This evening I was surfing the internet and found an interesting piece of article. It was how to make a good confession.
To my non catholic readers…. Confession is a process where a catholic goes to a priest and tells him about the sins committed by him/her. It is a belief that Catholics should confess at least once a year. So the Catholics have to examine their conscience to see if they have committed any mortal sins or venial sins. The examination of conscience goes like this…..”
1. Have I ever failed to confess a serious sin or disguised it? [Only if I go for confession can I say this]
2. Have I been guilty of irreverence for this sacrament by failing to examine my conscience carefully? [I think till date I must have made less than 5 confessions. So I have never made a good confession]
3. Have I failed to perform the penance given me by the confessor or disobeyed any of his directions? [Always!!!]
4. Have I neglected the Easter duty of receiving Holy Communion or failed to confess my sins within a year? [It is years since I went to a confessional]
5. Have I any HABITS of serious sin to confess first (impurity, drunkenness, etc.)?
6. Have God and the pursuit of sanctity in Christ been the goal of my life? Have I denied my faith?
7. Have I placed my trust in false teachings or substitutes for God?
8. Did I despair of God's mercy?
9. Have I avoided the profane use of God's name in my speech?
10. Have I broken a solemn vow or promise?
11. Have I honored every Sunday by avoiding unnecessary work, celebrating the Mass (also holydays)?
12. Was I inattentive at, or unnecessarily late for Mass, or did I leave early?
13. Have I neglected prayer for a long time?
14. Have I shown Christ like respect to parents, spouse, and family members, legitimate authorities?
15. Have I been attentive to the religious education and formation of my children?
16. Have I cared for the bodily health and safety of myself and all others?
17. Did I abuse drugs or alcohol?
18. Have I supported in any way abortion, "mercy killing," or suicide?
19. Was I impatient, angry, envious, proud, jealous, revengeful, and lazy?
20. Have I forgiven others?
21. Have I been just in my responsibilities to employer and employees?
22. Have I discriminated against others because of race or other reasons?
23. Have I been chaste in thought and word?
24. Have I used sex only within marriage and while open to procreating life?
25. Have I given myself sexual gratification?
26. Did I deliberately look at impure TV, pictures, reading?
27. Have I stolen anything from another, from my employer, from government? If so, am I ready to repay it?
28. Did I rashly gamble, depriving my family of necessities?
29. Have I spoken ill of any other person?
30. Have I always told the truth?
31. Have I kept secrets and confidences?
32. Have I permitted sexual thoughts about someone to whom I am not married?
33. Have I desired what belongs to other people?
34. Have I wished ill on another?
35. Have I been faithful to sacramental living (Holy Communion and Penance)?
36. Have I helped make my parish community stronger and holier? Have I contributed to the support of the Church?
37. Have I done penance by abstaining and fasting on obligatory days?
38. Have I fasted before receiving communion?
39. Have I been mindful of the poor?
40. Do I accept God's will for me?”
[Courtesy: Internet. I was very lazy to type the entire thing. Being lazy is a sin according to the Catholic beliefs]
If one is to examine ones conscience this way, everything that a person does is a sin. There are certain things which are crazy and some thrash. For example take the 9th one…. “Have I avoided the profane use of God's name in my speech?” I have heard charismatic priests use the name of the God in vain. Every time they forget what they have to say, they yell their lungs out, “Praise the LORD, Alleluiah.” I don’t think others do as much as these priests.
Now take the 12th one….” Was I inattentive at, or unnecessarily late for Mass, or did I leave early?” How long can you expect a person to be attentive during mass? It is during mass that people update the latest news of the parish. It could be gossips, or politics or the boasting of parents about their children’s education. Isn’t it so monotonous to watch the same old boring face of the priest with his mono-syllable voice and his constant yawning at the altar week after week??? No human being can fully concentrate on the one and a half hour mass.
The seventeenth one says….” Did I abuse drugs or alcohol?”
According to the gospel of St. John ,
"Chapter 2
1 On the third day there was a wedding in Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. 2 Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the wedding. 3 When the wine ran short, the mother of Jesus said to him, "They have no wine." 4 (And) Jesus said to her, "Woman, how does your concern affect me? My hour has not yet come."5 His mother said to the servers, "Do whatever he tells you." 6 Now there were six stone water jars there for Jewish ceremonial washings, each holding twenty to thirty gallons.
7 Jesus told them, "Fill the jars with water." So they filled them to the brim. 8 Then he told them, "Draw some out now and take it to the headwaiter." So they took it. 9 And when the headwaiter tasted the water that had become wine, without knowing where it came from (although the servers who had drawn the water knew), the headwaiter called the bridegroom 10 and said to him, "Everyone serves good wine first, and then when people have drunk freely, an inferior one; but you have kept the good wine until now."
It is clearly given that wine was served during the wedding at Cana. Drinking excessive of wine does intoxicate a man or woman. If wine could be consumed, then how come it is a sin? Remember Jesus made wine and served it to people. Which is a greater sin…. to make wine or to consume it???
The 30th test of conscience is….” Have I always told the truth?”…Truth is disturbing. One is never to say disturbing truths. Truth may be beautiful, but all truths are not beautiful. How can, not being truthful be a sin?
As I was going through each and every examination of conscience I felt that the entire human race were sinners. When we ordinary people committed small crimes, the nuns and priests committed heinous crimes. (Remember Sr. Abhaya’s murder by two priests and a nun, Jolly murder case by a Protestant priest and Sr. Jesme’s revelations in her book “Amen”)
Why should people confess to sinners? I strongly oppose to that idea. Confession was man-made. No where has Jesus asked his people to confess to a priest. To repent for one’s sins he or she doesn’t have to resort to the crude ways of confessing to a priest. I guess I became rebellious to the practices of the church because of my close association with nuns and priests from my childhood itself. I have seen the in and out of them. So when they preach religion to you or when they ask you to go for confession, it is quite natural to retaliate.
There was a practice in the boarding that the Catholic boarders had to go for confession irrespective of whether one wanted it or not. I being a rebel never liked confessing. I did not like telling a priest of the sins I committed. I always thought that I did not need a mediator to tell my sins to God and ask for his forgiveness. That particular Saturday, our boarding mistress, a Goan nun wanted me to go for confession.
We were asked to wait at the chapel. That nun asked us to pray to God and to examine our conscience. I was their busy watching my friends pray. They were all pious, closing their eyes and praying. I was watching each one going to the priest to confess. My turn was coming. I did not want to confess. Raising my voice against the injustice meant my expulsion from the boarding. The priest was taking a very long time for each student. The queue was moving at a snail pace. It was Sandra’s turn, and then it was my turn to go to that priest. Sandra came back from the confessional and now my turn had come.
I went and knelt down at the confessional.
“Bless me father for I have sinned……Errrh…I don’t remember when my last confession was.”
A pregnant silence prevailed. The priest looked and me and said,
“My cchi….lddd…( a sigh and then silence)…The devil is with you.”
My face beamed. The priest had said the truth.
“Ya, I am kneeling near a devil itself,” thought I.
The priest breaking his silence asked,
“Why didn’t you go for confession all these years?”
Very politely and humbly I whispered,
“I believe in telling God straight, Father.”
Now the priest glanced at me and looking straight into my face( It was then I noticed he had a couple of days old beard with a teeny- weenie nose and eyes ready to pop out from his sockets) said,
“The precepts of the church say that you should confess to a priest at least once a year.”
Was he harsh in his tone??? Still not fearing I looked right into his eyes (While teaching us “The Ballad of East and West” by Rudyard Kipling, Mini teacher had told us that if two people are looking at each other, the person who lowered his eyes first was a coward.). I wanted to prove that I was not a coward.
“Ohhh, that is all man- made, father. Did God ever give the precepts of the church???”
There was another minute of silence. Did he want to give me a tight slap or at least scratch my face for being irritating??? I guess he wanted to do so as he did not have an answer to give me.
He then asked me where my parents were, what they were doing, what my siblings were doing and so on. And then he asked,
“Why did you come for confession, my child, when you don’t believe in it?”
I couldn’t tolerate the priest calling me a “child” when I was already a teenager.
“Sr. Monica forced me to come for confession,” pat came my reply.
“You don’t have to confess if you don’t believe in it,” the priest deeply sighed
I stood up, looked at him and gave him my sweetest smile…. the smile of triumphant Caesar. I had my way out. While I was beginning to leave the priest asked,
“Are you into any kind of affair?”
I shook my head in a very confusing manner. It was left to the priest to make his own guess. What a question to ask a teenager!!!!!!
I gave the priest another smile and walked out of the confessional.
I think I enlightened the priest. He was making the process of confessions go faster. I think he told the boarding mistress not to compel the students to go for confessions. After that we were never forced to make our confession.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
My First Poem
This happened when I was a very little girl. I may have 6 or 7 years old then. I remember that it was a rainy day and I was looking out of the door. I was watching the rains falling on a red rose. My eyes were fixed to that flower. I felt that the rose was in deep pain as it was bending so low with the weight of the raindrops on it. I felt the rose would feel the pain. I had earlier seen that a kind of fluid came out when I used to pluck roses. For me it was the blood of the rose plant. I thought I was very cruel to hurt the plant.
This thought kept coming to my mind. I sat near the door and wrote a little poem with my limited vocabulary. It was a little poem on the pain of the plant and flower. I very happily showed the poem my Mum. She read it and laughed and so did my brothers and an uncle of mine. They teased me so much that I went to the toilet and cried. (My ego couldn’t let me cry in front of them.) They kept teasing me over the years and still do tease me when the topic of authors or poets come up.
I cannot tell you the extent of my humiliation I went through. I wanted to run and bury my head in the sand and die there. I did not want to face any of the people who read the poem. I thought I had written something bad. I decided never to write again. At times thoughts came to my mind and I did put it in writing but I made sure that no one read it. I used to write it in my personal diaries which were always under lock and key.
I always think that it was very wrong on my mother’s part to laugh at that little poem of mine. Did she ever think of the trauma that I went through???? Did I ever have the talent to write or was it nipped off at the very bud stage itself???? I don’t know…..
Till date I have never given the link of my blog to any of my siblings or to my family or to any person who knows me personally. That hurt that was inflicted on me hasn’t healed so far. Every time I think of it tears well up in my eyes. There are certain things in one’s life which can never be forgotten how ever hard you try to forget. The humiliation and hurt that I got from my first poem will remain in my mind as long as I live.
This thought kept coming to my mind. I sat near the door and wrote a little poem with my limited vocabulary. It was a little poem on the pain of the plant and flower. I very happily showed the poem my Mum. She read it and laughed and so did my brothers and an uncle of mine. They teased me so much that I went to the toilet and cried. (My ego couldn’t let me cry in front of them.) They kept teasing me over the years and still do tease me when the topic of authors or poets come up.
I cannot tell you the extent of my humiliation I went through. I wanted to run and bury my head in the sand and die there. I did not want to face any of the people who read the poem. I thought I had written something bad. I decided never to write again. At times thoughts came to my mind and I did put it in writing but I made sure that no one read it. I used to write it in my personal diaries which were always under lock and key.
I always think that it was very wrong on my mother’s part to laugh at that little poem of mine. Did she ever think of the trauma that I went through???? Did I ever have the talent to write or was it nipped off at the very bud stage itself???? I don’t know…..
Till date I have never given the link of my blog to any of my siblings or to my family or to any person who knows me personally. That hurt that was inflicted on me hasn’t healed so far. Every time I think of it tears well up in my eyes. There are certain things in one’s life which can never be forgotten how ever hard you try to forget. The humiliation and hurt that I got from my first poem will remain in my mind as long as I live.
Monday, September 27, 2010
This is life
I am disturbed ever since morning. From the time I opened my eyes I was in a disturbed state of mind. I some how managed to dress up and go to work. As I wasn’t keeping well I decided I would use the public transport. I boarded a KSRTC bus from my place but to my bad luck I couldn’t find a place to rest my bottom. I was standing trying to balance myself on speeding bus along the potholed roads. I was swaying forward and backward and occasionally towards my right and left and every time I changed position my heavy bag was hitting a woman who was sitting on a seat. With my left hand clutching to a seat and my right hand on the handrail, at the slightest jerk of the bus, my bag oscillated at a speed twice to that of the jerk.
I did not realize that my bag was being a nuisance to the lady until I heard her grumble,
“Oru 50 kilo yumayi angi kayarikolum….manushayare minakeduthan. Bag angu mati pidikke.” [“will get in with a 50 kilogramme bag to trouble people. Keep that bag away”]
There was no use charging at the already ‘angry bull’. Silence is golden thought I. I made sure that the bag was never to hit the lady again. It was then I noticed the lady sitting on that seat. She looked as though she was in her early sixties – a dark woman very shabbily dressed. She was wearing a deep purple blouse and a off-white mundu had already turned light brown due to the absence of washing. She had a piece of the set covering her head. Her arms, wrist and fingers were also covered with that piece of cloth. She was a poverty stricken woman and that was very clear from her physical appearance.
I started giving her occasional looks. It was then I realized that she was a leper. She fingers were just stubs. She had red patches near her fingers. I felt a chill going down my spine. My entire body was numb. I could feel the blood draining out of my face. I cannot explain the feelings that went through my mind. I felt my head reeling. I had touched the place where she had touched. My bag was falling on her. My chest was feeling heavy. Was I choking or was there a blank out????? I am not sure. I moved out from that place and stood in another place. I did not look at her again. I somehow reached my work place and washed all the areas that were exposed.
I felt giddy the whole day. I had a very bad headache and wanted to vomit. I couldn’t concentrate on what I was doing. I took a half day leave and got back home. I did not have my lunch as nothing went down my throat. Her fingers and the red patches were coming to my mind.
I realized that I was a very rude person. I show my love and sympathy to animals, How come when it came to a human being I reacted this way????? I realized that I was a hypocrite. I cannot practice what I preach. This is life!!!!
I did not realize that my bag was being a nuisance to the lady until I heard her grumble,
“Oru 50 kilo yumayi angi kayarikolum….manushayare minakeduthan. Bag angu mati pidikke.” [“will get in with a 50 kilogramme bag to trouble people. Keep that bag away”]
There was no use charging at the already ‘angry bull’. Silence is golden thought I. I made sure that the bag was never to hit the lady again. It was then I noticed the lady sitting on that seat. She looked as though she was in her early sixties – a dark woman very shabbily dressed. She was wearing a deep purple blouse and a off-white mundu had already turned light brown due to the absence of washing. She had a piece of the set covering her head. Her arms, wrist and fingers were also covered with that piece of cloth. She was a poverty stricken woman and that was very clear from her physical appearance.
I started giving her occasional looks. It was then I realized that she was a leper. She fingers were just stubs. She had red patches near her fingers. I felt a chill going down my spine. My entire body was numb. I could feel the blood draining out of my face. I cannot explain the feelings that went through my mind. I felt my head reeling. I had touched the place where she had touched. My bag was falling on her. My chest was feeling heavy. Was I choking or was there a blank out????? I am not sure. I moved out from that place and stood in another place. I did not look at her again. I somehow reached my work place and washed all the areas that were exposed.
I felt giddy the whole day. I had a very bad headache and wanted to vomit. I couldn’t concentrate on what I was doing. I took a half day leave and got back home. I did not have my lunch as nothing went down my throat. Her fingers and the red patches were coming to my mind.
I realized that I was a very rude person. I show my love and sympathy to animals, How come when it came to a human being I reacted this way????? I realized that I was a hypocrite. I cannot practice what I preach. This is life!!!!
Friday, September 24, 2010
There is a time for everything
These are my favourite lines
To everything there is a season, and
a time to every purpose under heaven:
A time to be born, and
a time to die;
a time to plant, and
a time to pluck up
that which is planted;
A time to kill, and
a time to heal;
a time to break down, and
a time to build up;
A time to weep, and
a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and
a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and
a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and
a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and
a time to lose;
a time to keep, and
a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and
a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and
a time to speak;
A time to love, and
a time to hate;
a time of war; and
a time of peace.
To everything there is a season, and
a time to every purpose under heaven:
A time to be born, and
a time to die;
a time to plant, and
a time to pluck up
that which is planted;
A time to kill, and
a time to heal;
a time to break down, and
a time to build up;
A time to weep, and
a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and
a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and
a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and
a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and
a time to lose;
a time to keep, and
a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and
a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and
a time to speak;
A time to love, and
a time to hate;
a time of war; and
a time of peace.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
The 5th of September
Today is September 5th…..Teachers’ Day. My students gave me a little bouquet and a card yesterday. Though I accepted it and thanked my students, I pondered for a while…. Am I really fit for this job? This was a profession which I thought that I would never go into. I was totally unfocused and never knew which profession to follow even after my Post Graduation. I had an array of professions in front of me. Not knowing what to do and listening to my husband’s ‘valuable advice’ I came into this profession. I keep cursing myself for coming into this because I was and am never a good teacher. If given an opportunity I would be ready to leave this and choose another profession or opt for voluntary retirement. Wrapping the five and a half meter cloth and standing in front of students is such a boring affair. In order to teach for an hour one has to prepare at least for two hours. If I have a doubt I’ll have to search it in the net. I have to keep myself updated. Though I love doing this, I hate to stand in front of students to teach.
Before coming into teaching I had at least a dozen of other ambitions. I can remember going to the hospital quite often when I was a little girl. I would open my mouth in awe at the nurses. Their spotless, crisp white blouse, their white knee length skirt, their knee length stockings, white shoes and the nurses’ cap attracted me to no end. I have had a fascination for good clothes and an ego to hurt all those who hurt me in thoughts, words or deeds. I liked their cheerful disposition. I was scared of injections. I wanted to wear their dress and “poke” everyone who irritated me. This was my very first ambition. For three years I wanted to be a nurse.
My next ambition was to be a bus conductor. Oh God!!!! How I loved it!!!!! I loved the tickets of various hues, their small leather bag under their armpit and the steel whistle of the conductor. I made it a point to collect these tickets from the road side when ever I went out alone. I would carefully collected it from the roadside as I walked along. By the time I finished walking a kilometer I would have had at least around 20-25 tickets. I never dared to show it to my Mum or to my siblings as they were ‘sneakers’ and my Mum totally discouraged my picking up waste materials from the roadside. I would pretend to be a conductor when I was alone by issuing tickets to my dolls. I would blow the red whistle at regular intervals. I remember my brother telling me that only men could become conductors and I told him that I would at least marry a bus conductor when I became big.
I don’t know when I lost my interest in conductors. My ambition was transformed from a conductor to a district collector. I thought it was an easy profession and that I would qualify the civil service examination with the ease of passing the second standard!!!!
By the time I had reached my 9th standard I wanted to be a hair dresser. I thought that was the best profession to follow. I would assume myself to be the hair stylist and using a pair of scissors from the dissection box I would go on cutting in the air. I cannot explain the joy I received from it. I still remember the day when my ICSE results were announced…. The headmistress asked me what I was planning to do and I confidently said that I wanted to become a hair dresser. She was shocked. She said I had to do my degree before I thought of becoming one. I lost that interest when Mum told me that it was such a “dirty” profession as I would have to wax other peoples’ legs and armpits. With that, my dreams of becoming a hair dresser disappeared into the thin air.
Then the lawyer profession attracted me. As I mentioned earlier I was always fascinated by good clothes. The court dress - the black robe, their white frilled collar and every thing in them attracted me. I imagined myself of becoming a lawyer and then becoming a judge. I also pictured myself in the wig and the gavel in my hand calling out “order, order”, sitting in front of the blindfolded Lady Justice with a scale and a sword. I have only seen lawyers near the Vanchiyoor court. I continued this dream until I completed my Pre-degree. I wanted to go for Law and so did my friend. My Mum strongly protested against my idea of joining the Law College.
The explanation she gave me was
“Ninte koottu shari alla. Pokan pattilla.” (“Your friends are not good. You cannot go.”)
No amount of tears would move her. I tried my tears, my threatening that I would discontinue my studies and everything possible. Nothing made my Mum soft. I tried arguing with her and she said that it would be difficult for me to deal with clients as I had a language problem. She asked me take up English Literature for my degree as it had a good scope. I refused to listen to her and took up a subject in which I had no interest just to irritate her. I lost all interest in my studies. I joined college politics. I contested in college union elections and this led to my downward trend in my studies. I would justify my declining interest in studies by saying that to end up in someone’s kitchen I did not need a B.A degree.
By the time I completed my BA I developed a liking for MBA. I joined Brillance College in Chennai (then Madras) for CAT entrance coaching. I was aiming IIMs but did not even qualify for the MBA course at Cochin University. My fat hopes of sitting in a revolving chair with my own PA and bossing over people were dashed. I had to join for my PG at a very reputed institution in Trivandrum. Most of my classmates were rank holders from other universities. I detested going to college as I couldn’t get along with those brainy people with very little human feelings. They were obsessed with books and marks whereas I was more interested in enjoying life. When life became miserable I stopped going to college. I was more like a Mahabali in college. If Mahabali visited his people once a year, I visited my college a bit more frequently…twice a month.
By the time I was doing my PG, I completely lost interest in my studies due to personal reasons. I just wanted a job. I was willing to do any job. All that I wanted was enough money to buy two packets of Maggi Noodles everyday. I never thought about the expenses I would have to incur when I lived alone. I dreamt of taking a flat on rent in Bangalore and living alone with no one to disturb me. I just wanted Rs.500 for my expenses every month. I was willing to do any work from a receptionist to a sales girl. I realized these were only dreams which would never materialize. As soon as my PG examinations were over I got married and that was the end of my dreams of living alone and eating Maggi noodles.
It was only after my marriage that I even thought of the teaching profession. Every one told me that it was a noble profession and that a teacher got a lot of respect from the society. Finally I did my B.Ed and became a teacher. Only after I became a teacher I realized that it was not at all an easy profession to follow. A teacher has to take a lot of care of one’s behaviour, dressing, in dealing with people and a whole lot of other things. I started hating the profession. With my ‘no care’ attitude it was difficult for me to face my students. I had to sacrifice my midis, frocks, jeans and pants. I had to keep wearing a sari day after day, month after month and year after year. Even at home I have to be careful about my dress code. A teacher is likely to bump into a student even when he/she is in town or out of station. I have had a number of occasions where I felt very awkward when I met my old students.
A couple of years back I went to Veegaland. I was confident that I would not bump into any of my students. I was in the wave pool happily playing in the water. While coming out of the water I saw someone smiling at me. I couldn’t recognize him. He walked up to me and looked at me from top to bottom and said,
“Good evening teacher” and then continued,
“Xina teacher ale?” (“Are you Xina teacher?”)
The call “teacher” made me shudder. Is he my student? I am standing there wearing a lycra tights and a t-shirt completely drenched in water.
“Athe.”….Then looking at him puzzled, I asked “Ara? Manasilayillelo.” (“Yes.” “I cannot recognize you”)
He told me his name and I immediately recognized him. He was an old student of mine. It seems he is a teacher and has brought his students for a trip to the amusement park. Not even in my wildest dream did I imagine to meet someone I knew in a distant place. That was and is still a big problem of being into the teaching profession and the biggest problem is everywhere you will find someone who knows you. I have lost my privacy. I have lost my freedom. I have lost my patience.
This morning an old student of mine rang me up to wish me. He makes it a point to call me and wish me on my birthday, on Teachers’ day, on Christmas, Onam and Easter. He also rings up to get my blessings before he does something. How did I influence him? Was I a guide to him? Or did I inspire him? Or did I discipline him? I don’t think I ever did any of these things to him.
I took a resolution this morning that I should try to love this profession, instead of brooding. Let me see if I can love my students, guide and inspire them. I guess I will be able to do it. Let us wait and see.
Before coming into teaching I had at least a dozen of other ambitions. I can remember going to the hospital quite often when I was a little girl. I would open my mouth in awe at the nurses. Their spotless, crisp white blouse, their white knee length skirt, their knee length stockings, white shoes and the nurses’ cap attracted me to no end. I have had a fascination for good clothes and an ego to hurt all those who hurt me in thoughts, words or deeds. I liked their cheerful disposition. I was scared of injections. I wanted to wear their dress and “poke” everyone who irritated me. This was my very first ambition. For three years I wanted to be a nurse.
My next ambition was to be a bus conductor. Oh God!!!! How I loved it!!!!! I loved the tickets of various hues, their small leather bag under their armpit and the steel whistle of the conductor. I made it a point to collect these tickets from the road side when ever I went out alone. I would carefully collected it from the roadside as I walked along. By the time I finished walking a kilometer I would have had at least around 20-25 tickets. I never dared to show it to my Mum or to my siblings as they were ‘sneakers’ and my Mum totally discouraged my picking up waste materials from the roadside. I would pretend to be a conductor when I was alone by issuing tickets to my dolls. I would blow the red whistle at regular intervals. I remember my brother telling me that only men could become conductors and I told him that I would at least marry a bus conductor when I became big.
I don’t know when I lost my interest in conductors. My ambition was transformed from a conductor to a district collector. I thought it was an easy profession and that I would qualify the civil service examination with the ease of passing the second standard!!!!
By the time I had reached my 9th standard I wanted to be a hair dresser. I thought that was the best profession to follow. I would assume myself to be the hair stylist and using a pair of scissors from the dissection box I would go on cutting in the air. I cannot explain the joy I received from it. I still remember the day when my ICSE results were announced…. The headmistress asked me what I was planning to do and I confidently said that I wanted to become a hair dresser. She was shocked. She said I had to do my degree before I thought of becoming one. I lost that interest when Mum told me that it was such a “dirty” profession as I would have to wax other peoples’ legs and armpits. With that, my dreams of becoming a hair dresser disappeared into the thin air.
Then the lawyer profession attracted me. As I mentioned earlier I was always fascinated by good clothes. The court dress - the black robe, their white frilled collar and every thing in them attracted me. I imagined myself of becoming a lawyer and then becoming a judge. I also pictured myself in the wig and the gavel in my hand calling out “order, order”, sitting in front of the blindfolded Lady Justice with a scale and a sword. I have only seen lawyers near the Vanchiyoor court. I continued this dream until I completed my Pre-degree. I wanted to go for Law and so did my friend. My Mum strongly protested against my idea of joining the Law College.
The explanation she gave me was
“Ninte koottu shari alla. Pokan pattilla.” (“Your friends are not good. You cannot go.”)
No amount of tears would move her. I tried my tears, my threatening that I would discontinue my studies and everything possible. Nothing made my Mum soft. I tried arguing with her and she said that it would be difficult for me to deal with clients as I had a language problem. She asked me take up English Literature for my degree as it had a good scope. I refused to listen to her and took up a subject in which I had no interest just to irritate her. I lost all interest in my studies. I joined college politics. I contested in college union elections and this led to my downward trend in my studies. I would justify my declining interest in studies by saying that to end up in someone’s kitchen I did not need a B.A degree.
By the time I completed my BA I developed a liking for MBA. I joined Brillance College in Chennai (then Madras) for CAT entrance coaching. I was aiming IIMs but did not even qualify for the MBA course at Cochin University. My fat hopes of sitting in a revolving chair with my own PA and bossing over people were dashed. I had to join for my PG at a very reputed institution in Trivandrum. Most of my classmates were rank holders from other universities. I detested going to college as I couldn’t get along with those brainy people with very little human feelings. They were obsessed with books and marks whereas I was more interested in enjoying life. When life became miserable I stopped going to college. I was more like a Mahabali in college. If Mahabali visited his people once a year, I visited my college a bit more frequently…twice a month.
By the time I was doing my PG, I completely lost interest in my studies due to personal reasons. I just wanted a job. I was willing to do any job. All that I wanted was enough money to buy two packets of Maggi Noodles everyday. I never thought about the expenses I would have to incur when I lived alone. I dreamt of taking a flat on rent in Bangalore and living alone with no one to disturb me. I just wanted Rs.500 for my expenses every month. I was willing to do any work from a receptionist to a sales girl. I realized these were only dreams which would never materialize. As soon as my PG examinations were over I got married and that was the end of my dreams of living alone and eating Maggi noodles.
It was only after my marriage that I even thought of the teaching profession. Every one told me that it was a noble profession and that a teacher got a lot of respect from the society. Finally I did my B.Ed and became a teacher. Only after I became a teacher I realized that it was not at all an easy profession to follow. A teacher has to take a lot of care of one’s behaviour, dressing, in dealing with people and a whole lot of other things. I started hating the profession. With my ‘no care’ attitude it was difficult for me to face my students. I had to sacrifice my midis, frocks, jeans and pants. I had to keep wearing a sari day after day, month after month and year after year. Even at home I have to be careful about my dress code. A teacher is likely to bump into a student even when he/she is in town or out of station. I have had a number of occasions where I felt very awkward when I met my old students.
A couple of years back I went to Veegaland. I was confident that I would not bump into any of my students. I was in the wave pool happily playing in the water. While coming out of the water I saw someone smiling at me. I couldn’t recognize him. He walked up to me and looked at me from top to bottom and said,
“Good evening teacher” and then continued,
“Xina teacher ale?” (“Are you Xina teacher?”)
The call “teacher” made me shudder. Is he my student? I am standing there wearing a lycra tights and a t-shirt completely drenched in water.
“Athe.”….Then looking at him puzzled, I asked “Ara? Manasilayillelo.” (“Yes.” “I cannot recognize you”)
He told me his name and I immediately recognized him. He was an old student of mine. It seems he is a teacher and has brought his students for a trip to the amusement park. Not even in my wildest dream did I imagine to meet someone I knew in a distant place. That was and is still a big problem of being into the teaching profession and the biggest problem is everywhere you will find someone who knows you. I have lost my privacy. I have lost my freedom. I have lost my patience.
This morning an old student of mine rang me up to wish me. He makes it a point to call me and wish me on my birthday, on Teachers’ day, on Christmas, Onam and Easter. He also rings up to get my blessings before he does something. How did I influence him? Was I a guide to him? Or did I inspire him? Or did I discipline him? I don’t think I ever did any of these things to him.
I took a resolution this morning that I should try to love this profession, instead of brooding. Let me see if I can love my students, guide and inspire them. I guess I will be able to do it. Let us wait and see.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Lessons in Life
"I've learned that you cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved. The rest is up to them.
I've learned that no matter how much I care, some people just don't care back.
I've learned that just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.
I've learned that it takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it.
I've learned that it's not what you have in your life but who you have in your life that counts.
I've learned that you can get by on charm for about fifteen minutes. After that, you'd better know something.
I've learned that you shouldn't compare yourself to the best others can do but to the best you can do.
I've learned that it's not what happens to people that's important. It's what they do about it.
I've learned that you can do something in an instant that will give you heartache for life.
I've learned that no matter how thin you slice it, there are always two sides.
I've learned that it's taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.
I've learned that it's a lot easier to react than it is to think.
I've learned that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you see them.
I've learned that you can keep going long after you think you can't.
I've learned that we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.
I've learned that either you control your attitude or it controls you.
I've learned that regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there had better be something else to take its place.
I've learned that heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.
I've learned that learning to forgive takes practice.
I've learned that there are people who love you dearly, but just don't know how to show it.
I've learned that money is a lousy way of keeping score.
I've learned that my best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have the best time.
I've learned that sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you're down will be the ones to help you get back up.
I've learned that sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn't give me the right to be cruel.
I've learned that true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance. Same goes for true love.
I've learned that maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you've had and what you've learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you've celebrated.
I've learned that you should never tell a child their dreams are unlikely or outlandish. Few things are more humiliating, and what a tragedy it would be if they believed it.
I've learned that your family won't always be there for you. It may seem funny, but people you aren't related to can take care of you and love you and teach you to trust people again. Families aren't biological.
I've learned that no matter how good a friend is, they're going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.
I've learned that it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others. Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.
I've learned that no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't stop for your grief.
I've learned that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become.
I've learned that sometimes when my friends fight, I'm forced to choose sides even when I don't want to.
I've learned that just because two people argue, it doesn't mean they don't love each other. And just because they don't argue, it doesn't mean they do.
I've learned that sometimes you have to put the individual ahead of their actions.
I've learned that we don't have to change friends if we understand that friends change.
I've learned that you shouldn't be so eager to find out a secret. It could change your life forever.
I've learned that two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different.
I've learned that no matter how you try to protect your children, they will eventually get hurt and you will hurt in the process.
I've learned that there are many ways of falling and staying in love.
I've learned that no matter the consequences, those who are honest with themselves get farther in life.
I've learned that no matter how many friends you have, if you are their pillar you will feel lonely and lost at the times you need them most.
I've learned that your life can be changed in a matter of hours by people who don't even know you.
I've learned that even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out to you, you will find the strength to help.
I've learned that writing, as well as talking, can ease emotional pains.
I've learned that the paradigm we live in is not all that is offered to us.
I've learned that credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being.
I've learned that the people you care most about in life are taken from you too soon.
I've learned that although the word "love" can have many different meaning, it loses value when overly used.
I've learned that it's hard to determine where to draw the line between being nice and not hurting people's feelings and standing up for what you believe.
I’ve leaned that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may
be the last time you see them.
I’ve have learned that the people we care about most in life are sometimes
taken from you too soon."
These quotes are something that is really meaningful in my life
I've learned that no matter how much I care, some people just don't care back.
I've learned that just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.
I've learned that it takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it.
I've learned that it's not what you have in your life but who you have in your life that counts.
I've learned that you can get by on charm for about fifteen minutes. After that, you'd better know something.
I've learned that you shouldn't compare yourself to the best others can do but to the best you can do.
I've learned that it's not what happens to people that's important. It's what they do about it.
I've learned that you can do something in an instant that will give you heartache for life.
I've learned that no matter how thin you slice it, there are always two sides.
I've learned that it's taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.
I've learned that it's a lot easier to react than it is to think.
I've learned that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you see them.
I've learned that you can keep going long after you think you can't.
I've learned that we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.
I've learned that either you control your attitude or it controls you.
I've learned that regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there had better be something else to take its place.
I've learned that heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.
I've learned that learning to forgive takes practice.
I've learned that there are people who love you dearly, but just don't know how to show it.
I've learned that money is a lousy way of keeping score.
I've learned that my best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have the best time.
I've learned that sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you're down will be the ones to help you get back up.
I've learned that sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn't give me the right to be cruel.
I've learned that true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance. Same goes for true love.
I've learned that maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you've had and what you've learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you've celebrated.
I've learned that you should never tell a child their dreams are unlikely or outlandish. Few things are more humiliating, and what a tragedy it would be if they believed it.
I've learned that your family won't always be there for you. It may seem funny, but people you aren't related to can take care of you and love you and teach you to trust people again. Families aren't biological.
I've learned that no matter how good a friend is, they're going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.
I've learned that it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others. Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.
I've learned that no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't stop for your grief.
I've learned that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become.
I've learned that sometimes when my friends fight, I'm forced to choose sides even when I don't want to.
I've learned that just because two people argue, it doesn't mean they don't love each other. And just because they don't argue, it doesn't mean they do.
I've learned that sometimes you have to put the individual ahead of their actions.
I've learned that we don't have to change friends if we understand that friends change.
I've learned that you shouldn't be so eager to find out a secret. It could change your life forever.
I've learned that two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different.
I've learned that no matter how you try to protect your children, they will eventually get hurt and you will hurt in the process.
I've learned that there are many ways of falling and staying in love.
I've learned that no matter the consequences, those who are honest with themselves get farther in life.
I've learned that no matter how many friends you have, if you are their pillar you will feel lonely and lost at the times you need them most.
I've learned that your life can be changed in a matter of hours by people who don't even know you.
I've learned that even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out to you, you will find the strength to help.
I've learned that writing, as well as talking, can ease emotional pains.
I've learned that the paradigm we live in is not all that is offered to us.
I've learned that credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being.
I've learned that the people you care most about in life are taken from you too soon.
I've learned that although the word "love" can have many different meaning, it loses value when overly used.
I've learned that it's hard to determine where to draw the line between being nice and not hurting people's feelings and standing up for what you believe.
I’ve leaned that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may
be the last time you see them.
I’ve have learned that the people we care about most in life are sometimes
taken from you too soon."
These quotes are something that is really meaningful in my life
Friday, August 20, 2010
May her soul rest in peace.
Paskaria, fondly called Pakku, was our servant for a pretty long period. She was an elderly lady with jet black hair, a long face with a beak- like nose and squint eyes. She had wrinkled skin with warts - big and small all over her face. Her mouth was out of proportion. She had a wide mouth tilted to her left side. Her lower lip protruded out and tilted to the right side. In all she looked more like a witch rather than a human being and little kids were scared of her. She was slightly eccentric. She would talk to herself, laugh unnecessarily to herself. But one was never to ask her age as she was 50years old for over 10 years!!!
Pakku was mainly employed for outside work. As our courtyard was quite big and had full of trees, it had to be swept daily. This was the main work of Pakku. Another work that she had was to pound rice daily. Even that was a difficult job. Raw rice had to be washed and soaked in water for at least four to five hours before it was pounded. On a pounding stone she would use a wooden pole with metal base on both sides. Pakku performed the task dexterously. She would then heat the rice powder and keep stirring until the fragrance spread all over the house.
Pakku was never allowed into the dining area. Though she entered the kitchen, she was not allowed to cook. I think she knew how to cook but somehow she was never allowed to do so. At times she could be seen peeling onions for the cook. The main reason was that she was very unhygienic. She had to be forced to bathe. Her clothes were always dirty. Though she washed her clothes it was were always stained and never looked clean. She always wore the old clothes that her daughter gave her. All the new clothes that we gave her went to her daughter. She had the habit of sleeping with a broom [used to remind me of the witches with broomsticks]
Our Pakku had the habit of flicking things. She would take all the things that her daughter needed. It could be washing powder or soap, or rice or things of daily needs. But she never took anything costly with her. Once I lost a gold chain. I had put it in my skirt’s pocket not realizing that there was a hole in it. I had lost hopes of finding it. The next day Pakku came with the chain and said it was lying with the onions. I felt so grateful to her. It was then I realized that she took things because of abject poverty. She just didn’t want to see her daughter and grand children starve.
Pakku was an unmarried mother (grandmother too). Her daughter was an illegitimate child of Pakku’s brother-in-law. It is heard that the brother-in-aw had many illegitimate children from many women. Pakku adored the father of her child. She held him in high esteem since he was a soldier in the Indian Army. It was a general saying that soldiers, policemen and drivers had wives wherever they worked. So true to the old saying this man lived. When asked about this man Pakku would blush and evade all questions. At times she would just smile.
Pakku was a fifth standard dropout. She used to keep reciting the poems that she had learnt in school (from her Malayala Padavaali). She knew a little bit of English but the words she understood were all wrong. She had the habit of eavesdropping and would reply to our conversation. At times she would laugh unnecessarily at our English conversations.
One incident that keeps coming to my mind is her laughing at our conversation. At lunch time we were discussing about kidney. We heard her burst out laughing. When asked why she was laughing she said,
“Eniku ariyam kidney entha enu.” [I know what a kidney is]
When asked her she started blushing. We knew she had something else in mind. We kept asking her. She came with the most absurd answer. According to her a kidney was where babies were made. We laughed our hearts out that day. Even when we tried to make her understand she couldn’t agree. She thought we were teasing her. Poor soul!!!
She was a very loving lady and she liked children very much. But most of the kids in the family were scared of her witch-like looks. Mothers would tell their children that those who misbehaved were Pakku’s children. My daughter got along with Pakku well. She would go and sit on Pakku’s lap and listen to her stories when she was a very little girl.
She left our house when she became too old. Still she could be seen going for mass, talking and giggling to herself. Once I met her and she told me that she a twig had hit her eye and she was blinded. Then I heard she was bed ridden. She died due to old age four years back. I still miss her giggles, her ‘interpretations’ to English words and her pounded rice powder. May Pakku’s soul rest in peace.
Pakku was mainly employed for outside work. As our courtyard was quite big and had full of trees, it had to be swept daily. This was the main work of Pakku. Another work that she had was to pound rice daily. Even that was a difficult job. Raw rice had to be washed and soaked in water for at least four to five hours before it was pounded. On a pounding stone she would use a wooden pole with metal base on both sides. Pakku performed the task dexterously. She would then heat the rice powder and keep stirring until the fragrance spread all over the house.
Pakku was never allowed into the dining area. Though she entered the kitchen, she was not allowed to cook. I think she knew how to cook but somehow she was never allowed to do so. At times she could be seen peeling onions for the cook. The main reason was that she was very unhygienic. She had to be forced to bathe. Her clothes were always dirty. Though she washed her clothes it was were always stained and never looked clean. She always wore the old clothes that her daughter gave her. All the new clothes that we gave her went to her daughter. She had the habit of sleeping with a broom [used to remind me of the witches with broomsticks]
Our Pakku had the habit of flicking things. She would take all the things that her daughter needed. It could be washing powder or soap, or rice or things of daily needs. But she never took anything costly with her. Once I lost a gold chain. I had put it in my skirt’s pocket not realizing that there was a hole in it. I had lost hopes of finding it. The next day Pakku came with the chain and said it was lying with the onions. I felt so grateful to her. It was then I realized that she took things because of abject poverty. She just didn’t want to see her daughter and grand children starve.
Pakku was an unmarried mother (grandmother too). Her daughter was an illegitimate child of Pakku’s brother-in-law. It is heard that the brother-in-aw had many illegitimate children from many women. Pakku adored the father of her child. She held him in high esteem since he was a soldier in the Indian Army. It was a general saying that soldiers, policemen and drivers had wives wherever they worked. So true to the old saying this man lived. When asked about this man Pakku would blush and evade all questions. At times she would just smile.
Pakku was a fifth standard dropout. She used to keep reciting the poems that she had learnt in school (from her Malayala Padavaali). She knew a little bit of English but the words she understood were all wrong. She had the habit of eavesdropping and would reply to our conversation. At times she would laugh unnecessarily at our English conversations.
One incident that keeps coming to my mind is her laughing at our conversation. At lunch time we were discussing about kidney. We heard her burst out laughing. When asked why she was laughing she said,
“Eniku ariyam kidney entha enu.” [I know what a kidney is]
When asked her she started blushing. We knew she had something else in mind. We kept asking her. She came with the most absurd answer. According to her a kidney was where babies were made. We laughed our hearts out that day. Even when we tried to make her understand she couldn’t agree. She thought we were teasing her. Poor soul!!!
She was a very loving lady and she liked children very much. But most of the kids in the family were scared of her witch-like looks. Mothers would tell their children that those who misbehaved were Pakku’s children. My daughter got along with Pakku well. She would go and sit on Pakku’s lap and listen to her stories when she was a very little girl.
She left our house when she became too old. Still she could be seen going for mass, talking and giggling to herself. Once I met her and she told me that she a twig had hit her eye and she was blinded. Then I heard she was bed ridden. She died due to old age four years back. I still miss her giggles, her ‘interpretations’ to English words and her pounded rice powder. May Pakku’s soul rest in peace.
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