The sun behind me

Talking to my friend, Marti, who is American, about what we have gained or lost by transplanting ourselves from one country to another in adulthood:
The sun on my back, I think, that glorious, light and warmth coming to meet me in the mornings. Cold water baths, and when I come out of them, knee-length black hair dripping, the thin thorthu- towel wrapped around it lightly - it's all about me and my hair.
Before I go to school or college the hair has to be dried, with my back to the sun, hands and fingers through the strands, slowly, slowly, many times, till it bounces, comes alive and gathers shape. Sensuous and relaxing.I have all the time in the world. College? World? Who cares!
I have never owned a hair-dryer. In England I look in the mirror at my face, my hair now considerably shorter, and what I see is a part of me that has lost that love-in with the rest of me. I don't dwell on it.
On the odd occasion when I wear a sari in England I feel immediately more feminine, prettier, assured. Also dysfunctional. It catches in the accelerator of my car, gets in the way of my feet when I go up stairs. I hitch it up and manage.
I miss sitting on the veranda watching the world go by, or standing at the edge of my compound and talking to my neighbours. I miss watching the birds going home to roost at dusk and perching on the power lines on their way for a quick chat.
I miss the respect given to me as an elder.
But I can walk away from all that I don't care about in India because I am not there - even when I AM there. The different rules by which women have to live, the treatment of stray animals, which can be heartless, the marriage thamasha, which impoverishes families by its extravagance...
And in England? I am not part of the lack of feeling shown to the vulnerable. I smile in public places and at strangers even when what I get is a look which says, 'Are you mad?' I refuse to go anywhere near the class system or the race discrimination. I am not part of the networks and the nepotism, which would not have me anyway. I am quite 'other.'
I sit on my comfortable fence and watch the world go by. It is not a bad place to be.

The Why and the Wherefore

Friend of mine whom I respect says to me: 'No one's going to read your blog, unless you link it with other blogs.' Gets me thinking - why do I write at all?
Simple: many years hence, Asha, my grandchild, will read these blogs and she will know what I think about various things. A voice from the past but very strong and vibrant, I hope, giving her a counterpoint to her ideas, and reminding her of a grandmother who knew she was the greatest blessing ever.
I've been gone walkabout pretty much the whole of last month, in places where there were no internet connections and no computers to provide a diversion. Good places to just sit and think.
South Africa is a place I cannot figure out. Where I was in White River, the view out of the back veranda was breath-taking. Undulating veld with Cacia and avocado trees breaking up the landscape, stretching out to the faraway roads, on which the 'backies' (vans) and lorries rolled past.
Colour is now not a barrier legally, but the house staff are still all black. I am told there are poor whites in SA these days but I did not see them. The households being evicted from their slum dwellings are all black. Though the Government is theoretically on their side. For some eighteen years now.
In another eighteen years, when Asha is an adult of twenty-five, will the world have shaken and settled, like a kaleidoscope? Or will she inherit a world still striving for balance and an environment destroyed by rabid consumerism?
I am glad she spent her early infancy in Africa and is totally colour blind about people. What a gift that was!

NHS and the OLD

Today I phoned my dentist - a rogue tooth that is keeping me awake in the night... I was told the NHS dentist was only available on Fridays. It would cost £55 for an examination as a private patient and extra for treatment - about £120 for a filling.
     Right! So, if I cannot afford the cost, go away, find a hole in a corner, and suffer. I went round the house and decided if I scraped up all the fifty pences I had been saving up, maybe I could get treated today. But bile rises.
     So I decided to leave it till the NHS dentist was available. However, what if a pensioner is in excruciating pain? Grin and add it to all the other indignities of old age?
     What happened to that caring Britain where the doctor or dentist was actually available at point of need and without having to count your pennies?
     In the next general election, I hope pensioners will support the party that cares for them. I have decided to join Labour today.
     You will have me door-stepping in 2015. Or sooner if we can get rid of the Coalition colluders.
     Grandmas of the World Unite! We have nothing to lose but our false teeth.

The Unmentionable

There is a topic which is banned in civilized society in the UK. No - not sex, not adultery, not avarice. It's age, ageing, age-related illnesses... You never ask a person their age and you do not mention yours. It's like dying before you die.
   It is contagious: in recent times the disease has spread to India. I know a few of my contemporaries there who dodge that topic with great skill and speed. I feel like that enfant terrible' who does not know when to shut up.The same people would ask you your salary without blinking an eyelid.
   Reminds me of a boss of mine in the British Council. Two years before he was due to retire he began fretting.
'What am I going to do, Anand?' he moaned, often and loud.
'Don't you have hobbies,?' I'd ask. I couldn't fathom his deep anguish. This is the problem - nobody knows anything about age till they get there. And the talents (biblical) haven't been garnered, multiplied to see you through the fallow years.
I will never have time to read all the books I want to read - too many good ones coming out these days. Especially this year.
And when will I write all those books in my head? Considering how lazy I am.

I've now been retired for thirteen years and I can't find the time to do all the things I want to do. Before I die. There I've said the word. It is quite harmless.

Cricketers in Hiding

Football - much safer to watch with my clan, in the sitting room. No conflicts there. Liverpool is playing disastrously, my daughter says - I agree. We support Liverpool and they have been down the spout for a while now. Carroll is a £ one-million buy, not thirty, she moans. Well, 4 -1 defeat by Totters says more about the whole team, not just Carroll. What do I know? She wants neither Man U nor Chelsea to win the game that is going on. So a draw? I ask. No, she wants Man U to be beaten because they are top of the league right now. Oh Boy! The girl's got her knickers - and her socks - in a twist.

Now the last one -day game of cricket, India against England, was another matter. India lost after chalking up 303. That requires real dedication and committed bad bowling. And where are they hiding? Bajji, Khan, all those stalwarts. Never mind, I tell myself. India probably needed a lesson in humility. May be me too.

But - Selectors, India is humungous. There must be good bowlers there if you could just look beyond the usual haunts - the top colleges and schools. Try my village, Kodiyeri, next time. Or even Cunnore if you must stick to the A roads.

The fish food is really good there, I am told.

Judge in Haste

Two men sentenced to four years each for Facebook posts. Four years! How many years does anyone actually get for rape, hit-and-run or burglary?? Would it not have been more appropriate to give lighter sentences plus a period of community service?

The poor and the hopeless riot - generally, but not always. Rich boys get away with blue murder in the name of 'boyish pranks.'

And how about the unholy haste with which the sentences were passed? I am uneasy at the way the judges are reacting to the general unrest/ political pressure? Punishment should suit the crime, not the occasion when it happened. Is there precedence for this heavy tilt of the judicial balance? Who is leaning on it?

I am totally against any person who causes disorder in the community, who loots, sets fire and laughs while he/ she does it. I believe in Gandhian non-violence, almost as a matter of my DNA. But ...

Civil rights groups have to be very VERY vigilant in times of social upheaval - so that governments do not take the opportunity to slip through draconian legislation, to punish beyond the offense... Where are you lot hiding, human rights advocates? Chakrabarthy, now is the time to speak up.

Are we, in our general state of apprehension handing over our precious rights, to a government, only too eager to be given an excuse to be autocratic?

The Norman Tebbit Line

The Norman Tebbit line passes through the middle of my living room when India plays England at Cricket. Especially when it is a Test Match, as we have not yet elevated the other lesser forms such as one-dayers to full Cricket status. On this we are in agreement, my daughter and I - Tests Cricket Rules, O K.

Shouting at each other across the coffee table is fine. But yesterday was more vocal than usual. India did not act in the spirit of the divine game when Bell was 'baled' out, she sulks. Only the colonies actually respect the Cricket spirit, I retaliate.

Which year was that spirit distilled? I wonder, and was it before or after sledging evolved into a full art-form? And match - fixing? Mmm...

When the wickets stumbled yesterday like over-ripe mangoes from a Kerala mango tree, I was seriously thinking of changing sides, crossing the floor... After all I have lived in England for ever, it seems. Holidays in India are minor, quickly forgotten forays - or so I tell myself. As that other voice inside me cackles.

Mind you, India's performance in the last Test was not merely dismal. But - it would be a mistake to write them off. In spite of the IPL and attendant diversions, fiscal or otherwise.

GO INDIA, GO