Sharing some Canadiana

Canada’s 150th birthday evokes some fond memories of the land I have called home for exactly 30 years.

Some of my fondest memories of life in Canada are from the early days. This was when I divided my time between Toronto and Blind River, a little town of 3000 on the North Shore of Lake Huron. My husband moved there first to pursue a job at the Uranium Refinery, Cameco, while I completed my Masters in Toronto. Our daughter was with her grandparents in India.

I would take the Greyhound to visit him. While on the bus, I would sit by the window and stare out into the cold vastness of our new home and wonder about our decision to move here, abandoning the bustle of India and the East. I was still grappling with a new vocabulary that included snow squalls, black ice and freezing rain. Often, I would make conversation with fellow travelers and learn a little more about this land and it's polite and gentle folk. I met old women who lived by themselves and survived on frozen dinners and young folks who had not graduated school and were in dead-end construction jobs that did not get them a ticket outside of the Province let alone the country. On occasion, I would meet young folks who were grateful they had left their small towns but who travelled back for a dose of nostalgia. They would speak fondly about childhood experiences riding on a truck over the frozen lake and family trips into the bush when they snowshoed, hunted, trapped and ate wild game. I was always impressed by the sheer physicality of their life experiences in the great outdoors through long winters, and building barns, decks or even homes, laying tiles and hanging up drywall through the short summers. It appeared there was very little even those with no formal education could not do. I always enjoyed these conversations as it gave me insight into that part of Canadiana that I knew nothing about.
It was during these bus rides that I discovered cloyingly sweet butter tarts, licorice candy and corn puffs which I picked up at the pit stops and washed down with cold Sprite or luke warm bitter coffee, depending on the time of year. To this day these foods evoke fond memories of those early days getting to know a new country and it's people. Oddly, I allowed myself these indulgences only on those bus rides.

I was always excited to see my husband at the end of that 6 hour journey, which ended in Blind River around midnight. However the destination itself, being a sleepy small town with very little happening, was terribly anti-climactic. I would perk myself up with my plans to play house, cooking, cleaning and shopping at the local IGA while I was there. I would also forget about school and life outside this cocoon for the duration of my stay and just revel in the experience of being there with no purposeful action, just enjoyment of the isolation and the freedom to spend our time any way we chose. Given there was nowhere to go to in Blind River, we would drive for two hours to eat at a restaurant in a nearby town or to catch the train to go on the Algoma Trail. We would try our hand at cross country skiing in the backroad trails, swim in the waters of Lake Huron on warm summer days or try our hand at bowling. The key to our enjoyment was the absence of any agenda! Occasionally, Canadian friends would invite us over and go to great lengths to prepare us a vegetarian meal. Our friends Hal and Lise introduced us to scalloped potatoes, delicious homemade cheese pizzas with pineapple and interesting berry salads. On cold Saturday evenings we would pick up wedge fries at Wongs and watch videos, curled up under large comforters. We would watch Saturday night live and late night comedy and sleep in on Sundays. After washing down egg burji and toast with coffee on Sunday mornings, and if the cold did not freeze our tear drops, we would dress in layers and walk around town, making a trip to our cozy local library with its old books. We never found any book we were looking for but enjoyed the time browsing and hanging out as young kids of all ages cheerily researched and completed homework assignments. On these walks we would discover new side roads, admire the waterfront properties, discover tiny brooks or creeks and even parks with teeter totters and swings. We always marvelled at how house proud Canadians were, constantly working on projects to improve their homes and gardens, even in this remote corner of the country. In the winter, we would walk down to our local ice hockey arena and watch the kids skate as we drank hot chocolate, our warm breath forming shapes in the cold air. We had one movie theatre in town and would catch a late movie after.
My husband lived in a little apartment that first year and most of our neighbours were simple folks with working class roots - young single mothers barely in their teens, French Canadian construction workers who chain smoked outside showing off fit bodies in jeans and t-shirts no matter the outside temperature, and lonely old folks who appeared to have no visitors and who took a cab to go anywhere in that small town. I did not feel great envy for any of their lives and therefore no guilt over my own indulgences during these sojourns. It was only the fact that I had no timetable out of Blind River that caused me mild anxiety then.

Briefly after my Masters I lived in a basement apartment in Bloor West in Toronto. Oh how I enjoyed walking all over downtown, discovering its ethnic diversity. Then on to law school and the York University campus, where I met and mingled with some brilliant minds and learned a whole new way to approach life and learning. I became interested in grassroots work and for the past twenty years have worked building a social enterprise. I have sat at many tables alongside decision makers challenging the status quo and arguing for change. During this time I have met an incredible array of accomplished and courageous people from all over the world, each one with a unique story.
We have raised our daughter to love this country. She has learnt to play ice hockey, skate, ski, swim in the lakes and oceans, sail, kayak, hike, bike, camp and generally embrace our beautiful outdoors. She is also passionate about social justice.

What I love most about Canada is the fact that it has allowed me to maintain my cultural identity as an Indian. Fortuitously, in Toronto, where I live, there is such a proliferation of South Asian culture now that it is home away from home.
Every once in a while I think back to those early days when every experience was so unique and wonderful, when the four seasons held me spellbound and I feel immense gratitude over my accidental choice to make Canada my home!

Today's musings - June 28, 2017

Thought for today

We often wait for the perfect moment for everything, even though we know perfection is a mental projection. I remember when I was newly married I was so unaccomplished in the home making department that I was reluctant to invite people over. I could not get the house as immaculate as my neighbours and certainly had no culinary skills to speak of. I struggled trying to keep up with those who practised housekeeping and cooking as a fine art. So when a cousin of mine said they were in Singapore and planning to visit me in my little village in Malaysia I had some trepidation. But I was lonely, and so looked forward to seeing her and her husband. I rustled up a quick meal of pongal (rice cooked with lentils and spices) and a tamarind based stew (vettakozhambu) to go with it. I had yoghurt and pickles as well. We had a wonderful time together. They were famished and so ate well, chatted for a while and left. When I met them again on my previous visit to India, some 33 years later, she reminded me of that incident and told me it was a memorable meal and time for her.

We are often inhibited by our need to make a good impression and postpone writing that piece, making that speech, inviting people over or doing anything spontaneous. And yet that's our most beloved and authentic self. Those are the moments that people, whose lives we touch, cherish the most.

On the flip side, we want everything to happen when we believe the timing is right - for the perfect job, mate, deal, what have you. We order our lives with a checklist of "to dos" and when things don't go the way we want them to and we have no control over how we should make them happen, we falter and bemoan our unlucky lot. But when we think about it, we have pitted ourselves against - get this - our own selves in the form of our expectations or our image of a perfect life. Our life has become all about creating that perfect picture or image to the exclusion of all else. We know we are participating in an elaborate deception and our lives are not that image, but we helplessly persist. Maybe we should break free of these shackles and venture on that unknown path and make great discoveries. Few of us do.

And finally, no matter how well we manage our existence, life throws a kicker at us. I was reminded of this on my morning walk today. We have this adorable cocker spaniel that is brought for a walk by our neighbour. We stop to pet it always but do no more than exchange pleasantries with the owner. A man in his early seventies, ramrod straight and lean he has a gravelly voice and a Greek accent. He is the only person I have seen smoking on his walk up our hill! Anyway, we asked after his dog and found out that Dacker, the dog, is the only person his wife recognizes. I have seen her walking with him on previous occasions and remember her as being quite friendly and cheerful when we greeted her. Little did I know, she has Alzheimer's and does not even recognize her kids and their families - only that dog. The two of them had built a perfect life together, raised great kids who were successful, and then, out of nowhere, this kicker! Just when they thought they could retire, relax and travel. He is her caregiver and they don’t do much since she is not interested in and has no passion for, anything.

It was a reminder to me that life is lived through our perceptions and experiences and if there is no memory, there is nothing. On the other hand we can make those experiences rich and fulfilling by not wandering into regrets about the past or expectations about our future but being here, now, letting life unfold and by responding to each moment with joy and good cheer.

International Yoga Day 2017

The idea of international Day of Yoga was first proposed by the current Prime Minister of India, Mr. Narendra Modi during his speech at the United Nations General Assembly. When proposing 21 June, Mr. Modi said that the date was the longest day of the year in the northern hemisphere (shortest in the southern hemisphere) and had special significance in many parts of the world. The summer solstice marks the transition to Dakshinayana which is also considered a time when there is natural support for those pursuing spiritual practices. The resolution was sponsored by over 177 countries and we are in our third year of marking this day.

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/International_Yoga_Day)


Why do yoga? Why engage in spiritual pursuits?

We spend most of lives pursuing material wealth and sensual pleasures and soon find that the happiness they bring us is temporary. As soon as we get something we want, we seek out something else. However, our discontent continues. Soon we realize that we must take our mind away from objects and sense pleasures which we perceive as being outside us, and redirect our focus to our reactions to these perceived stimuli. Become a witness to our thoughts. Observe our habit patterns. Yoga in the form of asanas, pranayama and dhyana or meditation helps us focus inward and quietens our mind to bring it into a meditative state. We crave external stimuli less and less. We enjoy an elevation of our consciousness which we experience as contentment, peace, joy, well-being and a sense of unity. This unity comes from not being in a state of conflict with ourselves, between who we are and who we want to be, but from acceptance of everything exactly as it is.

But here, I am talking about yoga as it should be done – the traditional way as handed to us by our Gurus. Without effort or purpose. Not the yoga on steroids that we see practised by many commercial establishments. Yoga is not a fad. It is not about plush studios and lulu lemon tights. Although those are nice, they may bind us with thought associations of peaceful states and attachments to the material world. Success in the true yogic sense is to become egoless, to identify less with thoughts about the material aspects of the world, or with our individual identities and to experience our boundless nature. Yoga is about letting go and not holding on.

Yoga must be accessible to all and is possessed by none. Everyone can and should do yoga. It is universal, like prayer or chanting. In the truest sense yoga is not an end in itself. It may be the means to an end in a journey that is very personal.

Days, 2,3,4 - more Chennai experiences

Day 2

Had the obligatory pedicure at the nearby salon. I was tempted to have a facial but the steamer would not work. I realized this was the Universe's comment on the absurdity of my impulse given how much I was sweating! I love chatting up the girls who work hard on middle aged women's bodies, cajoling them with creams, potions, wax and sheer physical effort, to make us more presentable. I am always tickled when they pull out their range of skin lightening products and speak glowingly of the bright skin tone which will be our lot. I politely refuse, petrified of the harmful chemicals that would mutate my skin cells to make them lighter. India's fascination with light skin has spawned a multibillion dollar industry. The young girl who worked hard on my feet was from Bhutan. I searched in the deep recesses of my brain to come up with its capital city and asked if she was from Timpu? She was suitably impressed and answered in the affirmative. I was fascinated by it's status as the country with the highest levels of happiness. I had watched a movie taken by a Rinpoche called "Waiting for Heaven" set in its lush mountainous terrain. in the "magic realism" genre. There was a gentle strength and sincerity to this girl who had travelled far for her livelihood. She liked Chennai she said - heat and all. I tipped her handsomely and said I would be back before I left. Later in the evening, bearing sweets I visited 4 uncles and aunts. Their average age 85 years - 4 out of 5 live by themselves, and 2 do not even have outside help. I was happy to see them all healthy, sharp, mobile and more or less ailment free. It has to do, I am sure, with the weather, their diet and disciplined lives without any excesses.

Day 3

Went by in a blur. I decided to skip lunch as part of my observance of a fast. Not a great idea since I was hungry and tired from the 43 C temperature sapping me of what little energy I had. There was a sale of sarees at the temple and a mad rush to buy them. These had adorned the goddess just once and were now available at throwaway prices. Not to be outdone, my mom and I picked up three. Later that evening Suku and I had dinner with friends we have known all our lives. Our generous hosts tickled our palates with pickles from mangoes and limes grown in their lush garden, besides cooking up a variety of delicious mostly vegan eats- rice noodles with coconut, peas and coriander, steamed savoury rice cakes, veggies in coconut sauce and another in tomato sauce, pomegranate and peanut salad and rice with yoghurt, seasoned with mustard seeds and green chillies. For dessert we had frozen kulfi seasoned delicately with rose petals from their garden. Yum, especially following my day of fasting. I was now feasting. Nothing in moderation for me. Our conversation meandered until we ended up talking about what some amazing young folks are doing in India. One of our friends' kids has returned to Chennai after completing her PhD in Math from Columbia University in New York. She has since completed her post doc from the Math Science Institute here, has learnt to weave from local artisans, is learning to chant ancient Vedic mantras, all while working as a Math lecturer and teaching poor kids in the villages Math so they develop a love for it. Chennai is the heartland of all forms of art and culture and she has found her life's passion, to teach Math, in this place that she loves. How cool is that?! Another runs a popular online newspaper wholly financed through fundraising, on local issues that matter, simultaneously educating the public on electoral politics and encouraging civic engagement and activism. And on and on.

Day 4

I had my sister check out my teeth and took my niece out clothes shopping. We had coffee at a Starbucks. Yes there is one here!! It's odd how people, me included, will go for a brand in a city which prides itself on the quality of its world famous filter coffee. We were definitely not there for the coffee but for the Starbucks experience in our ancient city. The ambience is particularly unique since the city is still deliciously disconnected from the rest of all industrial advancement. So, sitting in a Starbucks cafe in Chennai is like stepping into the 21st Century while living in the 20th. Of course, a lot has changed with smart phones and Chennai's launch into the digital age. However, if you don't work here it still remains a throwback to a time long ago, where the thousand year old temples have throngs of ardent devotees, the street vendors and storefronts still ply their wares and time stretches at an infinity slow pace, punctuated by mealtimes when everything served is cooked from scratch! In the evening I checked out the local yoga studio, a testament to Chennai's growing modernity, to start classes soon. In the evening I helped prep veggies for an elaborate meal at home tomorrow! Bitter gourds, broad beans, cluster beans, banana tree bark, yams, sweet potatoes and cucumber for dishes which comprise 6 tastes (arusuvai) - sweet, sour, bitter, salty, astringent and pungent. Each has a function such as bringing joy (sweet), hydrating (salty), purifying blood (bitter), aiding digestion (astringent), purifying digestive tract (pungent) and stimulating hunger (sour). Our ancestors who brought Ayurveda to the world, had cracked the code on food as medicine, while not compromising taste and while actively engaging all our senses in the culinary experience. I will post the menu tomorrow!

My first day in Chennai

My first day in Chennai. I must have sweated a gallon of water. After each of my two showers I was soaked in sweat within seconds. This is not a bad thing if I stay hydrated. The brightness of the sun lifts up one's mood and everyone seems so optimistic, despite the discomfort. The traffic is heavy with everyone out in the streets enjoying their day off. Where do they all go? To the temples, the beach, amusement parks (nothing fancy), tourist stops and restaurants. The city has tourists who come here to see the ocean. There is so much on offer at temples that seniors congregate there in the evenings. Yesterday I was at the neighbourhood temple where a religious discourse on one of our ancient literary Tamil texts was in progress. The average age of audience members was 80. Which brings me to a little titbit, a lot of folks are chugging along in their 80s and 90s - a few even touching a 100. Talk about optimism - I was also stupefied by the accounts of my mother's companion, a woman who works outside, but stays with mom board free in a mutually beneficial arrangement, and her pursuit of her second year of a bachelor's degree in Tamil, through distance learning. She must be in her forties and yesterday she had travelled 2 hours each way via public transport to check out the test centre for her exam in 2 weeks. She said there were 55 of them who went out, several of them working class women pursuing a higher education with kids, full time jobs and mothers in law. Impressive!

There is a lot sickness, poverty and misery that is not immediately apparent, but there definitely is some truth to the maxim promoted by many doctors today "make life a little harder", given how well folks thrive, despite all the odds.

I ate mangoes from the in law's yard and wore a string of jasmine in my hair, from our own jasmine creeper, strung together by the help. I watched coconuts being plucked, peeled grated and added to spinach and enjoyed the pleasures of wonderful home cooking.

I spent the afternoon chatting with my sister who came over to mom's for lunch and we got caught up. I fed the brood of crows by my mom's kitchen / all of whom she spontaneously feeds and hydrates to help them cope with the heat. I went to the temple with her and at the altar a woman, another temple goer, approached me out of nowhere handed me flowers, fruits, betel leaf and nuts and said "may your auspicious wishes be granted. May you live long and happily married". (What can I say - patriarchy!) She had singled me out for this benevolence - I was touched. It was a good start to my stay here.

A cosmic connection

About 15 years ago I met a young man who had newly arrived in Canada. He was looking for a lawyer and someone introduced him to me. He was buying a house and asked if I could handle his real estate purchase. He was single and brought his parents, who were visiting, when he came over to sign documents at my home. In those days I straddled two careers, my job at MCIS and a sole practice out of my home. Very soft spoken and pleasant he was an emotionally balanced and low maintenance client. I still remember two things about him - he answered the phone with the short form of his name, which was the name of a feminine Hindu goddess. I was struck by the ease with which he identified himself with a woman's name! He also bought a house on a street which was named after the cosmos. He often called me for little things after that. But a year or so after that first encounter I did not hear from him again. His parents were in search of a suitable girl for him and even mentioned this to me. He had just one sister in the States and if he was married off, their life's work would be done, they said. The deal went through smoothly and his file like others languished among my archived files. I forgot about him until about 4 months ago. I often think about all the people who have passed through and continue to wonder what has become of them. I concluded he must have married and settled somewhere. In an exercise 6 months ago, deciding which files to keep, I had set his aside among the scan and discards. 15 years is a long time.

Then 4 months ago, a phone call from a man who identified himself as his dad. "Oh" I said, "I remember you well". In a flash, it all came back. He said "I am calling from California. My son died 2 weeks ago and I am helping his wife get his affairs in order." I was stunned. I had to sit down. So many thoughts went through my head. How is this dad able to think and act practically after such a great loss. A parallel thought was, he had been "persona non grata" till a minute ago and now the flood of memories brought out so many emotions pointing to the relative and contextual nature of all experience, in a purely Vedantic sense. Responding to my stunned silence, he continued "he had a flu and cough and called in sick on Monday because the cough had kept him awake Sunday night. We talked Monday morning, when he called me in India. A few minutes after the call he just fainted. My daughter in law called the ambulance but within half an hour in the hospital, he was gone. My daughter is a doctor, he had been in touch with her and there had been no cause for alarm. We really don't know what happened. You remember how we were looking for a girl to marry him off to? Well he got married soon after and has three children."

Fast forward to now. His wife has since been in touch as I help her navigate the system here. I have never met this girl but feel such deep compassion for her not only because of her circumstances but because of the nice person he was. Who knew the cosmos would connect us in this very strange way!

On the Red Light District in Amsterdam

I am in Amsterdam to attend a conference and my curiosity about the red light district is stoked by colleagues who have taken the tour. The city has been hailed as a success story for why weed and sex work should be legal. I joke to my husband " well in this society where sex work and weed are legal and people are still not happy they can choose assisted suicide and die, because that is legal too."

I consider myself a liberal and inclusive person. I probably should not have taken the tour given my views that follow - so I apologize in advance for my hypocrisy.

Anyway, more about the tour. The red light district as a historic relic came to be at its present location to serve sailors returning from months at sea, located as it is next to the then port. The port has now been replaced by the Centraal Station. However, the red light district continues at that location presumably to serve tourists.

We start our tour in front of a church in a cobblestone pathway. Hardly the setting for a red light district! There, on proud display, is a miniature Belle, the statue which represents the hard fought rights for sex workers to get the profession regulated and legalized in the year 2000. These rights cover web-camming and porn as well. Peep shows and live sex shows are on the decline given the abundant availability of porn on the internet. However, regulated does not mean decriminalized, as it is in New Zealand. What a novel idea! I will elaborate on why I think so.

In the heart of the district, Mariska Majoor the leader who spearheaded the fight for sex worker rights runs the Prostitution Information Centre (PIC) which also doubles as a coffee and cake shop. It is feminine a la out of a women's catalogue, just a tad seedier, and filled with books and pictures tracing the early history of sex work and offering information on rates for sexual services. It also serves as the location for the meetings of the sex workers' rights organization PROUD. Now that the profession can be operated with licenses and permits, sex workers have health checks and panic buttons to ensure their safety.

After our introduction to this heroic movement we walk the narrow alleys in this ancient neighbourhood, beside the famed canals. I am startled when we suddenly come upon a brothel display window with a woman posing behind it, and even more taken aback when we are led through the entry way of a residence which suddenly morphs into a brothel with rows of rooms that have curtains drawn open or shut, depending on whether or not a customer is visiting. We actually see a man come out of one of them. I find myself in this very personal space peering in like a voyeur. Try as I might, I cannot look away from the women, immaculately groomed in high stilettos and scanty clothes, though sufficiently covered. Their professional, "I mean business and I am bored" expressions are not seductive or alluring and at odds with their beckoning gestures with their hands, or with the jiggling of their ample bosoms and buttocks. They are definitely proud and picture perfect to the point of being robotic. They come in all sizes and colours, are all in great shape and well augmented. We are told the cabins with the blue lights are for transgendered women.

I am not quick to judge or moralize. Each to their own is my maxim. I am passionate about individual freedom and respect for the choices people make. But these brothel display windows do exploit and objectify women. I am not alone since I hear this is a polarizing issue.

Many say these girls choose to, so what? I draw the line where an individual's choice is self destructive. So just as I sway on the side of addiction treatment rather than harm reduction, I cannot condone and support women displaying their bodies as wares through windows. Especially where there is still stigma associated with sex work. I don't think it is healthy for them given we don't live in societies which normalize sex work - but which still choose to fetishize it. Does having a day care or residences beside these display windows normalize this behaviour ? Sadly - no. And while 50 Euros for 10 minutes is good income, they would need to see three customers in a 6 hour shift to break even with rental and other payments!!

At the moment these brothel windows are still an attraction - evidence the large number of tourists, and the vast array of restaurants, souvenir shops and stores selling sex paraphernalia all around the district. They serve to bring in customers. However, the bureaucratic red tape and pressure to gentrify the red light district are making sex work, and these brothels in general, less and less viable. When viability is an issue there is definite risk of trafficking, irrespective of whether sex work is legal or not.

Criminalization is not an option, given this is one of the oldest professions and will thrive underground if it remains unregulated, placing women at considerable risk of being trafficked and making criminals of them, even more than the johns they serve. I could even accept this whole enterprise of standing behind windows as objects on display, under the jarring red lights, and actively soliciting customers as an elaborate form of performance art. But I just cannot shake how disturbed I am that this red light district amplifies women's objectification in a profession still billed exclusively as women at the service of men. The liberal Dutch are quick to dissociate themselves from the district, swearing that it's not their women who work the district or their men who are johns. However, there is no disputing the tourism revenue that it brings in to Dutch society. And I definitely do not feel better about it when I am told the women in the red light district come from desperate lives in poorer neighbouring countries.

For all these reasons decriminalization a la New Zealand appears to be a better option. I don't think it will increase our collective depravity in any significant way and would simply mean money being exchanged for sex by consenting adults and no bureaucratic red tape. This may also mean less trafficking?!

Of course, where consent is absent or where children are not old enough to consent such behaviours would come under the purview of the criminal laws of the land?!