns to this city soon, that this pipe-laying madness will end soon.

But Allahabad is a city in transition and that is not going to end anytime soon. A city known for its bungalows, kothis, wide roads and open spaces today is cluttered, unplanned and chaotic. Most of the bungalows and kothis are either bedeviled by non-occupation or caught up in litigation on possession rights; those that are free have seen their frontages, sides and backs crowded by new construction, multi-storied apartment blocks with more coming up.

Do I sing a dirge for Allahabad as I knew it (I don't seem to be the only one dismayed by the changes, friends, cousins agree: we can't recognize this city any more) or do I hold my breath in the hope that new Allahabad with its constructions, new buildings (albeit, ones built on stilts and absolutely senior citizen unfriendly, let's leave the differently-abled out of this) will rise like a phoenix from the ashes (read: foundations) of the old one. And that somewhere, the unique character of this city will be retained in the rush to have similar looking glass-fronted structures. They do say, "the old order changeth, yielding place to new" and so it is for "change is the only constant", but they never said a word for those that undergo or experience the change. Ah, but human kind rests on hope and so will we....hope of a brighter, cleaner, better developed city that retains its cultural heritage (some buildings too) and character even as it proudly gathers itself up for the march into the 22nd Century.

Relocation Tales: Settling in and ATM travails

Once the decision to relocate back to hometown had been taken and the necessary approvals obtained from the PTB (powers that be, aka, big boss/es), the planning, subsequent ticket booking, et al, was done. September 7, 2011 was chosen as the D-day, when yours truly would once again call this city her home. And so it was, on the morning of Sept 7, 2011, when the Prayag Raj Express steamed into the Allahabad Junction a circle was complete. And what a homecoming it was; as with most of the denizens of the city who reside on the Civil Lines side, I rarely use the city side of the station. But given that mom was with me, stairs were best avoided, so the city side was opted for. Allahabad has progressed as I said before; while taxis are non-existent, autos (Vikram's and some Bajaj's) abound, but nary one has a meter - oh please, we are people of our words and we go by set fares ;) meters are required for those who waver! (The standard fare from the station to my side of town varies between INR50 to INR75; can go up depending on how green you seem to be). There is one such auto-wallah who resides near home and is available on the mobile and will oblige you with a pick-up and drop. And, so it was, that on that day, his services were availed of.

The ride home was accomplished without much trouble, unless one counts a pot-holed road where a beautiful smoothly tarred stretch used to be, this new road courtesy of the sewage line being laid out in the city. Dust of course rose with each vehicle that passed either way, necessitating comprehensive use of hankies to protect noses and lungs, but it was a dust that would be my constant companion for months to come (little did I know it at that time).

The truck bearing household possessions, precious ones, had already arrived so, once home, hectic preparations ensued to accommodate stuff coming in. September is a hot and humid month in Allahabad, whence even a minute without the fan is dripping agony and it was in this that Lady Power decided to make her daily exit. Of course, Lord Water dutifully followed her out, for he is, if not anything else, dutiful.

The house and indeed home had been locked up for 2.5 months, dusty months, so a spring cleaning was effected and undertaken. Hats off to my mom! My return turned her world upside down, yet nary a complaint was heard from her.

By noon, all the unloading had been done, boxes, bags had more or less been deposited in their designated places, but unpacking, well that would take more time. The inner courtyard, or angaan was box-filled, an obstacle-course as it were, and the rains came pelting down. There was a concerted rush to get things under cover, safe from the rain: plastics sheets are very handy as are thick old bed covers.

September was a month of settling in, of getting reacquainted with this city, my once hometown and education center. It was hectic and stressful. having lived in a metro for over 16-yrs, I realized how unprepared I was for Allahabad's chaos. In all the time that I was in Mumbai, I have to admit I never felt the weight of my wallet, literally speaking, for most transactions are effected and can be completed with the use of plastic - debit or credit. Allahabad is an exception (as probably most small, inner towns and cities are), cash rules here! Very few establishments accept cards, notwithstanding the "Visa/MasterCard accepted here" stickers on their doors. To be fair to them, for most it is not a choice but a compulsion, brought about by the daily scheduled power cuts. But there are always exceptions to the rule and I found establishments that would accept card transactions even while Lady Power was absent. And so I have too have learned to carry around a wallet filled with cash, uncomfortable as it makes me...:(

Queues are meant to be broken, they are in name only, something I can personally attest to. And please do not expect privacy at ATMs. There will always be someone either peeping over your shoulder as you conduct your transaction or offering unsolicited, helpful hints to hurry you up on your way. Telling these off results in naught, for they look at you as if you have returned from another planet, and indeed for them you have. Appealing to the ATM guard in most cases is futile, people don't listen to the guards.

It is this that caused me to switch ATMs though my primary banker does have an office and ATMs in the city. I prefer not to have people looking over my shoulder or edging close to me when I conduct my ATM transactions. Oh and most of the ATMs are 1st generation or perhaps even pre-1st generation ones, black and white and ponderously slow - even domestic private banks. Informed sources tell me that two leading private sector banks are in the process of upgrading their ATMs now. As for ATMs belonging to the nationalized banks! Well, except for the ones belonging to a premier nationalized bank, most are, for some reason, private-bank unfriendly and even if they do work chances that the ATM might just gobble up your card (hungry as it is) are very high. Fortunately, the city's growth trajectory means that a couple of international banks have an office and indeed ATMs in the city and it is to these that I turn for my transactions. The guards know their jobs and ensure that you are the only person inside when transacting.

In fact, on Dhanteras, the ATMs of 3 private sector banks had 7, 10 and 15 people crowded around the machine, if you somehow did manage to get a turn, it would be a miracle if you walked out with all your cash intact. I did the rounds of at least 5 private sector ATMs before I turned to the aforementioned international player. And bliss it was to be able to have the machine to myself, with none peeping over my shoulder, no unsolicited advice and no one to hurry me up....

Oh and one evening, a recourse was sought to order in food, but more of that later...it deserves a separate post...:-)