Ms. Meritta - hereafter a beautiful memory.....

It was the early 80's and the debut of a 20 something anglo indian teacher with a charming disposition gifted with musical talent into the classrooms of a boys school was the harbinger of many a beautiful days to come. 

She taught history, english and also lead the school choir. She was soft spoken, beautiful with short curls and never considered a cane as an accessory. I was part of the choir and also took private guitar lessons on weekends. She was dating her fiancee those days whom we all thought was a terrible mistake. 

A year or two later in one of the catechisim class, Ms Zeta (her mom and our teacher too - credited to be the first in tangasseri to ride a bike) asked us to pray for her and her family to get rid of a devil thats entered her house.  The previous night i heard the commotion in her house as i was a house boarder in the neighbouring house. The Devil left their home and the mom and daughter lead a lonely life.

I rarely heard about her in the last 2 decades..during which she lost her marriage, mom and a glimmer of hope to live. Cancer was at her doorstep with only an empathetic neighbour for support. I share my grief of a lovely teacher who passed away  - overwhelmed to know that she was composed in her last days to have had the courage to make advance arrangements for her funeral (including stitching her burial gown) knowing fully well she was alone in a world while waiting for her last day...! 

Acknowledgement for pics: Balu and Noushad

Artistic Yoga - Looking for flat abs....look no further!

It took a few days for my Concierge Service agent to locate a 'Yoga' centre here in Kuwait. The centre offered 'Artistic Yoga' and ran 3 sessions a week. Day one was a big suprise. It was 60 minutes of hard labour that required physical strength, flexibility, stamina, balance and agility - not to mention the litres of sweat that rained.

Little did I know that Artistic yoga was poles away from the traditional form of Yoga. Bharath Thakur the founder of 'Artistic Yoga' has creatively blended ancient yogic techniques (asanas, pranayam, bandhas, kriyas & mudras) with modern cardiovascular-training intended to achieve dramatic results in body-toning and weight loss - abs in particular.

There is soothing music in the background while you toil your body. But at the end of the session you leave each class feeling re-charged, yet calmer...tranquil within.

Looking for flat abs....look no further!

Hannah Montana and the pink dreams....

 She is 6 years old and hates her classical dance classes but loves bollywood dance numbers. So the 1 hour dance class is split into 30 minutes of classical lessons followed by a bollywood bonus in the 2nd half. Apart from pickig up an art, the 1 hour of prespiration is also intended to free her from the seemingly harmless comment 'she is on the healthier side'.  

She adores 'hannah montana'. Why? 'because she is a pop star!'
So? 'she is rocking!' she said with her eyes wide open fluttering over rows of 'hannah montana' branded frocks, jackets and accessories - all of them PINK. All her class mates have 'HM' branded clothes or school bags. She managed to get the 'HM' clothes this time with a promise for a school bag during next visit.

Its not something new that kids want to be like grown ups. But these rows of branded pink sequenced dreams for sale is a highway to that pseudo-adulthood. A few rows across, women (housewives, mothers, aunts, professionals) were drifting through flowery prints - to restore the lost girly days.

The date line....

One more of those survey findings that bloomed atop a lifestyle journos desk as a filler for the next days edition. But I found this one interesting. Women dates an average 24 times before they meet Mr. Right. Each set back adds up 8 pounds. Just imagine... by the time the average 'golden date number' is crossed she would have flabbed colossally....

I presume the journo either got the maths wrong or is a fan of junk food corporations that run global obesity mines - if latter then a feeble attempt to wipe the guilt smeared on them.

My pick is that the journo was just bad in numbers. Else how does one explain many of our toned page 3 celebrities.

In search of a song...

Simon Cowell commented to one of the American Idol participant that she performed a song that didnt represent her personality. The song represented someone else and not 'her' that they had seen in the last couple of weeks.

But what caught my attention was the participants immediate well articulated response to his comment. She said ' Am not sure why I should just portray one single personality. I embodify very distinct pieces of varied personalities that come into play in different situations. Which one should i  pick for American Idol?  I dont think i need to pick one of them to represent me here...rather go with a mix!' 

So true. We all do.... play different roles and personifies as the script demands. As a sibling, spouse, colleague, lover, client, boss, or as a stranger who picks up a conversation while in metro, we all exude multiple layers of personlaities. I have not come across a single song that can personify this myriad collage of human ego and alter egos.

The mud sling on Tiger Woods brand representation or the questionable 'Sweat Equity' of Ms. Pushkar that consumed tons of brazilain rain forest pulp and peaked traffic on global fibre-optic networks, i guess was all about millions of Simons' quest for a singular persona in these tabliod victims thats palatable for public consumption.

Tweets - Remembering Tharoor, Sunanda and Jessica

Be it the nail biting match point played out by Sania and Mailk in media glare or images of fake eyelashes of Sunanda Pushkar and of a confident stubborn Tharoor that filled the flat screens for days, the fun doesn’t end. These days media gets their ‘stories’ (they are no more news) from a small birdie that tweets it out in 140 characters.


Tweeting - the neologism that feeds the new age news media in fact broadcasts to a global collective consciousness. A powerful set of 140 characters that can oust a minister in India and an attractive brand consultant in Dubai to lose her ‘sweat equity’.

I miss the good old ‘Doordarshan’ days. Even though they were heavily loaded with ‘Rajiv Gandhi’ PR, I wish I could switch on to a 8.40 pm news read by Salma Sultan (with a rose nestled in her hair) or to the English verion read by G.B. Komal Singh and the path breaking ‘World this week’ from Prannoy Roy.

But in equal measure also acknowledge how the same new age media was instrumental in bringing final justice to Jessica Lal today after an agonizing 11 years.

Once upon a time...

Story telling is an art especially when you have a heavy pair of eyes working against gravity in the dark. Children love to listen to bedtime stories. Listening to the same story over and over again never really bores them. On the contrary they memorise it each time and ensure that you don’t take any short cuts to finish the story earlier than schedule.

I have rehashed familiar stories and swapped characters when run out of new stories. At times I invent my own stories where the characters love to eat vegetables and hate KFC and colas. She agrees to the moral of the story but is short lived … giving me enough opportunity to repeat it again and again.

I think repeated listening of the favourite fairly tales in a way gives children the confidence to form their own visuals within and to relate to their surroundings. For a child each new day is an experience that augments the surreal world sketched by beautiful princesses, dwarfs, fairies et al.

Once upon a time there was a princess…..don’t yawn ….let your child paint a beautiful world that only belongs to her.

Second chances...

They lost all their wealth including a palatial house that stood majestically in half acre of tropical land with jack fruit trees, myriad varities of mango and banana, scores of teakwood trees, and a land scaped lawn among others.

A decade later they were fortunate to buy it back from the very same couple to whom they had sold it. To me it sounded a bit celluliodish. We seldom hear something like that. Even if you have the money owning a previously sold property is not easy...especially when its a house and the present owner has no financial reason to sell it.

I believe it was destiny...and believe in the age old saying 'you cant win a desired love or land; it has to come over to you.'

This second chance has also restored the memories of their childeren that were lost in the dust that ensued the trauma of loss.

We all deserve second chances...be it a lost love, a job that slipped away or a terrible illness. Its only a question of how much we need it.

Creation of Wealth and Maids or (No) maid = (No) half wealth

Price tags in the Middleeastern cities have surged in sync with the skyscrapers in the last decade forcing expat women to step out of their apartments and take up jobs to support the growing family budget. This meant they could afford more spends on luxury goods, signing up for yoga or weigth loss classes, occasional leisure travel....and reasonable savings.

Families with babies and or school going children owes a big part of this wealth creation opportunity to a person who takes care of their children while they are at work - the Maid. With a lack of a social support system in the arab cities, a maid becomes a key resource in the economic equation of an expat family.

They come cheap and hence most families have one. Western expats live a dream with some families going for more than one maid to support the family chores (a expensive dream in their home country. So its just not the tax free haven that keeps them going.). Some local families have one for every child (guestimated average would be around at 4 kids per family). The couple, kids and their respective maids move around in malls like a NGO delegation atteding an UN conference on shoppping.

Last week my friend was at receiving end from his wife when he was late to pick her after work. Reason being they are late to reach home as the maid needs to leave for the day. For a moment he felt the maid had priority over him in his wife's check list. I told him that half of your monthly wealth creation starts and ends with the maid. (No) maid = (No) half wealth. He is good in maths, understands economics and has an MBA from IIM.

He is a happy man now. Leaves office on time.

See Paris for me...

I pick up a few books from a local bookstore everytime i go home. Last week i returned to kuwait with 4 new titles and one among them is 'See Paris for me' authored by Preeti Aisoli. I have never heard about her or read any review about the book. I picked it up for the namesake. From the back cover i assumed it would dvelve into the intriacies of a mature passionate relationship outside marriage.

The narration is more or less a diary entry narrating a forbidden relationshp between two mature individuals. The story is set in Paris and takes you through almost all major museums, concert halls and works of painters.  Its about Sadhvi, wife of a diplomat posted in Paris who gets intensly attracted to a scholar teacher.

The story is set in Paris, Budapest and hydrebad. Both of them are mature, inteligent with a common interest in arts, musuems and concerts. Readers need to have patience for loads of narrtive on music and art. Her yearning for him and the emotional struggle to let go of it forms the underlying narrative. They occcasionally meet at her home for lunch with other friends or chance meetings at museums or on the numerous romantic parisian streets.

They rarely talk freely about their relationship. But their meetings can be best summarised by " deprived of the will to move they sat next to each other in unquiet silence. The unspoken swirled around them in dizzly 
circles".

This novel celebrates the silent yearning at times the soul craves for and is painted in a canvas that sketches the struggle to let go of it too.

Strictly for moody romantic art lovers.