There must be something about Kerala that draws millions of tourists every year. I cannot explain logically why I booked myself into a resort this winter to de-stress before I began a new term. “Cherai Beach?” My boss asked. “Why?” I couldn’t answer the question straightaway. He said, “Hmm! Let me think. Why Kerala?…” I shrugged. “Don’t know. Just found it on the Club Mahindra website and booked. And I am going. Come hell or high water.” “Have fun!” He said.

I do know however, why I chose Kerala and Cherai over Goa and other beach resorts one longs for in the north of India. There is something soothing about the thought of quiet, contemplative rides in a boat through the backwaters – it’s not exotically beautiful … could even be a bit boring … but the monotony can be lazy and contemplative. And then … the healing massages one hears of all the time …oils of divine curative nature dripping warmly on the head… mmm … the healthiest of breakfasts in the world … idlis and podi and tomato chutney… all great objective co-relative signals to the brain for healing! So that is where I went!

I woke up on Day 1 raring to go like I usually do … it is 6:00 am … I have to wake up – said my inner alarm, dress decently … swallow my thyroxin and off we go – Mowgli, Raffiki and Zazu for a walk! Usual routine! Only this time – there were no dogs – however I upped – dressed and walked Cherai Beach. Watched dolphin swim lazily in the sea and the sun rise over the horizon! Ohhh this is good I thought! Strode back – ate a healthy idli breakfast. Strolled to my room and slept! Woke up at 12 pm! Went to lunch. Returned at 1:00 pm and slept. Woke up at 6:00 pm …. now very guilty. Dressed to walk the beach … walked down it very rigorously … returned to my room … curled up in bed … ordered dinner … watched Doc Martin on Netflix and slept.

Day 2. Woke up at 9:30 am! No guilt. No bells or alarms! Smiled. Made myself a cuppa tea. Pulled on a t-shirt … strolled in for breakfast … ate idlis and stared at the backwaters drinking coffee for an hour!

The magic of Kerala was happening!

Quite apart from the tranquility, the Malayali is warm and friendly! Smiles and waves from complete strangers – is not what we are used to in the north. Or the special privilege of “ladies queues!” ( I liked that very much!)

One of my happy encounters was with the swimming coach! Very chatty, restless little man who waved and smiled energetically every time I walked past him and offered me chekoos. “No swimming?” He asked. “No costume!” I replied. “Ohh! I give you! Come, come! Come with me.” I followed him curiously to the shower room behind the pool. From a dusty old locker he enthusiastically pulled out a pair of black football shorts and shirt! I looked at it with some trepidation and thought, What the hell! Who cares what I look like? There was no way I could disappoint his enthusiasm, anyway! The next two days I spent time either on the beach or in the pool in my black football shorts and it was joyous!

Well! That was a first! As were many other experiences in Kochi. My first visit to a synagogue, a first travel in a taxi on a ferry, a first time experience of looking at exquisite lace in a shop in India… my first, impulsive holiday on my own.

Kochi is a charming city. Now, a rather dusty version of colonial India. With one of the most beautiful airports in the world – the only one that is run solely on solar energy. Quite apart from its curious mix of cultures – Portuguese, Dutch, Malayali, Arab and Jew!

I left on the 5th day of my holiday much refreshed! The taxi driver who was dropping me off to Kochi airport ( in the darkness of a winter morning) asked politely where I was from. Dehradun, I said. “Oh!” He said, sounding very surprised. “I thought you were alien!” “And how many dirham you paid for your ticket to Dehradun?”

When I was growing up, the only really good schools that parents felt comfortable sending their girls to, were convent schools. And convent schools had a firm belief that, “sparing the rod, spoiled the child.” Therefore, it was a routine matter to get whacked or punished in the most painful and humiliating way if we were “bad” girls. Actually, not “humiliating” – simply because it was so common that it became routine and accepted!

 

I got whacked frequently on my knuckles for not practicing my Math. The girls that did not do their homework would begin their Math class by sticking out their hands and the teacher would come around and “rap” the knuckles with a ruler. I thought Math was worst so the whack worked very well for me!

 

The worst was to be turned into a “murga” or “kukad” for all the 30 minutes of a class. This I suffered for not knowing my Sanskrit shlokas or my Math. I had to sit in the corner of the class (next to the dust bin – which I still remember was a vivid Irish green) on my plump haunches, weave my arms through my legs and hang onto my ear lobes. Sheer contortionist torture!

 

It only happened once! I made sure I knew my shlokas  – (not my Math) after that!

BENEATH THE PURPLE ROOF

 

The colour purple always had a magical aura about it.  It is not one of those primary colours that define itself as “peace” like blue or white do, nor does it spell “danger”or “passion,” as red does. It is far removed from the sophisticated associations with black or the sunny symbolism that lies in all shades of yellow.

When we are looking for something unique and mysterious, something classy and different, something indefinable, we think of the many shades of purple! Purple is “cool” – no wonder the kings of yore adopted this one colour as the “royal” one.

 

When I first came to Hopetown I often wondered why the “Accy” had a purple roof! It should have been red, I thought, or may be even white – Hopetown colours, I thought. Until I figured out the deep and beautiful mystery of why it was purple. There is no “logical” reason for it. Just as there is no logic to magic or mystery. It is just a state of being. And, of course, it is unique!

 

After all, it is beneath the purple roof that the Hopetavian grows.  It is beneath the purple roof that sparrows chirp during assembly, crying out loud and declaring that a new and beautiful day has dawned. It is in the rafters of the purple roof that the owl sits, wise and still observing the proceedings of a madly hectic day of creation, thought, love and friendship. The roof resounds with music, laughter and profound thoughts and protects the myriad celebrations of art.  It is beneath the purple roof that the mystery of growing up, learning and exploring one’s uniqueness happens!

 

Though the roof clashes madly in my mind’s eye with the red- bricked walls and green windows, I wouldn’t trade it for any other colour in the world. Because for me it defines how unique, individualistic, creative, magical and “cool” my girls are!

 

Class of 2019! IZMET ! Shining / Beautiful / Great Fullness/ That is what you named yourself! You will always go down in my page of history (if I ever write my memoires) as the very first batch I recruited when I joined Hopetown. For me – you will always be – my chosen ones. And the ones who would grow to be what I always wanted for children in a school where I could dictate what education should be. And you have not let me down. At the end of your term in school, when I look back at your achievements and survey your SOPs and dreams of what you want to be …. You haven’t let me down. I can see that you are strong – in ways you don’t see now – that you are liberated in ways that will make society uncomfortable – you have opinions that are your own and you can voice them – you are incredibly talented – joyously talented and will not just make yourselves happy with what you can achieve – but you will make others happy by what you do – whether it is music or medicine or art or drama or voicing opinions or analyzing serious  mathematical issues or hanging in there for someone in distress or sharing what makes you happy with others who can learn from you. You are going to be phenomenal women! And for the rest of the Hopetown community – How important it for us to recognize and celebrate our heroes and she-roes!!

 

One of my favourite poets is Maya Angelou. Not because we share the same name – but because I find her truly inspirational! She was one strong woman. Maya Angelou said – My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humour, and some style.

And I would say the same! I think you have all those qualities – but you need some of that humour! You have the style – the compassion – the passion – but laugh a little at the complexities of life – that will help you to thrive! As a woman, you have believe in your inordinate strength and beauty and enjoy it too.

 

Maya Angelou wrote a poem called Phenomenal Woman and I would like to read it to you today and dedicate it to you.

 

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size

But when I start to tell them,

They think I’m telling lies.

I say,

It’s in the reach of my arms,

The span of my hips,

The stride of my step,

The curl of my lips.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

 

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.

I say,

It’s the fire in my eyes,

And the flash of my teeth,

The swing in my waist,

And the joy in my feet.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

 

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

 

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can’t touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them,

They say they still can’t see.

I say,

It’s in the arch of my back,

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

 

Now you understand

Just why my head’s not bowed.

I don’t shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.

When you see me passing,

It ought to make you proud.

I say,

It’s in the click of my heels,

The bend of my hair,

the palm of my hand,

The need for my care.

’Cause I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

 

The other great learning that I have from Maya Angelou – is – People will forget what you said … people will forget what you did … but people will never forget how you made them feel – If you made them feel joyous – every time they think of you the feeling of joy will return. If you made them feel sad – it will be connected to your image. So – wherever you go –  think of the print you want to leave behind in the heart of another.

 

 

Phenomenal women … enjoy being what you are and allow the confidence in that to never compromise on your dream of what you want to be. I look forward to our Alum page on our fab new website – being full of wonderful news of your achievements.

 

 

And so –  IZMET –  Shining; Beautiful; Great Fullness  – with the fire in your eyes,

And the flash of your teeth,

The swing in your waist,

And the joy in your feet.   Enjoy being phenomenal women!

 

Good Luck with your lives ahead, Class of 2019! God Bless!

Inda Cottage is the sweetest little haven in the hills. Tucked away in an oak forest, it is well away from the madness of honeymooners and loud chaat eating tourists that assail the hills. My brother and I began to treat it like the refuge it was. There was nothing more therapeutic than to go up for a holiday and laze about in peace, watching the monkeys play in the sun and flip through the hordes of TIME magazines that our father had saved up for us. For our children, the cottage had a whole different significance. Khud climbing, plucking “ice aloos” off the wild bushes, scouring the hillsides for violets and wild strawberries, had kept them busy for years.

There was a magic about Inda Cottage. It looked like something out of a Grimms fairy tale. My father painted it a light green and it had a sort of delectable look about it. And then, of course, there was the old Begum who had buried her treasure somewhere under its wooden planks. I could swear I heard her go past my window one gloomy night!

Among the trees, waiting for the quiet stillness of a summer evening was the resident flying fox. It called in a strange horse cry before it flew from oak top to oak top. Then, there was the family of langurs. They would laze about sunning themselves on the trees, picking nits, eating young shoots and watching over their young. And there was Bil-lie the wild cat who visited every so often and let off the loudest purr I have ever heard as she wrapped herself around our legs.

In the valley below the cottage lies Dehradun. Its million lights sparkle all night. I remember pointing them out to my baby nieces and saying, “Look! … Fairyland!” and they stared with wonderment in their eyes! Many years later it had the same effect on my little son. During the day, part of the magic vanishes as it transforms itself into a geographers delight. The rivers Song and Tong glisten in the sunlight as they lazily wind their way under plateaus and hills and the valley seems to lie quietly ensconced. We have spent many a summer afternoon staring down at Dehradun in a mesmerized sort of way.

One of my greatest joys was to listen out for the rain. On the other side of the hill is a deodar forest and beyond, looming large and splendorous over it are the snow capped Himalayan ranges. From somewhere deep in the recesses of the forest, the winds of a rain storm arise and one can hear them race torrentially through the trees, up the hill and then, finally with a thunderous crash, down our slope. Following swiftly was the gentle patter of rain washing away the dust and soothing the ire of the storm.

My mother always said that winter was her favorite time at the cottage. I agreed with her. Despite the cold and the occasional snow, the sun is always cheeriest in the winter and the air is crisp. A little fire made the cottage cosy and warm. There was something about the atmosphere that made you want to hibernate with walnuts and a book.

This little cottage in the woods was home for thirty long years of happiness, of trial and of grief. It was always a place of comfort and healing. And now that we live elsewhere and life has taken other turns, I can only thank the Almighty for having allowed us a glimpse of heaven.

This is your very first post. Click the Edit link to modify or delete it, or start a new post. If you like, use this post to tell readers why you started this blog.