Uttara’s cycling diaries - Cycling through the Pelopponese - Day’s 8 and 9 - Epidaurus to Nafplio (and Day 9 - Nafplio)

(I have anonymized and edited out parts).

Today was the final day of our bike ride. My legs and body are tired, but I woke up with a positive attitude and a good amount of energy for the final day. We woke up, ate breakfast (I have been having a small bowl of the most delicious, creamy greek yogurt with honey drizzled on top and coffee most mornings, with maybe a piece of bread on the side). Our hotel in Nafplio has been amazing - comfortable two room suite with a beautiful little balcony with views of the port and mountains in the background as well as the high Palamidi fortress just behind us. The hotel staff have been great and we have been treated to an elaborate breakfast of yoghurt, cake, wraps, spinach pastries, bread, jams and eggs. As usual, I have not been hungry in the morning, so I have packed a pastry with me on the journey.

We were told to meet our driver at 9 am at the Nafplio bus stop today. The plan was for him to take us to Epidaurus, from where we would bike the 42km back to our hotel. The bus stop being a two minute walk from the hotel, we had our breakfast and made our way.

Epidaurus was about a 30-45 min drive away (maybe slightly more) and is an ancient place of worship and definitely a historical highlight for me. The most impressive part of the whole site was the 2300 year old amphitheatre (dating back to the 4th Century BC) which is incredibly well preserved - holding up to 14,000 viewers. We walked to the top row of the amphitheatre and the views were incredible. We could also see everything perfectly from any seat in the circle below. What was most astonishing were the excellent acoustics - you could hear conversations being had on the ground from the top row - the sound carried so well. Now I can understand how people enjoyed plays and spectacles without audio! The other really cool part of Epidaurus was the Stadium, which dates back to the 5th Century BC. We saw running posts and a track, where original races took place! Really cool. There were also shrines, baths, and a museums preserving the ancient artefacts. All really great.

One thing i have learned being in Greece, is that to truly understand timelines and populations, you need to not only know Greek history but also Greek Mythology. When we visit different sites, we are inundated with places of worship and names different communities living in the same sites at different times. Apparently, understanding the Bible is helpful to understand timelines.

Once our self guided tour was over, we picked up our locked bikes and set off for Nafplio, with a stop at a beach in the first 20km. The profile looked quite easy, but there were a lot of hills. Today I was feeling energised and had no problem with any of the cycling. I think my endurance finally kicked in and I felt like I was in good shape for all the climbs, keeping a good pace. We climbed to a highpoint, through the hills on the side of the road and turned off to go down the mountain. Going down was a bit scary, mostly due to the many many many potholes along the way, but I kept it very slow and steady and managed to keep it safe and reasonably comfortable. When we arrived at the beach - I immediately stripped off my cycling clothes to be in my swimsuit which I had worn underneath and jumped into the lovely water to cool down. It was perfect. After wading in the sparkling water, I took a rest in the shade with some water, diet coke and ate one of the spinach pastries from breakfast that we had packed along the way

After about 45 mins of lounging, we decided that it was time to head back to town. This last bit was the most trying, not because it was challenging, but because one of us ran out of gas. I stayed behind with them but
it was simply not possible . Finally we all supported each other by taking turns riding their bike so they could walk and catch their breath. It was confusing and hard but we made our destination in one piece.

We arrived at 4:30pm - and I showered and immediately headed to the beach. I hadn't seen the Nafplio beach yet (it was on the other side of the port) - but after scaling a short hill at the back of our hotel, we arrived and spent the next few hours swimming and lounging. To the left of our beach there was an abandoned building on a cliff face with graffiti and the best views. We joked that this should be our self sustaining commune in the future - where we live a simple life and invite fellow Londoners for a sejour.

After some beach time (the water was lovely too - but i kept screaming every 5 mins because i kept getting poked and bitten by tiny fish - a highly uncomfortable feeling) - we headed back to the hotel, showered and decided to enjoy our final sunset with a cocktail and have dinner in town. I drank a Strawberry Daiquiri watching the sunset and got a mild brain freeze. We then walked to a restaurant for a delicious Italian meal and basically stuffed our faces to a point where nobody could move or have coherent conversation. It was really fun. We waddled back to our apartment and called it a night

Day 9 - Final day in Nafplio

Today was the final day. Yesterday over dinner, we plans to walk the 1000 steps to the Palamidi fortress behind our hotel in the morning. It was the final push of cardio for the holiday. I woke up at around 7:45, had a coffee and waited for the others. One of the group of 4 joined me, so we did the walk up to see the views. We put my phone on speaker, listened to some tunes and did the walk up and down. The views were great. We saw the entire town, the other castle grounds (there are 3 castles in town) and great views of the sea. We were also back at the hotel at a smooth 9am.

It is now after breakfast and I am sitting in the balcony finishing this journal entry. The sun is shining but there is a wonderful warm breeze and the views are totally special. I am going to spend the rest of the time reading (I succeeded in my journaling mission but failed in my reading mission), having a cheap and cheerful sports massage and just enjoying the final moments in this lovely country.

Until the next cycling adventure!

Uttara's Travel Diaries - Cycling through the Pelopponese Region in Greece - Day 7 - Round Trip (Nafplion to Mycenae)

Day 7 - Round Trip (Nafplion to Mycenae)

We were approaching our 5th and second last day of the trip and I woke up a bit anxious to start the ride. Yesterday, xxx approached me and said she was looking to leave the trip early. It had nothing to do with us, but she has been going through xxx and I think the stress of keeping up with us was not making this experience enjoyable for her. I don't want to go into any detail out of respect for her privacy, but we chatted for a long time and I insisted that she stay and that we spend the day together and do the ride at our own, slow pace. I also told her how proud of herself she should be for taking this physical challenge on after not working out for almost a year. In the end, she agreed to try cycling for one more day and see how she feels after. So it was just the two of us on this ride and it turned out to be a great idea. She just needed some attention, the feeling that she is not constantly racing to catch up, and a slower pace, where we could chat and enjoy the environment we were in. To be honest, I did too.

Our ride today was just over 51km where we cycled through the countryside to the fortress Mycenae. We left quite late as xxx's bike got a flat tire even before leaving our hotel. She was in good spirits and walked her bike to the bike shop (15 mins away) and got it fixed prior to starting the ride. We didn't know what to expect, but I was slightly scared about the heat and the profile - gradual uphill all the way to Mycenae with some aggressive hills at the top. However, a change of pace made all the difference. We took it slow and gradual and fuelled up with lots of water and sugary drinks to keep the energy levels up. At the 12 km mark, we were both thirsty, drinking our water at a record pace so we took a small detour to a shop and fuelled up. And by fuelled up I mean, I downed a pepsi and a bottle of water and ate a mini ice cream right outside the shop -- and then went on to purchase two more bottles of water and a 1.5L bottle of cold lemonade. In rides like this, glucose is a requirement to keep the energy going.

Otherwise we were doing absolutely fine. We cycled through 'false flats' for the first 15km (a term used in cycling to describe a road that looks flat but in fact is a steady incline from the start) and didn't even notice, as we were chatting the whole way. I wanted to keep xxx engaged, so I asked her a lot of questions. We received a text from xxx and xxx telling us how hard the ride was for them (as they had already made the peak by that point) and if we wanted to reconsider going the whole way, but we didn't feel it was that bad after all. Personally, I found it a lot more manageable despite the heat. And even with the extra time it took us, it was really worth it. We had a great day together.

For this ride, we left the seaside and cycled inland through the countryside, which was surrounded by groves of oranges, lemons and limes. It was pretty much the same landscape through rolling hills and groves. There were really no shops or places to sit the whole way, and most of the route was under the hot sun. We were met with some aggressive dogs barking from behind the fences (I really have never seen such aggressive dogs anywhere - they must be trained just to protect their owners from trespassers – otherwise, there is no reason for such hostility!).

Then we hit the hills that xxx and xxx were talking about. Fortunately, they were not bad at all, especially with a few stops for drinks along the way. We made it to the final hill - Mycenae. The climb and essential incline for the entire journey was worth it - it was absolutely stunning and I really couldn't fathom how old it was. It is one of the most important archaeological sites from the bronze age in Greece. The fortress of Mycenae was built some 3300-3500 years ago, and it is one of the most important cities of antiquity (once a centre of Greek civilisation). It basically sits up on a mountain and you can see views all the way to the Sea from this fort. I marvelled at the world famous Lion Gate which is over 3000 years old. There were so many things to see in the fort itself - cereal storage, a citadel, a grave site (as old as the Pharaohs) and relics showing the mechanics of how water was collected and stored. Walking uphill (and a lot of uphill at that) and seeing all the sites really opened up more questions than provided answers. How the hell were they able to build something like this 3000 years ago? How did they have the knowledge to create an underground cistern for water collection? (apparently, the water source was an aqueduct about 360m from the citadel)

We also visited the Treasury of Atreus, which is a tomb constructed in the bronze age around 1250 BC. It is huge - the stones on the doorway apparently weigh 120 tonnes. We were able to walk inside the cool interior, which is 13.5m in height and 14.5m in diameter. Apparently it was the tallest and widest dome in the world for over a thousand years until the Pantheon in Rome (or so they say).

We thoroughly enjoyed our visit and were not too fussed about the ride home because it was basically downhill. We realised how much we had climbed just by experiencing how pleasant the ride home was - speedy, minimal effort, no gear changes and other than a few kms of stony gravel - where I was afraid I would get a flat tire - totally painless. We stocked up on water about 7km from Nafplion and rode the rest of the journey back with the final 3km stretch along the coast.

We arrived around 4:40 pm - exhausted but happy. xxx felt a sense of achievement and felt positive about the day tomorrow. After coming home and showering, I needed some alone time (down time) - the last 24 hours were emotionally exhausting for me too (as well as physically), so I went for a walk and ate a huge plate of pasta and salad in this nice little Italian restaurant close to our hotel. The waiters were so kind and the portions were huge.

I then walked to the harbour and sat and watched the sunset while (attempting to) read my book, and then waddled back to the hotel, meeting the other three in town at different points :)

I have mixed feelings about tomorrow being our last ride. The profile looks excellent and easy - but I am also exhausted and ready to just sit on the beach and relax for my final day.

Teaching moment

I was driving along in my eight year old Subaru Forester yesterday when I experienced what would you call a “teaching moment”. I was listening to a conversation with Gary Zukav, the author of “The Seat of the Soul”, on my blue tooth headset. His quiet voice said “every experience is meant to teach us something that helps elevate our consciousness”. Just as he finished the sentence, I swung my car into the office parking garage and slowly ascended the ramp. Then out of nowhere, this little Mazda flashed in front of me and the next thing I know there was a screeching of brakes and the unpleasant and disturbing sound of metal upon metal. I had been in a Zen state till then and I transformed into this angry, confused individual trying to hold it all together. The driver of the car I had hit was a young girl. She had jumped the stop sign and darted in front of me. I had cars behind me entering the garage so could not stop on time. Since it was clearly her fault, she began running up and down not knowing if she was coming or going. We exchanged insurance papers and took pictures, all the while enduring insults from irate drivers, whose cars we were blocking and forcing into a detour. I could clearly see that this dithering was born out of our sheer distrust of each other. We did not want the other to screw us over. Anyway, I gathered my beans and parked my car. I had to laugh. I felt ridiculous that something so inconsequential brought out such vile emotions from within me. I rushed to my meeting a little disturbed that my perfectly ordered morning was in disarray, my poor car had her face deformed with an ugly gash and hole, but kept calm, determined to stay with the discomfort. I stayed focussed on the agenda and when I emerged on the other side the morning’s events were dreamlike. Of course, the husband, who I had called earlier, and who I was convinced thought it was all my fault, I was distracted or that I was a complete idiot, broke me out of my reverie to ask if I had called the Insurance Company. Ah yes, there is such a thing, I remembered. So I got on the phone and called to speak to a very cheery “Heather” who patiently outlined how an adjuster would be in touch and where I could get my repairs done and pick up my rental car. It was all so streamlined, easy and painless. I told her I would write to her Manager expressing my appreciation for the quality of service she provided me. She was thrilled! After work, I went to the Collision Centre to report the incident. I found out that you only call the police to the scene at the time of the accident if someone has been hurt, there is damage to personal property or if someone is driving impaired. Sure I was drunk on Zukav and the Zen state I was in, but not illegally impaired, thank god! So I did not have the Police on the scene and went instead to report the matter at the Toronto Police’s Collision Centre. I did not know what to expect. However, I received Cadillac treatment. The process was hassle free. I had a Metro Officer show me where I had to enter the data and I was done in a jiffy. She complimented me on my speed, printed off the report with an estimate of the damage. A young man had taken pictures while I was inside and it all came up on the screen with my report. Very impressive! I complimented her on her efficiency and she beamed. I just stopped short of giving her a hug! As I came out, the young woman whose car I had struck entered the Collision Centre and I greeted her like a long lost friend and apologised for being rude earlier. She reassured me that I had not been and even managed a smile. All was well with the world. Ah well, don’t know if my consciousness was elevated but my mood certainly was – by the swimmingly perfect way everything unfolded and conspired to help me out! At least I would like to think so!

Infinite curiosity - promising stories about young women - 1

I have the curiosity of a journalist, though not their distrust. I see everyone as manifestation of consciousness but am infinitely curious about why we individual beings think and act the way we do. So to indulge this streak I have long conversations where I mostly listen without judgement. I am often impressed and definitely amused and entertained. On rare occasion, I am caught off-guard by the sheer brilliance of a clear mind and well rounded personality.

I had one such encounter earlier this week. What made it all the more incredulous is that this young woman is very big. I am sure most people do not look past this fact - because as humans with limited capacities we latch on to certain superficial aspects of personality to define the rest of them. We stereotype big people as being irresponsible, overindulgent, lazy and devoid of self control. And maybe these become self fulfilling prophecies. I needed to know the person behind this veneer and boy was I glad I chose to find out!

So this young girl is just over twenty and a recent graduate who is working her first “real job”.. I asked her about her work. She said she was in digital marketing at an e-commerce firm. She did their SEOs, directed their youtube promotional videos and managed the channel. She had graduated from a coveted and competitive
Marketing program. How did she like her job, I casually enquired. To which she replied that she was learning a lot but this was a stepping stone towards some pretty lofty goals. What were they? “Well I want to study at Stanford and ultimately work for Disney”, she said. She gave a self conscious gurgle and added “maybe I have set my sights too high”. I immediaty thought “maybe she has” but did not want to burst that bubble? Instead I chose to explore if this was a passing thought or a deep seated yearning. I was stunned by what I discovered about this sunny, positive woman who has been charting her career path since she was little.

She grew up in a little town in Tamilnadu which is steeped in orthodoxy around women’s roles. At best, girls from middle class families, are sent to college with the ultimate aim of securing them a good husband to look after them. In that town, where she had little opportunity to speak English, her teacher mother introduced her to books. She read and re-read Harry Potter and kept up inner conversations “in spells”, discovered Marvel comics, which she could lay her hands on, watched science fiction series on the good old Star TV Channel and, later, streamed. She devoured Dan Brown’s books and developed a fascination for weaving stories with deep, inner meaning and mystery. Alongside this, she became curious about social media and influencers even when it was not a “thing” and saw its infinite potential in selling product. She wanted to parlay these interests into a profession. This led to more research and soul searching. She became a great fan of the human psychology behind consumerism and realized her passion for creating campaigns that would re-make the image of a product. Soon her icons were the ad makers who revived campaigns. To her it was not about “selling” but about cracking a code, solving a mystery, challenging herself to get behind the human mind to stimulate a mass movement. She wrote to her heroes and she got standard replies that they only hired top tier MBA graduates. She wrote to Disney and they told her she needed a visa to get into the US and then maybe! She saw all these as positive signs!

Today, all she does in her work and life is based on a plan - to hone these skills, with single- minded enthusiasm and passion, to get into an Ivy League program. At an age when most kids are confused, scattered, hormone driven and reactive, this child is clear, focussed, self aware and positive. She has no time or band width to obsess over her weight and she is definitely not defined by how she looks, only by how she thinks! So very refreshing. She is academically whipper smart, is building a portfolio of achievements, reading, observing, building skills, gaining knowledge through everything she does and all with a chipper “can do” attitude! Why would she not get into Disney? They would be lucky to have her!

If you would like to mentor her, please get in touch with me!

Women of Influence Article

HOW LATHA SUKUMAR TURNED A SMALL NON-PROFIT TRANSLATION SERVICE INTO A NATIONAL SUCCESS — GIVING PEOPLE IN NEED A VOICE
June, 18th, 2019 Expert Advice, Latest Articles, Media & News, Not-for-Profit, Profiles, Social Change, Social Change Award


Latha Sukumar was working as a lawyer when a personal experience led her down a new career path. She’s now the Executive Director of MCIS Language Services, a non-profit social enterprise offering translation, interpretation, and consulting to over 800 organizations across Canada — but it wasn’t always such a success. Latha shares how she came into her role and grew the business, with a mission of giving more people a voice.







By Karen van Kampen



As a summer law student working at the Crown’s office, Latha Sukumar witnessed a trial that would have a deep, lasting impact on her life. A man was charged with sexually assaulting an Iraqi woman at a church picnic. It was a difficult and emotional case, says Latha, with the Arabic speaking woman unable to tell her story.

“I felt totally helpless because I didn’t speak her language,” says Latha. “It became evident that these kinds of cases cannot be properly prosecuted if women don’t have a voice. That became a crusade for me.”

As Executive Director of MCIS Language Solutions — a non-profit social enterprise that specializes in translation, interpretation, and consulting — Latha works tirelessly to give people a voice by removing language barriers. In recognition of this unwavering vision, in 2018 she was presented with the RBC Social Change Award. It’s given to the leader of an organization dedicated to social change, that’s championing philanthropy and volunteerism in Canada.

Latha’s fight for social change began when she was a young girl growing up in India, listening to stories of oppression from her mother’s village. Stories of marital rape and widows working as menials in their own homes. Despite being very smart, her mother had to quit school when she reached puberty, forbidden to attend a mixed school with boys.

Along with her two sisters, she “grew up with the idea that women are subject to all these injustices and we have to stand up for the rights of women,” says Latha, adding that her mother “raised us to be women who were fearless.”

In 1987, at the age of 25, Latha immigrated to Canada with her husband and one-year-old daughter. “I had to go through a whole process of transforming myself,” she says. Latha cut her long hair, removed her nose ring, and began wearing Western skirts and pants.

A year later, Latha began a Master’s in Women’s Studies. “When I came here, I had to find my voice,” she says. “I had the freedom, I sensed, to be able to speak my mind, but it took a while to gain the confidence to believe that I had something important to say.”

Latha continued her studies at Osgoode Hall Law School, where she learned a more evidence-based way of thinking. “If I did not go to law school, I would have a much more rosy-eyed view,” she says. “Now I’m more practical.”

In 1996, Latha was appointed Executive Director at the non-profit Multilingual Community Interpreter Services (MCIS). “It was serendipitous,” she says. “It felt like my cause had found me.” At the time, MCIS had a staff of two-and-a-half, including Latha, operating out of a small warehouse in Scarborough. They relied solely on year-to-year government funding, which was unsustainable.



“When I came here, I had to find my voice. I had the freedom, I sensed, to be able to speak my mind, but it took a while to gain the confidence to believe that I had something important to say.”


In 2004, Latha set out to grow the organization, a feat she says she completely underestimated. “I thought as a lawyer, I had all the competence to do things,” she says. “I was so wrong.” Latha discovered that being an entrepreneur entailed reading financial statements, building streamlined operations, collecting and reading data, predicting and planning.

That year, MCIS partnered with Rotman School of Management, offering students experience at a not-for-profit. In exchange, Latha says the MBA interns shared knowledge of operations, upgrading technology, standard operating procedures, and marketing. MCIS continued the summer program for the next six years. “It was incredible learning,” she says.

As your business grows, it’s important to constantly educate yourself, to stay on top of changes within your industry, and “to surround yourself with people who are smarter than you in many different ways,” says Latha. “That’s hard sometimes because you feel challenged.”

It’s also important to delegate responsibility and not “get bogged down with busy work,” she adds. “The more you grow, the more strategic you have to become. It’s important to look beyond the present and keep calibrating your company’s weaknesses, strengths and opportunities to grow to the next level.”

To stand out in the crowded space of language services, MCIS increased its training programs to ramp up capacity quickly, hired bilingual staff and ensured people had the proper security clearance. This enabled MCIS to compete for federal government contracts, and in 2015, MCIS won the contract to provide interpreter services for Syrian refugees immigrating to Canada. When the first plane landed, Latha says they were ready, deploying hundreds of Arabic speaking interpreters who also spoke English and French to work with government authorities in both Montreal and Toronto.

Today, MCIS has more than 6,000 interpreters and translators who speak more than 300 languages collectively and serve more than 800 organizations across Canada. While it hasn’t always been easy, Latha tells herself, “every day incrementally,” focusing on how she is able to make a difference in people’s lives.

Latha reflects on a woman who refused to speak for three months. Every day, an MCIS interpreter would visit the woman in a shelter, yet the woman remained silent. Then one day the woman found the courage and trust to tell her story of abuse. The case went to superior court and her husband was convicted.

“We know that we made a difference in that woman’s life,” says Latha. “Those are the stories that keep you going every day.”

Chithi - a short story

Today, International Women's Day I remember the widows of South India and the lives they were condemned to live. This is about one of them, written in short story form.

GChithi picked coconut barks and dried twigs that were strewn all around the garden of that old house, gathered them in a basket woven from bark and carried them over to the bathroom located beside the well. Inside, a big copper pot filled with water had been set to boil. Chithi added the fodder to the fire which then blazed with an orange glow. A column of smoke escaped from the top of the pot and caught by the sunlight which entered through the tiny bathroom’s open chimney revealed a discotheque of dancing dust particles. Usually, Chithi would have reveled in its beauty while enjoying her few minutes of solitude and privacy. But today, she was preoccupied. She removed her faded saffron coloured saree which she wore without a blouse, and soaked it in a bucket with soap powder. She then wrapped herself in a piece of cloth which she wore while bathing, reveling as the warm water she poured over herself soothed her aching limbs. She was 65 years old and had lost her husband when he was only 25 and she 16. He had been a school teacher. She found out about 10 years ago that she was entitled to a small pension as a result of his service in a government school. On this day every month, she made the trip to the government office to inquire after her pension entitlement. She then stopped by the ration store, picked up her meager monthly quota of rice, sugar and, sometimes, 6 yards of coarse cotton cloth in beige. She dyed this cloth to saffron to wear as a saree. That piece of cloth was the extent of her security in the world. With no source of income and dependent on the largess of others for food and shelter, she had to make this dreaded trip every month.

Today, after her quick bath, she would once again make that trip. She had woken up an hour earlier than her usual time of 5:00 a.m., to cut the vegetables and grate the coconuts for the day’s meal. There were guests in the house from America. Sudha’s son Mani and daughter in law, Vidya. They had just arrived last night and there was much excitement. Although the visitors enquired after her, she felt like an intruder and compensated by doing all that she could to make herself useful. She felt awkward to abandon the kitchen on a day like this. But what could she do? She had to go. She quietly slipped out of the bath, hung her washed clothes to dry in the yard, and went into the dark and dingy store-room which afforded her some privacy. Since she slept on a mat in the living room, there was no corner in that house which she could call hers. She peeled off her wet cover and wrapped a dry saree, with no blouse inside. Her large breasts and nipples that showed through the thin cotton fabric, embarrassed her. She worried about the young men who stared at her their cruel gazes dehumanizing and their crude, obscene remarks painful and oppressive. She shut out the many times she had been molested and fondled by strangers and relatives alike. She made a mental note to threaten to slap anyone who did that today. Maybe she should break free from a tradition that condemned widows to be “blouseless” and start wearing a white blouse she thought. She could ask Mani for some money? After all she had known him since he was a little baby. God knows how many times she had asked Sudha to no avail. As she smeared ash on her forehead and covered her bald head with the coarse “saree”, she made a mental note to send for the barber to shave the stubble on her head. The 50 years, since her widowhood, had desensitized her to these rituals that were meant to deny her femininity. She placed her worn purse, which contained all the money she had in the world, ten rupees in change, in her little cloth bag and quietly bypassing the watery breakfast gruel, left the house. She walked barefoot, as had always been her practice. Maybe she would have Mani buy her a pair of slippers, for those summer days when the tar sizzled and melted under the merciless sun. She did not dwell too much on her desperate financial straits. She thanked God that for now she had a roof over her head and 1.5 square meals a day. Brunch at 11 after everyone had eaten, and a light tiffin around 5 pm. Widows like her were condemned to a monastic life with no food after sun down and many foods, which could stir up desires for sensual pleasure, denied to them. Her niece was kind to her. Granted she used and exploited her. But Chithi rationalized that it was infinitely better than living in one of those old age homes for the desperately poor, where non-Brahmins cook the meals and where she would live along-side people from lower castes?

The bus stop was right beside the market. She bought herself a banana as insurance in case she felt faint from hunger. She got on the bus and bought a ticket. Then her cloth bag in one hand, she held on for dear life to the back of a seat with the other. The bus was packed and tilted to the right as it moved, trundling through traffic. No one stood up to offer her a seat. Young men deliberately grazed against her body, some touching her breasts as though by accident. She gritted her teeth and glared directly at them. She did not want to cause a scene and bring further shame on herself.

Widowed and a menial all her life, Chithi was cursed with upper caste pride. In a previous era, as a Brahmin widow, she could have acted outraged and sanctimonious against members of the lower caste. Of course, those occasions would have been rare because she, an inauspicious sight, would not have been allowed in the public sphere. Now, in a political era rife with intense anti-brahmin sentiment, she was just a “bald Brahmin woman”, a pejorative, symbolizing society’s disdain for everything the caste represented and aimed at its most vulnerable members. Due to some vestige of caste loyalty fiercely held by her family members, she was the object of their pity and was provided shelter and food. Sudha was her late husband’s older brother’s daughter.

Usually she stopped by at Sudha’s sister Akila’s, on her way back from the ration store, to rest a bit after a strenuously long wait in the ration queue under the strong Chennai sun. The minute Akila saw her by the gate, she would soak rice for murrukkus or begin preparations for some other snack that took time and effort. She would offer Chithi lunch and then make her grind the rice manually on the stone mill and toil before the hot stove, making murrukkus or vadams from scratch. Chithi would have to finish a huge batch of murrukkus or vadams before she returned home. As she entered the house, after sundown, Sudha would greet her at the door with a scowl demanding where she had been loitering all day and stating that she had chosen the wrong day to abandon her with all the housework. It was a no win situation.

These days Chithi had developed a sharp tongue and gave as good as she got. “Well what do you want me to do? Don’t you realize my age? I can’t do any more than I am doing, my body is giving way”. Chithi tolerated Sudha’s moods, her fits of temper and her hurtful remarks. She survived purely using cunning strategy. She knew what she had to do to be Sudha’s physical and emotional crutch. Besides offering her sound advice on running a household on a tight budget, she planted greens in the backyard, made brooms from coconuts leaves and innovated in the kitchen. She was lively and entertaining, with lots of stories from her visits to relatives’ homes and from her colourful past. She also capitalized on Sudha’s insecurities, praising her often, urging her to wear her nice silk sarees and jewellery, validating her at every turn and serving as an ally when her husband or children yelled at her. All this took a lot of effort and sometimes she found her patience wearing thin, but she forebore. Chithi had come over to help Sudha when she delivered her second child and had stayed.

Chithi got off at her stop and moved quickly towards the Central Government building which housed the department responsible for pensions. The clerk looked up when he saw her enter and smiled. She was a familiar sight and he had hoped someday to convey the tidings that he had for her today. “Paatti”, he said “Your pension allocation has come. You will receive Rs. 75 every month and there is an arrears of Rs. 10,000 which you will receive in one lump sum. You will need to open a bank account and deposit the cheque. Tell us what your address is and we will send it to you. You don’t have to make this trip anymore”. Chithi was overwhelmed. Heart of hearts she had not even dreamed that her efforts would come to fruition. Now that they had, it all seemed anti-climactic. She suddenly had control over her destiny. She did not know what this meant for her future. She could not live by herself anyway. But with the money, how would her relatives, especially Sudha, treat her? Would she exhibit palpable greed and try to extort money from her now. How could she use this money to protect herself? Her mind disturbed by this turn of events, she rode back home without going to the ration store or making her usual detour to Akila’s. Brunch was just getting over and the young woman from America told Chithi she would serve her. Grateful, Chithi sat down and ate in silence. She then mechanically cleared the kitchen and went to lie on her mat to take her siesta. She suddenly felt stifled, invisible and alone in a house full of people. She did not count as anything, other than a caricature, a two dimensional relic from the past. No one cared that she had a mind, thoughts or feelings. She could hear Sudha say “ we will have to do something about Chithi, she is becoming too much of a liability.” Chithi’s mind was made up. When the cheque arrived, she would give Sudha Rs. 5000 for all that she had done for her and donate the balance and her monthly pension to a home for the aged, in exchange for a room and the same 1.5 meals per day. At least then, her mind and body would be rested, and she could spend her last days in dignity.

it is the story of...the moment I Knew Everything Was Going To Be Okay

When I arrived in Canada 30 years ago, I was young and naive.


Newly married, a new mother, I had a Master’s degree but no work experience. I wore a red dot on my forehead, a nose-ring, anklets, and jewellery. Dressed in “ethnic clothing” and visibly “different”, I felt like a fish out of water.


I had to mutate into a person I could not recognize. My red dot came off and then my jewellery. I traded my Indian clothes for skirts, shoes, and stockings. I wore gloves, hats, and a scarf, all mismatched with each other and my coat, and felt like a museum piece. I was desperate to “fit in”. The more I tried, it seemed, the less I succeeded.


I then thought I would achieve this if I found a job. However, I ended up in a room full of telemarketers, all folks like me, newcomers trying to find their feet. It was not “mainstream” experience by any stretch and while it did build my confidence a little and enhanced my communication skills, I did not feel competent to do anything else.


I was still an outsider trying to recreate my identity in my new milieu. So I worked at building my ability to make “small talk”, to improve my clothes and dressing style. I even cut my hair. I just could not be spontaneous and speak my truth.


It also did not help that I was lonely, missing my parents and extended family, and could not look to anyone, other than my husband, who was struggling like me, for validation. There were times when I was so depressed I wanted to give it all up and go back to India.


However, it all changed for me when I decided to pursue a graduate degree. I got into the Women’s Studies program.


The first essay I wrote was in the passive voice. My professor called me in and asked me why I chose the passive voice. I said I thought that’s how we expressed ourselves in an academic setting.


She looked me in the eye and said “I want you to write in the active voice. Your story is valid and now with the personal being political it’s important that you express yourself in your voice and speak your truth.”


That is the moment when everything changed for me. I found my voice, stopped trying to “fit in” and be like someone else, and have never looked back since!