listen - its bloody difficult thing to do!

It’s time again for the annual elocution ritual. Searching for a decent poem with enough emotions and then getting the teacher at school to choose it and then getting Jispa to learn it and then putting the emotions in it. This time also as usual she had to send a few for the teacher to choose from. Jasmine was quite bugged when the teacher dismissed our original choice as that was being done by someone else. This has happened for the second time in a row. Last year also there was enough to and fro about this. Which poem to do? Either it’s too common or someone was already doing it or something else.

This time around we finally agreed on Clarence by Shel Silverstien. Shel has been a lucky break for us. I remember clearly when I first bought his book. It was in a Crossword store in Powai when I chanced upon it. Actually a friend recommended it to me. She said it was a really cool book. I bought it, I liked it and then I went online and searched about him. I realized there were more Shel books on offer but there weren’t easily available in India. So I hunted down the office of Oxford book store in Kolkata. Then I caught a customer service executive who was a really sweet lady and she helped me trace these books down. I then got my Kolkata office to pick it up and have it couriered to me. The main reason I bought it was for Jispa’s elocution. Of course Jispa was too young at the time but I knew it would help. And it has been a huge help.

Internet is good but it’s difficult to get a poem you want from there. This book helps you go through the many poems he has written and they are all for a small child. I guess this is possibly the last year she would get to recite from here. Next year onwards her poems will have to be more … mature? I guess.

So this time I trained her as well. She is selected for the final round which I think is going to be held tomorrow. I have been busy with office and Jasmine called me last evening wondering where I was. She wanted me to get home and get her poetry right. When I reached home I realized that Jispa’s class teacher had corrected the recitation and she had changed it so much that it sounded completely different. Jasmine was pretty pissed. There was another mother who was equally pissed. She called Jasmine and wondered what to do. Forget it – was Jasmine’s advice. That’s been my rule as well. When your child gets caught between the teacher and the parent what do you do? I spoke to Jispa and she recited the way her teacher wanted her to. I said fine. I asked her which one she preferred. “I like your version. It has many emotions”. Hmm. “but you can’t do that in school nah? Your teacher will want her version”. She nodded. So I just advised her to listen to her teacher and told her to follow it in practice and if you really feel something is wrong or you want to change it then do it on the final stage. Follow your heart, I guess. Once you win or lose your teacher can’t do much, I thought to myself. I don’t what I am teaching her and if that’s a smart thing to do but hell, that’s what you need to do at times. Take your own call.

So let’s see what happens. Its better which Jispa. She manages this well. I guess she is used to many people trying to coach her all the time. I have always taught het o be balanced about it. Listen to them all and think what you must do best. In this case she has learnt that there is no bloody point in arguing with the teacher. But it’s a shame. What a loss for the teacher if you come down so high handed on your students. You teach them not to confront, not to ask why and not to reason. Only to listen.

This is very easy to preach but very difficult to implement. I don’t know, but I am sure that I have been high handed many times. With Jasmine, with Jispa and with my office colleagues. I would/ might dismiss them forthwith. I would have made up my mind that you are useless or that you know jack about it and I would find it a waste of time to listen to you. God help me when I think I know it all.

But I am trying. And I want to try harder. I don’t want to be the guy who dismisses arguments. This is bloody difficult. So many times you see the answer faster than anyone else. So many times you see and count three to four steps ahead, and in my speed to get work done I might not listen hard enough. Naysayers are important but difficult to listen to. Some of them are also at fault. They don’t speak up strongly enough. I have heard this before – the force of my personality pushes people to doubt what they themselves are thinking and feel brushed aside when I am making a point. But then I always have thought, it’s up to them to put their point across equally vociferously. Go ahead. Push me back. I am listening. But a quiet dissenter is also important to the system. He may be shy and quiet but it is in my interest to get him out, to get him to talk, to get him to dissent. I ask so many times in meetings that does anyone have a counter view. I keep asking that these days, in the hope that people open their mouths and talk freely. I guess I will have to do it more number of times and sit quiet more often. But that is freaking difficult to do. What to do when you see the meeting heading nowhere or people not seizing the opportunity that is there for all to see. It’s easy to sit and criticize the guy who opens his mouth but how difficult is it to stick your neck out and talk.

Oh dam. I have never understood this. I am trying to solve it, but it’s a forced solution. I don’t think my heart is in it. I prefer people who talk and speak and then we resolve it amicably and forget all disputes and work together. People carry their prejudices as well, but then that is another blog post.

For now - read this

Clarence lee from Tennessee

Loved the commercials he saw on TV.

He watched with wide believing eyes

And bought everything they advertised-

Cream to make his skin feel better,

Spray to make his hair look wetter,

Bleach to make his white things whiter,

Stylish jeans that fit much tighter.

Toothpaste for his cavities,

Powder for his doggie's fleas,

Purple mouthwash for his breath,

Deodorant to stop his sweat.

He bought each cereal they presented,

Bought each game that they invented.

Then one day he looked and saw

"A brand-new Maw, and better Paw!

New improved in every way-

Hurry order yours today!"

So, of course, our little Clarence

Sent off for two brand-new parents.

The new ones came in the morning mail,

The old ones were sold at a garage sale.

And now they all are doing fine:

His new folks treat him sweet and kind,

His old ones work at an old coal mine.

So if your Maw and Paw are mean

And make you eat your lima-beans

And make you wash and make you wait

And never let you stay up late

And scream and scold and preach and pout,

That simply means they're wearing out.

So send off for two brand new parents

And you'll be as happy as little Clarence.

 

What parent are you?

The big girl doesn’t like skinny fit jeans. She doesn’t like them period. But didn’t we ask you before we bought them? Did you not try them out? Yes I did. Yes I said yes, but I don’t like them anymore. Arrggghhhh! Now you tell me what should we as parents do?
Should we just be sweet parents and say – Oh its ok sweet heart? That’s all right. You can just buy stuff and then decide not to wear them, because you don’t like them. Its ok to change your mind. Or should we tell her, no you bought them you will wear them. You better not throw them. Or should we say – hey. That’s not done but its ok… this time is ok but the next time, you are in for trouble if you do that. Or I am not going to buy you anything else. or if you throw them then the next pair of denims are going to come from your pocket money. A ha… the last one also promotes that its ok to throw as long as you can afford to do so. Money comes and money goes, its ok.
And hold on – it’s not that this is happening for the first time. We have bought stuff before after she has tried them and then decided that she doesn’t like them. She gets stuck on certain things. If there is a phase of denims then it’s that, shorts – then it’s that – one particular t shirt – then that’s that. The problem is giving too much of choice to your young one. Well it’s not that it is a problem. We are teaching them to think. To choose and then to be responsible for their decisions.
With movies – Jispa seems to have a definite choice when it comes to movies. There are movies she wants to see and those she doesn’t want to. It might be this and I might not like it and blah blah. She tends to stay within the baby animations which are always a safe bet. While we were renting movies, I had to put my foot down and get her to rent movies like Flubber, Jumanji and honey I shrunk the kids. I am taking them as I am not watching any more kiddie animations. Sure I like animations but there is a limit to it. I can’t watch animations all the time, especially if I have seen them multiple times. I even had to put my foot down and take complete silly movies like Daddy day care, just to change her genre of movies. See other movies dude. Just recently she did not want to see Tintin. Dam you man. It’s a nice movie. I did not insist too much as I hate watching 3D movies and funnily I haven’t come across any one in my circle who actually enjoys watching them. But that is another story. So I kept quiet till I saw that there was a show in Regal in 2D. Ok that’s not so bad is it? So I put my foot down again and we ended up seeing it. All these movies Jispa has come out happy. She liked them all.
I then rib her – you did not want to see it nah? Yesterday I sat her down and had a chat – dude – you have to see other stuff in life. You have to experiment. Just because you might not like it doesn’t mean that you don’t see it. Come on man. Why would you not take the risk? What do you have to lose?
Helicopter parents – from Wikipedia
“Helicopter parent is a colloquial, early 21st-century term for a parent who pays extremely close attention to his or her child's or children's experiences and problems, particularly at educational institutions. The term was originally coined by Foster W. Cline, M.D. and Jim Fay in their 1990 book Parenting with Love and Logic: Teaching Children Responsibility, although Dr. Haim Ginott mentions a teen who complains, "Mother hovers over me like a helicopter..." on page 18 of the bestselling book Between Parent & Teenager published in 1969. Helicopter parents are so named because, like helicopters, they hover closely overhead, rarely out of reach, whether their children need them or not. In Scandinavia, this phenomenon is known as curling parenthood and describes parents who attempt to sweep all obstacles out of the paths of their children. It is also called "overparenting". Parents try to resolve their child's problems, and try to stop them coming to harm by keeping them out of dangerous situations.
Some college professors and administrators are now referring to "Lawnmower parents" to describe mothers and fathers who attempt to smooth out and mow down all obstacles, to the extent that they may even attempt to interfere at their children's workplaces, regarding salaries and promotions, after they have graduated from college and are supposedly living on their own. As the children of "helicopter parents" graduate and move into the job market, personnel and human resources departments are becoming acquainted with the phenomenon as well. Some have reported that parents have even begun intruding on salary negotiations.”
Dam hell… there is a thin line between helicopter parents and involved parents. We can have more than one child as we want to be involved with the child. We face bumps and trials as kids and we struggled to ensure that our kids have easier lives, but not that easy. What is ‘that’ easy? How easy is easy. How tough is tough. How big is a big bump? What should be allowed and what should be disallowed? These are difficult questions as there is no mathematical formula. Or even a magical one.
To take the case of the lawnmower parent – what’s the opposite of that one? Speed Breaker parent? When we see that it’s possible to just chuck the jeans out of the window and say – forget it kid. It’s only a denim and it’s ok. That’s being a lawnmower, but then to say no – shut up and wear it, that’s being a speed breaker parent. The road is smooth but you are throwing up speed breakers to break the speed. But then to know about it and to try and do something about it –this way or that – that’s being a helicopter parent. What the hell. You just can’t win. So you are trying to balance the act this way or the other. I don’t want to be a helicopter, a speed breaker or a lawn mower. I want to be DAD! Plain and simple DAD. I want her to grow up but not get too hurt. I want her to be independent but yet be able to connect. I want to play with her yet let her go to her friends place to play. I want her to experience different things, new flavors, and new ideas, break out… yet be happy being by herself within the warmth of familiarity. Oh God…How difficult can that be?
As we grow up together – I am molding her and she is molding me / us. That’s parenting. So I guess that’s Clay Parenting. Soft enough and hard enough. Just right for molding. Not fall in a heap and not hard enough to use a chisel. And not play dough that you can keep playing with. Everything we do will slowing have lasting impressions. Like a potter’s wheel, it’s constantly on. Constantly shaping. Only thing is that in the cliché one expects the child to be the clay as the potter is molding but here, we all are clay and we all are potters.
Aila – too much philosophy for now. Now can I borrow an action movie please?

Foot notes: -
a quiz to help you figure if you are a helicopter parent (here)

A small comic :)



TIME -The growing backlash against over parenting (here) -

CNN – How to ground a helicopter parent (here)

FOOT FOOT NOTE –
Jispa told us only a few days back but this happened some time back in class. Her teacher asked a question to the class ‘why are flamingoes pink’. One kid answered because they eat pink fish. Teacher said – very good. Good answer. Jispa raised her arm and said, no miss. It is because of the algae they eat. NO that’s wrong. Oh God. Flamingoes don’t eat fish. They eat algae and shrimp. And they get the pink color from the algae and shrimp. It seems they have something like carotenoids that given the flamingos the color. Now what do you want us parents to do? So I checked Google and told Jispa that she was right and her teacher was wrong, to which Jispa said, the chapter on birds is over. I said ok and next time if she says something that the teacher doesn’t know, come back and we will check it up. Then you can go to school with the right answer and a print out if you wish. Or forget it. At least now she knows that her teachers aren’t the final authority in this world. Google can change a lot.

ROCK on

The amphitheatre was a roman themed one. It was steep, made of stones and full to capacity. There were flashes of brilliance while acting and directing earlier. The crowd was wild and it was funnily enough Jai Hind college. Funnily? Ya. While I have acted on stage for school plays I have never acted in college in a scale play. Largely because my mom wanted me home in time for lunch every day. Have lunch at home. That’s ok though. Possibly students get spoiled while they are at college. Especially when they sit till late and goof around doing nothing but taking part in college activities.

Forget that. So this lovely feeling is going through me. The function is an Oscar styled event with the announcement of the best actors. I feel the excitement and anticipation as they announce the nominees for the best actor. I am a part of it. By this time the nominees are for movies not plays and this is still Jai Hind college in a roman amphitheatre. So the nominees are announced and I hear my name as a part of it. I run in, wearing a denim, long sleeves t shirt and a linen jacket. This is out of my current wardrobe. So I run in to a huge crowd applause. They obviously loved my acting. I think to my self – hey I should be the crowd favorite and that gives me a head start and a realistic chance to win. The show goes on. The winner will be announced later. Right now only the nominees are getting announced. I am extremely excited. I am a bit nervous. It is a lot of pressure. I so want to win this one. But I am also at ease, I know you can’t win them all. But this is the ‘Best Actors’ award. I want to win this one.

So I wait. The lady next to me is eating some peanuts. She is also nominated in her category. I am sitting amongst the nominees. I think about my thank you speech. Whom do I thank for this? At first I am tempted to thank no one. Most of life, a lot of what I have achieved is alone. Well that’s not fair. There have been many who have helped me, nudged me along the way. But has there been a strong continuous force. Fortunately my narcissism lasts me exactly one fourteenth of a second and my wife (in college she was still my girlfriend) comes into view. There, I know whom to thank. And immediately after comes the second thought – my teachers.

In college and school while I was growing, I must have been a difficult head strong child with little manners, outspoken and a pain to a few teachers. Many teachers thought I was an ass, some were ambivalent and some pushed me on, had faith in me and loved me. Mrs Clare Alvaro in Don Bosco high school. She was the one who identified me as an actor and pushed for my case. She thought I was good and let me know that. I always wanted to be an actor. I was the drama man. I could always control my faces in front of the mirror and loved experimenting with my tone. In ninth standard, I finally entered the dramatics and I won the second best actor award. Second best – I knew I was better than the other guy. Mrs clare also told me that later. But then school politics are sometimes real, weird and sometimes, a function of children’s imagination. Then in college one lady, Mrs Dias, believed in me. Enough to make me the secretary of her society – the hobby centre.

In college is also when I came close to Jasmine. She financed me in many ways. My pocket money was a fraction of what she made as a tuition teacher. But more than any of that, she was the anchor of my life. I would dream up interesting stuff and she would manage to make it work. She would be the anchor, the budget keeper of the society and the back bone behind which I worked. She would make things happen that I can dream of, lead into. I was much the figure head, but here was the system that made it all happen. In college in the second year, I won one of the smaller awards for extracurricular. In the final year, Mrs Dias recommended and ensured I won the Principal’s special award for extra-curricular activities. It was on par (or just about lower) than the one for best student. Wow. In some ways it was finishing second best but I am not complaining and I had no desire to win anything. I wasn’t focusing on it at all. The teachers in class liked me as I had decent attendance, enough be off the black list and I was always a good guy as far class participation is concerned. Expect of course in accounts class. The attendance was thanks to Jasmine to kept me in check with a level head, else I might have bloated enough to reach the moon.

Home? Nopes. Absolutely no support from home. They did not even know what I got or cared for it. I also never bothered to talk to them about this stuff. I think like all middle class households, their attitude was – sure – but if you don’t study you are nothing dude. Your marks counts and not all these extras. Forget that.

So it was Jasmine and my teachers that I decided to thank. But from now on, what happens does not count. Jasmine and teachers is what I knew made my life. Right now also teachers who came into my life and taught me stuff that I know and apply are the ones who have made the difference beside Jasmine. As a trainee working in 20^th Century Fox, I met Aditya Shastri who was my mentor and guide. My first brush with management teaching, marketing teaching. Then came Dharen Chaddha, and now it largely my ED who is C Jayaram who I use as my guiding force; and not to forget my cricket captain Arun

But coming back to Jasmine. She never guided me, never pushed me, never really asked too much of me. But she just acted like a rock, giving stability to my otherwise floating life. I might have easily floated away and frittered away my life. She anchored it in a way I cannot describe. Sure we have our fights and sure we have our disagreements. But they come from the fact that I am a dreamer, a floater and she is the ROCK.

What happened next did not bother as now I was in complete control of my dream. The excitement woke me and I was only thinking about winning. My eyes were closed but dream had moved from dream to active fantasy. I won but I thought it was a little empty. Tilll now I was in partial control of my dream, the winning – I was in full control. It wasn’t the magic of a dream anymore. I did not even bother about the speech. I stopped dreaming and I woke up. Its such a pity. This was a really exciting dream.

In post mortem, I realize I dreamt about my real ambition. To be an actor that can make people laugh. Don’t I play that part in office? I surely do that. And I dreamt about the two anchors in my life. Funnily Jispa did not make her presence in the dream. Possibly this was college days and she wasn’t even born. But I still wonder. She is an anchor and she contributes to me but I guess not in the same way as Jasmine and my teachers. It’s a different contribution.

I also remember thinking that I love Jasmine so much. Sometimes I tell Jasmine that I don’t think I can love anyone else ever. I was telling her that sometimes I think, suppose something happens and I were to lose her or something, and if I were to marry again. I might marry but I wont ever be able to love anyone in the same way. The Rock that she replies ‘never say never’. Hah!

I care for a lot of people. In office and outside. A lot of genuine care and loving. I end up being good friends and almost in love with people. But I can never ever be in ‘love’ again I feel. 21 odd years and it can’t be replaced. Possibly a different space in my heart, but not love. Not the way Jasmine and I feel and share.

It’s difficult to explain this. Difficult to understand this, but all know is that - I love my ROCK. I was lucky to have found my rock and latch on to it. It’s been an amazing story as far as I am concerned. And I am so happy that even in my dreams I know of it.

And the contribution of the various teachers who have come and gone, helping me along the way.

What would I have been, done or achieved without them? I would have merely floated … floated and frittered away.

What a special dream. I duuno if I will forget this or remember this, but it moved me enough to get up and write about it immediately. This is really fresh post.

a tatoo that does not let you say - thats advanced

I have always wanted to get a tattoo, and now reading this article I have made up my mind.... I will get a tattoo done. Here is the link http://io9.com/#!5768038/science-proves-that-teachers-should-get-tattoos but for those too bored to read through, it broadly says this - "128 undergraduates' perceptions of tattoos on a model described as a college instructor were assessed. They viewed one of four photographs of a tattooed or nontattooed female model. Students rated her on nine teaching-related characteristics. Analyses indicated that the presence of tattoos was associated with some positive changes in ratings: students' motivation, being imaginative about assignments, and how likely students were to recommend her as an instructor."
I now have a rational reason for a personal decision. I wish I had a few teachers with tattoos as well. I am sure his (definitely if it was a ‘her’) lectures would be more likely to be filled. Kids would like teachers with a bit of wild side to them! Now to figure a good tattoo artist. What would I like to tattoo? Well that’s simple – anything that denotes, yes, - opposites must reconcile. So I either go with the yin and yang or go with the Natraj.
Talking about teachers – we wiggled more stuff out of Jispa of her tryst with her teacher and birds. It seems she showed a picture of a parakeet and called it a parrot. To the uninitiated it’s the same. But to a child who has been going on bird watching vacations since three four years – it’s the ultimate sacrilege. She pointed out that these are parakeets and that you only get parrots in cages that people keep after importing them from some other country. India does not have parrots. But the teacher said, no you get them in the jungles, but Jispa has been to enough jungles in India to figure out that its wrong. You get parakeets in India. Jispa was pretty tired of her teacher. “She just isn’t obeying me”. Obeying? Wow that comment is going to stick for some time to come.
Then when a friend spoke about seeing a parrot from her house that had a red ring around its neck, Jispa immediately identified it as the rose ringed parakeet. But her teacher said – ‘that’s advanced’. Then her teacher sowed a picture of a kite (the bird). She said, miss that’s a pariah kite. Her teachers standard refrain ‘that’s advanced’. So I was having a chat with her Jispa and we were jointly lamenting about her school, when Jispa said that once she was told to write a essay or something about winter. Jispa wanted to write about winter having the winter solstice and how that is the longest night in the year. Her teacher’s reaction? Yup you got it right ‘that’s advanced’.
I guess its difficult teaching precocious bunch of 8 year olds. Nopes I don’t think Jispa is super extra talented. All kids have a super specialisation. Somebody will be an expert on cars, some of snakes, some on lizards, some on football, some on music and some on birds. They naturally veer towards something they like and I guess many time sit lead by the family. And then they like to show their talents in school, leaving the poor teacher flummoxed. So if the teacher were to listen to these kids, then regular studies would be an issue. But also I guess the teacher must have a better reaction. If she would have heard her and believed in her then the class would have been better off. Possibly she should have told Jispa to make a short presentation on birds or explain some of them or anything. The class would possibly have been richer for the experience. But as their favourite line that keeps popping up – that’s advanced.
Which makes me think, if she had a teacher who had a tattoo that was clearly visible? What do you think her reaction might have been? A bit different from what she got? A bit more consideration perhaps? Now suddenly the emergence of a tattoo on a teacher changing student opinion may not sound that incredulous.
Now where can I get a good tattoo parlour? And yes, I have to get it done in a visible spot.
---
An update on the swimming marathon – well in practice the coach showed how easily they do 80 laps. Jispa does it in 49 mins and then the coach makes them do more rounds after that. And after the session is done, the kids simply jump out and hit the showers and fool around. No one is out of breath or is panting. They are just fine. Cool. But Jispa will miss the competition tomorrow as she has to attend her cousin’s ceremony. Jasmine’s brother’s son’s ‘mundan’. Cool. Whatever!

a little less sleep, a lot more thought

I have been getting all sleepy these days thanks to a little less sleep everyday. The reason - two back to back fantastic books. One I finished was called Logicomix – a graphic novel that traces Bertrand Russel’s quest for the foundation of mathematics. As dense as it sounds, I guess most the book I could not really claim to have understood in depth. Most of it would have been understood in spirit. I basically understood what the premise is and what the large issue was. But I know only enough to know of it and nod enough to speak of it. But that’s also a big thing.
Maths and physics were easily my favourite subjects. Scared stiff by the engineering competitions I choose to take up commerce and reduce all possible future tension. For the next five years at least. Till I figured that it led no where and I did my MBA. That the MBA also went no where is another matter altogether.
So whenever I get my hands on a half decent physics or math book which is written in a manner that a tenth pass can understand then I am completely keen and sold on. Some of my interesting books have been the dead famous series on Newton and Einstein along with the book that is essential the biography of the equation e=mc^2.
Once Logicomix got over, the book I picked was the Singapore story by Lee Kuan Yew. I have been a great admirer of his, especially after I had personally seen for myself the amazing city of Singapore. While there are enough critics but there is no reason to doubt the integrity of the man and the progress of the people.
I have just started the book and it is immediately a compelling read. He talks about his teachers and the effect they have had on his thinking. It made me sit up and think. Have I made a contribution to the kids I have had the chance to teach. As I have grown I have tried to teach what I think the kids really need to imbibe as a mindset. Much more than mere theory.
If I have been able to inculcate a mindset that enables them in the future to attack various situations and be able to keep their thinking clear, then it would have been well worth it. that’s why its always nice to meet old students. Some of them come upto you and tell you what they have learnt from you and how it really helped them. It is the same in office with my subordinates. That is how I guess I must judge myself and act in a manner that best allows this to happen. It’s not a popularity contest wherein the votes count immediately after the display of ‘skill’. This is a slow burn. Years and decades later if someone remembers you for the value you have added to them and not merely helped them at an unfortunate moment, then you have really done your job.
It also set me thinking on education opportunities. Instead of choosing the commerce stream, if I had taken the arts stream and got into the best college with the best teachers might have enjoyed my education better. Arts was for the women and the men who wanted to be near women. I am not so sure if my parents would have been happy to have their son in arts. Especially after my brother’s lost way in the education system. I was my dad’s final hope. He wanted me in science, an engineer perhaps but being principled that he would not influence choice of stream, commerce was still ok. At least I was not threatening to fail a la big bro.
Teachers have the ability to affect the minds of their wards. It’s a pity that they don’t see it as thus. But then at 200 bucks an hour that I get for teaching, I am ok as it’s not my bread and butter. I would be happy to pay. But how can it motivate a genuine talent to make it a profession. With good women now going to corporate life even the last hope of them joining the only “respectable profession” of teaching is fast diminishing. What’s good for the corporate may not be good for the country. But you can’t really do anything about it. The invisible hand of Adam Smith will transfer the best resources to where it will see the maximum value.
Only issue is that he talks about the long run and we live in the short run.

getting it right

What happens when you have two trainers? Hehehe. First we train her at home for the elocution competition and then yesterday her elocution teacher at school trained her. While she did not change the narration too much, basic differences were there in the approach. I teach to be a little over the top in emotion. A little over emotion is ok. With all the kids going for one or two tones, I like to teach at least five six tones if not more. So not everything is loud. Some words are soft, some loud, some with a chuckle, a sad one, a surprise etc… This ensures she stands out in the crowd. With kids coming and going in a procession, elocutions can get boring for the judges as well. My belief is that only if you first entertain, then will you have a chance to win. The teacher has an obvious emphasis on the clarity. She sacrifices emotion for clarity while I do the reverse. Clarity aa jaaye ga if the emotion is right.
But I guess it is wrong to undermine the teachers experience. So as I was training her today (95% of training is in the car while I drop her to the bus stop), she kept telling me that her teacher taught her otherwise. Like good parents I conceded. I allowed her to keep what the teacher said but I still tried to push for subtle emotions within the words. So that there is still enough variation in the poem. I have to teach something that takes the clarity that the teacher teaches while allowing for the emotion that makes the poem come alive.
What I am also happy is that her teacher does not simply teach the emotion. She explains why the emotion fits into the story. Like one line (“which added up to 46, or its it 52?) Where she says that you can’t be loud because you are thinking and calculating. Fair. I had told her to be loud in – ‘added upto 46’, as she is jumping to a number and then think for ‘or is it 52’ as now you sheepishly think you have made a error.
Aaaaaa. I don’t really bother. It’s right as long as there is a justification. And as long as Jispa understands it, she will be getting it right either way.
The greatest thing in parenting is that I remember my childhood. I remember a lot of incidents even from as long back as 2nd standard. So at least I know which mistakes to avoid. At least I am making fresh mistakes. I clearly remember having conflict when mom taught differently from what the teacher taught. I used to argue with mom, when she insisted otherwise. Some times I was right while I assume that most of the time mom would have been right, but the stress of POSSIBLY getting it wrong was greater the stress ACTUALLY getting it wrong. As the latter is a small thing when you just get corrected, while the former shimmers all through, from when you do home work till you hit school. So with Jispa I never argue with her if she tells me that the teacher taught her otherwise. I merely explain my point and let her do it her way. The stress is just not worth it. She will soon figure. Making mistakes is a better way to learn than to get it right all the time.
One incident jumps to memory. While I was an average to above average kid in class (rank 8 to15 out of 60 kids), in tenth standard I really started doing well in maths. I was always good but in tenth, focussed studies and better practice helped me shine in my favourite subject. Also my teachers were pretty cool. I even figured a different way of solving a sum which I thought was right. My school teacher Mr Thomas, allowed me to keep that way while just telling me to write down the calculation in steps and not jump to the answer. That was great motivation I guess. So in tenth in one of the unit tests I scored 49 on 50. Mr. Thomas looked at the final score and asked if I knew where I went wrong. I showed him and he got pissed. He said he should have cut more marks for that mistake. I had done everything right everywhere but in one sum in the end I had totalled 7+5 as 11. That was my only chance of scoring a perfect score ever in my life. I had blown it up. I knew in the finals the boards wouldn’t let me score a perfect score. Sure enough, I got 74 on 75 in algebra and 73 on 75 in geometry. There was only a one mark error in algebra where there was a fill in the blank on a technical math issue. So yes, I missed my perfect score as 7+5 is 12 and not eleven. Till today whenever I see 7+5, I will first think 11 and then see that problem in front of me and I know the answer is 12, and I regret missing the perfect score. I remember solving the sum in the exam, I remember checking it, I remember saying to myself – 7 +5 = 11. Then I remember the paper duly corrected and I remember Mr. Thomas’s words. This was all in 1990. I just won’t forget it.
Look at the trade off, if I had got it right, this would have not been a part of my memory. At best I might have remembered the perfect score, that’s all. My memories would have been worse off. Aarrggghhh. I want the score and I want the memory.

inspiration

Some times, many times one comes across people who are inspirational by who they are and what they do… not by their need to inspire you. It is not set out as an intended consequence of their action. It inspiring to see them working against the odds just to make it work. They could choose not to but they choose to… they choose to see all the shit around them and say.. ok.. lets make this work.

The first one is my teacher from college Prof Hasina. She is associated with the commerce department. Since I keep going to college for teaching I have remained in touch with her. She is now the head of commerce association and I love the way she is pushing the association to do new events and programs. She could have decided not to do it and say commerce is a university course, what could we do? But I love her passion and her commitment to the job and she is ready to make things happen.
Prof Saxena was another such person who ran the BMS course when it was introduced. She made sure it rocked, brought direction, vision and execution to the course. Dynamic. Absolute dynamic.

Over the years I have seen that such teachers are slowly not coming in to teach anymore. I guess they join the corporate world. The new breed of teachers instills no confidence.

Here is another gem of a story of William Kamkwamba who decided against the grain to do something. He started not by trying to inspire but to do something. He dropped out of school due to a failed crop, went to a library and somehow figured out how to make a windmill and made it. Crazy considering he did not really understand the English inside the library books that well. Simple to him. An amazing story for everyone else.
BTW his mom thought he was crazy!
Now queues of people line up outside his home to charge their mobile phones.

Listen to his story; it’s only 5 minutes long…
He wants people to listen to his story on the internet and in his words “trust yourself and belief, whatever happened… don’t give it up”

school blues

Jispa had been a bit under the weather on Monday. Jasmine was called into school to take Jispa back as she had fever. As she realized that she was going to miss more than one day at school, Jispa was in tears. She loves going to school every day. We always dread when she gets unwell as we don’t know how we are going to get her to stay back at home. Wow. I wish I had her schooling. I went to what was at the time a decent school. It surely had a large play ground. But I guess I never did very well adjust to schooling. We satyed in Dubai till third standard and then moved into Mumbai post the fourth. It was quite a cultural shock. Dubai being Dubai was rich, opulent and full of all eth lovely things in the world such as Pepsi, Chewing gum and amazing chocolates. India was a poor country in 1984. With only Doordarshan channel one, Bata shoes, kissme toffee bars and Cadbury chocolates. It was far too disturbing for us kids than we could handle. 1984 was no where near what we have today.
Whenever we came in from Dubai for a vacation to India, we were royalty. We were aliens wearing foreign clothe eating foreign goods. It was amazing that India was so insular at the time. Every Indian would stare at us looking at all the stuff denied to him. There was practically nothing available here for any kind of consumption. Our shoes and jackets were objects of desire. The only chips I remember eating here was something called Simba chipnicks which were packed in flimsy transparent plastic pouches. Coming back to stay in India was one hell of a cultural shock.
From a school (Indian high School) which had 30 students in a classroom with two air conditioners and four fans to a school (Don Bosco) that had 60 plus students with four fans, no air-conditioning and a very wet monsoon to herald the new year. Yes it was tough adjusting. We siblings shifted in 84 with our parents coming in a year later after winding up our home there. We got in tons of goods in what was popularly known as TR (transfer of residence). In this scheme you could get in tons of foreign goodies into India, including tape recorders, foodstuff, a car, clothes, assorted electronics etc. I remember mom and dad tying to the get the consignment passed at the customs. We sold some and kept some.
So we were still living the foreign dream for a few years after (till stocks last or you outgrow them). We did not lose anything to obsolescence. Partly because things weren’t improving at a fast pace and what we had was so bloody modern by India’s standards that it took a while for India to catch up to that level. So we lived in the shadow of Dubai being no land’s children.
My dad was awesome. I never seen him complain or make a fuss about it. We never felt him to be unhappy about the shift. In Dubai he drove around a Toyota crown, in India he was happy to roam around in our brand new Bajaj Chetak scooter with a side car attached. That he had got delivery of the much in demand scooter by paying foreign exchange. Else you get it after an obscene waiting time. I think it was a year or two for a scooter and up to 5 to 7 years for a car. Chetak was not even given out easily I think. You could only buy the humble Bajaj Super. I think Bajaj might have been doing a public service or charity of sorts by advertising. With a wait list like that who needs advertising.
Schooling was stressful for me for sure. Every monsoon I would fall ill and I never did adjust to the change in weather. This continued well into college where I finally developed some resistance of any sort. The favorite illness was sore throat.
Add to that the really irritating bunch of teachers who didn’t care too much for the students. It’s unfair to say all were bad. Some were awesome and really stood apart from the crowd. I remember Ms Beatrice, Ms Marina, Ms Clare being really sweet and some nasty ones that did not think twice before slapping us. The slap was bad. That was humiliating and irritating. It created more anger than anything else. Patel sir, the PT sir once got the whole class to stand still while he went about given one whack on the bum to each and everyone of us with a hockey stick. I remember that hurting a lot but I remember that as fun. It’s the slap that was hit that hurt. The hockey stick was for some reason bearable. Years after while I was doing my summers I met a senior guy who was from my school as well. He too remembered the teachers slapping and hated it.
I was telling Jispa that my teachers used to hit us and slap us. She was listening in all amazement. She has been living a fairy tale for now.
All in all school was not happening for me. I finally figured it around the 9th and 10th standard. I guess by then we were truly Indians in all sense. We might have run out of our Dubai security blankets/ blings and I think I was getting some of my confidence back. Hell in 10th standard I was even made monitor of the class. But my crowning moment was actually in the 9th when I won the ‘second best actor award’. I knew I was good at acting and I did not mind losing first place as I believed it was partiality at play. Who knows who cares? I loved it and my play was a really funny play titled ‘the watermelon cure’. I used to take part in all extra-curriculars as it meant bunking class for practice. Awesome!
But today as I look back, I don’t really miss school nor do I blame them. That was the best school around at the time. Just that we hadn’t as a nation removed our blinkers and opened ourselves to the changes happening around. We too were guilty of being in a time warp. I am happy that I was baler to balance the equation before I hit college. Hence actually between the school and college, for some reason I prefer my college life. That I met my life there and went through five years with her by my side must have been an important factor. That was an era of India opening up. 91 to 96… but then that is another story or should I say another blog entry.