BYO Pinch of Salt

The situation of People with Disabilities TODAY.

PwD will become equals when the discrimination stops. Subsidies and freebies are discriminative in nature. Read..

Ram is a child with a disability. His parents are loathe to spend money on his education. Government says, OK, we will pay for his education and all that is attached thereto. Ram goes to school. The teacher has no clue how to teach him because special education is not a part of her own education. So Ram is sent to a 'special' school. There, the quality of education cannot be questioned because it is free anyway and well, they must be the experts! And when he is in a higher class, they send him to a 'normal' school and he has no idea how to integrate and his classmates and teachers have no interest or clue either.

If he is blind, he gets a writer who often writes his paper for him and scores on his behalf too. Not always, but often times.

Note, everything is free so far.

So Ram then goes to college where his course is decided by his disability, and the intellect and empathy of the college staff that interview him. He joins a course that he hasn't chosen for himself and remains absent most of the term. Schooling was in the vernacular language. In college, the challenges begin.  He still gets a writer. BTW, Ram has a free bus pass that remains unused for any meaningful purpose but he uses a fancy cellphone for whatsapp-ing and downloading his favorite songs.

He thinks this is how the world is. "Everything is free. I am entitled. You owe me. Sadda Haqq ethay rakh. Saddi Zimmedari WTF? " Hey Ram!

Ram grows into a young man who knows he has a right to employment and that there are quotas. He is told to aspire only for Bank or Government jobs. So he applies and gets a job but no work. [VI- The writer helps again.] His colleagues are not particularly empathic and no real work is given to him. The boss is not really interested. He has done his bit as the rules and policies stipulate. This nonchalant attitude has trickled down to his teams too. So there's this employee with a Disability who is not really wanted.  The link breaks at some point and Ram begins hunting for another job, finds none and stays with this organization that pays him a salary that he needs!! Win win, no? He may quit and try again...and again..

Some dream of working in air-conditioned steel and glass buildings of MNCs. This is where the NGO$ come in. They conduct  training programs that CANNOT POSSIBLY change an unqualified person to a fully qualified and skilled candidate in such short periods. Who is checking? Funders...aah! So NGOs show numbers by aiming at the low hanging fruit - those candidates from encouraging self respecting families who have ensured that their child has an education and training enough to qualify for good jobs. These candidates don't really need those NGOs really but hey!! Also they serve as showcase samples for websites for many years with quotations and videos in the Queen's English that bring tears to your eyes.

The good NGOs always have tears in their eyes because their bank balances are about as high as their PR [BS] skills.

Companies are confused whether this whole PwD recruitment thing comes under CSR or HR...some know, some don't. But it doesn't matter as long as numbers are available. To save on taxes, they hunt for NGOs with the highest numbers, not even bothering to find out whether the candidates are placed in jobs to their liking or worthy of their innate capabilities. Nobody really wants to meet these candidates unless it is for buying them a fancy lunch  or running a marathon or painting the walls of their training rooms. [PHOTO OP PHOTO OP]

HOW WILL THIS CHANGE?  Since I don't enjoy complaining without offering gyaan, here goes:

Families of the children with disabilities, Educators, NGOs, the Government, Funders seeking to save on taxes, Employers, Society...we are all a part of the problem and the solution. We must work as ONE.

1. Identify Disabilities, encourage early intervention. AWARENESS
2. Educate the child to the best level possible. Offer a subsidy only if necessary. FREE is a bad habit.
3. Ensure that the quality of education provided is not compromised. You will strain our economy more by offering free hopeless education than if you spend on better teachers' training and raise qualified candidates. BETTER TEACHERS' TRAINING. BETTER TEACHING. BETTER STUDENTS. BETTER PROSPECTS.
4. Offer reasonable incentives to parents that encourage education for their children with disabilities.  RESPONSIBILITY.
5. Have more disability awareness programs for all. This is so that our society treats People with Disabilities with respect. NO PITY.
6. Teach that DUTY goes with RIGHTS.
7. Plan HOLISTIC SUPPORT for families with children and adults with disabilities
8. Understand ACCESSIBILITY in the entire sense of the word.
9. Raise SELF RESPECTING individuals who know what they want, then allow/encourage/empower them to work towards their goals.
10. Introduce SPECIALIZED TRAINING PROGRAMS for INDIVIDUALS with different disabilities. Companies and others that complain that INVENTION AND INNOVATION are dead can perhaps try this as a challenge.
11.CORPORATE and INDIVIDUAL SPONSORS must come forward with their expertise to help train the current crop of candidates that are not fully qualified for the existing posts but can learn. NGOs are not rich or capable enough to train candidates for different jobs in different companies. Stop making them lie for funds! If you care, help them become efficient by really participating as a team member. then keep a tab on their requirements and spending. Make suggestions, help implement them. Or simply donate or don't donate...and leave if you know you don't give a rat's ass really and you've saved on your taxes! DON'T PRETEND, PLEASE!
12. Every job comes with its unique requirements and challenges and every individual comes with his/her unique capabilities. RECOGNISE INDIVIDUALS. ROUND PEGS IN SQUARE HOLES ARE UNCOMFORTABLE! Make THIS your corporate social responsibility.
13. Stop calling yourselves equal opportunity employers if you blatantly discriminate among disabilities too!

We can do this together. But our actions have to match our words. Our own intentions have to be clear. This is not an isolated single layered problem. This is about us all. WE are paying taxes that fuel these subsidies and freebies. We are making People with Disabilities incapable of productive lives. Let us set ourselves free. Let us all live with self respect and dignity. Let us restore the dignity of People with Disabilities. I have the courage to say what I think because EKansh is my passion and not my JOB. If I am forced to close it down due to sheer frustration, I will continue to work as an individual volunteer like I did before because I want to help. You...what about you?

How will we make a difference unless we really care? Sorry, but I believe Colin when he says ....

Shrinking...

Shrinking...  Click on that link!!


Love it...especially since just the other day, I heard grown, educated, accomplished, articulate married women speak about how they have given up their identities to compromise and settle for a middle path which leads nowhere really and wanting to rediscover their past selves or shadows there-of. How do we do this, they asked. What jobs can we expect - preferably part time- lest everything falls apart in our absence. Lots of advice on how to multi-task, fit things in, do things systematically, have check-lists, not worry about losing designations and re-building one's way up, how to keep in touch with the goings on while on a sabbatical, how to grow in jobs horizontally so as not to upset the family apple cart by suddenly shooting up in stature. Find a hobby they said, nurture that. Become an entrepreneur. Employ more maids...give them the same treatment that you want as a working woman.  Hmm....

Women who appear free-er than the others are seen by most as being given allowance to grow. Why is it not an organic, natural freedom that we are all born with?

I wonder what that meeting would have turned out like if there had been MEN instead of women talking about re-working their identities within parameters preset by women centric expectations. Is this a fight for supremacy and financial freedom or is it just about acknowledgement?

I have also been known to say that at home we answer to people we love, at work we become answerable to people who pay and yet see that as growth. Ah...what a tangled web!

1943...A Love Story

My grandfather was a rebel who married my grandmother against the wishes of his parents and moved away from his family to Burma in his early 20s. It wasn’t a love marriage … he just decided he would marry only her. She was in her late teens. He tried his hand at various jobs and settled in one with the railways there under the British Raj. He was in a position of some influence because he lived in a good house, owned some cows and was ‘respected’ by locals too.

When the war began and people were asked to leave, he went to the local store and exchanged the cows for some boxes of condensed milk that would see his family through the journey of about 4 weeks across the border. This was probably one of the smartest things he did in his life.

Then they got together whatever little they could and left on foot …they –my grandfather, grandmother and five little children – two daughters and three sons – my father being 8 years old then and the youngest brother around 3 or younger because my grandmother carried him on her hip.

People carried some utensils, clothes and other small things that they could, leaving behind everything else that made up their homes. The journey was over hills and through forests, mosquito ridden, filthy from all the defecating and strewn with dead bodies. Many people just collapsed from disease and exhaustion. There was money – notes and coins on these bodies – left behind by families of these dead people for the last rites. There was no provision for cremation or burial. So the families walked on…

My dad recollected that one night when his mother had to use the makeshift washroom, she asked my father to wait outside with the baby. As he waited, he heard a bomb fall at a distance...he called out to his mother …and then he saw the  blast…and then  a man running really fast – on just one leg – not realizing that the other had been ripped away by that bomb ...and then he fell. I vaguely remember him relating this scene to me once.

Drinking water was scarce along the way. One morning, my grandfather asked the family to rest and tied two biscuit cans on a pole to carry across his shoulder and left to get some water. He had to walk a distance and climb up and down a hill to get to the water. The family waited – fear in their hearts -for him to return. When he did finally, it was night and they mixed the condensed milk with the water he brought and drank it.

When they arrived in Calcutta, they went straight to the station like everyone else. There were people everywhere - on the platforms, on the roofs of the trains, inside the compartments – everywhere…just wanting to go wherever those trains could take them. My family went to Kerala. When they arrived in Kerala, the youngest child passed away from dysentery and typhoid. My grandfather got reinstated with the railways in Gujarat. My grandparents settled into their normal lives again and even had two more daughters.

All these men and women who saw each other and their children through such dark times and stuck together till the end...are these not the real love stories?

                                                                      

From what I’ve managed to Google up, millions of families crossed over from Burma that fateful year. So, my father’s wasn’t one of a few. Not that this makes the story any less important…on the contrary…

Whatever little I’ve gathered is from my mother…her conversations with dad about this crossing over from Burma  [a place dad called Pongi chao – that  I am unable to find on the maps of Burma online]  to Calcutta in 1943. It is all in bits and pieces – so not a well edited story. It is not a ‘me too’ piece either…it is a story that I felt I had to tell. I guess it is similar to what refugees from any war ridden country would have to relate and so will perhaps serve to underline how sad and traumatic war is for those who ‘survive’ it.

Much of what I couldn’t fathom about my dad came from this past, I guess - his simplicity, dislike for ostentation, strong interest and opinions on diverse matters, his reserve, the quiet demeanor in spite of a simmering temper, his love for his family, his fears, his strengths, his courage, etc. RIP Dad!

Anita.

Dubai...yet again

Dubai never ceases to amaze me. I love Dubai.
The sand dunes, the BEEYOOTIFUL beaches, the flamingos, the food, the people, the malls - yes those too,...it has sooooooo much to offer. Our cousin and his wife and their cutesy pie 2.5 year old were terrific company [as always!]! The fact that we stayed at the Kempinski didn't hurt!

Dubai isn't for those who cannot have fun. Let me rephrase: Those who cannot have fun in Dubai can't have fun anywhere else. No, really. There are some folks who will run it down because they can't look beyond the plastic wrapper. Girls, if the clothes wont fit and your husband wont smile and your child wont even try the rides, don't go!!! And ofcourse if there is no interest in actually exploring everything else the place has to offer unless there is a paid guide and a fancy car that one can talk about back home..why go, right? This is a place for those who love labels...and it is also a place for those who possess them but aren't possessed by them.
This trip, we went to Abu Dhabi and the Ferrari World. My daughter who is all of 9 went twice on the world's fastest ride and wanted more! The JBR Stretch was unbelievable at night. Who can say this isn't some place in Europe? I've always loved the beaches in Dubai and this time was no different!
We saw flocks and flocks of Flamingos while driving back from the dunes. Awesome! And this was with the Dubai skyline as the backdrop!
The cherries on this cake were a visit to my friend Rati's house from where I got a breathtaking view of the Burj..and a wonderful conversation with her friends Julia and her daughter Tara...and the fabulous Burmese meal cooked by her man Friday Keshav...and our grand finale - Dinner at Jaipur [the restaurant] - cool breezes, fountains swaying in the background and a beautiful moon shining over - RATI'S BUILDING !
Did I mention that I shopped? haha...yes I did, but that was the bonus. Great trip...can't wait to go back.
You want pics? There are plenty on the www. :) ENJOY!

Party Hooters

There are many instances when I’ve browsed through pictures of friends and family on virtual albums…celebrations, get-togethers. I look at pictures of grown ups laughing out loud with their heads thrown back, arms around each other and wonder if I am socially dysfunctional because I am incapable of hugging and kissing folks I don’t like very much or know…or using endearments casually or throwing my affections around cheaply. I am not apologetic about my selection of words either.

When I meet these folks individually…and our conversations pick up, I find that these pictures I see…the groups in the pictures are not necessarily of people who get along...or respect each other. They size each other up when they walk into the group, are invited and attend because they have a rapport to advertise in certain circles, indulge in inane banter and drink themselves silly. Perhaps they have to, perhaps alcohol numbs their natural instincts to turn and run and ups their tolerance levels. The best part where I would love to be a fly on the wall is the drive back home. This is when all the bitching happens about the party that was.

This kind of social interaction is also called ‘unwinding’ by the way - a stress busting exercise for people who work hard through the week. They work hard so they can afford these parties and be seen in the right clothes with the right people in the right places carrying the right visiting cards, arriving in the right cars. And some people do this every single week[end]!! Amazing!!

My idea of getting together with friends is when I can be my stupid best in my everyday clothes, sitting on the floor with some good music and home-cooked food...and a few drinks for my friends and many genuine laughs. I am so glad I know some people I can still do that with. And for that I am grateful.

Anita Iyer

Whodunit

Hello blog...been a while since I felt compelled to post anything here. Been busy with EKansh...and our new pup Simba!

Recently I read this post about an old folks home on a social networking site...with questions following about those evil offspring who will want to a abandon their parents.

There are also indignant posts about kids whose parents don't give them good values...who badger them for good grades instead of thorough learning, focus on good impressions as against good attitude, ignore needs and cater to luxuries instead. IQ is more important than EQ...why I hadn't even heard of this EQ term till recently. Where the world stops when there is an exam at school. It is about oneself...succeeding, winning the rat race.

A good parent is one who knows what the child's syllabus is - chapter by chapter, line by line. Wake him/her up at midnight and they'll tell you what the child's grades were in the last exam in each subject...even those of the nearest competitors.[You guessed right, dotty's exams are on]. A good parent knows which page of which 'current hot favourite' book the child is on but has no clue which flavour of ice-cream is his/her favourite.

Yes yes, there are gray zones here too..like everywhere else.

And then one day these kids grow up and become involved in the grown up rat race. They have to get ahead...and win. They remember their lesson well - "Focus, don't let anything distract you."

And then some evil offspring dumps his/her parents in an old age home.

Same parents you think??

'What's cooking?' with Mrs. Iyer!

Considering all the 'dance therapy', 'music therapy','laugh therapy', 'walk therapy', 'talk therapy', 'write therapy', 'paint therapy' workshops all around, each with atleast a dozen suckers [what else do you call someone who thinks someone else can make him/her get in touch with him/her-self?]attending, maybe I'll begin a 'cook therapy' group too and charge a 1000 bucks for a 2 hour session. Ofcourse, I already know some people do find cooking therapeutic..so ..

Here's the plan.

When you enter the class, you are led blindfolded to the kitchen where everything you need to cook up a good, fresh meal is laid out in eye-pleasing formation. This is so that you gasp when we remove the blindfold.

Lesson 1- It was all beautiful in the beginning!!

...we then get started with the 'THERAPY'

Positive venting = chopping veggies, grating cheese - also kneading dough.
Blending in = Chutney making, Dosa/Idli batter making.
Relaxation = watching tea leaves in boiling water making wonderful patterns in a deep golden brown.
Aroma therapy ( Optional - chargable) = Ginger and Holy Basil in the tea
Negative Energy release = Exhaling loudly with the whistle of a pressure cooker.
The colors of life= The spices you add to the food
You need a good cry= Chop some onions.
Coping with grief= Realising good food, like life, can be spicy, sugary, salty, sour or bitter. If you have the right proportion of everything, you have it made.
Doing away with excess baggage = Straining cooked rice, keeping only what one needs. [Oh my..I'm getting good at this - should I write and sell a book? I wonder]
Achievement bonus=Sputtering mustard / Cumin seeds and seasoning.

Life is beautiful again = Fresh coriander/Basil/Mint for garnishing.

Now say OM three times with your eyes closed, breathe in very slowly the wonderful aromas rising from the food you just prepared, open your eyes and my main door very slowly and go home. I get to keep the food. Thank you very much.

[Haven't found a replacement for my old cook...sshh]

With all due respect to the genuine therapists...those therapists who are angered and stressed out by my sorry sense of humor will be allowed to attend a session of 'What's cooking' for free.

Living a li[f]e

There are so many hammocks to catch you if you fall, so many laws to keep you from experience. All these cities I have been in the last few weeks make me fully understand the cozy, stifling state in which most people pass through life. I don't want to pass through life like a smooth plane ride. All you do is get to breathe and copulate and finally die. I don't want to go with the smooth skin and the calm brow. I hope I end up a blithering idiot cursing the sun - hallucinating, screaming, giving obscene and inane lectures on street corners and public parks. People will walk by and say, "Look at that drooling idiot. What a basket case." I will turn and say to them "It is you who are the basket case. For every moment you hated your job, cursed your wife and sold yourself to a dream that you didn't even conceive. For the times your soul screamed yes and you said no. For all of that. For your self-torture, I see the glowing eyes of the sun! The air talks to me! I am at all times!" And maybe, the passers by will drop a coin into my cup.”...... Henry Rollins quotes

I watched a man yesterday, smartly turned out, having coffee at the Chembur Barrista ( on our way out from Mumbai to Pune) talking animatedly and laughing intermittently. He looked happy...seemed to be enjoying the conversation. [I was in my car..waiting for hubby to get his cuppa.]
I assumed this was a dialogue...I turned fully to look at this man...saw nobody talking back to him or listening. I then thought he had one of those silly ear fittings that come with the cellphones that make most sane folks look demented...but he turned around twice...smiling and talking...nothing. He finished his coffee, took out his wallet, settled the bill and left...still talking to himself. He was the kind of guy you look at and think 'smart looking chap'. And this.

What drives people mad, I wonder. How does one remain sane in this crazy world, I wonder. But again, maybe like a very young friend of mine who battles bouts of Schizophrenia says..."everybody is crazy..it is just that some of us know it"

Face Value

Why does Shahrukh notice Kajol in KKHH only after she begins to wear sarees and jewelry - like the typical Indian beauty?
Why does Amrita Rao have to dress like Sushmita Sen to get her boyfriend's attention in Main Hoon Na?
Why does the frog turn into a prince when the princess kisses him? Can't she fall in love with a frog?
Why does the beast also turn into a handsome prince when belle falls in love with him?
Symbolism be damned!
How many advertisements do we have for beauty products that promise us instant fame and love?

Yet, my favourite love story will remain that of Prince Charles and Camilla.

Dilli Blues

I write this to assuage my conscience and as an apology to all the Dilliwalas I've offended deliberately and inadvertently [Most deserved it but hey!]. Born, bred and having sworn only to breed in Mumbai, I moved to Delhi and later to Gurgaon when I got married 15 years ago. I was already biased against the hugeeeeeee city having heard stories of its 'auntiyaan', 'behenjees' and 'showbaazee'.

None of these stories were false and I had enough reason to be opinionated and very superior with the Dilli Walas for the first few years not realising how warm and welcoming our new neighbors had been to this nayee naveli, totally lost in Delhi, dulhan and her husband.

Dilliwalas have a 'chip on the shoulder' too. They KNOW that they're not as 'kewl' as the Mumbaikars or as 'elite' as the Kolkattans. They all deny that they're 'basically' Dilliwalas although their families might have lived there for generations. Even advertisements for rented apartments are very clear in saying 'company lease' or 'south Indian family' preferred.

The shopping in Delhi is incredible. Karol Bagh, Sarojini Market and Lajpat Nagar for the casual shoppers, Greater Kailash, Khan Market, Hauz Khas and all the new ritzy malls for the more 'discerning" (??!!)...CP, Saket, etc for the youngsters to hang out...and for the khadi crowd we have Santushti and Dilli haath.

I'm now in Pune...yes...of all places. Tiny city in comparison. Cold, unwelcoming people...academically sound yet tunnel visioned in culture. A genuine, warm invite for a casual cup of tea in this city would give me a heart attack!

I long for the warmth of Delhi...the freedom to say 'Come over' knowing that the invitation will be echoed sincerely....the impromptu singing sessions with total strangers in some resort somewhere...the India Gate and the annual music shows held there...the 'showbaazi' even..where we all dressed up once in a while and showed off...the lovely places to visit with friends and kids for overnighters an hour or two away from the city...just the whole feeling of belonging.

This warmth is lacking in Pune. Everyone is an outsider...Bombay was never warm...I realise and remember that now when I revisit it after 12 years of being away. It is a city built with an agenda..it didn't evolve..it was planned. The people reflect this culture. I love it still, only because I can't suddenly not...it is a huge part of me and that will never change...but nostalgia is a big liar and I just don't feel the same way about the city today. There's too much apathy...too much attitude...too little depth. It ... just isn't the same for me anymore.

Delhi is evolving....the people know they have to change and progress..they're trying. And I like those who falter and make mistakes and try to improve better than those who pretend they were born perfect. Somehow, I've gone from the latter to the former...and I miss Delhi!

Some-antar

Samaantar - The Marathi movie I watched with Mom today. Taking inspiration from my new Gujrati Pal in Kerala who watches and reviews Malayalam movies, I shall attempt to tell you what I thought of this one in a few words.

Sharmila's 'stoic'( newspaper review) silences - Marathi bolta yete hila?...pann neet bollee..towards the end.

Amol Palekar...passes (out twice) with distinction ( goatee and all)

Story line theek hota...

Aani ho! Even a Marathi SD [arre Burman re!] take-off, near Howrah bridge...O re maajhi..(Sharmila stands there wondering.."sigh, kitnee baar mujhe yahan aakar gaana padega")

Mhanje...aavadla..pann..the director doth try too hard, asa vaatla.

Art 'a' Tack

A conversation with my niece, who's doing her masters in art [and living my dream] in London, led to some interesting reflections. Am sure she [in her glorious twenties] was secretly smirking at my 'unqualified' opinions.

We were discussing contemporary art. She's a fan and says art must not be restricted to beautiful depictions of even morose and morbid things on canvas...that art must leave the canvas and the four walls and be taken outside...that art has evolved to embrace the now and is not regressive or contained in a box. That video is the new canvas. That everything is art.

My take is that art has always been seen as therapeutic and a release from the regressive and contained. Also like all things real and invaluble , it was supposed to be timeless. If art today reflects the times, would it not be instantly redundant unlike what has survived and indeed enhanced generations? She doesn't agree. She says change = evolution and not necessarily a rejection of what is old. Adaption would probably be another word here. What is free, again, wont adapt.

So, I disagree. Take glass and plastic for example. Even today glass is fascinating and offers endless possibilities...plastic, well...!

What is Art? And what is its purpose?

Science for science's sake? No..there are applications
History? Again applications...well, of a kind.
Math? Applications
Geography? Applications
Art? It has always primarily been for art's sake.

I remember, we were never assessed for our aptitude for art in any great detail in school. It was, at best, an indulgance, a hobby [thank God that has changed]. At best there'd be little windows on our marksheets for DRAWING and CRAFT and we'd get graded poor/good/excellent. No marks.

Can there be theories on art? Maybe classical forms of dance and music where there can be discipline...but how does one teach another how to create a piece of art? How does one FREE art? How does it evolve? I have always found this whole 'analysis/appreciation of art' idea very pseudo...but then maybe that is because I haven't 'studied' art? 'Studied art' - an oxymoron? And 'study of free art'..again intrinsically contradictary because anything 'studied' isn't 'free'. Basic technique can be taught, perhaps...but art itself is like breathing. It has to come naturally.

Art has also always reflected current culture...and I dread to think that contemporary art will depict the lack of anything closely resembling culture today...again culture, like art, is being redefined.

Yes, the world is more eclectic and I love those buses with 3D pictures on them...and the street paintings that are surreal yet engaging...but this isn't my idea of art....this either!!!Maybe I need to take a serious look at contemporary art before I comment any further...maybe I'll change my mind...and again maybe not!

How do YOU define art?

Of balance.

Some things go as planned.

Some things go differently.

Some things happen without warning.

Some things just never happen.

The secret to peace I'm told is in finding the path of least resistance and in realising that we can control and be answerable for only our own thoughts and actions.

Language is the key...

http://avanti-pune.blogspot.com/

Parde mein rehne do...

http://www.express.co.uk/posts/view/109356/Burkha-is-not-welcome-here-say-the-French

If I wont let GOD ( Yeah right!) tell me what to wear, am I going to let this french tart tell me what not to?
Btw...everyone has the freedom to be delusional. Even those who think God prescribed a dresscode. If this guy can do it, why not God? No?

....eternally

And they spin...eternally.

Will we ever return
To find traces of us
In flickering spaces
Between paddles of time
Spinning eternally?
Can we catch moments
of flapping black wings
Vagrant verse
Against white skies
Of flimsy parchment
Caught and tearing
Between paddles of time
Spinning eternally?

Anita Iyer

Another time, another place

What If - by Swati Chandran

I took the road less traveled by
The one that Frost had written about
Though they warned me with a sigh
Of lurking danger and surprise
I ventured on without a doubt

Of course, it made a difference
Just the way I lived my life
On my own terms, with confidence
And some not-so-common sense
Yes, it has been worth the strife

What if I had tread the beaten path?
And by every rule been bound?
Would I not be looking back in wrath,
For having feared the aftermath,
Of each new wonder that I found?

Copyright @ Swati Chandran

Tri-dent

Sense, sensibility, sensitivity. Sad how one is rarely inclusive of the other in most of us.

Sense is about knowing what is worth a reaction and what isn't.

Sensibility is about being aware you don't own the space beyond your nose/knows.

Sensitivity is about being aware of the little sand grain in your shoe and completely oblivious to the elbow you stick in someone's side while you lean on him/her trying to get it out.

I do...

DON'T WE ALL ( email forward )


I was parked in front of the mall wiping off my car. I had just come
from the car wash and was waiting for my wife to get out of work.
Coming my way from across the parking lot was what society would
consider a bum.
From the looks of him, he had no car, no home, no clean clothes, and no
money. There are times when you feel generous but there are other times
that you just don't want to be bothered. This was one of those "don't
want to be bothered times."
"I hope he doesn't ask me for any money," I thought.
He didn't.
He came and sat on the curb in front of the bus stop but he didn't look
like he could have enough money to even ride the bus.
After a few minutes he spoke.
"That's a very pretty car," he said.
He was ragged but he had an air of dignity around him. His scraggly
blond beard keep more than his face warm.
I said, "thanks," and continued wiping off my car.


He sat there quietly as I worked. The expected plea for money never
came.
As the silence between us widened something inside said, "ask him if
he needs any help." I was sure that he would say "yes" but I held true
to the inner voice.
"Do you need any help?" I asked.
He answered in three simple but profound words that I shall never forget.
We often look for wisdom in great men and women. We expect it from
those of higher learning and accomplishments.

I expected nothing but an
outstretched grimy hand. He spoke the three words that shook me.
"Don't we all?" he said.

I was feeling high and mighty, successful and important, above a bum
in the street, until those three words hit me like a twelve gauge
shotgun.
Don't we all?
I needed help. Maybe not for bus fare or a place to sleep, but I
needed help. I reached in my wallet and gave him not only enough for bus
fare, but enough to get a warm meal and shelter for the day. Those
three little words still ring true. No matter how much you have, no matter
how much you have accomplished, you need help too. No matter how little you
have, no matter how loaded you are with problems, even without money or
a place to sleep, you can give help.

Even if it's just a compliment, you can give that.
You never know when you may see someone that appears to have it all.
They are waiting on you to give them what they don't have. A different
perspective on life, a glimpse at something beautiful, a respite from
daily chaos, that only you through a torn world can see.
Maybe the man was just a homeless stranger wandering the streets. Maybe
he was more than that.

Maybe he was sent by a power that is great and
wise, to minister to a soul too comfortable in themselves.

Maybe God looked down, called an Angel, dressed him like a bum, then said, "go minister to that man cleaning the car, that man needs help."
Don't we all?

Zen? Arabic for Good?

What Are You Doing! What Are You Saying!

In modern times a great deal of nonsense is talked about masters and disciples, and about the inheritance of a master's teaching by favorite pupils, entitling them to pass the truth on to their adherents. Of course Zen should be imparted in this way, from heart to heart, and in the past it was really accomplished. Silence and humility reigned rather than profession and assertion. The one who received such a teaching kept the matter hidden even after twenty years. Not until another discovered through his own need that a real master was at hand was it learned that the teching had been imparted, and even then the occasion arose quite naturally and the teaching made its way in its own right. Under no circumstance did the teacher even claim "I am the successor of So-and-so." Such a claim would prove quite the contrary.

The Zen master Mu-nan had only one successor. His name was Shoju. After Shoju had completed his study of Zen, Mu-nan called him into his room. "I am getting old," he said, "and as far as I know, Shoju, you are the only one who will carry on this teaching. Here is a book. It has been passed down from master to master for seven generations. I have also added many points according to my understanding. The book is very valuable, and I am giving it to you to represent your successorhip."

"If the book is such an important thing, you had better keep it," Shoju replied. "I received your Zen without writing and am satisfied with it as it is."

"I know that," said Mu-nan. "Even so, this work has been carried from master to master for seven generations, so you may keep it as a symbol of having received the teaching. Here."

They happened to be talking before a brazier. The instant Shoju felt the book in his hands he thrust it into the flaming coals. He had no lust for possessions.

Mu-nan, who never had been angry before, yelled: "What are you doing!"

Shoju shouted back: "What are you saying!"