Nashik by Kavita Shivdasani

31st October - 1st November 2009

NASHIK (without a nose) is so called because according to legend Surpankha (Ravan's sister) had her nose cut off by Lakshman and the appendage flung in this area. Ten year old Yash Kedia wanted to know if they ever found the nose thereafter....Although Kedia’s penchant for idiocy is legendary he ultimately manages to soothe my unreserved exasperation by cheering up boring monologues with astute logic.

On a recent visit to Nashik the children (aged 7 to 13) years of our ‘Know Your Environment’ group were subject to a lackluster presentation by the Curator of the Numismatics Museum cataloguing the progress of economy from the barter system to present day concept of money value.

Kedia however had apparently been engrossed at looking at the beautiful oil paintings and a model of a really old fashioned mint housed in the museum. In fact as I myself stared at these paintings I could almost hear the clinking of the gold ‘ashrafis’ and ‘mohurs’, the silver ‘rupaiya’ and copper ‘tamb’ coin while the Curator droned on in the background. On hearing Kedia abrupt interruption I turned to oppose him when I realized his query was an exciting one. He wanted to know if counterfeit coins existed in the Mughal Era. The result was a lively discussion of the various possibilities.

Our foray into the Nashik Jail put to rest thirty-five young minds with fertile imaginations expecting to encounter the likes of Hitler’s concentration camp or perhaps view a variation of Chinese water torture methods or maybe even watch a body drawn over some medieval torture wheel.

The children were relieved to find that this correctional facility which houses 2,600 inmates provides the prisoners humane opportunities to get back on track. Eleven year old Manav Mehta’s intelligent questions enabled the Senior Jailor to explain how the facility was Government aided by providing orders for various products like iron beds, stands, shoes, furniture and so on and so forth. In fact a well coordinated correctional facility could be completely self-sufficient with inmate committees to oversee cooking, cleaning, gardening and production.

The Sita Gufa escapade was truly exciting as everyone had to walk single file bent double through the narrow passage into the cave where Sita would hide when Ram and Lakshman scavenged the jungle for fruits and berries. According to our unassuming guide Raju legend had it that when five ‘rishis’ discovered her lair they scorned her actions as unbecoming of the wife of a powerful Solar Dynasty King. A humiliated Sita cast a spell, turning the ‘rishis’ into the ‘five banyan tress’ or ‘paanchvati’.



Raju then marched our group rapidly through the traffic down to the banks of the Godavari River one of the four sacred spots of the Kumbh Mela. Countless people clad in colourful clothes swarmed around us participating in various holy rituals.

The hubbub us was deafening and we strained our ears to listen to the anecdote Raju narrated which tells of how during the churning of the mighty ocean of milk by the Gods and Demons for the divine nectar of immortality four of its drops fell from the container or ‘kumbh’ on four spots – Nashik, Allahabad Haridwar, Ujjain. These four places became pilgrimage sites for millions of devout Hindus when planet Brihaspati or Jupiter moves into the zodiac sign of Aquarius or Kumbh.

Sula Wines was over-hyped and over-sanitized. The use of the technically evolved wine making pneumatic machines for wine pressing and cork-screw caps for wine bottles the joy of grape stomping and aging of mature wines in bottles sealed with oak corks is fast becoming a lost art.

The children were all below 18 and were not permitted to taste the wine on the estate. To alleviate their disappointment we purchased a bottle of white wine for after dinner decadence at our lodgings located in a temple complex! The entire horde gathered together in one room and amidst rousing cheers swigged the thimbleful of wine I had poured into out sized plastic cups for each one. The plot of wine tasting without their parent’s consent was more appealing than the actual taste of it.

The Gargoti Museum left us wonderstruck as we gawped goggle eyed at the dazzling minerals and stones.

Our final port of call was the Pandav Lena Caves ostensibly a heritage monument protected by ASI. However what was truly evident was the monumental ineptitude of the 3 ‘babu’ bureaucrats at the booking office and the Conservation Assistant one Mr. Mangrule we tried to contact.

Besides issuing the tickets (3 ‘babus’ issuing 5 tickets for the adults, children go free!) they refused our request to conduct the tour as they could not possibly leave the booking counter unmanned. It would be worth noting that besides our troupe there were precisely five other visitors. We were handed an information leaflet only because I insisted and brusquely informed to buzz off. Oh and I was roughly asked by one of the ‘babus’ Bonekar by name to furnish his office with a name list of the children. Precaution against a possible terror attack?

This Buddhist Cave cluster hewn in rock almost 2500 years ago is located atop a small hillock away from the distraction of the nearby villages but close enough for the Buddhist monks of yester years to visit during fair weather and spread the teachings of Lord Buddha.

Most of the caves sadly lie in ruins. Still visible is a typical ‘Chaitya’ or prayer hall with a stupa at the rear end of the elongated cave with pillars running along both sides from entrance to the back of the cave and a central open space, the wooden lining for the arched cave ceiling having obviously perished. We explored some of the ‘viharas’ with stone hewn beds the Buddhist monks used for respite. The façade of some of the caves indicate how carpenters used wooden etching styles on rocks.

Water tanks or ‘pani podis’ which were used for drinking water and bathing in the cave complex was contaminated with plastic bottles and other rubbish. Young Aditya felt the jaunt was such a let down especially when he observed a visitor to the cave scribbling his name on the stone wall while the 3 so-called office-bearers who had now conveniently deserted their office lay sprawled around the rocks gossiping with each other.

However where the ASI authorities failed miserably the children more than compensated as they marveled the outstanding gift of the master craftsmen of long ago working with just a chisel and hammer into the heart of the mountain, mapping in their mind’s eye the drama to be frozen in stone.

It would be deficient of me to leave out the customary gang wars (mainly boys versus the girls) that erupted periodically amongst our mob and the routine stuff about he likes her and she likes him. But what tickled me really and totally pink was the cozy tête-à-tête I had with my teenage girls about the birds and the bees and humans too. And I just cannot stop beaming when I think of two of my ‘desi dads’ (they were the parent volunteers) gamely supervising toilet drill of 15 rowdy boys.

Kala Ghoda by Kavita Shivdasani

13/02/2010 Heritage Evening Walk – Kala Ghoda Precinct, Bombay exclusively for my Environment Class Children (8 – 13 year olds)

The excursion inadvertently happened to be on the day of the appalling attack on the German Bakery in Pune, three blocks away from my previous residence and on the second last day of the annual Kala Ghoda festival.

I was swamped with calls from frantic parents trying to locate where I was waiting in the maddening crowd to set-off on our Heritage route from the Kala Ghoda Circle.

The noise all around was deafening as I tried to telephonically explain to Abhinav one of the enlightened dads and a volunteer that we were on the pavement below the “Kala Ghoda’ plainly meaning black horse to which he kept insisting that the ‘Kala Ghoda’ of the Kala Ghoda Circle had been relocated to the Byculla Zoo! Tongue-in-cheek I explained that the Heritage committee had probably foreseen my dilemma and had kindly reinstalled the horse albeit with one that was a phony pony!

The original Kala Ghoda (after which this part of the Fort area is named) with King Edward VII astride was cast in bronze and cost 12,500 pounds sterling (1875) and was installed to commemorate his visit to the Bombay Presidency. The statue of the British Monarch was later damaged by political activists and the ‘Kala Ghoda’ was moved to the Byculla Zoo or Jijimata Udyan.

After the Kala Ghoda fiasco to mark my location I tried to explain to another frantic mum that I was on the pavement opposite the David Sassoon Library with no luck, when another enterprising mum who had located me suggested I state the location as opposite Westside and we scored a bull’s-eye!

Most of these graceful testimonials today are identified by gaudy neon hoardings and outrageous colors used in the guise of adornment and not for the splendor of it's classical structure of stone arches, pillars, elegant pediments, cornices, minarets and domes.

Irritated by such unawareness on part of regular residents of Bombay I tersely responded to young Jeff Berlin’s drawling request for directions asking him to meet us on Synagogue Street behind Rhythm house as I subconsciously tried to identify whose parent this one might be and mentally prepared myself to deliver a pithy lecture. My mortification was twofold because Jeff beat us to the destination and I recollected that he was in Bombay for a 6 month stint with a law firm and a common friend had requested he join the tour. Pithy lecture was ancient history and I was profusely apologetic.

The route covered the heart of art, culture and education - Kala Ghoda Circle and Jehangir Art Gallery to the Knesset Eliyahoo Synagogue thence to Bombay University and Rajabai Towers to Watson Esplanade Hotel and through the arcaded walk to Army Navy Building, David Sassoon Library, Elphinston College, Institute of Science and via the Wellington Circle from where we had the opportunity to view diverse architectural styles of Regal Cinema, Majestic Hotel, Waterloo Mansion, The Science Institute, The Prince of Wales Museum and The Maharashtra State Police Headquarters. This was followed by a halt outside Dhunraj Mahal ending at The Gateway of India on the site of the earlier Apollo ‘Bunder’ or wharf and not monkey

Our collection of 26 children and 12 adults trooped steadfastly eyeing with wonder the precisely laid floral Minton tiles each intricate piece fitted together much like a jig-saw puzzle, the dilapidated condition of the once posh Watson Esplanade Hotel and the arcaded walk that has preserved a sense of continuity despite the wide ranging architectural styles that sets apart this precinct.

As I gazed out from the balcony of the David Sassoon Library at the fake Kala Ghoda in the distance and bright lights of the Festival, I was saddened by crass, commercial and messy affair this defining cultural event has deteriorated into.

Nostradamus the French seer once predicted “the sea shall rise and swallow” a region which according to geographical calculation was possibly ‘Ila da boa vida’ or our Bombay ‘the island of good life’. The diviner it appears erred in a sense. This once idyllic blend of seven islands if not in immediate danger of death by drowning is definitely in imminent peril of being engulfed by the collective spitting and dumping of piles of trash on the road by its own people.

Sex and the Six year old by Kavita Shivdasani

Thanks to the swine flu only 6, six year olds arrived for class instead of the twenty enrolled for the Friday sessions of my ‘Know Your Environment’ gathering. This paltry attendance however provided an opportunity to monitor a rather unexpected insight into their babyish psyche.

We launched into an energetic discussion on the significance of ‘making very strong’ our body’s immunity to battle against the ‘germ-enemy’ that could attack us because we may sneeze and forget to cover our nose, we may eat our food with grubby hands because we forgot to wash and so on and so forth.

With much gesticulation and wide-eyed wonder, visions were created of how the ‘white blood cell soldiers’ were always ready like crouching and well-dentured tigers to spring up, surround, attack and kill the dreaded ‘germ enemies’ in the blood filled battle field of our circulatory system. This was followed by an equally animated dialogue about our red blood cell facilitators and all about healthy food and junk food.

Thoroughly invigorated chirpy Sahil decided it was time to play Lock and Key. What followed was 45 minutes of pure banshee yells, dodging between chairs, planning strategy on how to prevent the ‘locked’ children from being released. Sweating and panting the group finally flopped down to catch their breath.

Relieved by the peace that had descended I was not really paying attention to the children’s conversation. I picked up my ears when I heard the words, kiss, handsome prince and Snow White. This was followed by Ishita and Sahil (who both attend the same school and are class mates) giggling helplessly while the other four listened with avid interest.

I joined in the conversation casually and Ishita explained how for their class play the handsome prince – another boy in her class - had kissed Snow White enacted by another little girl and woken her up. This play being very popular in all nursery schools I was familiar with the routine and the ‘kissing’ was always a very virtuous peck on Snow White’s hand.

So I failed to understand why the both Sahil and Ishita gurgled with such ‘goblinesque’ glee.

Enlightened dawned when Ishita went on to clarify that they were not discussing ‘that kiss’ but were discussing how the six year old little prince had kissed the six year old Snow White on the lips not once but twice during the school break time!

On enquiring what her class teacher had to say about such mischief, Ishita’s prompt reply was “Oh our class teacher couldn’t see because our whole class had surrounded them.”

Trees – up close and personal by Kavita Shivdasani 9th May 2010

Most of my vacation that summer in our home in Calcutta was spent at leisure and with a compelling desire to learn how to cycle. I was the only one in my circle of friends who at the grand old age of 10 was unable to bike without trainer wheels.

So every evening was spent in perfecting the art of cycling without those trainer wheels. As my confidence and balance gathered momentum so did my desire to show off my new found skill. I pedaled my bike with vitality along the cobbled paths that wound around the gardens of our lodgings.

The two-wheeler surged forward bumping over the cobbles at great speed and I tried to overtake my fellow cyclist just ahead. It did not take much genius to realize I had seriously miscalculated the logistics of my enterprise.

I lost control and my nerve and spontaneously reached and grabbed the lowest branch of a spreading tree that so conveniently happened to be there and hung on grimly as my bicycle swerved off the path and crashed ingloriously into the adjoining flower bed so did my friend who had been startled by my crazy dash.

My troubles were not over yet and as Dr. Seuss put it “there are troubles of more than one kind, some from ahead and some from behind.” I was dangling from the tree smack in the path of the oncoming cyclist who was behind me. I did another spontaneous maneuver and swung my legs sloth-like onto the tree branch.

The second cyclist met the same fate as the first one for the same reasons and I could not control my laughter. Both of them shook their fists at me and threatened me with dire consequences. I refused to get down and they could not get to me as thankfully the tree was growing on the land immediately adjacent to but separated by our garden wall.

The only other way to climb that branch immediately was to use the sturdy rope suspended from it which we all (in happier times) used as a rope swing. But having anticipated their wrath I had taken the precaution of hauling up the rope.

So I have for many years now had a special fellow feeling for TREES.

In India according to Hemanth Tripathi our tree buff there are 50 different types of ‘homes’ or forests for trees. South India has evergreen forests as the soil is soft and smooth and holds water for a long time. So the trees are able to make their food daily.

North India is known for their Alpine or Coniferous forests. The leaves being needle like which enables the snow to slide off easily and as the surface space on the leaves is practically non-existent the trees do not feel very cold.

Central India is known for its broad leaved deciduous forests which shed their leaves in winter. The wide leaves make large quantities of food in summer to keep as reserve for the cold leafless phase in winter.

Western India (Gujarat, Rajasthan) have scrub forests – short and thorny with small leaves to conserve water or dry desert forests.

North Eastern India is known for its evergreen Rain forests and Riverine forest line the banks of the Ganges, Brahmaputra and Yamuna which flow slowly and steadily in the plains into the Bay of Bengal via Bihar and Bangla Desh.

The gulmohar, copper pod or Son mar and the eucalyptus are some of the examples of exotic trees introduced in India by the Portuguese and the British. Their unplanned cultivation did lead to large scale destruction of habitat of indigenous variety of insects. The Mangiferra indica or what we commonly know as mango is the only exotic variety that has completely acclimatized to our country and hence the title of ‘Indica’.

Be that as it may “the forests are the mother of a river’ says Hemanth. The tree canopy breaks the speed of the rainfall and prevents the soil from being washed away and the water drops accumulate and flows onwards as a river.

Destruction of forests leads to soil erosion, siltation of water bodies, no water, no trees, no pollination because no insects, no fruits and vegetables, no food, no animals or people no life.

The tree is the source of all life. Respect it.

Fine Feathered Friends by Kavita Shivdasani

In a quiet lane off Alipore, Calcutta we lived in a sprawling accommodation in the three storied Belvedere Estate. Adjoining us was Woodlands and Alipore Estates followed by the Russian Counsulate, with the posh Woodlands Nursing Home spread right across on the opposite side of the street.

Every lodging overlooked immaculate emerald lawns that ran across the entire frontage of each property. Each stretch of home turf was separated from the other by low hedges and yet interconnected by winding cobbled paths.

Bordering the lawns and shaded by trees were basket ball and badminton courts, slides, swings, see-saws, cycling trails shared by us children from all three estates.

Beyond partitioned by a low wall lay the densely tree covered grounds of the Calcutta Zoo also a sanctuary for birds both migratory and indigenous.

So it was not an uncommon sight to look out of my window and spot a few dozen peacocks strutting regally around the lawns or have a baby owl, talons neatly aligned, on a low hanging branch just outside our first floor verandah on a moonlit night gazing at me with solemn, unblinking, golden saucer shaped eyes.

It was a cold December morning about 6.30 a.m. when a dissonance of cackles and screeches woke me with a start. I ran out bare footed onto the verandah shivering in my night clothes. A thin mist hung over the lawns.

The sounds seemed to radiate upwards from the turf below. As my eyes adjusted to the bright green grass I managed to detect a jamboree of possibly 50 or 60 equally bright green parakeets only because of their intense red beaks and red-ringed necks.

As the sun pierced through the mist the parakeet party took flight in unison an undulating stretch of green and red and made off over the tree tops. As the beating of their wings receded the silence was deafening.

A whole bunch of us kids would often spend a pleasant Sunday morning at the Calcutta Zoo.10 year old Digvijay was the naught boy of the group. He was hell bent on acquiring one of the gorgeous tail feathers of a majestic looking peacock out for a leisurely walk.

As Diggy reached to pluck at the iridescent tail plume the peacock swiveled at lightening speed to strike back. Aghast at this unexpected retaliation Diggy made off as fast as possible – head thrown back, chest thrown out and legs pistoning furiously with the angry bird in hot pursuit. It was splendid to watch the swift pace with which this bird can move fan of long tail features notwithstanding.

Diggy’s cries for help fell on deaf ears as we all rolled on the ground helpless with laughter. After three circuits of the lawn with Diggy just a hairbreadth ahead the bird lost interest and walked off disdainfully while Diggy collapsed in relief quite out of breath.

Kalpana Malani’s query ‘so do you feel this bird trail is appropriate?’ interrupted my wandering thoughts and brought me back to the present. We were planning to take a group of 4 – 8 year olds on a bird watching excursion on Sunday 25^th April 2010 and were staking out the route.

There are quite a few interesting bird watching places in and around Bombay – Sewri, Karnala, the Mangrove Zone at Vikroli, SGNP, Maharahtra Nature Park, The Ranibaug Zoo, BPT Gardens, Kamla Nehru Park and believe me several streets on Marine Drive and areas of Peddar Road, Altamount Road, Bandra and in fact any part of the city that has a tree cover is a good place to watch for birds. All you need however is patience and a quick eye to spot our fine feathered friends who have adapted brilliantly to wanton urbanization.

‘Mock – athon’ by Kavita Shivdasani

For the past 20 years I have made several wonderful expeditions into the Maharashtra Nature Park with children ranging in age from 4 – 16 years. This is one of the few remaining green getaways in the heart of Bombay rich in plant, insect, reptile and bird life.

So when we were suddenly invited to participate in a Green Event on a Saturday evening at The Park recently, though the notice was short notice I managed to gather together an excited collection of 22 youngsters and two equally eager parent volunteers.

As we entered The Park sectioned off for the event I stared uncomprehendingly at the semi-circular 4 tiered open space which on any normal day is a tangle of dense foliage teeming with insect life. There was instead neatly laid brand new turf bordered with scores of empty plastic bottles entrapped in fishing mesh, CD mobiles glittered and spun in the fading light. Strategically placed were treadmill bikes, an enormous sound system, huge ground level and airborne spotlights all connected to electric cables that snaked endlessly around the territory. A large elevated white screen overhung the scene. I am sure the décor intended to convey the message of reduce, refuse, recycle and reuse but lamentably I just was not up to figuring it out.

As the sky darkened powerful beams lit up this arena. The sound system blared out an inane conversation between the event anchor and a film celebrity espousing the cause of environmental conservation and using eco-friendly sources of energy to illuminate remote rural areas while a well-known film star gyrated on screen. I did wonder what the insect and bird life had to say about such an outrageous invasion of their privacy. The answer was evident when I observed a lone centipede struggling desperately to navigate and escape the unfamiliar turf.

Just as aghast were my excited collection of youngsters and I was subject to a plethora of their sibilant sarcastic comments stated sotto voce. It was because of sheer good manners the children participated whole – heartedly in the activities as banal as making paper bags, sticking post-its with environment friendly messages on a dead tree stump and pedaling the treadmill bikes furiously with nothing to light up despite all the eco- friendly energy generated.

After being subject to two and a half hours of this non-stop parody the children understandably wished to depart. Our event co-coordinator requested we stick around for a while longer and I agreed much to everyone’s displeasure and I was subject to a gauntlet of disapproving stares but everyone subsided wearily. A half hour later of hanging around we went through an action replay but this time when 16 year old Goyal who is normally committed to my numerous environment escapades forthrightly growled I needed to ‘get a life’ I decided it was time to head out.

Out of the mouth of babes…… 4 – 6 year olds

Thursday 1st April 2010

We were reviewing in class our Heritage Kala Ghoda walk. On questioning the little ones about how Jamshetji Tata was inspired to build the beautiful Taj Hotel the conversation ran thus:

Child 1 – because he was not allowed to enter a Hotel which was only meant for the British.
Child 2 – so he thought he would build his own Hotel where everyone was welcome.
Child 3 – because he wanted everyone to understand his idea he used many different designs for his Hotel building – indo-saracenic-gothic.
Child 4 – so all people like Hindus, Muslims, Christians felt at home.
Child 5 – even the terrorists……….

Vedant by Kavita Shivdasani

Thursday, October 22, 2009
7th November 2005

Vedant Modi was a student of the S.P.J.Sadhana School for the Developmentally Challenged. I first met him when I joined there as an instructor in 1980 with no prior teaching experience. I was assigned a motley group of six youngsters to train in functional academics - Rama, Ayesha, Boss, Cyrus, Vasudha and of course Vedant.

Each one was functioning at a level diametrically opposed to the other. My lack of know-how was a plus point as I was oblivious to the disadvantage and hence quite unafraid of the task at hand!

Vedant appeared to be like any normal youngster except that he had slightly altered physical features. He was very clear about how any assignment must be done. If he disagreed with my point of view he’d wait till I’d finished my lecture. Then he’d look at me with his bespectacled Garfield eyes, sniff, brush his nose with an upward flick of his palm and deliver me a succinct lecture right back in his nasal twang. And that would be that!

There was one thing however, I was determined that he would have to do as I wanted done, and that was how he ate his lunch! Vedant relished food especially chicken. At lunch time he would rush to get his lunch box and wolf down his food straight from the container without bothering to sit down with the others.

After watching this for a number of days, I finally couldn’t bear it any more. He would just shovel food into his mouth as if somebody was about to grab and run off with it! This was one thing I decided he’d have to learn to do right. He just would not listen. Finally totally fed up (after warning him in advance of course) I confiscated his lunch and he had to go hungry that day.

He cried, he cried huge puddles of tears and it did seem for a while that the school was going to get swept away by the deluge. Everyone including Vedant firmly believed I was the perfect wicked witch. But this was something I wasn’t going to give in to.

In the days that followed and up to the time I continued to instruct him, for 5 or 6 years thereafter, never did he gobble his food in my presence. At lunch time he made it a point to bring to my attention that he had taken out his mat, spread it out neatly on the table, hung his bag on his chair, and served his food on the plate and that he had eaten it without gobbling.

But although he did as he was told where food was concerned he never forgave me the trespass of having deprived him of his lunch.

This lack of ‘forgive and forget’ went on throughout my 23 year association with him. Even after I left Sadhana School in 1987 his mother Swarupa and I kept in touch but in a very desultory fashion. If I met Vedant at certain functions he was always very polite but his disapproval was plain.

There was another incident that had added to his displeasure. This had occurred about the same time as my tussle with him over his food habits.

Once a week, Vedant would buy himself a chicken lunch from Joe’s canteen, for the princely sum of Rs. 5/-. (Joe by the way was the canteen manager of Sophia Polytecnic where Sadhana School is located) Apparently the price had been revised to Rs. 7/-. When Vedant arrived on his usual day for his chicken lunch he had only Rs.5/- but the menu card read Rs. 7/-. Joe tried to explain to Vedant that he would have to settle for a meal that suited his budget and that he could not possibly buy his usual chicken lunch.

Whenever Vedant did not get his way where food was concerned it was the usual tears and tantrums. He apparently threw such a gala paroxysm and cried so much that he created another huge puddle in the canteen. Joe in his fright gave him the chicken lunch for free!

Well be that as it may, Joe came rushing to see me that evening and explained what had happened, clarified the price revision and requested that I should inform Vedant’s mother of the new price. Poor Joe thought I’d punish him or some such thing for making Vedant cry!

Instead the poor man was rather staggered when I blew a fuse at him for pandering to Vedant, and giving him a free meal. Joe stammering explained that he had caved in as Vedant had almost created a Noah’s Ark like torrent that had made him feel like the wicked witch or its male equivalent.

The point here was that Joe had fortunately known Vedant and that as Vedant belonged to the school he, Joe had been soft with him. In a restaurant or any other public place Vedant would probably have been ill-treated, spoken to rudely and handled roughly. It was very necessary that Vedant learned to toe the line in certain situations and realize the importance of propriety. If Vedant was to be mainstreamed into daily life with those who are not like him (the latter being the majority) one would just have to harden one’s heart. Vedant of course had to sit through another of my terse monologues.

Would Vedant ever forgive me? One day, Swarupa had a lunch for all the Sadhana School teachers and I were invited. I could suddenly sense a conspicuous softening of his feelings towards me. It felt good.

It really felt great however, when a couple of months before he passed away there was a big lunch once again for all his school teachers at his residence. Unfortunately for me it was on a Saturday when I could not reschedule the childrens classes I conduct on week-ends. I did, however, tell him on the telephone that I’d visit him later in the evening after work.

Although I was keen to meet him, it was just not possible. So the next best thing was to call him and have a very long chat. Vedant was disappointed that I had not been able to sample all that heavenly food. I did another rather stupid thing and said that I’d come and visit him the next day and could not make it again. We had this second really long conversation on the phone.

It was evident that any annoyance or resentment or whatever it was that he had felt in those 20 years he had worked out for himself and put behind him. I had done nothing to help him reduce that feeling. He had done it all by himself.

As a youngster he had proved without doubt that he could speak out and not buckle under pressure. As a young man although the disciplining had been tough, he had eventually coped constructively.

Vedant was one of the most unique youngsters I came across in S.P.J. Sadhana School for the Developmentally Challenged because no matter who the person he was dealing with he could stand up for himself. He was always most focused in knowing what he wanted and following through on his desires.

‘Dancing to the beat of a different drummer’ by Kavita Shivdasani

More than two decades later my experiences among children with learning difficulties never fails to raise goose bumps. As senior facilitator in a reputed preschool in Bombay I was responsible for ensuring that all the young ones were at par with the program that prepared them for admissions into ‘big school’.

Nishant all of three and a half years old had a wonderful way with spoken English and it was a pleasure to interact with him. During a picture talk however when asked to point out the sheep in an outsized wall depiction of a typical farmyard, teeming with animals and characteristic ranch activities he was bewildered, his eyes darting all over the picture unsure where to point. Finally with his retrousse nose pressed against the chart he put his finger on a random spot.

Nishant neither had poor eye-sight nor did he not know what sheep looked like. He was exhibiting an archetypal response arising out of difficulties in Figure – Ground Perception. He was unable to focus his attention on the essential ‘figure’ (the sheep) without being distracted by unessential ‘ground’ (the rest of the farmyard animals and activities).

When trying to string large wooden beads with an outsize opening using a stiff-ended shoe lace Nishant was quiet perplexed why each time his hand moved past the bead leaving it unstrung, his intense concentration notwithstanding. The ‘oh – my - god’ look on his face was comic and heart rending all at once. This was a classic instance of poor eye-hand coordination.

My knowledge on the subject was pretty hazy in those days (and still is!) and so my explanation of Nishant’s academic pre-school progress was ham-handed to say the least. In hind sight when most of us have 20/20 vision I understand why his mother reacted indignantly and I was informed in no uncertain terms to ‘take a hike’.

Several years later a chance meeting bought me face to face with Nishant’s mother. As I stared at my bete-noire uncertain what to say she ended the impasse by simply stating ‘you were right’. Nishant had been lucky to gain admission into a reputed school in Bombay amongst the first to understand and accommodate with sensitivity youngsters who would thrive in an atmosphere where conservative teaching methods was not the priority.

Abhishek a 10 year old who attended my “Know Your Environment” sessions several years ago had an amazing ability when reading aloud passages to use suitable substitutes for specific words he was unable to read. So ‘tree’ was read as ‘garden’ and ‘shoes’ became ‘boots’. In technical parlance it would be termed as Dyslexia, I called it ‘pure genius.’

We live and learn about the world through our senses. Our visual, auditory, kinesthetic, olfactory and gustatory senses when stimulated send messages to our brain. The brain interprets the incoming communication and immediately by return sends advice on how to react. In some cases this to-and- fro ‘wiring’ differs from the regular run of the mill ones and voila the person reacts in a way different to what is ‘accepted’, ‘conventional’ or ‘logical’. Children with unpredictable responses are smart or even smarter than their peers but can only thrive with the right support and intervention. Winston Churchill, Albert Einstien and Whoopi Goldberg are among some of the outstanding people who towered above these so-called limitations.

Youngsters who are labeled as Learning Disabled to me seem to be living in that inter tidal zone between high and low tide which is neither the deep blue sea on one side nor terra firma on the other.

In a fast paced world where academic achievement is the watchword and despite the advanced understanding of learning disabilities young persons pigeonholed thus find it a struggle to take joy in an environment so cut and dried.

A tragic off – shoot to the academic, parental and peer pressures are behavioural anomalies ranging from shyness to depression to aggression and a further falling behind in levels of expectation and achievement, sort of a Catch 22 situation with apparently no way out.

It is undoubtedly necessary to cater to the needs of a mass society because it is efficient, convenient and in fact necessary to maintain system and discipline. But in doing so it is also just as important to remember that some of us dance to the beat of a different drummer.

(Names of children changed to protect their identities)
26th September 2009

Diamonds are forever by Kavita Shivdasani

Saturday 27th March 2010

Deep in the bowels of the earth especially in the regions beneath Africa, Russia, Canada, Australia and our very own Assam mysterious magma movement millions of years ago arranged pure elements of carbon with perfect precision to create one of it’s much sought after allotrope called diamonds.

Story has it that The Eureka diamond is so called because it was the first diamond to be discovered in Africa. A small boy called Erasmus, the son of a widow of the Boer War picked up some pretty stones from the banks of the Orange River. He and his sister used them to play a game called Five Stones. A neighbouring farmer was attracted by one of these pebbles and asked the widow to sell it to him. She laughed and told him to keep this 24.25 carat stone!

The diamonds drawn from an ancient Greek word meaning ‘unbreakable’ or ‘I overpower’ were carried to the earth’s crust by volcanic activity. From these primary sources the brilliant stones have then eroded by wind and water and distributed to other areas or secondary sources.

Depending on the depth and locations at which these diamond deposites occur mining techniques to extract them range from hard rock mining to open-pit mining to placer mining to marine mining or artisinal mining.

We were invited by Siddhant’s dad to visit his workshop to view these raw beauties being fashioned into exotic shapes and then embedded along with other gorgeous gemstones into exclusive and exquisite gold jewelry. (Which we were not allowed to photograph – sigh – non-disclosure and secrecy stuff!)

I was overwhelmed at the spectacular leap in diamond production in the last 20 years or so thanks to Israeli computer technology now used to cut and polish the raw diamonds of even the most minuscule sizes with minimum wastage.

Gone are the days when an elite group of ‘babus’ gifted with an intuitive sense of depth perception and magic fingers which no technology can out do would shape raw diamonds ensuring to keep in mind carat, cut, clarity and colour so that the final stone would fetch the best price.

As we entered the workshop I felt we had walked into a science fiction laboratory equipped with a line-up of computers and other humming machines with laser beams operated by rows and rows of hushed and intensely focused men at work.

Ranchodbhai

Ranchodbhai….. Renowned as “Boy” an alias which was his inimitable identity right up to the time he withdrew from our services at the grand old age of 75 years. Hailing from a remote village in Gujrat he was little under six feet, upright, lean, tough, dark skinned with tiny twinkling eyes set deep in a face creased with candor and loyalty.

Boy was always immaculately clad in a starched white drill cloth Nehru Jacket with shiny brass buttons, white trousers, gleaming black boots the entire ensemble crowned by a Gandhi ‘topi’.

We inherited Boy and the beautiful rosewood dining room furniture when father who worked for a British firm - with all the trappings of the Raj - was posted in Bombay. The Company provided us a spacious dwelling in an exclusive part of town which just before we moved in had been occupied by a British Director of the firm. The Englishman had especially had local craftsmen to design and carve the banquet room effects but due to high transportation costs regretfully gave up the idea of carting the pieces back to England much to our delight. Neither was he able to coax Boy his Man Friday to accompany him overseas as the latter aged 57 had recently retired from Company service and was not duty bound to oblige.

Father requested Boy in his personal capacity to stay on with us and generally oversee the rest of the household minions. Boy ruled them and us with a rod of iron and clockwork precision. He ensured that Father’s suits and accessories for office were ready on the dot, meals were punctually and tastefully served, laundry and groceries and house cleaning taken care of. In fact mundane aspects of housekeeping were a mystery to Mother thanks to Boy’s omnipresence. Boy in fact even kept meticulous records of telephone calls for Memsahib (mother) and Missy Baba (I).

Mother had a habit of forgetting her cupboard keys and bits of her gold ornaments all over the place. However they never missed Boy’s eagle eye. He would quietly stash it away in his pocket and wait for father to arrive home in the evening. When both my parents were sitting down for tea and discussing the day Boy would materialize with the keys (or jewellery as the case maybe) on a salver and hand them over to Mother much to her discomfiture. Boy’s point being Sahib should know the onerous responsibility he shouldered because of Memsahib’s laxity.

His military strictness softened at meals especially if both my parents were not in. He would cluck and fuss dictating how much I should eat, what I should eat and why I should eat – a habit that drove me berserk. No amount of irritation on my part deterred him. So I decided to repay him in kind, every time he sat down in the kitchen for his meals. He got the point. But just how tough it was for him to keep away was obvious from the fact that I knew he was hovering anxiously in the kitchen doorway by the long shadow his presence cast on the opposite wall.

Any repairs that needed to be done around the house – electrical, carpentry, plumbing – would warrant an immediate telephone call by Boy to the Company’s Administrative Department. Boy would imperiously command the Division Head to send the necessary technician who in turn would arrive post-haste. Mother rather scandalized at such a high-handed demeanor on Boy’s part called up the amused Administration Head to apologize only to be informed by the latter that the entire Company was familiar with and fond of Boy and took absolutely no offense. Boy had been in service with the firm since the age of 12.

On one occasion Raj Talwar the then Chairman of a renowned nationalized bank and a college friend of Father was over for cocktails. Being a teetotaler Raj accepted a chilled fruit juice. After taking a sip he unthinkingly placed the glass on the highly polished peg table only to be promptly admonished by Boy that the glass should never be placed without a coaster as the polish would be stained.

Mother had been recouping from a long hospitalization and had been advised by the Company’s doctor that although she had been sent home she was to continue bed-rest and make sure she took all her medication on time. Boy ensured that the Doctor’s orders were followed diligently.

Since several visitors would drop by to keep Mother company she requested Boy that her bedroom be tidied first. Boy however had his own fixed notions about housekeeping and firmly believed in beginning from the withdrawing room and working inwards. This tug-of-war lasted till one morning Mother (who had been warned by the Doctor not to lose her temper since it was not good for her heart condition) in exasperation flung a full glass of water all over Boy and was of course immediately aghast at the lunacy of her action. Boy who had just served her the water for her medication without missing a beat calmly stated that as his jacket was rather damp he would catch a chill. So he requested permission to change into a dry jacket and then immediately to oversee the cleaning of her room.

After a 4 year stint in Bombay Father was posted to Calcutta and Boy of course formed an essential part of the entourage. One evening about 5 years later Boy was returning home from an evening stroll when a young girl learning driving lost control of the car and knocked him down. Boy was pretty severely injured and although the Company permitted expenses for hospitalization Mother felt he should remain home with us and ensured that our family doctor visited home everyday to check and dress his wounds.

Since he was almost 67 years old (although he insisted he was not a day older that 50) we mutually decided he should be with his family back in Gujarat. His going away took a while to adjust to but the void was never filled.

About two years later we received a call from Boy asking if it was possible for us to arrange a job for him in Bombay since Bombay was closer to his home. He needed the job as there was severe famine in his village. Mother immediately arranged for him to work with a relative. This enterprise was rather short-lived and Boy haughtily resigned from the post. His reason being that his memsahib (Mother) used to allow him to drink milk while my Aunt (much to her chagrin) did not allow him sufficient milk in his tea!

We returned to Bombay and Boy returned from his village to be with us. He served us with incorruptible devotion until he retired at the age of 75 years. (He still insisted he was not a day older than 50)

I remember one afternoon when I was studying for my graduation, Mother had gone visiting and Father was in office I was suddenly overcome with excruciating stomach cramps so unbearable I could not call out for help. Boy who would check in on me every half hour or so happened to arrive on his self-appointed patrol duty to find me writhing in pain. He promptly called the Company doctor and ordered him to visit on the double. He then informed both my parents. The Doctor had already hustled me off to the Hospital before they arrived. It had been an extreme case of appendicitis and Boy’s quick thinking had saved time and my life.

Some years after Boy had returned to his village Father sent him a letter enquiring after Boy’s health and how his family was keeping. Boy’s family comprised of his wife, son and daughter both his children being married and well settled. Father suggested that both Boy and his wife visit us for a while.

A post card reply from Boy read thus:

“Me and wife too old to travel

Sahib, memsahib and Missy Baba come and visit.

Me have ‘pucca’ house and extra room”

Bombay by Bacchas

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=147981&id=506707228

Diary of a Control Freak

My job profile since 1987 has been constant interaction with hordes of lively 4 – 13 year olds. Most of this contemporary pack of tots, teens and in-betweens seem to be fixated in Freud’s Egocentric Stage – ‘Why is the sky blue?’ “because it is my favourite colour” or ‘Why is the grass green ?’ “because I want it to be that way”. Amusing as it may appear, one however must from time to time keep them on a tight leash for the sake of their own sanity as much as for mine.

This attempt to tighten the leash sometimes (actually to be honest often times) makes me yell and rant at them (all in good humour I do assure all those doting mamas who entrust their fragile brood in my care) or organize events for the children to the last detail.

My therapist states that this because I am a control freak and not because I need to ensure the safety and well-being of this unruly bunch!

Imagine if on a hike in this glorious monsoon weather one of this boisterous gang should decide ‘hey lets leap of the edge of this hill because I can fly’ (remember Freud’s egocentric stage?) Not an overstatement I promise because they are capable of such antics!

But my therapist still feels I am a control freak.

Barely had I gotten used to this personality revelation, my landlady (I reside in a rented premises) has hauled me off to the Small Causes Court to have me evicted from my home and hearth on a technical error of judgment I made 10 years ago. So now I am doing the rounds of the lawyers and law courts.

And guess what? According to my therapist I invite challenges because I wish to prove to myself that I can overcome and control those challenges!

For the first time in many years I encountered a young person with remarkable artistic talent, but one who would rather remain in the shadows. Being all gung-ho about the ideas this young person sprouted I in my (I presume my therapist would say controlling manner…sigh) enthusiasm egged the young person to present the art workshop to the group it is intended for.

But God help the young person also felt that I just wanted to get him to say yes, so I am supposed to be (no prizes for getting the correct answer) a control freak.

To get back to my therapist, I need to ‘go under’ good old Freudian hypnosis to diagnose the root of this controlling behaviour. According to this analyst in one or more of my past lives I had probably lived under severe domination – slavery perhaps – and had carried forward memories of these past experiences in to my present life and wanted to reverse this injustice. Although this sounded so reminiscent of Jungian theory of the ‘collective unconscious’ I refused point blank much to my therapist’s delight – “there I told you, you are a control freak, you just do not want anyone to control you!”

Sigh some days you just can’t win! Lol…………

This is dedicated to Dr. Sonali Saraogi for her infinite belief in me. The proof of the claim lies in the fact that both her sons are hard-core members of all my ‘controlling’ tots, teens and in-between interactions in our ‘Know Your Environment’ recreational session for young ones.