Add one more to the list of things that couples do when they find themselves wide awake in the "wee small hours of the morning": Go on a murderous rampage.
A woke up around 5am to go to the loo. I woke up instantly being a light sleeper; Actually more than that, being terrified of being by myself in the dark. I asked him to switch on
the lights. Which he did. Which is when we realised that hovering over us was a swarm of mosquitoes. And for a frozen moment, we stared at each other - them (the hovering mosquitoes, frozen in mid-hover and I, frozen in my supine position, A, with his hand still on the light switch. The moment passed. And as if on cue, my arms started itching from a million bites.
Both sides were galvanised into action. A
tackled the ones above, swatting at them with a face towel and I, with newspapers (I am a sudoku fiend and must, must do one last one in the newspaper before lights out), my slippers (they are very effective) and even my pillows (yukh...will have to change the pillow cases).
We are on the 11th floor. Its pretty windy up here. How in the world can these tiny things fly so high. Or do they take the elevator? Or perhaps a single intrepid pair did. The Eve and Adam of this clan. Then they settled in nicely and rapidly multiplied and took over.
We won the first round. Within 10 minutes or so, their numbers dwindled to a scant 2 or 3. This small victory more than made up for the red splotches on the creamy walls and floors (not to mention, perhaps the underside of the pillows...eeks...I didn't dare look).
But the survivors were a tough lot. When we bent to the floor, they zoomed up to the ceiling and when we stood up, they sank to the floor. Clever little fiends. Whoever thought of intelligence in mosquitoes? That is not in the scheme of things. They are born, they breed, bite (cause malaria -- only the female anopheles mosquito, dengue -- these only bite in the mornings...yes its true...) and then they die. That's it. But here were 3 mosquitoers doing guerilla warfare.
We'd switch off the lights and quieten down and within seconds, there'd be the irritating nnnnnnnnnnnn in our ears. We'd switch on the light (taking turns) and find them, innocently sitting on the highest and farthest wall. And so on it went. A tie.
They might have outwitted us and pooh-poohed away our brute strength, but the war is not over yet...
"Remember to buy a spray or mosquito coil tomorrow," I said to A, as we decided to call it quits for the night (or pre-sunrise) and lay down and quickly pulled the covers over our heads. Survival of the fittest, afterall....
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Thursday, November 24, 2005
A million Rajithas
There was this horrendous story on a news channel on 23rd November: Ill treatment of a domestic help by her employers. This domestic help was a girl, Rajitha, not more than 10. Thin emaciated, with burn marks all over her body ... her arms, legs, back, and a fresh wound on her stomach, earned that very day. Her fault: She was a little late in warming the milk for the employer's baby.
Her screams had been fortuitously heard by a child activist who happened to be passing by. She got suspicious, so heart wrenching, so agonized, the screams were. After hours of knocking on the door and ringing the bell, did they and the world get to see Rajita and her plight. The look on her face on being taken out of the employer's grasp was not of relief. She still looked very unsure, frightened. She simply couldnot trust anybody. And with good reason. Seeing the burn marks on her body, this must not have been the first time she must have screamed. And yet, the neighbours had been mute onlookers for the 6 months that she had been in Hyderabad.
Here too, in Gurgaon, I have seen many families with several little children as domestic help. Once at a local restaurant, while a family gorged themselves at a table, a little boy of maybe 7 or 8, difficult to guess since their growth is stunted due to chronic malnutrition, waiting (not even seated), next to the table, patiently. Occasional, he would walk the couple's crying baby in his tiny, not yet adult arms. The couple went on calmly consuming great quantities of food.
Yet another day, I met a couple in our very building, coming up the elevator with their tot and her minder ... another little girl, barely 7. This 7 year old girl, was well dressed and looked well fed, but she was so adult like, so responsibly, gently preventing her guard, the baby from clutching onto the various buttons in the elevator. No time for her ofcourse, to indulge in simple childish pleasures.
The only good thing to come out of this sordid incident, is possibly highlight the plight of thousands, maybe millions
of children in so many houses in India. Domestic labour. Hyderabad alone, according to the news report has 47,000 children working as domestic laborers. God knows how many there are, through out the country.
There are laws to put an end to such things and maybe, India will get its act together to make sure, legislation is in place to end domestic labour and their ill treatment.
But what is frightening is, this is human behavior. Of educated, well off people. Those who without any qualms whatsoever, in cold blood torture helpless, innocent children; And those, who are mute, unhearing spectators. Can we change human behaviour with a few laws? It can be suppressed but not eliminated. Despite the threat of the death penalty, rape happens. God knows how many Rajithas there are, crying, with no one to hear them cry.
Her screams had been fortuitously heard by a child activist who happened to be passing by. She got suspicious, so heart wrenching, so agonized, the screams were. After hours of knocking on the door and ringing the bell, did they and the world get to see Rajita and her plight. The look on her face on being taken out of the employer's grasp was not of relief. She still looked very unsure, frightened. She simply couldnot trust anybody. And with good reason. Seeing the burn marks on her body, this must not have been the first time she must have screamed. And yet, the neighbours had been mute onlookers for the 6 months that she had been in Hyderabad.
Here too, in Gurgaon, I have seen many families with several little children as domestic help. Once at a local restaurant, while a family gorged themselves at a table, a little boy of maybe 7 or 8, difficult to guess since their growth is stunted due to chronic malnutrition, waiting (not even seated), next to the table, patiently. Occasional, he would walk the couple's crying baby in his tiny, not yet adult arms. The couple went on calmly consuming great quantities of food.
Yet another day, I met a couple in our very building, coming up the elevator with their tot and her minder ... another little girl, barely 7. This 7 year old girl, was well dressed and looked well fed, but she was so adult like, so responsibly, gently preventing her guard, the baby from clutching onto the various buttons in the elevator. No time for her ofcourse, to indulge in simple childish pleasures.
The only good thing to come out of this sordid incident, is possibly highlight the plight of thousands, maybe millions
of children in so many houses in India. Domestic labour. Hyderabad alone, according to the news report has 47,000 children working as domestic laborers. God knows how many there are, through out the country.
There are laws to put an end to such things and maybe, India will get its act together to make sure, legislation is in place to end domestic labour and their ill treatment.
But what is frightening is, this is human behavior. Of educated, well off people. Those who without any qualms whatsoever, in cold blood torture helpless, innocent children; And those, who are mute, unhearing spectators. Can we change human behaviour with a few laws? It can be suppressed but not eliminated. Despite the threat of the death penalty, rape happens. God knows how many Rajithas there are, crying, with no one to hear them cry.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Viva Roma!
Got this one from Joe
And how true. Outside India and Calutta, Rome would be my first choice. I fell in love with Rome the minute I landed there. A thought that was because Rome is a bit noisy and chaotic. Anyhow, here it is, although why would anyone be interested in knowing which city I belong to...(blogger vanity)!
And how true. Outside India and Calutta, Rome would be my first choice. I fell in love with Rome the minute I landed there. A thought that was because Rome is a bit noisy and chaotic. Anyhow, here it is, although why would anyone be interested in knowing which city I belong to...(blogger vanity)!
| You Belong in Rome |
 You're a big city girl with a small town heart Which is why you're attracted to the romance of Rome Strolling down picture perfect streets, cappuccino in hand And gorgeous Italian men - could life get any better? |
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Cloud End
(Longish post ... this...bewarned)!
Atlast a break. Even if it was only for 5 days, after an entire year.
Our destination: Cloud End. And please those of you who have read "Eats, shoots and Leaves" or haven't, it is Cloud End and not Cloud's End or Clouds' End.
Shatabdi Express to Dehradun. Then a 1&1/2 hour upward trek by taxi to Mussorie (Plain dwellers, do not eat anything before that uphill completely cicurlar trip to Mussorrie. There wasn't a single straight or flat stretch in that one and a half hour journey). And still upwards, through a dirt track snaking between the hills and a sheer drop.
The houses thinned out as did the cacophony of Mussorie and finally, viola, at the very top of the tallest of the hills, sat a green and white, glass and wood bungalow, gently snoozing in the warm evening sun: Cloud End.
The only other guest was away most of the time. I forgot to take books or even playing cards. Our camera jammed so I could take only 5 or so pictures. No magazines. No television. Just the two of us, at Cloud End.
Vacations can be very tiring. So many things to do and to see. But fate had it planned otherwise. A proper break. So there I was, at 8000 m above sea level, 5 days of enforced solitude.
After the slightly panicky feeling of "god-what-will-i-do?", I rediscovered so many things that I had forgotten in the smoke filled mad rush of city life...
We stayed in the log cabins about two levels lower than the bungalow. My day would start early. Around 6, when it was still dark. I would put on multiple sweaters, cap, gloves and socks and come and sit at the chair and table just outside the log cabin, a few feet away from a sheer drop to the valley below...
...Listening to the sound of silence. It took some getting used to. Every sound seemed magnified several times over. A bird chirp here, a shrill note there, the buzzing of flies, the strange brrr of tiny crickets rubbing there wings behind their backs, the rustling of leaves. I would be sitting out there and turning and twisting in my chair at every rustle, every call, every chirp!
...inhaling the fresh fresh air.
...Rising early and waiting for the sun to rise and the mist to lift and reveal the magnificent snow capped Himalayas, which would, just as quickly, disappear from view.
Plants grew in wild tangled profusion. Red and brown flowers dotted the place. Suddenly, I would catch sight of a strange purple blossom. Dainty daisies (forgive me for my scant knowledge of plants) would nod gently from a precarious perch.
There were hills all around. The trees giving them a dark greenish look. The highest hill was bang opposite as the crow flies but an arduous 3 hour uphill trek as the man walks. I counted about 14 hills.
Ah the simple pleasures of drying my hair in the sun; basking in the sun. But how fast it moved. I had to constantly shift my chair in the small gravelly path to follow the sun! Till the warm rays from the west were overpowered by the creeping chill from the east as the sun slowly sank behind the hills and disappeared.
A flock of pale green parrots, and not the usual dark green(parrot green) ones, descended on a bare tree, each on one branch...and just as suddenly, at some silent signal, flew off. 2 long birds with a curling tail (or is it called plume) twice the size of their body, hopped, jumped and cavorted. A solitary crow, oddly out of place, cawing away with great gusto.
A hairy, hairy goat with curved horns and bell at it throat, nimbly jumping about, mocking our pathetic panting gasping progress on the slightest of inclines.
Dinner in that long low dining hall on Major Swetenham’s original dinner table, beneath the huge tiger skin forever fixed in a glassy glare.
The house had most of the original furniture. The polish dulled over the years, which somehow added to the overall atmosphere as did the low voltage electricity. It was as if the place was lit with lanterns, as was when Major Swetenham moved in with his lovely garwali wife!
It seemed a bit too real and I refused to sleep with the lights off. I lit the candles supplied by the staff and it cast a cheery glow all night long! Who knows what these log cabins were used as during Major Swetenham's days? Stables, A thought. He said he got a distinct horsy whiff (from over a 150 years ago??). Maybe nursery? So far away from the main bungalow? The family history did mention one of the 5 boys fell down a "khud" and died at the age of 11 (yes the khud was there). That scared me most.
When I first arrived at Cloud End, time hung heavily, Minutes hanging on lovingly.
Back now, to the daily grind, of never ending work, deadlines, schedules, it seems like that for those few days, I was transported to a different dimension, where time hung heavily, minutes ticking past sluggishly, when time stood almost still...
A spot of history about Cloud End: A Major Swetenham out on a picnic was enchanted by a melodious voice and ran after it and startled a garwali lass. He fell in love with her and her voice and asked for her hand in marriage, which her father gave along with 2000 acres of virgin forests as dowry. It was here the Major built Cloud End in 1838 and lived with his wife Rose and five children. The last of the Swetenhams left India in the 1930's.
Atlast a break. Even if it was only for 5 days, after an entire year.
Our destination: Cloud End. And please those of you who have read "Eats, shoots and Leaves" or haven't, it is Cloud End and not Cloud's End or Clouds' End.
Shatabdi Express to Dehradun. Then a 1&1/2 hour upward trek by taxi to Mussorie (Plain dwellers, do not eat anything before that uphill completely cicurlar trip to Mussorrie. There wasn't a single straight or flat stretch in that one and a half hour journey). And still upwards, through a dirt track snaking between the hills and a sheer drop.
The houses thinned out as did the cacophony of Mussorie and finally, viola, at the very top of the tallest of the hills, sat a green and white, glass and wood bungalow, gently snoozing in the warm evening sun: Cloud End.
The only other guest was away most of the time. I forgot to take books or even playing cards. Our camera jammed so I could take only 5 or so pictures. No magazines. No television. Just the two of us, at Cloud End.
Vacations can be very tiring. So many things to do and to see. But fate had it planned otherwise. A proper break. So there I was, at 8000 m above sea level, 5 days of enforced solitude.
After the slightly panicky feeling of "god-what-will-i-do?", I rediscovered so many things that I had forgotten in the smoke filled mad rush of city life...
We stayed in the log cabins about two levels lower than the bungalow. My day would start early. Around 6, when it was still dark. I would put on multiple sweaters, cap, gloves and socks and come and sit at the chair and table just outside the log cabin, a few feet away from a sheer drop to the valley below...
...Listening to the sound of silence. It took some getting used to. Every sound seemed magnified several times over. A bird chirp here, a shrill note there, the buzzing of flies, the strange brrr of tiny crickets rubbing there wings behind their backs, the rustling of leaves. I would be sitting out there and turning and twisting in my chair at every rustle, every call, every chirp!
...inhaling the fresh fresh air.
...Rising early and waiting for the sun to rise and the mist to lift and reveal the magnificent snow capped Himalayas, which would, just as quickly, disappear from view.
Plants grew in wild tangled profusion. Red and brown flowers dotted the place. Suddenly, I would catch sight of a strange purple blossom. Dainty daisies (forgive me for my scant knowledge of plants) would nod gently from a precarious perch.
There were hills all around. The trees giving them a dark greenish look. The highest hill was bang opposite as the crow flies but an arduous 3 hour uphill trek as the man walks. I counted about 14 hills.
Ah the simple pleasures of drying my hair in the sun; basking in the sun. But how fast it moved. I had to constantly shift my chair in the small gravelly path to follow the sun! Till the warm rays from the west were overpowered by the creeping chill from the east as the sun slowly sank behind the hills and disappeared.
A flock of pale green parrots, and not the usual dark green(parrot green) ones, descended on a bare tree, each on one branch...and just as suddenly, at some silent signal, flew off. 2 long birds with a curling tail (or is it called plume) twice the size of their body, hopped, jumped and cavorted. A solitary crow, oddly out of place, cawing away with great gusto.
A hairy, hairy goat with curved horns and bell at it throat, nimbly jumping about, mocking our pathetic panting gasping progress on the slightest of inclines.
Dinner in that long low dining hall on Major Swetenham’s original dinner table, beneath the huge tiger skin forever fixed in a glassy glare.
The house had most of the original furniture. The polish dulled over the years, which somehow added to the overall atmosphere as did the low voltage electricity. It was as if the place was lit with lanterns, as was when Major Swetenham moved in with his lovely garwali wife!
It seemed a bit too real and I refused to sleep with the lights off. I lit the candles supplied by the staff and it cast a cheery glow all night long! Who knows what these log cabins were used as during Major Swetenham's days? Stables, A thought. He said he got a distinct horsy whiff (from over a 150 years ago??). Maybe nursery? So far away from the main bungalow? The family history did mention one of the 5 boys fell down a "khud" and died at the age of 11 (yes the khud was there). That scared me most.
When I first arrived at Cloud End, time hung heavily, Minutes hanging on lovingly.
Back now, to the daily grind, of never ending work, deadlines, schedules, it seems like that for those few days, I was transported to a different dimension, where time hung heavily, minutes ticking past sluggishly, when time stood almost still...
A spot of history about Cloud End: A Major Swetenham out on a picnic was enchanted by a melodious voice and ran after it and startled a garwali lass. He fell in love with her and her voice and asked for her hand in marriage, which her father gave along with 2000 acres of virgin forests as dowry. It was here the Major built Cloud End in 1838 and lived with his wife Rose and five children. The last of the Swetenhams left India in the 1930's.
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