THE PARENT TAG

What makes a good parent?This question has always haunted me and the answer has been as elusive as sighting a ghost. To me, being a parent is the ultimate cosmic responsibility. We summon a soul into the world through one act of selfish pleasure. Surely then we owe a selfless duty to the free spirit for tethering them for life?
When the answer dawned, it set me free from the overwhelming responsibility of being a "good parent"- you must love yourself first and then, and only then can you love your child. Love is the fountain from which springs all pure and noble feelings. We bring our children into the world but we cannot feel for them, love for them or carry their burden of pain. But, if love emanates from our very being then that is the blanket which envelopes them and gives them a strong and sturdy root from which they can flourish and flower...
Nimmou Nilakantan

ABOUT FACE...

Facebook and annoying relatives have much in common. In both interactions you end up talking to a wall. whether you like it or not, both have a habit of intruding into your life with unwanted and unwarranted comments. Both forms of communication become public immediately. You are subject to boring accounts of"yummy" food, "great" holidays, "instant nirvana" and bombarded with trivia you just cannot tune out.
If facebook had a "face" I would put one of my most boring, pain-in-the-ass relatives photo. The only advantage in Facebook is, one is always just a click away from escaping. Alas, one cannot do that with relatives unless a genius avatar of Zuckerberg comes up with an invention which can zap the annoying presence into another dimension.
Who knows? Who cares? Amidst the hordes of nonsensical posts one does stumble into something which is pure genius and inspirational. Hey, if I was looking for companionship or friendship the last thing I would do was talk to a wall...

AN INDIAN TOURIST IN TURKEY- ALIEN VIEWPOINT

The Chinese invented the water torture but the Turks have refined it. Any tourist to Turkey will attest to the exquisite torture of having to buy water at 1 Turkish lira for a half litre bottle (one lit­­re costs 2 lira) and then having glugged a few bottles during the course of the day, having to pay another 1 lira to use the toilet to pass out the same water. And, if you visit Turkey in July where the temperature reaches 40 degrees Celsius in certain regions you end up spending around 20 lira a day being tortured by the Turks...

Water sold in a museum

Water is not the only torture perfected by the Turks. In spite of being a Muslim country, thanks to their visionary founder Mustapha Kemal Ataturk (the founder of modern Turkey)…

Mustapha Kemal Attaturk in IZMIR

the Turkish women really know how to strut their stuff. Not only are they astoundingly beautiful, but their clothes (or rather lack of it) really tortured the men in our diverse group...

The face of modern Turkey!

Turkey is doubly blessed- not only do they have beautiful natural wonders but they have mastered the art of civilizing their ‘ruins’. Every artifact, every remnant of a bygone age, every museum that has lovingly restored a relic and showcased it is a tribute to the one thing they venerate above all- the tourist! India has ruined its civilization (our plummeting tourism industry and frequent terrorist attacks are testimony) but Turkey has tamed the tourist and civilized its ruins...

Lovingly restored ruins

In Turkey, the tourist is regarded either as a God or the devil in direct proportion to how much he spends and how much he tips. Even a canny tourist cannot help but fall prey to the water torture, but if he signs up for a guided tour like we did, then the tourism department has thought of a myriad ways to rook him. For every museum visit there is a subtle deviation to a carpet manufacturing unit. The Turks are famous for their carpets and tremendously proud that only their carpets have the double knot which makes it the most durable in the world (and also keeps their women bent over the loom for a year to produce one carpet). All the time, while they show you a dazzling array of carpets and an equally dazzling number of facts about weaves, textures and styles, you are subject to subtle pressure to buy, buy and buy. And a Turkish carpet, however beautiful can blow a hole the size of a water bottle through your wallet...

Wherever you go you are offered tea. The Turks take their ‘chai’ pretty seriously (apart from taking the tourist’s money) and thankfully it comes virtually free especially when you are being subtly pressurized to buy carpets. Turkish tea is a treat. They give it to you in small hour glass shaped glasses, without milk and with a cube of sugar on the saucer. In that heat, the tea is like manna from heaven. Apple tea is a favourite (there are quite a few flavours), but drinking Turkish tea is an experience to relish. And a sure way to offend a Turk is to refuse the offer of a tea. You can refuse to buy a carpet and get away with it, but refuse tea and you leave a bad taste in the mouth, literally...

Turkish ‘Chai’ and the Chaiwallah!

Apart from carpet factories, we were whisked to pottery making units, fine jewellery factories and select restaurant stops, where if by some oversight you have bought nothing but water whole day, there are shops that sell you all the knick knacks which are somehow irresistible when you are a tourist.

A pottery making workshop.

The temptation to buy lies all around you (even among the ruins you have the mandatory gift shops which conveniently stock water among the curios) and actually there is a WC alongside where tourists queue obediently like sheep and then pay to use.

Like Wine, Women and Song – Food, Water and WC – pay for all 3 in Turkey

The WC of old - the LATRINA

The tour guides are thorough professionals and know how to captivate their audience. Apart from the mandatory stops to help part the tourist from his foreign exchange, they are walking talking

Cihat – our long suffering tour guide - Always on the job!

encyclopedias. And they are proud of their country. The Turks revere their founder, Kemal Attaturk and everywhere there are statues to commemorate his leadership. Our guide’s name was pronounced as ‘Jihad’ (spelt as Cihat) and unfortunately he had 8 Indians in his group of 11. Throughout the tour the only war he waged was to capture our attention. We had 2 couples from Mumbai who were more interested in eating ‘Theplas’ (they had packed a suitcase full of snacks which they had carted everywhere) and the leader of this group frequently interrupted Chihat to ask ‘how much longer’ and when we stood amongst the ruins ‘Is this what we paid to see? Italy had more ruins!’.

Cihat waging his holy war – 4 out of 11 were listening!

Indians love shopping and hate keeping time. Since we were on a strict schedule, Chihat had to literally herd us because invariably one member of the group would have wandered off and got lost among the shops. At one stop to drop off a member of the group in his hotel, one of the shopaholics ran off to shop in the hotel lobby while the rest of us fumed in the bus. Our guide went berserk in trying to keep to his schedule.

Cihat with the Indian Shopaholics

Turks are unfailing polite. They never get angry (maybe they have a punching bag at home), but we never got a glimpse of road rage or any public displays of anger. Traffic flows smoothly and the roads are clean – the two things prized above all by the Bangalore tourist.

Food is exquisite. Salads accompany every meal, even breakfast, and olives, yoghurt and honey are delicious add-ons. The rice has a unique flavour and sticky consistency, which is rather delicious, and the breads – a bountiful collection! There are flat breads, hard breads, thin crust and thick crust, rye bread, sesame bread- you name it the Turks have baked it! And unlike in China where the vegetarian tourist has to gaze forlornly at birds nest soup on the dining table, in Turkey there is a banquet of legumes and vegetables and a variety of cheeses- goats cheese, feta, soft cheese, hard cheese to name a few. It’s a gastronomic dream and the wines are pretty smooth too...

A veggie’s dream spread!

Turkish delight and Baklava are two must try culinary experiences if you have a sweet tooth but not everyone likes the taste or consistency (too sticky, too sweet!).

Turkish Delight on the left.

Apart from these two Turkish sweets, the Turks delight in offering you a sweet made of thick yoghurt (much like the Indian shrikhand) topped with poppy seeds and with a smattering of honey on top. They call it “Turkish Viagra” and caution you with a twinkle in their eye from eating too much of it. Both of us had some and it did nothing for the libido- our packed tour itinerary and fast depleting resources took care of that...

Nila sampling Turkish Viagra!

The only jarring note in this land of cheese and honey was the cigarette that hangs from almost every Turkish mouth, both male and female. There is no ban in smoking in public places and in some places we had to view the sights through a haze of cigarette smoke. Other than that Turkey is just beautiful. No wonder that they have placed the symbol of the “evil eye” everywhere- my own eye has fallen on this charming land and people...

Beautiful Turkey

Nimmou Nilakantan

Happiness is a Butterfly

There is no "will be" in happy. It is not conditional. One cannot claim with any authenticity "I will be happy when I get this or if I were healthy"... Happiness is a state of being. You are either "being" happy or not. It has no time frame-any moment it can suffuse your being with that glow which only later you recognize as happiness. The lack of that feeling is what we crave for and in our relentless pursuit of it we become more and more unhappy. And then we reason and justify- "If only"' "When I can"' If I had"- as conditions to achieving happiness and the more we chase it the more it eludes us. Happiness is a butterfly- beautiful, delicate, colorful and so near till you try and capture it....
HAPPINESS IS A BUTTERFLY

The more I long to hold
This feeling in my mind
It flies ahead and leaves me
Helplessly pining behind...

It flits ahead so tantalizingly close
And every time I get near
It just vanishes into the distance
Leaving me full of fear...

And the more I chase the futher it gets
Tormenting my very soul
In broken fragments I simply exist
Waiting for happiness to make me whole...

Until one day as clear as light
It suddenly dawned on me
That this exclusive prey that I did chase
Was something I could not see...

It was a feeling that filled me
When I was not even aware
And I only noticed it most
When I hardly did care!...

Happiness is a butterfly
It chooses its own flower
To capture it is futile
It is not within your power...

But when you stop your chasing
And not wait for it to alight
Why then your life will always be
Filled with sudden delight...

And this is what is happiness
Not a constant flow or stream
When it flies around the corner
Why then, life is like a dream!...

Nimmou Nilakantan

HOW TO SURVIVE PHYSIOTHERAPY

You can’t- mentally I mean. Physically, our bodies can take the battering and come out none the worse but mentally it reduces you to a nervous wreck. You just need to tune out while you physically get a fine tuning. Easy? You bet! Just follow the Ten Commandments.....

THOU SHALL NOT WILT...

The first put off is the physiotherapy table. You lie there like a gutted fish while your therapist pummels you- painfully. All your ooh, oww, ouches fall on deaf ears because not only has he heard it all before(yawn) but he has got his mind on other important things- like how to get a high paying job where he doesn’t have to stand on his feet all day, never mind that he has to get you back on yours...

AND THIS TOO SHALL PASS

The question uppermost in your mind is-will I ever get normal again? There is no point pestering your therapist about the range of your joint or rather the lack of it. Chances of your jumping off the table and running the hundred meters are so remote as to be non-existent. The body takes its time and both you and he know that you will not climb Mt. Everest once you are fully fit. So just grit your teeth and bear it. Be happy with your snail’s progress- eventually you will reach that goal....

DO NOT COVET YOUR NEIGHBOR'S MOBILITY...

All around you other patients seem to mobilize their joints with consummate ease. You grunt and groan but your joint is as stiff as a leg of mutton in the deep freeze. You watch sick with envy as the old crone in the next table laughs and jokes with his physiotherapist as he bends his leg with the ease of a circus acrobat. Your therapist has a face like Thor ready to swing his hammer at the unyielding joint. No doubt he is totally zapped by your lack of progress and every time he pushes, your leg reluctantly yields one zillionth of a centimeter. Don’t give up- just don’t look at anybody else. They might be better in their physical range but your IQ is way out of their range-Score!

SLOTH IS A SIN...

Your idea of physio is lying on the table while the poor sod of a therapist massages you gently with something aromatic and ever so carefully gets the joint back to full working order. Unfortunately, that scenario exists only in Spas. The joint is a stubborn thing which requires military tactics- no scented candle approach will cut it. So your therapist pushes with all his might and bellows at you to ‘RELAX’. This is war and to win it you cannot sit on your butt. You go home like a tightly coiled spring and instead of unwinding in front of the T.V. you hop onto your exercise bike and pedal through the pain. Who knows? Once this is over Tour de France beckons...

THOU SHALL NOT KILL (YOUR PHYSIOTHERAPIST)

God knows you thought about it often enough- in fact, let’s be honest, there is nothing else you think about. He is the equivalent of a one man torture chamber and as he pulls, pushes and pummels, all you think about is clonking him one on the noggin. Better sense prevails and you lie there stoically enduring the pain. . Murdering him will only land you in jail and there you will be subject to far worse than physiotherapy....

THOU SHALL NOT SWEAR...

There is no point- of even muttering under your breath. Physiotherapists need to pass only two main criteria to qualify in their profession. They must have strong upper bodies with which they can wrestle stubborn joints into mobility and they must be hearing impaired so that the patients curses can literally fall on deaf ears. Otherwise, surrounded by scenes from Dante’s Inferno they would not last long in this profession. A simple “How are you” elicits an endless outpouring of unbearable agony from long suffering patients. Every push brings out a colorful epithet or a groan which falls on deaf ears. So save your breath or vent at pretty Polly at home- your physio just isn’t listening...

GLUTTONY IS A SIN...

Since your appetite remains unbridled by the calamity that befell your limb; this is the time to do some serious reigning in. No, not of the leg – that’s not going anywhere in a hurry but your gargantuan appetite that increases as rapidly as your mental anxiety. As a kid your P.T teacher dinned into your head-input should be less than or equal to output. You did a physio on him (turned a deaf ear!)and guzzled coke and munched on those chips and in spite of never lifting a finger, you still never put on an ounce blowing his input=output theory to bits. But now it comes back to haunt you. Whatever you eat snakes its way into your hips and thighs making the therapists job that much harder. Most therapists are thin since they are doing all the hard work. You lie there contorting your face while emitting high pitched squeals and though you might writhe in pain it just doesn’t burn calories.

So just zip those lips and keep the input=output theory of your P.T master live and kicking, at least till your legs take over- the kicking bit anyway...

And finally,

DO NOT QUESTION THE LORD’S WILL...

There is no point turning your face heavenward and asking God in an anguished tone-“Why me?” If you listen closely you might hear a deep rumble along with the words “Why not?” and if you are lucky a bolt of lightening will illuminate every brain cell and help you understand the futility of such questions. Your knee is blown; you are a dumb patient to that smart ass surgeon, a pain in your therapists butt and a pathetic sight to all around you. But, as the Good Book says “And this too shall pass...” Till then, just groan and bear it!

Nimmou Nilakantan

TO NILA, MY HUSBAND

TO NILA, MY HUSBAND ON HIS 60^th BIRTHDAY, 2^nd APRIL 2010

Whenever I think of you my love

One thought springs to mind

Among the million lives that abound

You truly are, one of a kind….

When I have oft struggled to see the path

You showed me the way to be

You opened my eyes to hidden sights

And filled it with a simple beauty….

You brought into our relationship

A richness beyond measure

The honesty of your emotions

Was a wealth, which I could treasure….

I cannot count all you have given me

But what I consider prime

Of all the gifts bestowed on me

I value the gift of your time…

A man is but the sum of parts

One word will suffice to be

The hallmark of your entire life

Has been marked by Integrity….

Until you came into my life

I never thought I’d find

Such a perfect harmony of

A loving heart and a pure mind….

Your wife, Nimmou

THE MARRIAGE RING

Why do most marriages become deadly bouts in a boxing ring with the gloves off and the children the reluctant referees? What happened to the halcyon days when the biggest threat made by your mother was “wait till I tell your father”? Now she is so busy telling on him, when she is not knocking him senseless on the floor, the poor man has been stripped off his halo leave alone his authority. My parents are like Mike Tyson and Evander Holyfield and like Tyson; my mother believes in chewing ears off especially if it’s my Dads...

ROUND 1- “Your Dad never listens to me”. Naturally, he has no ears Ma, remember you chewed them off with your senseless drivel about servants, your endless rambling about the pain in each nerve, ligament and sinew, your not so insidious barbs against each and every relative on his side to name a few reasons why he won’t and can’t listen to you...

ROUND 2- “We never do anything together”. The last time you did do something together, we were the unfortunate result and look how that turned out...

ROUND 3- “He’s wedded to his computer”. Well, at least the computer did not call him names or demand to be taken to every 31^st cousin’s wedding, birthday or funeral or subject him to ridicule at every opportunity. Threatening to pull the computer plug was Ma’s weapon of ultimate destruction and in a fit of pique at not being taken for a walk she went ahead and did it... “Until death do us part” was strongly tested that day. However, both are still alive and kicking (at each other)...

ROUND 4- “He always turns the children against me and pretends to be a martyr”. Considering the “children” range in age from 45 to 53 surely they are capable of making up their own minds Ma! Not that you left us with half a brain to decide. By making all our decisions for us, no matter how trivial, you shrunk our brain to the size of a peanut...

ROUND 5- “I am going to leave him and live in an ashram in Pondicherry”. No nuclear threat has hung so promisingly over Dad’s head. All his prayers waiting for this dream to be realized evaporated each time like clouds over the Gobi desert.....

Well, the day the boxing gloves come off, one of them will be knocked out cold on the floor. Till then the sparring continues and we “kids” ineffectively count backwards into a zero we never reach...before that both are up and jabbing at each other again....

Nimmou Nilakantan

Child No.3

Age 51 years

NATURE’S GUIDE TO GROWING OLD

We have instruction manuals to operate technology, we have driving schools to teach us how to drive a car, we have parents who show us how to walk, talk and eat but why is there no learning manual to teach us how to cope with old age? As usual, when we cannot find answers within or without, we need to turn to the oldest and wisest teacher that God has provided- Nature...

Look around you. Everything ages. Leaves dry, curl up and fall. Flowers wither and fade, the puppy that gambols no longer bounds but lies still on the floor. Yet it wags its tail. Then why do we act as if old age is a punishment wreaked on us by a malevolent God? And why oh why do we vent our ire on the people who least deserve it- our adult “children”?

The first reaction to our growing weakness and inability to cope is anger. We get angry that our body has slowed while our mind races, that our shape has changed but our desires are constant, our appetite is strong but digestion is weak and then we turn upon our children. We see them enjoying the stage that is long gone for us and the joy that we felt when we watched them achieve milestones has now turned to resentment. They have it and we have lost it and they are a daily reminder of our heydays. This is the time to turn to nature...

When a bird shoves its fledging from the nest after teaching it to fly she does not keep track of how high it flies or for how long. Nor does she sit in her empty nest scanning the skies for her progeny who now flies higher, longer and stronger than she does. Her job done, she lets go and looks after herself. Be the eagle...

After anger and resentment, the other scourge of old age is the burning desire to arouse guilt. And heap it liberally on the only people who truly care- your children. When everything fades with old age, the one thing that remains fixed and strong is our opinion and the vehicle to voice it. So, we berate our “children” for being too busy (earning livelihoods) to care and keep pointing out how they “owe” it to us to take care of them in their old age as they did when we were young.

Seeing young puppies suckle their mother while she lies calmly is a common enough sight. When did you last see a dog carry food in its mouth and search for its mother to feed her? Only restaurants give doggie bag! Nature’s law is non-negotiable- the mother feeds the baby who eats, grows and goes. And the mother does not hound her offspring, bark at them or demand attention. She forms new attachments and goes about the business of taking care of herself. Be the dog, not the underdog.....

Knowledge especially self-knowledge is important. Know that your body will grow old and what was easy to do physically might be impossible to do later on. But the mind can always be youthful. If you accept that you will walk slower, eat less, need more sleep but get less, you won’t feel so resentful towards the youth who seem to have it all...

The lion teaches it’s young to hunt ensuring it will eat for the rest of its life. And sure enough the cub leaves the pride and strikes off on its own. As the lion ages its claws become blunter, its mane sparser till it can no longer hunt its prey. Does the lion like its human counter part pick up a phone and track its progeny to give a daily lowdown on how its life has gone down the toilet? Be the lion...

Ok man is not a beast and what separates us from animals is our power of reasoning. So why does old age rob us of our reason? If we had a set of rules or pointers maybe we will not see old age as a cross but a tick mark affirming that you lived life as humanly as possible.....

SIGNPOSTS TO AGING BADLY

1) When your son talks about his achievements instead of pride you have the urge to knock that smile off his smug face and remind him that what he is doing now you have already done before and much better than he did...

2) You speak to your daughters but never hear what they have to say. You gave birth to them so you own not just their bodies, mind and soul but the conversation as well...

3) The whole world is against you. Servants cheat you (who cares that they cheat everybody), your children don’t care (selfish ba###ds, your grandchildren don’t make time for you (sons of selfish bi####s) and after you spent your entire youth taking care of others, who is there to take care of you?

4) “I am alone, I am so lonely”- Seriously? In today’s world where there are opportunities galore to do good. Look around you, in this “evil” world there is always someone who is worse off than you. Go help rather than crying “HELP”!

5) What do I have to live for? If you have asked yourself that, the diagnosis is clear. It is not old age that you are suffering from- you have no soul. And when we become vegetative and don’t feel for anybody but ourselves why then it is time for us, like tubers, to be buried underground...

Nimmou Nilakantan

PHONY GAFFES

Here is a list of questions never to ask people on the phone unless you want to put them on a spot. In which case, go right ahead and fire away....

How often do you pick up the phone and are confronted with that dreaded question- “Are you busy?” Say no and immediately admit by default that you are a pitifully underworked sod not doing enough for society. Say yes and you are the tyrant who has crushed that ooh- so - needy friend for whom you could not spare that spare minute. This is a no brainer- just hum a few bars of your favourite song in response to the query and your interlocutor will plunge right ahead with whatever they needed to get off their chest and spare you the guilt of the Yes or No. Now you are singing- to their tune....

“What are you doing?” is another dynamite question ready to blow your fragile ego to bits or your carefully constructed smokescreen. You could be lying on the sofa picking your nose- you just don’t want anybody else sticking theirs in. Unless you are splitting atoms there is really no worthy answer to this question. You can stick to the safe, middle-of-the path “working” or really stick it into them and answer brightly “working out”. Since that is the aspirational fitness mantra for most people, you just unloaded the guilt meant for you right back at them.....

“Got a minute?” is a question that tops the dreaded list. Here you are hopping on one leg trying to finish tasks due yesterday and you know you barely have .004 hundredth of a second to breast your personal to-do-list. And you know that behind that innocuous query is the Venus Fly Trap of an half an hour session which only benefits the questioner. As you hum and haw while the clock ticks away and your brain scrambles for an authentic exit clause, the countdown has begun and the rocket has launched. To all those who ask “Got a minute?” just say “NO”....

The one question designed to raise your blood pressure is that unwanted phone call at that ungodly hour which begins with that saccharine sweet voice asking you “Am I disturbing you?” Ok, unlike Archimedes you are not in your bath about to have a Eureka moment, but there are so many magical moments that are destroyed forever by that one phone call. It could be the anticipation of a delectable spoonful of sinful food about to be put into your maw, or the grand finale of a keenly followed T.V show or God forbid a rare moment when you feel mellow enough not to slap your partner’s hand away as he reaches for you and with that one bell you are knocked out cold. The person who calls knows that it is an inconvenient hour, hence the question. In such cases an answer is unnecessary. Slams dunk the phone, put it off the hook and just get back to what you were doing.

Some questions just have to remain unanswered. Many require a simple Yes or No, like an objective questionnaire. Life would be so much simpler if we stop justifying ourselves and answer truthfully with one word.

So, did you like my article? Just tick your response- Yes or No.......

Nimmou Nilakantan

MY MOTHER

I searched for the perfect mother everywhere. I saw her in the dignified woman who walked past me everyday and I would wonder-"why can't my mother be like her?".

I would see her in the kind old lady who lent a helping hand whenever and wherever needed and I would think-"That's how my mother should be..."

I would see her in the dynamic woman who took charge and initiated the difference all of us want to make, but do not make the effort to do so. And I would reflect bitterly- "my mother only talks, she never does..."

And then one day I met this friend who had embarked on a similar quest for the perfect parent. "Have you found her?" I asked. "Yes" she replied. "Where?" I eagerly questioned.

" I found her in your mother...."

Nimmou Nilakantan