Seminars

When you are invited to a seminar, draw a deep breath and think deeply.  Is it a topic you are greatly interested in? What is the duration of the seminar? Who are the speakers? Many a time I have been sucked into a vortex of lengthy sessions concerning topics I am not even vaguely interested in, because I lacked the courage to say "no". Age has taught me better sense, as time is doubly precious.

There are some seminars which are so meaningful, and leave you enriched at the end of it. Some are textile seminars, like the one I was part of very recently. To read a paper for  40 minutes is an onerous task, and it called for hours of research and checking and rechecking facts and sources and making sure you don’t step over the time limit. An exhibition was curated of traditional old textiles, and the other was organised by Co-optex, which displayed sarees which were revived for contemporary times an eye opener. When the MD spoke about the handloom pockets they had worked in, with a power point presentation enhanced with  visuals of the sarees themselves, plus showing them on stage, it made an impressive impact. The seminar was organised by the CP  Ramaswami Iyer  Foundation, in a bid to keep our culture alive and kicking.

Then there was the Food Seminar to which I was invited some years ago. A lively presentation of gourmet chefs who spoke of their experiences in hotels, and other foodies, food writers and  restaurant owners who  gave their ideas on food and the associated stories kept you fully absorbed. If you are just invited to attend and not a participant, the exit coast is clear if your interest wanes,   You wait for the speaker to finish, duck and rush out and hopefully no one has noticed.

There are other seminars, terribly boring  with  the escape route  blocked. Even if you are not a participant, you might be an office bearer or on the organising committee, and need to see the event  to the very end.

I have been part of such events as well, and, given the duty of scribe, I had to sit right in front under the speaker’s eye, smaking copious notes. There is one eminent speaker, brilliant and articulate. It is a joy to hear him speak as he put forth every idea with astounding clarity. He classifies as an excellent speaker and I am sure gets invited to speak at prestigious seminars.

Sadly, after the first energising 15 minutes, I find myself being slowly lulled to sleep, and definitely not because the talk is boring. I suppose his well modulated sonorous voice has this effect on me, and sitting practically in the front row, I dab my heavy eyelids with wet wipes and will myself to keep awake,  This has happened to me with this speaker not once but many times. When I look around at other meetings, I find that I am not alone in being transported to lala land during speeches, and I daresay I derive small comfort with this knowledge.

There was a time when I was particularly pleased with the way my talk was going, as usually I am quite critical of how I have rendered my speech. More so, I showed some beautiful visuals to thrust home my message when I suddenly noticed strange noises emanating from the second row. Thinking that a dog had strayed into the hall, I took a quick look at the row not wanting to deflect from my speech, when I noticed a bearded gentleman snoring gently but with wavering noises in between, so much so that I was a bit concerned that he might be having breathlessness or sleep apnoea. I need not have worried, as his friend noticed my concern and gave him a dig with his elbow and he got up and smiled, and I continued, but with spirits deflated realising that all would not consider my talk so absorbing.

Some words of caution, if you are clearly not a seminar person and you just need to attend, look at the topics, go late to catch the speaker you would like to hear out, and slip in unnoticed. Sit right at the back, or near the exit door. Look for coffee or lunch breaks in the programme sheet and  don’t forget to take a strong cup of coffee, even if you are not in the habit. Some well meaning people I know, consider it important to be seen at intellectual talks, or plays and the like and don’t stay longer for more than fifteen minutes. A Mumbai friend told me it happened in Prithvi Theatre all the time..

The speakers need to be briefed about the time permitted. If you are among the first three speakers, you might be tempted to overstep the time limit cutting off the rest miserably as they would have to compromise on time.  And, dear organisers, remember that some intellectuals could be erudite and good writers but not good speakers, so please consider the plight of the patient audience.

Oops I better get back to my preparation for my next talk and God help the audience if I  don’t make it interesting…..

Land of Gold

To many of us visiting  Dubai means shopping in humongous malls,  catching the shopping festival with its fabulous discounts, the Global Village, and incredible entertainment packages. As a tourist you gawk at glitzy skyscrapers emulating the US skyline, fine dining, and monumental buildings.  Where else would you find artificial beaches, roadsides and  parks with greenery and flowers, trees, grown and nurtured with water which is a precious commodity more expensive than petrol? Last year, not surprisingly 10 million tourists visited Dubai.

You can snigger at the synthetic presence, everything artificial, like polyester fabric as opposed to real handloom, but you have to hand it to the town planners for their meticulous vision, for their doing what is right for the people and ensuring a life of comfort provided they follow the rules. Stay there for a month and you find that you are insulated in a cocoon of security, only vaguely aware of the horrific happenings, oblivious of the petty politics  in  the  country to which you belong. If like me you want to experience the pain, the challenges and the triumph when you beat  situations, it is difficult to pull up your roots and consign yourself to a life of comfort living on a permanent basis.

 Almost all projects are done to perfection, in this vibrant city,  right down to the smallest detail. Experts from other countries are called in for advice, planning and execution,  and if you are a water sports person, Dubai is the place for you. There seems to be a robotic efficiency by the people in charge melded with a respect for the elderly and the love for children. If an elderly person or a child wishes to cross the road, and even if pedestrian lights are not on, the speeding traffic comes to a dead halt.  No gnashing of teeth, no road rage, no honking, which is such a blessed relief. Come calamity, and the speed with which normalcy is restored is amazing.

Take the recent fire near Burj Khalifa. A massive fire tore through the Address Downtown hotel on New Year’s Eve. Thousands of people were evacuated from the building and Downtown area and the fire took 24 hours to extinguish. A faulty spotlight an electrical connection sparked off the fire.  Reports say that the fire crews rushed to the site in two minutes and the guests evacuated quickly and sprinklers prevented the fire from spreading. The scheduled fireworks took place as if nothing had happened.

With the drop in prices of oil, the economy is bound to be affected, but knowing the vision the rulers have, it will be dealt with and other avenues of revenue will be created, for that has been the principle of this country…never say die.

The United Arab Emirates (UAE) is a country on the Arabian Peninsula located on the south eastern coast of the Persian Gulf and the north western coast of the Gulf of Oman, and consists of seven emirates, founded in 1971 as a federation, Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Sharjah, Ajman, Umm Al Quwain, Fujairah and Ras Al Khaimah.

One of the places I just loved  is the Dubai Museum located in the Al Fahidi Fort, built in 1787  the oldest existing building in Dubai. The history is so well depicted that it transports you to the general culture of the land way back in the 1800s. You can see local antiquities as well as artifacts with the African and Asian countries that traded with Dubai, including dioramas depicting life in the Emirate before the advent of oil.

And if mall hopping is your cup of tea,  don your walking shoes and walk miles to shop till you drop. Amongst others you could choose the Dubai Mall which is the largest in the world, or dine near the Burj Khalifa  the 160 storey skyscraper, tallest in the world, with its observation desk as you  watch the dancing fountains. The Dubai Desert Safari is not to be missed. The Dubai Creek is a saltwater creek going all the way to the Ras Al Khor Wildlife Sanctuary. Legend has it that the creek extended as far inland as Al Ain and that the ancient Greeks called it River Zara. Historically the creek divided the city. And did you know that rupees constituted the local currency till they were replaced by dirhams?

Dubai is the only emirate that has Hindu temples and  a Gurudwara. It has grown from a small fishing village to what it is today an entertainment capital of the Middle East.

With all the glamour, the mind boggling bests, we look forward to harking back to our nests in India, with its innumerable stories of poverty, of scarcity, social disparity, taking back with us a determination to fight to make our country a better place to live in taking a page from Dubai with its streamlined governance, and comfort living, provided you follow all the laws.

Maid to Order

When I heard that a couple we knew and respected took to a Retired People’s Home like ducks to water when their maid of several years standing abandoned them, I gasped with disbelief. Confronted with the topic of “maids” at every social gathering, I used to be glad that I didn’t have any complaints to air. However, quite recently when my own faithful maids moved to an inconvenient distance, and regretfully gave in their notice,  I realised how corroding our dependency on domestic help could be. 

Worst hit when I was hospitalised, the household just didn’t function.. And to come home to dust and disarray was a chilling prospect. Our whole lives change when the maids quit, without a by your leave. For one who prided herself on holding her maids ad infinitum  I have had the largest turnover in the last three months, sometimes at the rate of one every two days despite trying every trick in the book.  The fastidiousness of sticking to a pecking order, what to clean when, and giving those inaccessible corners a lick with extra soap and water, and changing water for swabbing with every room have all gone with the wind. You have to pretend the cobwebs don’t exist unless they hang like seaweed in long dusty tendrils. The bathrooms don’t get an extra wipe, and if you slip ma’am that’s your lookout, ....you see you have to be careful. Pay scales have sky rocketed, and admittedly the cost of living has gone up. You are willing to pay for it but it does not meet with their expectations. The women demand  wages by the hour often bordering on the ridiculous.

There are some working maids who, loth to work in your home produce a stream of women you could interview and ultimately engage. You wonder why they are so obliging till the maid herself tells you that the procurer is an unofficial agent. One woman took umbrage at my asking her if she was an agent, but all the same she said she did expect a generous tip for her helpful spirit.

The characters I got are worth fleshing out for future use in a forthcoming play or a novel. Mops are of course in and if you as much dare suggest  they wipe the floor with a nice swab cloth, they look at you as if you are demented. I have a collection of mops in my broom cupboard as each maid likes her own brand.  No use adding Lysol or cleaner to the bucket of water, as it is only one dip and the entire house is swabbed with it.

The cutest of maids I have had is The Duo, who defy any suggestions of Hindu-Muslim differences. Rajeshwari is a staunch Hindu, and Shakila a dyed in the wool Muslim. They would only work as a pair, one for cooking and one for the cleaning work. “How can you employ a Muslim?” ask some orthodox friends. “Arent they human beings? And when I preach about secularism in my writing there cannot be any duplicity, I have to set the trend...” I say a tad defensively. Shakila a giggly young woman with flowers dripping all over her sari would arrive in a burqa which she would carefully remove in the privacy of my utility  assisted by her friend Rajeshwari. It didn’t matter that the cook got paid a higher salary. They would share their earnings equally. They worked as a team and left for home together. The Duo lasted only for three whole days. When Shakila injured her ankle, Rajeshwari was with her nursing her in hospital!  When one was absent the other would take off as well. That was the end of the conjoined twins as far as I was concerned.

Stay-at –home maids are dreams from the past, even if you have an elderly person at home who does not require nursing, just someone to keep her company and attend to her needs. There are no takers despite an offer of a fat salary.

What is the solution? Take a leaf out of the book of your NRI children. Change your lifestyle. Resort to one dish  meals.  I have several recipes for meals in one. Reena could help us too! Stop entertaining at home. Why should you when you can relax at the club without having to sweat over preprations? Our home has always been “open house”..I even had house guests when I was convalescing. Forget it, close the door and never mind if your friends think you have suddenly become inhospitable. If they do they were not really your friends. Get over your paranoia for cleanliness and order. ( I am trying very hard believe me) And if you get the maid of your dreams, pamper her, increase her salary in fits and starts, and though you need to be firm, overlook her idiosyncrasies and whining.

Be on good terms with your watchman, and if need be your neighbour’s watchman and the roadside ironing people. This group is the richest source of producing maids or drivers. The catch however is that they will fix the salary and if it is as high as they can negotiate, they take a cut from the working woman! Being street smart is the key to survival, and it is a question of increasing demand and diminishing supply. Stop complaining and moaning, because we Indians are  a pampered lot, who have been slowly stripped of the luxury of slaves. Accept the situation gracefully and revamp your life, though I know it is so so hard.

And last but not the least, if none of this works and you get worn out and nervous by the day and find your pressure rising, and you are a senior citizen,  just seriously consider shifting to a retired peoples home. You won’t have to worry about housekeeping or cooking or looking for a maid to order...

A tall storey

When my husband and I decided to give up our beautiful home, and convert it into apartments we handed over Avanti to "developers", for I believe that is the right word. What it developed into is what I want to share. The builder gave us an option of moving into a bigger complex. My husband was always loth to move into concrete jungles, and so was I. We opted to stay in the same locale where we have been positioned for the last 30 years or more. We thought staying in a building which had only 7 apartments would be exclusive, but we were sadly mistaken.
I wish it were possible to choose our neighbours! we don't have one like minded owner who feels for the building like we do.
No one is bothered about cleanliness outside of the building. clothes are dried out in the front yard of the ground floor, parking in unauthorised spaces, not attending meetings etc are part of our travails. A tattered mat is a reminder that no one cares, and the only ones who care have no voice.
Being owners of the "once house" the mantle of president, secretary, treasurer have landed squarely own our shouldersweighed down with solving problems of plumbing, basement flooding, dealing with the maintenance staff etc for the past 11 years, save for a brief period of help. The fact that we are getting older and totally disinerested in running the association where there is no co-operation or goodwill, nor appreciation does not matter. The rest of the residents claim they are too busy and the couple of retired parents who live there are labelled too infirm though they are a lot younger than us.
The residents look the other way when we tell them the building needs a fresh coat of paint and also when we tell them that the money contributed cannot meet the fixed expenditure... Some of them refuse to pay for the lift, saying they don't use it, that we the third floor people are the ones who use it most! One irate gentleman brought a whole lot of dirt and threw it before our front door marking his displeasure at our washing the balcony and dared allowed a little water to drip on to their garden below!
We have been given advice by many of our well meaning friends. "Just go away for 6 months, let the building go to dogs, yell at the non co operating people etc etc". Though we dont believe in running away from our problems, maybe one day we will and I fervently pray that the place we choose will be nothing short of paradise!
So before you fall into the temptation of "developing" your property, check with people like us before you are sunk into a quicksand of heartlessness!

Travails of a Tawa

TRAVAILS OF A TAWA

Sabita Radhakrishna

With the era of splurging come into age, even people who are not compulsive shoppers feel the need to spend when they roam the malls and shopping centres. I am not one of those who will "shop till I drop" not even in Dubai. No way. But when I am surrounded by those who use friendly persuasions, purportedly, for my own good, I think I do get bamboozled into buying and have lived to regret the occasional rash decision. Travelling economy class rewards you with limited baggage allowance, so I set out with a firm resolve not to buy a thing. We visited one of the new malls, and I kept grumbling that the potti kadais we had back home years ago had so much character compared to the glitzy malls which sold the same old things in different packaging. I was accompanied by my mother, an inveterate shopper, and my husband who is terribly anti-shopping. Balanced precariously between two opposites was yours truly, trudging along, my mother at my elbow with a gleam in her eye pointing to this and that, remarking how useful these things would be in my home.

Our first stop was the IKEA shop. I love to visit this place irrespective of my resolve. Originally in Deira City Centre, it closed in 2005 to a re-opening of the store four times bigger and housed at the Dubai Festival City. Picture frames, tableware, and soft cotton towels from IKEA blends right in with the furnishings. The idea behind IKEA is to help you fulfill your own ideas in decorating your home by offering a wide range of well designed, functional furniture and accessories for the home. At prices you'll find surprisingly affordable. With their origins in Sweden you can find the style you prefer from modern to rustic fabrics, sheets, furniture, beds, lamps, rugs in all sorts of colors and patterns that match like a dream.

The gleaming steel and chrome kitchens with different combinations, the island kitchens with their impeccable lighting, and wall strung stands to accommodate those snazzy little jars which can hold tempering ingredients or masala powders….lure you…. I took deep sighs and wished I was 20 years younger with my zest for immaculate housekeeping combined with aesthetics. Of course 20 years ago there was the question of affordability.

My legs having faced grevious injury would not allow me to keep pace with my enthusiasm. I wearily sink into an upholstered chair in the furniture section. "Look but don't touch" is a principle you can forget when you come to IKEA. "Lie down on our beds. Try out our chairs. Compare prices and measurements. Make yourself at home. After all, your home could be just like this."

"Comfortable isn't it ma'am?" asks the helpful salesgirl. "Before you decide I would advise you to try the one here, it's really top class." I nod my head and smile, put on my best grimace just in case she hustles me out of the section for having made a visilble dent in the upholstery. Mother and I gratefully follow the arrows to the exit and all the while, she tells me that the tawa she set her sights on would have been so useful, and such heavy cast iron pieces are not easily available in India. Wearily I sit on the first chair I find in the restaurant. Would an angel bring me a sandwich? My mother mentions the tawa to me again. Husband overhears and yells, "why don't you girls go and get it if it is that important." I hardly feel a girl and certainly don't feel gigglish.

I hold my mother and waddle towards the lift. We reach the tawa section after a search, and yes there it is beckoning. My mother eagerly claims it and I notice her arm sags. I take it from her and realize it weighs a ton. Actually it is not a tawa at all , it is a glorified frying pan, with a handle equally heavy. In no mood to change my mind I lug it sheepishly to the entrance while husband waits. Gallantly he takes the thing from me and says "Ouch!" Once home, I hide it under my bed.

As luck would have it, I hear friend Asha is leaving for Chenni for just 10 days. Her husband has gone before her and she is carrying just a sling bag. I ask Asha if she would take the tawa. She agrees most spontaneously. We are invited for tea at her cousin's place and she tells me to bring it over. We enjoy the tea, but one look at her face tells me it is bad news. " I will take the thing home and weigh it,aunty, but if I am overweight or rather if my luggage is, I will have to leave it here for someone else to bring. You see I am also carrying Sanju's golf paraphernalia, so I am very sorry. But there is a chance I might take it. Asha is one of those sweet young things who would do anything for an aunt even if it means inconvenience.

My son has been invited for dinner by two of his American colleagues and of course he has been told he has to bring his visiting family to meet them. Asha drops us off at the classy hotel, where you cannot lug a heavy tawa or carry it in a plastic bag. I leave the thing in Asha's car and feebly attempt a "please try to take it to Chennai dear," Asha flashes her brilliant smile before she leaves.

Two days later we telephone and find out Asha has left, minus the tawa. My daughter- in-law Anu calls Sanju (who has returned alone) rather desperately, requesting him to bring the tawa home before we catch the flight. Sanju assures us that he will, and he forgets the whole thing. Anu makes one last desperate bid to collect the tawa.. After a series of calls she learns that the thing has been passed on to Krishna and Astrid's home since it is nearer ours. Anu makes a trip to their home only to be told that it did not reach them. By now I am sick of the tawa and decide to bequeath it to Anu with all my love. "Oh no, ma," she says "not for me, I don't need such things, I have one too many here." I suspect she fears her arm might get disclocated when she attempts to wash it.

As the plane takes off from Dubai airport I am relieved to travel tawa-less and wish the new owner the best of luck. Asha returns to Dubai, and is full of remorse that the thing got left behind. She teaches at my grandson's school and the good natured Aditya promises to carry it home if she reaches it to him. Asha is rushing for a teachers meeting and requests the peon to hand it over to Aditya. The peon grumbles a bit as he is carrying the thing to Aditya's class. "A parcel for Aditya", he announces. Aditya who? There are about 3 Adityas in the class and just then my Aditya visits the loo, so no claimants. Back goes the tawa to the teachers room. Next day Asha is aghast that the thing is still lying there propped up against the wall. Anxious to avoid foot injuries and accidents, she decides to hand it over herself and manages to catch the right Aditya as he is walking towards the bus. His little arm sags and it keeps bumping into his legs as he tries to balance his heavy load of books and the thing as he heads home from the bus stop He groans and sighs as he reaches it home. Anu finds his legs covered with bruises where the thing kept bumping into him.

Back home I recount the tawa tale to Asha's aunt Rajam. She lets out a scream. "You mean you trust these children with this sort of thing? I had taken some podis to Asha's place to be handed over to my daughter. It didn't reach my daughter, but a visiting maid from Asha's mom-in-law thought it was for them, and whisked the bottles away and was praised for suddenly making excellent sambars and vatha kozhambus…I assure you it will be plain luck if the tawa reaches you…..."

Two months later our son is arrives in Chennai. He reaches in the early hours of the morning but is bright as a button. We are each bleary eyed but try to match his smiles. "Ma I have something for you!" And even in my state of half sleep I know what it is.

The tawa or frying pan is lying in the pantry. My maid used it to give my knees oil formentations by heating cloth pads dipped in ayurvedic oil.. She believed that this way it will get seasoned (the tawa not my legs) I believe her. It is six months now and it still lies in all its glory in the pantry. "Too heavy to wash," remarks my maid.

I might just try frying cutlets tomorrow, and make Ma happy that she persuaded me to buy it…..