In praise of extraordinary mothers!

When I think of Amma, many thoughts come to mind. Her immense physical beauty, as a young woman, which none of us girls inherited. Her brilliance in the way she, to this day, assimilates complex ideas, and her prodigious memory. I often joke that she remembers every saree in my closet in Canada better than me. However, her most endearing quality is her generosity with everyone and especially her children. I have come to associate these traits with motherhood and am often shocked when I encounter petty, mean and competitive mothers.

Our two most poignant bonding experiences as mother and daughter, surrounded two of the most important individuals in our lives, my daughter and her beloved husband.

I was 23 when Uttara was born. During the months leading up to her birth, I stayed with Amma, having come home from Malaysia where we were then posted. In those days, my husband worked long hours and I knew no one well. So I travelled to Chennai and Amma looked after me through horrific morning sickness which was followed by a comfortable and joyful pregnancy. She made me all my favourite foods and indulged my every craving. She was a rock through my emotional highs and lows, tolerated my fierce determination to study for my Masters exams, which were days after childbirth, and took me to music lessons, so the baby would have a mother who could sing lullabies to her. She was only one present, with the medical staff, when Uttara was born and the first one to carry her. Then came post partum depression, in all its ugliness. With the onset of panic attacks and suicidal thoughts, I became reclusive and despondent. My father, a soft hearted man, who could not see his daughter suffer so, broke down. Amma stayed calm and worked hard to give my life purpose. Over several months, she talked me out of my state, with stories of real women who have triumphed over great odds. These were women from her village who had committed small acts of heroism to carve out their independence from their oppressors. Great women from the Indian freedom struggle. She recited Bharatiyar poetry and Bhaja Govindam, resorting to philosophy and “meaning of life” parables when I was really low. She read to me. Through all this she also looked after the baby with single minded devotion. I don’t know if I have ever told her this, it was not the women in her stories but she who has influenced me the most.

When I was 42 our father was diagnosed with terminal cancer. A healthy active 78 year old, who, walked 6 km a day and expressed feeling invincible, was felled down in one swell swoop when the results of an endoscopy revealed advanced stage 4 oesophageal cancer. I immediately took an indefinite leave of absence from work and flew down to be with them. A week after I landed he was admitted to the hospital for what would become a palliative stay till his passing 6 weeks later. During those 6 weeks which were wonderful and awful at the same time, I slept on the floor between my Appa’s and Amma’s beds, witnessing the extraordinary love between them and watching the evil forces of death tear him away from her. Amma and I were there together, witnessing those days and nights of Appa’s delirium, his high fevers, his painful moans and his call for a merciful end to his suffering. We had no place to go but to stay there bonded, as we helplessly watched him slip away from us. This time the roles were somewhat reversed. My sisters and I provided her succour. I had never seen Amma depressed and low until that time. She did everything in her power to care for Appa, but was dull and listless. Amma and I were the only ones present in the final moments of Appa’s passing, when he opened his eyes wide as though to take one good look at us before going motionless. The experience was utterly surreal. It took about a year for the spark to return to Amma’s eyes.

If I am a good mother it is because of you Amma, and if I am not, it is because I did not learn well enough from you. Both my sisters are better mothers (and humans) than me. I also learn from their example, every day! In praise of extraordinary mothers!

An Ode to Emmy

Emmy was our maid for as long as I can remember. Later her niece replaced her as our maid, but she worked in other homes in our colony. Although she lived elsewhere, Emmy always hung around those quarters from dawn until late, a familiar figure, her body the colour of polished teak, her hair held up in a careless, frizzy and unkempt bun and her gap tooth smile showing her rotting teeth. Over the last decade or so, Emmy's spine could not hold her up straight and she walked around hunched over. I don't ever recall Emmy sitting down. Single, she dedicated her life to raising and supporting her brother's family,bringing them all to Chennai and helping them with their education and or securing jobs. With her meagre earnings, she put at least 3 children through University, never wanting her lot of menial housework to befall them. She worked in several homes in that colony, her day jam packed with physical toil. But if you thought she would rest in her spare time, you were wrong. Early each morning, Emmy, a Christian, would pick flowers from the garden for several Hindu families so they could make floral offerings to the Gods. If we were not home, we would find a little recycled plastic bag on the door jamb with flowers. She never took a day off from this chore or any of her other paid duties. Amma often remarked that Emmy had secured a place among the Gods just for this one selfless act. She expected no payment for it. Similarly she swept all 3 floors of each of six buildings everyday. She swept the garden, turned on the motor and did gofor duties. The first word on everyone's lips, when they needed something done, was "Emmy". She loved those buildings and that colony more than any other. She guarded it with pride, maintained it as best as she could and offered unconditional physical help to helped all its denizens. She flitted around it with much pride and propriety. This was her kingdom and she it's humble and devoted servant. Every time we landed in India- Emmy would come running and with all the love in her heart utter the words " neenga ellarum kadavul Asiyoda nallairrukkanum" ( you should all be well with God's grace). Sadly, we are all well but Emmy was ill-treated and left homeless by her family, in her last years. Our families tried to intervene and help, but to not much avail. She passed away yesterday. Emmy, I am well because of your selfless blessings. Thank you for your example - your life was a job well done! Your spirit lives on in our colony in Besant Nagar, Chennai!

Honouring the needs of vulnerable women

So I came back from India all fired up with the need to help young girls and women who are molested, abused and raped. Mahalakshmi has set me on that path. I shared her story in an earlier blog. Her present whereabouts are shrouded in mystery and her mother is dying. I feel helpless and sad.

In the past I have lost momentum when everyday living has caught up with me. Not this time! Soon after I arrived I met Kirubhalini a wonderful young Master's graduate who is full of ideas and passion. She has already done some fantastic research by way of a needs assessment and provided me her recommendations. We have decided the best way to address abuse of women and girls in India is by helping them heal their wounds and find their voice and independence, rather from the perspectives of crime fighting and changing the social order. We believe that the problem primarily needs to be addressed as a women's health issue.

Our next steps are to incorporate a non profit here and to craft a vision, mission statement and objects. We will then create a web of referral networks in India linking feminist organisations which already help and support abused women. We will nurture them and enhance their capacity and visibility. Following that we mobilize through a website and social Media tools, women in the West and East who have the resources and passion to commit themselves to helping their less fortunate sisters in India.

Today I met Joanna another brilliant young woman with a policy background who proposed a model whereby we pair a woman who can help with one who needs help to bring humanity to the issue and to inspire and move women into action. That model may evolve down the road. For now we are going to keep engaging in conversations that will bring forth ideas for concrete objects that are relevant, achievable and scalable. In April, Joanna is organising a civic salon, beginning with a presentation by Kiru, and followed by a discussion that will generate ideas for action steps, including funding. These two young powerhouses will make great board members of our newly minted group. I am excited and fully charged on this International Women's day. More updates to follow. I will seek all your ideas and support in the days to come.

Adding some spice to my life

When I was in India recently I decided to keep to my diet of quinoa and lentils (moong dhal). So every morning I would measure quarter cup of quinoa and half a cup of lentils, soak them in a cup of water and then place the dish in the rice cooker. When it was done to its mouth watering consistency I would have a hard time holding out till lunch time to dig in. I needed nothing with it. No spice, no salt or even yoghurt. I could eat it plain. However to give myself a balanced meal I would have it with veggies. When I returned to Canada, I could not replicate the flavour and suddenly it dawned on me. The lentils in my mother in law's had an ever so slight flavour of camphor, either because it was stored in the prayer room where camphor was burnt or because she had rubbed a little into the container to deter critters and insects. So I took an ever so slight pinch of camphor and rubbed it into the container before emptying the dhal into it. Lo and behold that mild fragrance has given a grand kick to the banal and boring quinoa and dhal. I love the smell because I am reminded of temples and badam kheer.

This gave me an idea. Why not find ways to spice up my life, I mean food, to give the mundane some sex appeal, to minimize my use of sugar and salt, both of which overpower most foods crowding out all other flavours. So now a cinnamon stick goes into my morning tea to give it a luxurious lift, reminding me of tea garden resorts of Southern India. My morning smoothie made from a banana, nuts, sesame, prunes and anything else I can throw in receives a cardamom pod for its festive flavour. I am transported to festival days when precious cardomom, bought in small quantities wrapped in newspaper packets, was peeled, pounded and added at the very end to all homemade sweets that marked these ocassions. I add saffron to my milk complementing it further with a dash of honey and relive its association with my pregnancy when my mother took such loving care of me and insisted on this drink every day saying it was good for the baby. Ginger in my buttermilk reminds me of Ramanavami, probably the hottest summer day in Southern India when we all drank this to stay cool. A couple of cloves and some nutmeg go into my winter vegetable soups, bay leaves into my rice and dill in my dhal. I dont stop with spices for oomph, liberally adding almonds and walnuts to tossed salads, toasted sesame seeds and peanuts to stir-frys and noodles. A few pine nuts go into my spaghetti with fresh basil, garlic and oregano vitiating the need for any cheese. So don't wait for an ocassion to use your spices and mixed nuts, experiment with them to bring flavour to your life, even as you cut out salt and sugar. And try cooking the quinoa and dhal with that hint of camphor, it will do your soul and body good. Oh ya and share your ideas...

Adding some spice to my life

When I was in India recently I decided to keep to my diet of quinoa and lentils (payatham parruppu). So every morning I would measure quarter cup of quinoa and half a cup of lentils, soak them in a cup of water and then place the dish in the rice cooker. When it was done to its mouth watering consistency I would have a hard time holding out till lunch time to dig in. I needed nothing with it. No spice, no salt or even yoghurt. I could eat it plain. However to give myself a balanced meal I would have it with veggies. When I returned to Canada, I could not replicate the flavour and suddenly it dawned on me. The lentils in my mother in law's had an ever so slight flavour of camphor, either because it was stored in the prayer room where camphor was burnt or because she had rubbed a little into the container to deter critters and insects. So I took an ever so slight pinch of camphor and rubbed it into the container before emptying the dhal into it. Lo and behold that mild fragrance has given a grand kick to the banal and boring quinoa and dhal. I love the smell because I am reminded of temples and badam kheer.

This gave me an idea. Why not find ways to spice up my life, I mean food, to give the mundane some sex appeal, to minimize my use of sugar and salt, both of which overpower most foods crowding out all other flavours. So now a cinnamon stick goes into my morning tea to give it a luxurious lift, reminding me of tea garden resorts of Southern India. My morning smoothie made from a banana, nuts, sesame, prunes and anything else I can throw in receives a cardamom pod for its festive flavour. I am transported to festival days when precious cardomom, bought in small quantities wrapped in newspaper packets, was peeled, pounded and added at the very end to all homemade sweets that marked these ocassions. I add saffron to my milk complementing it further with a dash of honey and relive its association with my pregnancy when my mother took such loving care of me and insisted on this drink every day saying it was good for the baby. Ginger in my buttermilk reminds me of Ramanavami, probably the hottest summer day in Southern India when we all drank this to stay cool. A couple of cloves and some nutmeg go into my winter vegetable soups, bay leaves into my rice and dill in my dhal. I dont stop with spices for oomph, liberally adding almonds and walnuts to tossed salads, toasted sesame seeds and peanuts to stir-frys and noodles. A few pine nuts go into my spaghetti with fresh basil, garlic and oregano vitiating the need for any cheese. So don't wait for an ocassion to use your spices and mixed nuts, experiment with them to bring flavour to your life, even as you cut out salt and sugar. And try cooking the quinoa and dhal with that hint of camphor, it will do your soul and body good. Oh ya and share your ideas...

Making myself vulnerable

Late last week I had a very good session with my coach. Her opening sentence set the tone for our meeting. She told me about a recent incident in her life that was extremely personal citing it as a low point in her career. She appeared visibly shaken and perturbed - uncharacteristically so. I was curious but also wanted to help her "clear" herself and asked if she wanted to share and she did. I did not realise then how this would set me on a path of making myself more vulnerable. I just knew I felt more comfortable talking to her about a difficult problem I have on my hands.

In March I am scheduled to attend a meeting with a room full of people who do not like the direction in which my organization is headed as a social enterprise. They view me as a competitor who is not playing nice, given the contracts we are bidding on in their regions, albeit, through an open bid process. They would have me do nothing or conduct business in what they perceive as being more collaborative. I believe I have acted with integrity and have been open and transparent, although I may not have been proactive enough in reaching out to them. A recent incident confirmed their distrust and all I knew to do was to take a defensive stance. I realized then this would further entrench them in their position and me in mine and only worsen the status quo. I had to approach this meeting differently. I have to find common ground by communicating creatively or make peace with the direction we were taking and not act and feel defensive. But how?

My coach started out by exploring what I wanted to change. "Well", I said, "I want to build greater trust". "What values of yours do you want them to experience?", she asked. "Well, my honesty, passion and commitment to the greater good that these differences should transcend", I replied. She then asked that I connect with those values with my heart while we role played, with her taking on the role of one of agencies that was going to give me the cold shoulder at minimum or be downright confrontational. It was the most difficult half hour I have spent in a long time, since I could not connect with my values sufficiently to stop taking a defensive stance, which she was quick to point out. After much struggle, I intellectually ( and not experientially) hit upon the approach that was going to work. Connect with the heart without the need to prove anything. State factually without offering an opinion as to what happened and then ask questions remaining curious and in the present without wanted to "solve" anything. Just this approach would change the tone of the conversation and bring about changes that were not planned or intended. In a sense I would make myself completely vulnerable. So, as homework, I decided to try this in my everyday interactions.

My first experience was an utter failure. Here's what happened. We drove down to Pittsburgh this weekend. After visiting the temple there, we decided to have dinner at a local grill known for its Pizza. A belated valentine's day celebration of sorts. I entered the restaurant with expectation of a nice evening. We were greeted by a very unfriendly hostess who then handed us over to an equally bland faced waitress. When I changed my drink order she was visibly annoyed and for the rest of the evening she did not make eye contact with me. I was put off. I noticed then that we were the only Indians in a room full of white folks and so I was quick to jump to conclusions and mumbled to my husband "such racism". If I had practiced what I have set out to, I could have talked to the waitress, shared my experience of not feeling welcome and asked her if there was something I had done to offend and even apologized for changing my order and causing her inconvenience. Instead, I remained outraged leaving without a glance in her direction or a thank you. Making oneself vulnerable is easier said than done - even in a situation where I had more power than the person I was interacting with.

Interestingly, Bloomberg has an article in a recent issue on a young tech entrepreneur wannabe who has embarked on a social experiment to face a hundred rejections in a variety of social settings to gain a thicker hide when approaching VCs for funding. An example is one situation where he approaches a professor at his alma mater, the University of Texas, Austin, and asks if he could teach his class, only to be promptly turned down. As a collateral gain to posting his rejections on YouTube he has become a sensation with quarter million hits and growing, and a Bloomberg article. Hats off to this young man! I dont have his courage. However, I am prepared to begin with baby steps. Just to be present in every situation, authentic and truthful. Today I did better when I noticed a trigger, when interacting with my husband. I checked my impulse to act defensively and just remained curious and present. The ensuing conversation was open, interesting and fun filled. Let's see what tomorrow brings when I ask a few people I know if they would be willing to share their experience of me. In other words, what impression they have formed of me. You can share yours too! Hopefully, by the time this meeting rolls around and for evermore after that I will continue this practise to enrich my life and those of others around me so we can freely interact with each other without our egos getting in the way!

Early morning at Kapali temple

When I am in Chennai and have company to walk with me I wake up before the crack of dawn and make the pilgrimage to the Kapaleeshwarar temple. The walk through those crowded Mylapore streets is not easy even at that early hour. There are people milling about, waking up in their beds on the footpath, or setting up their vegetable or flower stalls. The roads are busy with cars and two-wheelers hurtling to beat the rush hour traffic. Its hard to find one’s footing while avoiding stepping on garbage or being run over. Nestled in this bustling corner of the city is the ancient Kapaleeshwarar temple which is said to have been built by the Pallavas in the 7th Century A.D. Kapalam means head and the temple gets its name from the legend that Brahma showed disrespect to Shiva on Mount Kailash and Shiva retaliated by plucking one of Brahma's heads (God of creation with 4 heads). However, to appease Shiva, Brahma installed a Lingam (symbol representing Lord Shiva) at this site for the “Lord of the head”, "Kapaleeshwarar". His consort Karpagambal is said to be performing a penance to restore her original feminine glory having come here as a peacock under a curse, giving this location its name as the abode of the peacock “Mylapore”. Here devotees also worship the 63 Shaivaite saints, the Nayanars, and the four Vedas. The famous Theppakulam or water tank, adjoining the temple, stands as a Chennai landmark, having purified devotees for centuries. Nowadays no one bathes in that tank but it still represents a marvel of urban planning having spawned a rich and diverse cultural community around it. Due to its location in the heartland of India's arts and cultural capital, Chennai,it has inspired scores of musicians to compose songs in its praise in the South Indian classical Carnatic music tradition.

However, it is not the legend of the place or its cultural history that fascinates me. It is just the awesomeness of walking through massive gates reaching 20 feet into the sky, that have stood for over a thousand years welcoming the millions of devotees who have passed through with a prayer on their lips, hope and joy or a plea for support and sustenance in their hearts. Within the temple's quadrants time stands still. When I walk on the ancient stones laid there by human hands I think of all the life energy that has flattened these stones underfoot. As I enter the dark inner sanctum to behold the dieties lit only with oil lamps, the musty smell assails me and evokes an experience so primeval as if I have reached into a timeless corridor abandoning my individual identity. My ego submerged, I experience a sense of oneness with the throng of devotees who strain towards the priest to place their hand over the flame that was held before the dieties, just a few seconds prior, and eagerly receive the sacred ash or vermillion that I then smear on my forehead. If I am lucky and have a hair pin I clip the flowers that I gratefully receive from the priest, to my hair. The oil lamps have stained the dark stone walls with grease and the smell of the ancient comingled with the fragrance of the incense, camphor, flowers and coconut water evoke in me feelings of intense nostalgia, so like the call of the womb. There is a sense of deja vous, of having been at this place several times before, over several births.

Shaivaite temples unlike their Vaishnavite counterparts have an austerity about them that glorifies renunciation and withdrawal of senses from worldly pleasures. As I step into the Kapali temple, and for the few moments that I spend lingering in that ancient monument I forget the commerce and activity that goes on just a few feet from that entrance and feel a quiet serenity from a merging of the past, present and future in one composite moment of stillness. I experience a suspension of time and space with no great compulsion to go anywhere, be anyone or do anything. I am content to just walk consciously placing one foot in front of the next and soaking in the energy of a live monument where the worship is sincere and the space is accessible to all - to walk about, sit in quiet contemplation, chant, sing, even rest or partake of the free food devotees distribute. In India where space has such premium, ancient monuments like the Kapali temple provide dynamic spaces that keep the community spirit alive. I go to the temple to lose myself and become one with that spirit.