Bedtime Stories

Here’s my take on Bedtime stories. When my girls were little, and there were nights when they’d refuse to have a shut eye. I’d read a compendium of Winnie the Pooh tales or anything that was trending in the kids’ world. I’d read, fall asleep, drawl the last couple of lines, get woken up by a loud indignant “Amma” or a nudge in my ribs. This would go on for what seemed like an eternity. And then, I devised a method that would have made Dr Benjamin Spock weep hopelessly and Stephen King applaud. Mareecha, Shubahu, Tataka, Ravana, Shurpanaka, were hiding within the built in closets along the walls of the bedroom, waiting to pounce on anyone who refused to sleep. I took my tales a step further. Strict aunts, teachers, flew outside the bedroom window, emulating the Vampires of Salem’s Lot.
Everyone was snoring in minutes.
Today, the girls seem to have it all together except for the occasional tiptoeing into my bedroom and asking to get into bed with me and my hubby.
Well, they are, after all, only 25 and 20.
Oh alright then, these twisted tales may have twisted them, ever so lightly.

Teacher Mode

Back from an amazing holiday. Wading, paddling, drowning through the scheme of things, now that I’m home.

Day and Night Dreams are interspersed with old realities of Italian basilica, Parisian railway stations, languages..

Fighting sleep, and Being unable to sleep.

Once back, into the thick of things.

Work. Home. Music. Rehearsals. Classes.

A temple fund raiser last evening.

109 children participated in an evening of dance, music, culture, fine arts.

My student vainikas, 22 of them, ranging in age from 5 to 23, performed geethams, krithis, thirupugazhs.

To get into teacher mode, donned this mustard and gold silk with embossed buttis, shocking pink border and pallu. Gold border features an array of graceful blue green gold peacocks.

Just imagine, I carried through the UK, Europe, UAE, Bali a soft silk Saree. Said Saree sat in suitcase. The heat wave coupled with 10 kms walk per day, umpteen flights of steep stairs proved a surefire deterrent. I will probably transpose images of Saree clad moi on architecturally iconic structures 🙊🤣. Later. For now, this should suffice.

Love is Not blind

Heard someone say something today.

Deep.

Meaningful.

A Pearl.

On love being Not blind.

And that love sees everything, the flaws, the chips and cracks, the dirt.

Love questions, love argues, love digs deep.

So Think about it.

How can love be blind.

Love isn’t.

It’s just that love loves, taking in the nasties, and the not niceties, not necessarily liking or accepting, but trying to work through it.

Loving is hard work.

Sometimes love wants to throw the towel in and walk away, but then because

Love is love.

Love loves. And loves. And loves.

Here I am trying to love or look loving, and not really succeeding, squinting at the camera before a puja at home.

Draped a chikanchari worked orange light silk Saree, attempting to match my golden orchids that I love.

Alright. A simple technicality.

My husband’s golden orchids, I love.

I leave it to you to decide if I meant the golden orchids or the husband.

My precious one

My beautiful little one. All grown up. 20. With a heart of pure melted gold. Looking out for one and all.
And what does that make me?
Old?
No, a proud Amma of a precious daughter.

Happy birthday our gorgeous crazy blessing. Photos of my angel in comments draped in a royal blue silk with green and gold borders and pallu.

And Here I am draped in a kanjivaram silk bottle green Saree with deep maroon and gold pallu and borders. Have paired it with a striped khadi cotton blouse.

A funny anecdote. Wore this Saree with matching long sleeved blouse 25 years ago to a friend’s grand birthday celebration. I was heavily pregnant with my oldest and husband had a late lecture so couldn’t accompany me.
Blouse of course wouldn’t button down fully.
Came home, exhausted, took off Saree, tried to get blouse off but it got stuck at the arms. So there I was, with arms protruding at the back, tummy protruding in front, trying to get blouse off. No one at home to pull it off.
So..
I got myself scissors and cut through the sleeves.
Freed at last. No more blouse, hence this mix and match.

Disney Princesses – A Daughter’s Perspective

ATTENTION. LONG POST ALERT.
Reproduced with kind permission from my little one. A speech she had prepared when in Year 11. Alright then. Not so little, little one and not so kind permission was granted. Here goes.
“How many of you have grown up having had fairy tales read to you at bedtime? Tales of once upon a time, happily ever afters, of needy princesses and dominant princes, but of course at that age, you would not have given that a second thought. On the contrary, you would have oohed and aahed at the sheer romanticism of it all. And to top it all, Disney’s earlier princesses would have reinforced this.

Now, as older women, adults, let’s revisit those characters.
Since the 1930’s, children have connected with the characters in Disney films. Disney’s princesses have, over time, reflected society’s image of women. However, the recent princesses have evolved to being more inspirational, empowering role models for young women. Disney’s pretty princesses no longer sit around, sing, do housework, tolerate abuse from step moms, beasts, and wait to be rescued by princes whom they fall head over heels for in a day. They now seek to inspire and empower, teaching us to be accepting of multiple cultures and races, while imparting valuable lessons in love and dreams.

The earliest princesses we know, Snow White, Cinderella, and Aurora were, I believe, not great role models. They were all rosy-cheeked, pale skinned women with slight frames, nothing wrong with that. They cooked, they cleaned, they sang and they all talked to furry little critters that pranced in the woods and in their houses. Nothing wrong with that either. They also had bitter, uglier women who wanted to undermine the princesses’ successes s just because of their beauty.

“Snow White,” “Cinderella” and “Sleeping Beauty” reflected a time in society (1930’s-1950’s) when men and women had to conform to strict gender roles. Men were expected to be the family bread winners, while women played stereotypical anorexic housewives who could effortlessly juggle motherhood, have spotless homes, all creatures of nature fed and sung to, and having hot meals ready for their husbands’ return. Note that all three princesses knew how to cook and clean, they never complained, they were always smiling and looking gorgeous. All fantastic, you may think, but unrealistic.

Now, all three also waited around for a prince to rescue them from the life they knew. Snow White and Aurora actually fell asleep and waited for a kiss of a prince to wake them up. Cinderella accepted without question abuse, performed menial chores and needed to marry a prince to escape her tyrants. As children, we only saw these princesses as lovely and magical. But as older women, let’s see them as they really are.

Princesses – whose reliance on men make it seem that women’s lives are only made better when a man enters it. Now, don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with an epic love story. What is not right is when the heroine gets the notion that she is not her own person, or is incomplete without a hero.

As society’s norms evolved, thinking princesses like Ariel, Jasmine, Belle, Pocahontas and Mulan remade the Disney princess brand. These heroines were presented as loyal to their family, kingdom, country, questioned social norms and went on adventures outside of their personal sphere. Ariel was a dreamer and loved to explore. Jasmine and Belle stood for substance over beauty when it came to love and dreamed of traveling the world. Pocahontas and Mulan were selfless heroines who risked their own lives to save the people they cared for.

Disney’s princesses had now evolved to a point where a woman could be empowered with education, exploring and being adventurous. However, Ariel still had to change her body image, stop talking to get her prince, Jasmine had to marry a man of her dad’s choice, Belle withstood abuse and fell in love with her kidnapper, a classic case of Stockholm’s Syndrome, while Milan had to dress like a man to save her country.

Disney’s current decade of princesses, Tiana, Rapunzel, Merida, Anna, Elsa, Elena of Avalor and Moana are excellent role models for our generation.Their stories reflect female independence, different body types, different cultures, and these princesses are courageous, risking their lives for the people they love.

Tiana set many standards and firsts, she was Disney’s first black princess, she was not looking for a relationship, She set goals to open her own restaurant and believed that hard work helps make dreams happen.
Disney got rid of the idea of love at first sight with Rapunzel’s and Tiana’s stories. The girls only fell in love after investing time to get to know their “prince”.

Disney took this one step further by showing how horribly wrong, falling hard and fast in love, can go, with Anna and Prince Han’s relationship in “Frozen”.
Disney also replaced true love’s kiss with a more realistic “act of true love”. Anna and Elsa teach a lesson that sometimes, sisters are more important than misters.

And further ground breakers are assertive, fiercely independent princesses Queen Elsa, Merida and the new princess, Elena of Avalor who boldly made decisions to lead their people without marrying.

Merida is wonderful for our generation of anorexic, bulimic, self obsessed women. She is the first Disney princess with a realistic female form. Her hair is unruly, her waist is not ridiculously tiny, she even rejects a corset. So Disney princesses are now telling girls to be proud of their images and to not compare their beauty to the slight unrealistic forms of the original princesses or in the real world, models and mannequins.

Moana, Disney’s latest heroine, is the most successful princess by far, in terms of the message she sends to young women. She is young, and has an untainted natural curiosity of the outside world. The islander princess travels with the Demigod Maui to return a magical stone that will save her people. She travels the sea with a male companion and without the talk of romance and marriage. Her body type reflects a 14-year-old’s and is toned as one who spends the day swimming and walking the island, should be. She is also single minded in her pursuit of her goal, fearlessly reprimanding the Demi God when he does wrong. A role model for our times.

So, when you have to one day, retell these stories to your little sisters, cousins, daughters, students, retell them, but add a positive feminist spin to them, tell tales of go getters, inventors, visionaries, women of strength and bravery, women who don’t sit around helpless, waiting for someone to rescue them, but women who are confident, women who believe in themselves, who are proud of themselves and their images, women who want to make a difference in today’s world, to do good, women who forge their own destinies, women who are comfortable being with or without a prince.

Talk about Moana, and real life princesses like Michelle Obama, princess Diana, Marie Curie, Beyoncé, Helen Keller, Anne Frank, and yes, why not yourselves? And hopefully, your listeners will be rightfully inspired”.

Draped in my reception 28+ year old Kanjivaram shocking pink and gold lined Saree with purplish pink green pallu and border, with mangoes, flowers, flowered buttis. Feeling like a Princess myself celebrating my husband’s surprise special birthday party, more so, extremely proud of my very own home grown feisty Disney Princess(es).

Saturday

Saturday.
Supposedly a day of rest.
Not for me.
A long tiring but eventful productive day.
Mom n left 2 weeks ago.
Sil left yesterday.
The weeks have been fluctuating between a whirlwind of travel or quiet and not so quiet stay at home episodes.
Missing them already.
Saturday is my house cleaning day, vacuuming, mopping, dusting, wiping, bathrooms, toilets, showers, sometimes sheets, sometimes folding the week’s clothes, and putting them away. This is a family affair, husband spring cleans, potters away in the garden, or completes some do-it-yourself project. Girls do their bit, if not at uni or work.
Yesterday was one such day.
Coffee, breakfast done.
Clothes put to wash.
Beds made.
Dried clothes dumped in laundry basket.
Vacuumed. Dusted. Wiped down glass mirrors. Watered plants. Changed water in vases. Watered house plants. Bathrooms. Toilets. Mopped.
Therapeutic?
Naaah. A downright lie.
Cleaning isn’t therapeutic. The state of After-Cleaning is.
When you see your grey carpet looking grey with no bits of paper or thread, when you can actually see your face in the bathroom mirror, when the cushions are positioned at exactly 45 degree angles on the various sofas, chairs, when the throws are ‘thrown’ just right, in a careful careless manner, then you heave a sigh of contentment and feel ‘therapeutized’.
And more so, when you tell yourself you will do, the showers and pantry tomorrow.
Showered.
Took out day before’s leftovers from fridge, heated for lunch.
Tsk Tsk, you may say.
It’s alright, a day’s old food is still delicious. Cabbage curry. Brinjal salad. Yes – salad. Chow chow Kootu. Mango curry.
Afternoon nap. 20 mins.
Liaised with daughter who was holding a movie night and dinner for her young students who had done well in the recent music examinations, rewarding them for their hard work and dedication. Younger daughter was the designated Uber drive for the day, collecting pizzas, buying lollies, ice creams, juices and chips. Elder girl rearranged furniture, organized cutlery, crockery – plastic plates, cups, spoons, serviettes😎, got laptop ready for streaming Harry Potter’s adventures.
Hot cup of tea.
Got ready for a temple puja organised by friends who were to go on a Yathra to Mount Kailash/Lake Manasarovar.
Beautiful, peaceful, blissful temple ambience.
Homam, Abhishekam, Archana.
Delicious, soul food of iddlies, vadai, sambar, chutney, curd rice, sweet rice, kesari.
Got home, last bunch of kids leaving. Chatted with parents.
Chatted with girls, husband.
Off to bed. But not before getting younger one to capture this Saree.
Mum got this light silk for me for a friend’s wedding in February 1990. Brightest of bright yellows, with a simple maroon and gold border and pallu. Obviously unable to fit into original matching maroon blouse, so wore this cotton, brown checked, orange and gold bordered blouse.
And posing.
First staring at you, then at husband’s prized golden orchid 😎

Sangeethotsavam Day 3 PM

Sangeethotsavam Day 3 PM

That morning got me reflecting.
Students.
Students becoming Teachers, replenishing the pot from which they had nourished themselves, from which they are still being nourished.
Always a student.
All teachers are always students.
My students.
Seniors inspiring juniors.
Aspiring to attain greater heights.
Learning NEVER stops.
Our knowledge is but a mere drop in the vastness of the ocean of music, or in any art form.
The correct attitude to have, when pursuing any field, humility, unquenching thirst for more knowledge, the single minded devotion to teacher, the tenacity to practise and master the skill.

It had been decided that we would all wear some shade of yellow or orange for the Ranjani Gayatri RA GA concert in the evening. I bumbled as usual and ended up draping white with a little yellow 😅.
In a creamy white kanjivaram silk, with a pallu and borders of lemon yellow, gold and silver, mango and flowers in gold. Body has silver diamond shaped buttis. Absolutely 💕 love this Saree.
Looking tired, hair is a mess after the long day, but who cares, a fitting finale to the three day Music Festival/Sangeethotsavam 2019.
To quote a song “heart is warm, head is cool, sleepless nights, one blissful dream..”.

Wanting to share a brief anecdote. When Ranjani Gayathri were teenagers, they had been invited by an esteemed music artiste in Malaysia to perform in Kuala Lumpur. They held a violin concert and my husband accompanied them on the Mridhangam, around 27 years ago. After the concert, they mentioned that they also sing. So the next day, there was a beautiful vocal concert, accompanied by Suresh. When we met them this time, we reconnected.

Please find in comments links to descriptions of the evening’s Ra Ga concert, in English and Tamizh.

The Wait

Waiting. Mind in chaos.
Praying. Reflecting. Hoping.
Cold fingers encircle lightly, heart a flutter,
Clammy fingers tighten, squeeze, heart freezes, sinks, slides.
Anticipation mounts.
Door opens. Thank heavens it’s not her.
Door opens. Silent prayers offered.
Door opens. Please don’t let it be her.
Heart pounds. Pounds. POUNDS.
Blood rushes to my ears. Head.
Frown.
Saw a glimpse of someone who looked like him. No. Screamed silently.
Too soon.
Sigh of relief. It’s not them.
Not yet please. Not yet please. Not yet.
Flip through a magazine.
Words. Meaningless.
Door opens. Not her.
Door opens. Not her.
Door opens. Not her.
Phone rings. Scramble. Answer.
“How did it go?”
Flat. Expressionless.
“Come to the car please.”
Grab all. Walk out door. Feet heart leaden.
Walk past him. Don’t look. Don’t engage.
Fingers tremble. Clutch door handle. Fumble. Fumble.
She’s looking away.
Open door.
She turns.
Lo and behold!
And There it is..
Her driver’s licence.
(My thoughts while waiting anxiously for Little one to complete her driving examination. Alright then, not so little, but for her Amma, always her baby. Normally when test is over, tester and student walk into office to get paperwork done which explains my preoccupation with the door. And the test takes about an hour so if they arrive any earlier that would have meant she hadn’t passed).
On another occasion,
Draped a simple much loved arakku red silk Saree with orangish mustard gold gold pallu and border for a 6am Aayush and Mrityunjaya Homam at the temple. — with Thayalini CT Nagendran.

Sangeethotsavam Day 3 AM

Cold cold day. Cloudless blue skies. Anusha’s students were performing. She had requested an early slot as she had assignments to complete for her post grad studies. She rushed off with my sister in law. I left home 5 minutes later. Sigh. The over enthusiasm, a nice way to put it, of youth.

Stoked as usual, by the quality of the Yuvabharati programmes. Veena, Violin, Vocal, Flute, Mridhangam. What an array. A spread of beauty for the soul. Composers. Languages. Voices. Instruments. Ragas. Thalas. Compositions.
Anusha’s little ones sang beautifully. Kudos to guru and sishyas.
My senior student rendered a half hour mini kutcheri with ragam, thanam, kalpanaswaram. Calm. Composed. So proud of all the students.

I have yet to describe the Ra Ga concert in the evening but the 2.5 days of Arts can be succinctly described by Guru Nanakji’s Quote, just an excerpt
“..make the heart the pen, intellect the writer, write that which has no end or limit”.
How deeply this resonates with us.
With the arts, any art form, anything we do, which feeds into, feeds from our aesthetic side, which plunges into, which plunders, stirs, the very innards depths of our souls, that MUST be fuelled, that fire MUST be fanned.

Sahitya/Lyrics – composed with the Heart,
Alapanas – impromptu creative outburst without words, or rhythm, evoking intense emotions in renderer, listener, again the Heart writes,
Swara Prasthara – rendering of solfa syllables in combinations and permutations of patterns set to simple or intricate rhythmic cycles, using the Intellect.

And so what is produced is
That which is Infinite, no Beginning, no End, no Limit, something bigger, greater than us, something which is indescribably unable-to-find-the-words-for special,
That which transports us into a Parallel Universe of Bliss and Wonder, something that is the Rasika, Rasa, Artiste rolled into one,
A State of Rasanubhuti, a state of Beatitude, Inexplicable Bliss.

Wore this repeat pure white jute silk Saree with red and gold temple korvais on borders and pallu. Gifted by husband on a birthday 2 years ago. Appropriate for occasion and state of being. Stay blessed always.

Sangeethotsavam Day Two

Day 2 of Sangeethotsavam.

Awoke early, coffees, mochas, teas, hot chocolates, grilled sandwiches done. Clothes thrown in the wash, altar set, mats rolled out all over the house, in the garage turned music room, living area, official entertaining hall area. Cooked a quick potato brinjal tomatoey chilly satham, to be eaten with raita and chips. 

Incense lit, aromatic oils to do away with the smell of food and to invoke a semblance of peace and good vibes.

Classes. Classes. Classes.

Mridhangam in the music room.

Veena in the hall.

Vocal in the living room.

Quick lunch, dishwasher loaded.

Brief shut eye. 

Showered again, draped a deep dark pinkish magenta kanjivaram silk, with a lighter magenta and gold border and pallu. Mangoes in gold. I suspect this Saree had been gifted to my Anusha during a friend’s son’s Mridhangam arangetram 5 years ago and I had told her that it was an old lady’s Saree and not suited for her. Clever me, I’d thought then. Well, now, sarees that come my way, somehow find their way into her cupboard. Truce, I declare, let’s compromise.1 Saree, 3 blouses – for Anusha, Vindhya and me. 

The Kutcheri that evening was that of Sri Ranjani Santhanagopalan’s. A brilliant, young, enthralling vocal artiste, she kept me at the edge of my seat, hanging onto her every note, her melodious voice scaling to unimaginable heights, descending to lower octaves, Brihas at such speed, thala calculations, I could wax lyrical..eternal..

Her choice of compositions, her deep intelligent understanding of the lyrics, meanings, her ability to attune her voice, her music to a given word, to draw out the meaning, the symbolism, held me spellbound. I was drawn into a coma like state, a good coma, if there be such a state. I found my eyes closing, and in my mind’s eye, I saw explosions of colour, and with every explosion, utter bliss wrapped itself around me like a welcoming warm, mohair wool throw. 

Violin virtuoso Vittal Rangan had such soul in his emotive innovative handling of the ragas and kalpanaswarams, while Mridhangam artist KV Prasad’s nimble deft fingers played havoc on heart strings. 

Her final piece, the Thillana was in raga Niroshta and my husband, on being asked to say a few words, summed up the Kutcheri saying he was Niroshtified by the concert, meaning he was rendered Speechless by the Jaw dropping concert. Niroshta means no lips, as the ascending and descending scales of the raga are sa ri ga da ni Sa; Sa ni da ga ri sa; ie. the omission of Ma or Pa means when one sings, the lips do not meet. 

When I attend Kutcheris, a jumble of conflicting emotions surface – sweet sadness, bitter joy. Sadness because I wonder when I would get to a minuscule fraction of the artiste’s level of proficiency. Joy because the music envelops every cell, every fibre of my being. Once, this had prompted me to write an article for my students, published in a music souvenir program, on not getting discouraged, at where they stood in their level of music, but to plod on. Will reproduce this article in a future post.

That night, the artistes came home for a simple dinner. Lots of laughs, delightful conversation flowing over cheese, crackers, breads, dips, fruit, juices, pizzas.. 

Dropped artistes at their hosts’ homes, said Goodbyes, got home, content, and so happy. Got my daughter to click a few photos and here they are. Tired eyes bely the whirl of emotions within.