The story of the bead bag begins way back in 1976 when my family- mom, dad, brother and a 10-year old me, were on a trip to Hong Kong. My mom bought several colourful bead bags to gift to relatives and friends back home. The bags were more or less similar, ladies' multipurpose fabric drawstring bags with colourful beads pasted in attractive patterns on a black background- chirping birds on a tree, dancing peacocks, galloping deers. By and by, most of the bags were gifted except the bag with the pattern of the galloping deers. For some reason this particular bag stayed with my mom, unused, for the next thirty years. It was one among many of her 'prized possessions', objects which she found too pretty to use. All such purchases were looked at and admired every once in a while, replaced in the polythene they were kept in and stashed away in her special cupboard for 'dene-lene ka saaman'.
Thirty years later, in June 2006, I was visiting my mom with my husband and kids. During our brief stay with her, she fell ill and was advised immediate surgery for which we decided to bring her back to Gurgaon with us. Somehow the colourful bead bag made its way into her hurriedly-packed suitcase. The thought being that she would gift it to Nishita, her grand-daughter and my neice, who would now be visiting her 'dadi' in Gurgaon rather than in Mumbai.
One thing led to another. Mom's health deteriorated beyond anyone's worst nightmare. She battled cancer and it's related side effects. Health and recovery took precedence over thoughts of passing on the bead bag. Once in a while she did mention that I should use it. But the bag stayed in a corner of her cupboard shelf. And that is where it stayed when the end came ten months later.
Feeling an attachment for the bead bag I kept it for myself. She had wanted me to keep it, I reasoned to myself. It took me a year or so before I actually got around to using it. And the first time I slung it on my shoulder, the fabric strap gave way due to decay. Disappointed and remorseful, I put it back into the cupboard. Till one day I got a brain wave and decided to replace the fabric straps with cane handles from an old bag. Voila! The bead bag was now ready to be used in it's new 'avataar'.
And that is how I have been using it ever since.
Each time I have taken it out, people have remarked at it's beauty and uniqueness. Children have loved the colourful galloping deers on it. Strangers have complimented me for carrying 'such an attractive bag'. The compliments I have received for that bag have not ceased.
And when people ask me about where I got it from, I always enjoy telling them the entire story.
The bead bag has taught me an invaluable lesson.
I have learnt to multiply the value of all 'prized possessios' by sharing them with the whole world. I have learnt to multiply my joys bymaking everybody a part of them.
I believe that the reason my mom wanted me to keep the bag for myself was because she was sure I would spread beauty and joy in the world by using her bead bag.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
A global India????
Globalisation!
A global India!
In what sense?
Does the ever-increasing numbers of outward-bound indians, qualify for India being a global nation?
Does availability of brussel sprouts and thyme with the local green grocer make India a global nation?
Does the surge in numbers of 'World Schools' in our metros make us a global nation?
Does making films with Hollywood-style special effects make us global?
Does learning to eat funny-named dishes from all over the world make us global citizens?
Still wondering!
What is it that made us call ourselves a global nation?
What is it about us that made the world ordain us a future superpower?
The average indian still sleeps on the pavement, eats and shits on the pavement.
The average indian is still unaware of the happenings around the world. ( So, of course he is unaware that he is a citizen of a future superpower and must talk and behave a certain way).
The average indian still struggles to make a living.
The average indian persists being a pawn in the larger game of governance. He has no power over his destiny which rests in the hands of the rich and mighty.
On the other hand, the above average indian lives in a world of make-believe. He lives in India but pretends he is abroad.
He lives in apartment blocks with names like 'The Close'; his apartment is centrally-airconditioned with a jacuzzi, a garbage -chute, CCTV cameras and a lot of other trappings that he once fancied in his NRI cousin's house.
He sends his young children to a school where they celebrate Halloween and Thanksgiving.
He and his family are as alienated from the supposedly 'future superpower i.e. India' as the average indian on the pavement.
Is there really someone out there who is still proud to be living in the country of his birth?
Doesn't seem like it!
The man on the pavement realises that hard work is his only salvation. His sense of pride comes from being able to feed his family two square meals a day.
The above average indian is anyway only 'passing his time ' in India, in between vacations abroad. He uses the first opportunity he gets to bad-mouth India.
It is finally the middle class indian who is weighed down by all the feelings of 'pride for country'. He is the educated, thinking indian who is aware of the country's rich culture etc. and takes pride in it.
He believes to his core that India is actually capable of becoming a 'future superpower', more so because he sees himself as being the cause in the matter.
He instills pride for the country in his children by sending them to schools instilling indian values and culture.
His children go on to study in the best indian institutions of higher learning because he believes that these are superior to any institution abroad.
He religiously pays his taxes, abides by all rules and regulations, knowing no other way of being.
It is he who participates vehemently in media debates about where the country is heading and what the government should be doing.
Consequently it is he who feels the greatest shame with the entire CWG mess.
He is the one who feels the most let down by the manner in which the national pride has been vandalised.
Is this the use to which his hard earned money has been put to? Has it filled the bank accounts of Kalmadi and Co..?
There could have been a million different developmental projects accomplished with 70,000 crores.
A million different dreams fulfilled, a million different smiles distributed.
What could have been!!!
Is there any point to this debate now?
Have we not brought this upon ourselves?
Pride in our 'chalta hai' attitude! CRAP!!
Has it not led us to this day?
We no longer strive for excellence in anything, 'coz we take pride in 'sab chalta hai'!
Sad state to be in. Really hopeless situation for every 'proud indian', the true indian!
A global India!
In what sense?
Does the ever-increasing numbers of outward-bound indians, qualify for India being a global nation?
Does availability of brussel sprouts and thyme with the local green grocer make India a global nation?
Does the surge in numbers of 'World Schools' in our metros make us a global nation?
Does making films with Hollywood-style special effects make us global?
Does learning to eat funny-named dishes from all over the world make us global citizens?
Still wondering!
What is it that made us call ourselves a global nation?
What is it about us that made the world ordain us a future superpower?
The average indian still sleeps on the pavement, eats and shits on the pavement.
The average indian is still unaware of the happenings around the world. ( So, of course he is unaware that he is a citizen of a future superpower and must talk and behave a certain way).
The average indian still struggles to make a living.
The average indian persists being a pawn in the larger game of governance. He has no power over his destiny which rests in the hands of the rich and mighty.
On the other hand, the above average indian lives in a world of make-believe. He lives in India but pretends he is abroad.
He lives in apartment blocks with names like 'The Close'; his apartment is centrally-airconditioned with a jacuzzi, a garbage -chute, CCTV cameras and a lot of other trappings that he once fancied in his NRI cousin's house.
He sends his young children to a school where they celebrate Halloween and Thanksgiving.
For higher education he sends his older children abroad- US, UK, Australia, NZ anywhere abroad will do.
He spends every vacation abroad, each time a different exotic destination so that his children soak up the culture of the place.He and his family are as alienated from the supposedly 'future superpower i.e. India' as the average indian on the pavement.
Is there really someone out there who is still proud to be living in the country of his birth?
Doesn't seem like it!
The man on the pavement realises that hard work is his only salvation. His sense of pride comes from being able to feed his family two square meals a day.
The above average indian is anyway only 'passing his time ' in India, in between vacations abroad. He uses the first opportunity he gets to bad-mouth India.
It is finally the middle class indian who is weighed down by all the feelings of 'pride for country'. He is the educated, thinking indian who is aware of the country's rich culture etc. and takes pride in it.
He believes to his core that India is actually capable of becoming a 'future superpower', more so because he sees himself as being the cause in the matter.
He instills pride for the country in his children by sending them to schools instilling indian values and culture.
His children go on to study in the best indian institutions of higher learning because he believes that these are superior to any institution abroad.
He religiously pays his taxes, abides by all rules and regulations, knowing no other way of being.
It is he who participates vehemently in media debates about where the country is heading and what the government should be doing.
Consequently it is he who feels the greatest shame with the entire CWG mess.
He is the one who feels the most let down by the manner in which the national pride has been vandalised.
Is this the use to which his hard earned money has been put to? Has it filled the bank accounts of Kalmadi and Co..?
There could have been a million different developmental projects accomplished with 70,000 crores.
A million different dreams fulfilled, a million different smiles distributed.
What could have been!!!
Is there any point to this debate now?
Have we not brought this upon ourselves?
Pride in our 'chalta hai' attitude! CRAP!!
Has it not led us to this day?
We no longer strive for excellence in anything, 'coz we take pride in 'sab chalta hai'!
Sad state to be in. Really hopeless situation for every 'proud indian', the true indian!
Saturday, August 22, 2009
My Dad and me
As far back as I can remember I was always my dad’s pet. When I was little, he loved to apply artistic “bindis” on my forehead. When I was 7-8 years old, I remember my dad feeding me dinner with his own hands as I had a habit of dozing off at sharp 9p.m. with my dinner untouched most nights. That was also the age when I was struggling with Maths at school – especially fractions. Sundays were then spent getting the concepts right from an old class3 Maths textbook, even though I had moved to class4. Once Dad joined Air-India and was away on flight duties, he always made sure that there was something for me in his suitcase when he landed back. Much to the chagrin of my brother, the clothes that Dad brought back for me always fitted me perfectly whereas the ones bought for my brother invariably ended up being the wrong size. On Dad’s first international flight (which was to Hong Kong) he promised to bring me a doll, the kind whose eyes could open and shut. He kept his promise even though he had to pay a heavy customs duty for doing so. Innumerable moments that seemed ordinary back then, have gathered sheen with time. Memories of times gone by that I now want to hold on to and prevent from slipping and getting lost in the crevices of my mind.
There never seemed to be a need for the spoken word when dad and I were together. We could exchange a quick glance and empathise with each other when Mom was being overbearing. We could listen to Mehdi Hassan ghazals endlessly, Dad educating me on the nuances of the ghazal.
There were however two episodes in my life when our so called telepathy failed, creating a silence between us that was palpable with tension. One was when I chose not to take up medicine as a career and my father was hurt enough to say “You sabotaged me”. The second episode involved his choice of a groom for me and my feeling hurt that he had not considered my point of view while doing so. We made our peace after each of these episodes, again in an unspoken sort of way. My son, his first grandchild and the apple of his eye, mended the path for us, as only little children can do. My father found occasions to say “I am proud of you” which I took as his way of redemption. By finding happiness in my marriage to the groom of his choice I found a way of saying “All is forgiven”.
My annual trips to Bombay where my parents lived were always full of days planned with Mom as is mostly the case with mothers and married daughters. Dad was always around to take care of his grandchildren, whom he just adored. He was as connected to their childhood as he was to mine – aware of their friend’s names, their interests, their silly games. He would book tickets in advance for movies of their interest – Batman, Harry Potter, Stuart Little. But there was always a pall of gloom on the day of my return journey. It was always the same: he would not leave his room and when I mustered the courage to enter, I would find him seated on his chair staring into space with a sad expression on his face. I always got the feeling that he wasn’t sure if he was going to see us again.
The news of his having contracted cancer came as no surprise to him or to me. He had been losing weight and his pancreas had been malfunctioning for quite some time. He struggled with his chemotherapies with a lot of grit and stoic, taking all that the disease entails in his stride, not giving up hope. That year I was working in a new job and could not be with him as much as I, and I am sure he, would have liked. And that has been my biggest regret to date. Why did I not take a stand in time and be there for him, when he needed me? Why did I not sense his unspoken need for me? Having let him down will be one of the crosses I will have to bear for life.
I spoke to him 3 days before he expired to wish him for Holi. He asked me when I was coming. I said the earliest that I could make it was by the end of the month and he said that was too late. And true enough, it turned out to be too late. He had slipped into semi-coma the day after Holi, unaware of anybody’s presence around him.
I would like to think that he knew of my presence by his side even when he was in that state; that he lay there and blessed all his family, thinking of and blessing each one of us while he lay there motionless. Maybe I can even dare to hope that he forgave me for not living upto all his expectations.
I can never know for sure but I yearn for a message from him each moment, looking to connect with him in our very own “unspoken” manner.
But most of all I miss his hand on my head, a gesture that reaffirmed my belief in myself, a gesture that said “I will be there for you always, no matter what”.
There never seemed to be a need for the spoken word when dad and I were together. We could exchange a quick glance and empathise with each other when Mom was being overbearing. We could listen to Mehdi Hassan ghazals endlessly, Dad educating me on the nuances of the ghazal.
There were however two episodes in my life when our so called telepathy failed, creating a silence between us that was palpable with tension. One was when I chose not to take up medicine as a career and my father was hurt enough to say “You sabotaged me”. The second episode involved his choice of a groom for me and my feeling hurt that he had not considered my point of view while doing so. We made our peace after each of these episodes, again in an unspoken sort of way. My son, his first grandchild and the apple of his eye, mended the path for us, as only little children can do. My father found occasions to say “I am proud of you” which I took as his way of redemption. By finding happiness in my marriage to the groom of his choice I found a way of saying “All is forgiven”.
My annual trips to Bombay where my parents lived were always full of days planned with Mom as is mostly the case with mothers and married daughters. Dad was always around to take care of his grandchildren, whom he just adored. He was as connected to their childhood as he was to mine – aware of their friend’s names, their interests, their silly games. He would book tickets in advance for movies of their interest – Batman, Harry Potter, Stuart Little. But there was always a pall of gloom on the day of my return journey. It was always the same: he would not leave his room and when I mustered the courage to enter, I would find him seated on his chair staring into space with a sad expression on his face. I always got the feeling that he wasn’t sure if he was going to see us again.
The news of his having contracted cancer came as no surprise to him or to me. He had been losing weight and his pancreas had been malfunctioning for quite some time. He struggled with his chemotherapies with a lot of grit and stoic, taking all that the disease entails in his stride, not giving up hope. That year I was working in a new job and could not be with him as much as I, and I am sure he, would have liked. And that has been my biggest regret to date. Why did I not take a stand in time and be there for him, when he needed me? Why did I not sense his unspoken need for me? Having let him down will be one of the crosses I will have to bear for life.
I spoke to him 3 days before he expired to wish him for Holi. He asked me when I was coming. I said the earliest that I could make it was by the end of the month and he said that was too late. And true enough, it turned out to be too late. He had slipped into semi-coma the day after Holi, unaware of anybody’s presence around him.
I would like to think that he knew of my presence by his side even when he was in that state; that he lay there and blessed all his family, thinking of and blessing each one of us while he lay there motionless. Maybe I can even dare to hope that he forgave me for not living upto all his expectations.
I can never know for sure but I yearn for a message from him each moment, looking to connect with him in our very own “unspoken” manner.
But most of all I miss his hand on my head, a gesture that reaffirmed my belief in myself, a gesture that said “I will be there for you always, no matter what”.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Gurgaon's traffic woes
We live in Gurgaon. The "Millenium" city of India. The "Singapore" of India. The "Mall" capital of India. Wow! Living in a city with such a colossal reputation should indeed give me an euphoric feeling, an "out of India, foreign country" kind of feeling. But I feel anything but that.
Whenever people get impressed with our address, I do not know how to react. Am I to feel proud and wax eloquent about the place or should I just get them acquainted with the woes at ground level. Because one thing is for sure, the comments about the city are all to do with it's tall glass and chrome buildings.The unseen reality on the ground is a different story all together.Gurgaon is as distant from Singapore as a yak is from the streets of Delhi.
The city has grown vertically at such a fast pace that the infrastructure has not been able to keep pace with it. HUDA has been firefighting a losing battle ever since they opened their city to private builders. With fancy apartments and world-class condominiums comes a population that has experienced the best the world has to offer and their expectations from the city match the height of the towers they reside in.They choose to live in India but pretend to be living in New York!
Gurgaon also has the reputation of being the IT hub of the north and the call-centre capital of India.Which means that the local junta is an educated lot. But the way they drive their "Civics and Corollas" belies that. They drive like they know not what the red light stands for! Seriously Gurgaon could easily be the "chaotic traffic" capital of the country. Each driver drives at his own whim and fancy; choosing to ignore the traffic lights, the fellow drivers, the scarcely present traffic cop, the existence of footpaths, road dividers or even pedestrians.
My immediate concern is the traffic light right outside the gate of my apartment block. The apartments are on the "mall mile" of the city and hence prone to traffic snarls. U-turns at the traffic crossing were blocked by the authorities for better flow of traffic. Drivers had to take a u-turn a little further ahead. But as each driver drives and turns at his convenience, a few rule-breakers/ path-formers chose to go over the kerb and form a turning of their own. They became the trend-setters and it became the norm to drive over the kerb. Over time the kerb ceased to exist and there was a huge pothole due to frequent mauling by SUVs. Every kind of vehicle passed through that haloed pathway even though it's rear wheels threatened to get stuck in the, now huge, pothole. When the authorities placed huge concrete blocks to block the, now common pathway, the irate drivers formed another turning a little short of the previous turn. The situation is still the same.
Being a law-abiding and rule-following citizen I find myself in the minority when I choose to take the turn at the designated spot. I feel like a righteous "goody-2-shoes" who will not do any wrong. Why does following rules/ doing exactly what I am expected to do, make me feel like a loser? I would like to do more about this situation than just write a post on it. Would a human chain at the spot help change the rule-breaking habits of the people? I would really like inputs to tackle this situation.
Do people even realise that by harming public property, in this case the kerb, they are actually paying for it through the heightened taxes imposed by the government. Finally the buck always stops at the tax payer, the aam aadmi. Our short-sightedness will eventually be our undoing in all things. "Living for today" is the modern man's mantra and all our problems can be traced back to this root cause. Just think about it.
Whenever people get impressed with our address, I do not know how to react. Am I to feel proud and wax eloquent about the place or should I just get them acquainted with the woes at ground level. Because one thing is for sure, the comments about the city are all to do with it's tall glass and chrome buildings.The unseen reality on the ground is a different story all together.Gurgaon is as distant from Singapore as a yak is from the streets of Delhi.
The city has grown vertically at such a fast pace that the infrastructure has not been able to keep pace with it. HUDA has been firefighting a losing battle ever since they opened their city to private builders. With fancy apartments and world-class condominiums comes a population that has experienced the best the world has to offer and their expectations from the city match the height of the towers they reside in.They choose to live in India but pretend to be living in New York!
Gurgaon also has the reputation of being the IT hub of the north and the call-centre capital of India.Which means that the local junta is an educated lot. But the way they drive their "Civics and Corollas" belies that. They drive like they know not what the red light stands for! Seriously Gurgaon could easily be the "chaotic traffic" capital of the country. Each driver drives at his own whim and fancy; choosing to ignore the traffic lights, the fellow drivers, the scarcely present traffic cop, the existence of footpaths, road dividers or even pedestrians.
My immediate concern is the traffic light right outside the gate of my apartment block. The apartments are on the "mall mile" of the city and hence prone to traffic snarls. U-turns at the traffic crossing were blocked by the authorities for better flow of traffic. Drivers had to take a u-turn a little further ahead. But as each driver drives and turns at his convenience, a few rule-breakers/ path-formers chose to go over the kerb and form a turning of their own. They became the trend-setters and it became the norm to drive over the kerb. Over time the kerb ceased to exist and there was a huge pothole due to frequent mauling by SUVs. Every kind of vehicle passed through that haloed pathway even though it's rear wheels threatened to get stuck in the, now huge, pothole. When the authorities placed huge concrete blocks to block the, now common pathway, the irate drivers formed another turning a little short of the previous turn. The situation is still the same.
Being a law-abiding and rule-following citizen I find myself in the minority when I choose to take the turn at the designated spot. I feel like a righteous "goody-2-shoes" who will not do any wrong. Why does following rules/ doing exactly what I am expected to do, make me feel like a loser? I would like to do more about this situation than just write a post on it. Would a human chain at the spot help change the rule-breaking habits of the people? I would really like inputs to tackle this situation.
Do people even realise that by harming public property, in this case the kerb, they are actually paying for it through the heightened taxes imposed by the government. Finally the buck always stops at the tax payer, the aam aadmi. Our short-sightedness will eventually be our undoing in all things. "Living for today" is the modern man's mantra and all our problems can be traced back to this root cause. Just think about it.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Learnings from the "Painturewallah"
Sorry for being away for this long. In the 3 months that I have been away I have made a few self-discoveries. I have realised that working full-time is not my cup of tea. I enjoy the freedom of deciding every morning what I would like to do with the unfolding day. I detest the idea of "job commitments" taking away that decision from me. I am loathe to letting a job keep me away from all that I love doing, blogging included.
The other day I had a flat tyre and I took the car to a road-side "Painturewallah". It was extremely hot and I was not looking forward to the time I would have to spend in the heat while the car was being repaired. All of 5 minutes actually, 10 to the maximum. I looked at the young man working on my car. He seemed to be a teenager, probably my son's age. He was dressed in a tee-shirt and jeans which were completely black with grease. Obviously. I was being careful to not let any part of my clothing accidentally brush against him, lest it gets dirty.
And then the cruelty of my behaviour hit me. This guy was helping me do a job I was ill-equipped to handle myself. I had neither the strength nor the expertise to do the job I had entrusted him with. And yet I was looking at him disdainfully. Agreed his working conditions were pathetic and his overall appearance was filthy. But didn't the nature of his job require him to be that way. Why was I judging him by his appearance and not by his competence at his job?
We look down at people doing manual labour. They are the people consigned to the bottom of the heirarchy of workers. They are the ones with whom we haggle before paying them their due. We use phrases like,"Bhaiya, is kaam mein kya hai? Yeh toh koi bhi kar sakta hai"; "Itne se kaam ke itne paise?". It's like we are the experts at the job and not they.When you consider that these are also the people who are struggling to scrunge up one square meal a day,one really amazes at the strength they display in accomplishing their tasks which are physically demanding to say the least.
All of us living in our fancy homes and moving in our fancy vehicles cannot function for a day without the presence of these faceless people around us. And yet we do not value their work nor do we acknowledge the importance of their being. To us they are just the scum of the earth who are out to cheat and steal from us when our guards are down. To us they are the illegal encroachers of valuable urban space.To us they mean nothing as individuals.
Like the cart-horse Boxer in George Orwell's Animal Farm, these are the people who are happy doing their jobs, firm in their belief that one day their lot will improve. They are sure that all they need to do is work harder and harder for that to happen. And that's what they do.
Are we as convinced of our jobs as they are of theirs?
The other day I had a flat tyre and I took the car to a road-side "Painturewallah". It was extremely hot and I was not looking forward to the time I would have to spend in the heat while the car was being repaired. All of 5 minutes actually, 10 to the maximum. I looked at the young man working on my car. He seemed to be a teenager, probably my son's age. He was dressed in a tee-shirt and jeans which were completely black with grease. Obviously. I was being careful to not let any part of my clothing accidentally brush against him, lest it gets dirty.
And then the cruelty of my behaviour hit me. This guy was helping me do a job I was ill-equipped to handle myself. I had neither the strength nor the expertise to do the job I had entrusted him with. And yet I was looking at him disdainfully. Agreed his working conditions were pathetic and his overall appearance was filthy. But didn't the nature of his job require him to be that way. Why was I judging him by his appearance and not by his competence at his job?
We look down at people doing manual labour. They are the people consigned to the bottom of the heirarchy of workers. They are the ones with whom we haggle before paying them their due. We use phrases like,"Bhaiya, is kaam mein kya hai? Yeh toh koi bhi kar sakta hai"; "Itne se kaam ke itne paise?". It's like we are the experts at the job and not they.When you consider that these are also the people who are struggling to scrunge up one square meal a day,one really amazes at the strength they display in accomplishing their tasks which are physically demanding to say the least.
All of us living in our fancy homes and moving in our fancy vehicles cannot function for a day without the presence of these faceless people around us. And yet we do not value their work nor do we acknowledge the importance of their being. To us they are just the scum of the earth who are out to cheat and steal from us when our guards are down. To us they are the illegal encroachers of valuable urban space.To us they mean nothing as individuals.
Like the cart-horse Boxer in George Orwell's Animal Farm, these are the people who are happy doing their jobs, firm in their belief that one day their lot will improve. They are sure that all they need to do is work harder and harder for that to happen. And that's what they do.
Are we as convinced of our jobs as they are of theirs?
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Blood Donation-My Personal Journey
As part of being the caregiver to a cancer patient, I experienced firsthand the helplessness that most caregivers feel when their patient is in dire need of blood and they cannot find donors. In several instances a bottle of blood is really the savior of life. You can literally see your patient's condition change for the better after that blood infusion. And you really want to touch the feet of the donor for the noble act of donating blood for your patient. But finding an eligible donor is the main problem.
It is at these times that you realize that India isn't really a nation of healthy people. There are very few people who are 60 or even 50 and not on medication of any kind. So they get ruled out as donors. A lot of the middle-aged people i.e. the 40+ group begins to complain of either hypertension or diabetes and you are lucky if you can get a donor in that age group. And the younger lot, i.e. the 18 and up, well very few of them are in the country, and those that are there may be unavailable to donate due to various reasons. The women are mostly anaemic. So inspite of a huge population India remains a country where the paucity of potential donors is huge.
We also happen to be a people living in the dark ages when it comes to our awareness about blood donation. We still have a lot of mind blocks- why should I, others will do it; it is for the rickshawallahs to do it; I may get infected with AIDS etc.; it may lead to weakness; it is time-consuming; it is painful!! Indifference is the biggest malaise of the nation presently, and indifference in this area is really costing us dear.
It was while I was going through the harrowing time of finding suitable donors for my patient did I resolve to become a regular donor myself. I have been able to donate blood thrice since then and would really like to see the Khoon Chooson Aandolan become the lifeline to all those in need of blood.
I am an ordinary lady. I don't consider myself very fit or very strong. I weigh 50kgs on a 5'3" frame. I have my frailties, my aches and pains. And if I can donate blood every 3 months and not be the lesser for it, I think anybody can. It is the easiest hospital experience ever. It is such a rare sight for hospital authorities to come across voluntary donors that they treat you as royalty when you walk in for that purpose.There is just one form you fill up where they want to know about your previous ailments, if any. Then they check your weight, height, blood pressure, blood group and Hb. In fact you can take it as a free medical check-up because they test your blood for various parameters and even mail you the reports if you ask them to. The entire experience may take maximum half an hour. The actual blood donation takes less than 5 minutes. And you also get free juice and a snack after the donation. All the times that I have donated I have really enjoyed the experience and come out feeling very altruistic. And I didn't have to spend a penny to get that feeling. I have probably saved somebody's life with something that I will not miss, for which I did not spend anything, that which I will be producing more of in a short time again. And once that is done I can go back and save somebody else's life again.
The way I see it - Nobody is a loser in this bargain. Everybody gains from the exercise!
So don't think about it too much. Just walk to the nearest hospital with a blood bank in your area and experience the life-altering miracle for yourself.
Spread the word. Be heard. Donate.
It is at these times that you realize that India isn't really a nation of healthy people. There are very few people who are 60 or even 50 and not on medication of any kind. So they get ruled out as donors. A lot of the middle-aged people i.e. the 40+ group begins to complain of either hypertension or diabetes and you are lucky if you can get a donor in that age group. And the younger lot, i.e. the 18 and up, well very few of them are in the country, and those that are there may be unavailable to donate due to various reasons. The women are mostly anaemic. So inspite of a huge population India remains a country where the paucity of potential donors is huge.
We also happen to be a people living in the dark ages when it comes to our awareness about blood donation. We still have a lot of mind blocks- why should I, others will do it; it is for the rickshawallahs to do it; I may get infected with AIDS etc.; it may lead to weakness; it is time-consuming; it is painful!! Indifference is the biggest malaise of the nation presently, and indifference in this area is really costing us dear.
It was while I was going through the harrowing time of finding suitable donors for my patient did I resolve to become a regular donor myself. I have been able to donate blood thrice since then and would really like to see the Khoon Chooson Aandolan become the lifeline to all those in need of blood.
I am an ordinary lady. I don't consider myself very fit or very strong. I weigh 50kgs on a 5'3" frame. I have my frailties, my aches and pains. And if I can donate blood every 3 months and not be the lesser for it, I think anybody can. It is the easiest hospital experience ever. It is such a rare sight for hospital authorities to come across voluntary donors that they treat you as royalty when you walk in for that purpose.There is just one form you fill up where they want to know about your previous ailments, if any. Then they check your weight, height, blood pressure, blood group and Hb. In fact you can take it as a free medical check-up because they test your blood for various parameters and even mail you the reports if you ask them to. The entire experience may take maximum half an hour. The actual blood donation takes less than 5 minutes. And you also get free juice and a snack after the donation. All the times that I have donated I have really enjoyed the experience and come out feeling very altruistic. And I didn't have to spend a penny to get that feeling. I have probably saved somebody's life with something that I will not miss, for which I did not spend anything, that which I will be producing more of in a short time again. And once that is done I can go back and save somebody else's life again.
The way I see it - Nobody is a loser in this bargain. Everybody gains from the exercise!
So don't think about it too much. Just walk to the nearest hospital with a blood bank in your area and experience the life-altering miracle for yourself.
Spread the word. Be heard. Donate.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Is it really "sab chalta hai"?
It has been more than a month since the last post. Just got lost in blogosphere. I am following a few blogs and the allotted time for blogging got taken up in reading what others are writing.Also changed my employment status from "not working, just a housewife" to working full-time. So a major chunk of the day now gets spent at the work place.
I have been thinking of the phrase "sab chalta hai" for quite some time. Have been meaning to write on it. Suddenly this phrase is everywhere- ya, well the phrase has been a big part of our Indian vocabulary for a long time. But with the media now lapping it up, suddenly everybody is talking about it.
We indians have been blessed with an accomodating nature. We have always been open to people visiting our lands(and then going on to colonise us, that is a different story). We have been open to testing the waters of foreign lands(and then opening indian grocery stores and dosa shacks there, that is our story).I think our "sab chalta hai" attitude really helped us in our endeavours back then. 'Coz it really must not have been easy when the "goras" looked down on us,the "bloody indians", in our own country. 'Coz it really must not have been easy working and holding our own in a foreign land where the weather as well as the general public was heartless and unforgiving. "Sab chalta hai", these days too shall pass. With this attitude driving us, we persevered. The tough times passed and the world recognised our worth. Mission Accomplished!
But now what. What are we doing with our "sab chalta hai" attitude? Is it really driving us to glory as it had once done or has it now become our bane? Have we taken our "sab chalta hai" too seriously and stopped complaining and fighting for what's right? Are we using "sab chalta hai" in the same manner that we use a cloth to blindfold us, to avoid the harsh realities outside? Hasn't "sab chalta hai" become a byword for not having to take a stand on unpleasant happenings? A phrase preceeding the action of looking away and walking off from whatever we are unwilling to take an action on!
The acts we are performing under the umbrella of "sab chalta hai" range from the inane to the serious. But they have one thing in common, they are collectively destroying our glorious nation!
Atithi Devo Bhave- But i must cheat, exploit and have my fill of the "gori-chamdi" tourist! "SAB CHALTA HAI"
Public property- Well i have paid for it so i can do as i please with it. Destroy it when i am angry and protesting, paste my posters on it , deface and dirty it- kuch nahin hota, knock off the pavement/lights when i am driving drunk- if i don't do it someone else will. "SAB CHALTA HAI"
Scams, bribes, cheatings- Whats the harm. Everybody is doing it. No point in being Raja Harishchandra in this era. "SAB CHALTA HAI"
Breaking every rule of every kind- Rules are meant for breaking. I know when i go abroad i will not break rules. I will get caught and fined exorbitantly. But in India- "SAB CHALTA HAI"
Taking law in our own hands- Murders,thrashings, rioting, goonda-gardi, defiling art, moral policing. Have to do it. Lending the police a hand. Police bechhari kya-kya karegi. "SAB CHALTA HAI"
Have we not let this "sab chalta hai" demon engulf us totally? What is it that will awaken us and take charge of our lives and our country once again? How many more Jessica Lals before the powerful learn to respect the law? How many more Aman Kachroos before the perpetrators of ragging see it as a friendly "breaking of ice" rather than as a means of sadistic pleasure? How many more BMW episodes before the drunk as well as the under-aged are scared to sit behind the wheel of a car? How many more Scarletts before we learn to treat tourists as guests to our country and not take advantage of them?
The "sab chalta hai" is no longer really working to our advantage. It has made us and our country a huge mass of inactivity. In the international community it has given us the label of "nothing works here".
Isn't it about time we shed this casual attitude to everything and made things work for us and for our country? We could start by concsiously voting out the bad elements and voting for some change in these general elections. Take charge, nahin toh "chaulbe na". Jai Ho!
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