Shera Di Kaum Punjabi

When we moved to the Philippines 3 years ago, it took me about a year to gain the confidence of driving our car around on my own. Until then, for that entire year, I used to commute using public transport wherever I would go out alone. Jeepneys are the most popular form of public transportation here; accommodating about 17-18 passengers in a ride. On most occasions when I would travel in a jeepney, I used to get curious looks from my fellow passengers and I would attribute it to my foreign features (read long nose). However, sometimes someone's compelling curiosity would bring up a sheepish question -"Are you Five-Six?"
 
The first time this happened you can imagine my plight in trying to come up with an appropriate response - "No, I'm 007!" (too cocky!) or "I'm two-five, twenty five!" (he he!) or "What is that?". When caught off guard, one tends to be honest and plain, and so I went with the last one and just got a smile in return. But this never happened again; because I by then knew better, as the answer, quite simply, was "No."

I live in a place called Clark, an upcoming Special Economic Zone, located in the lively province of Pampanga, 200 km north of Manila, the capital of Philippines. When we moved here the only Indians I was expecting to encounter were either BPO professionals or ship crew. But I was so wrong! After my first five-six fiasco in the jeepeney I decided to find out more about it, and realized that what I was finding out about was not "it" but "them".

Five-Six, also known as Boombai (for Bombay / Mumbai), are Punjabis living in the Philippines who are in the business of money lending. They lend in multiples of 5000 pesos and get 6000 back in 120 days earning an interest of 20% flat! Annualize it and it's 120%!! This of course is all illegal and discreet. Most of them have a legitimate face in the form of a convenience store, service provider, trading firm, etc. They have been around here for generations, settled in pretty much all provinces of the country. In part they are liked for the "help" that they are ever so willing to "offer" and in part notorious for the dire consequences of non-payment!!

And when you see their boys doing seva at the Gurdwara, you would find it hard to believe that some of them have never been to India! They talk in rustic punjabi and seemingly flawless tagalog (national language of Philippines) and even keep switching between both quite seamlessly. Unfortunately, my own interaction with them has been very limited due to language barrier. (I can't speak either of the two.) However, I frequent the Gurdwara in lure of the langar quite often and once got the chance to ask one of them what he does for a living and the very polite, yet straight answer I got was "Finance ka business hai ji". Yeah, right! :)
 

As I see them - these people from villages of Punjab, settled and thriving in the Philippines islands, having created and firmed up their own unique identity - I wonder what made them move here 40-50 or may be more, years ago, when both countries had minimal interaction, poor telecommunications, no media and sparse infrastructure. What drove them to a then far flung, unheard of, country leaving everything behind to make a living out of illegal money lending business! Was it desperation? Or was this a case of the brave with an appetite for adventure? Or were they some enterprising, self driven businessmen? Guess I'll never know...but what an interesting tale it must be!

Channel WE

 

In his essay Us and Them, in the book Dress your Family in Corduroy and Denim, David Sedaris describes a family that does not believe in watching TV and doesn't even own one. He writes about how everyone in the neighborhood is ruffled by this and even think that they are just plain weird. It made me laugh out loud and I'll tell you why.

My wikisearch tells me that television is a word derived from Greek (tele for far) and Latin (visio for sight) - meaning far sight. However, it does not surprise me at all that over the years, the term idiot box has gained such worldwide acceptance. Given some of the banal programs that get dished out, the mindless consumerism it begets and its negative influence on children - idiot box it certainly is. While I'm conscious that this is a highly debatable topic, with multitudes of people on either sides of the fence and that this may require in-depth discussions to get to a conclusion, if any; we decided to do away with our cable connection when Kabir was born nearly 4 yrs ago. In fact after moving to the Philippines we did not even own a TV for over a year. We just did not feel the need for it with our little friend around.

On most occasions I get a lot of reaction from anyone who gets to know this. "What?? You don't watch TV? What do you do then??". The intensity of the exasperation can be associated better with questions like -"What?? You don't eat anything at all? How do you survive then??". It's hilarious!!

Fact is, I still don't watch any TV and I don't miss it at all. Instead, Pratim and I spend a lot of quality time talking about stuff we feel like. I read more books. Look up, download and listen to music I like. Blog when I'm up to it. Run most errands on time. Even overcoming the initial lethargy to run/walk/exercise is easier since no Glee or Jhalak Dikhla Ja holds me back. I get my daily dose of news from the internet. And my head is never cluttered with how many more kids Branjelina have adopted or who Paris Hilton is sleeping with! (Is she still alive?)

However I must clarify that unlike Sedaris' neighbors, we have not imposed the TV ban on our son. We do let Kabir watch his Tom and Jerry and Blue Clues DVDs when he wants to, but no cable network in our home still. And I have to admit that there are some times when he is glued to the TV as if he is the 5th Little Einstein (and that it sometimes even works to my selfish advantage! hehe!). But what really thrills me is when he rejects this option to pass his time saying - "I don't like to watch TV, Mama. I only want to play."


"The tracing of ideas is a guessing game. We can’t tell who first had an idea—we can only tell who first had it influentially, who formulated it in some form, poem or equation or picture, that others could stumble upon with the shock of recognition”. - Wallace Stegner

Let's Get Outside - 100 Islands

Lets Get Outside -

"Forests, lakes, and rivers, clouds and winds, stars and flowers, stupendous glaciers and crystal snowflakes - every form of animate or inanimate existence, leaves its impress upon the soul of man." - Orison Swett Marden

Ok, looks like Marden missed mentioning islands. Maybe because he never visited the 100 Islands National Park. But I did! And, so this one is for all you Mardens out there. An account of my island hopping weekend getaway that so impressed my soul :)
I had heard of this place from only a few people but was always taken in by the idea of a numerous little islands in an area smaller than the size any major city that one can think of. I was eager to set my eyes on them. And like it happens with all plans good there were detractors - no good hotels around, not many restaurants to choose from, and the likes. So visiting the 100 Islands which is situated 3 1/2 hours north from our city turned out to be a perfect birthday gift this year.
The 100 Islands National Park consists of 100 plus islands -120 as per our boatman who took us there and 124/123 as per my wikisearch. Of these only one of them is big enough for safe inhabitation, and just two other used for tourist commerce - fitted with washrooms, a stationary store, a shop for renting snorkeling and camping gear a couple of ice-cream sellers. Thats all! All other islands are uninhabited, at best a few kilometers in their periphery, flushed with green wilderness, with these thin strips of light yellow-white sand beaches. To me they looked like these huge, green, Hershey's Kisses floating in the sea with cream oozing out on the sides.

We set out in these tiny little 4 seater motor powered boats on the South China Sea at 7 am. Much to my relief, the sea was calm that morning, making for a smooth ride despite our dingy rides. After about 45 minutes of heading out into the sea we stopped at Cuenco island. The sea water by the beach was blend of emerald green and turquoise blue, and absolutely clear. The sight was an eyeful! For minutes we were just speechless, taking in the beauty and silence. In a while our boatman took us into the island. A short walk through thickly set greenery brought us to a cave. As we looked up at the stalactites on the roof, some 20 feet high, we could barely see any rock. All we saw were bats! A hundred, maybe two hundred - looking down at less than ten, rare visitors! While I was still reeling in the feeling of being grossly outnumbered, I looked below to see at the base of the cave. At a sheer 30 feet drop was the South China Sea, making its way through the underground into the cave on the island. (It is later that I learnt that the these islands were actually coral formations deep under the sea which surfaced only after thousands of years of geographical shifts.)
After this we "hopped over" to Children's Island. These was a pretty little set up with 3 islands set in an obtuse angle to one another - two connected naturally by a strip of beach and the third connected by man with a 20 meter, sturdy wood plank bridge. This island was commercially set up for refreshments for tourists, snorkeling and kayaking. We stayed there for some time to let the children play in the beach, while the adults looked around. Interestingly, it was impressive to notice that the sea life was unperturbed by human presence. You could see tiny fish swimming up to the shore and some larger ones under the wood plank bridge. And coral reefs were unbroken and only a few meters away from the shore as per a snorkeling enthusiast one of us spoke to.

Our next two hops were even more exciting.

We rode through a channel in the sea with a procession of these green little islands on both sides, each a few meters away from the next, and arrived at an island which was like a tree covered hillock sticking out of the water. Not a speck of sand around in the name of a beach. And this hillock of an island had a huge gaping hole right through its center going all the way to the other end and opening to the sea again. A hillock in the open sea, with a cave running end to end, right through its very core; all held in place with nature's own masonry. Amazing!!

Our final stop was at President's Island, know as such, for its height. Here we just had one business. And a really important one at that. Of getting to the top. In preparation, we got some sugar into our veins, in the form of ice candies, and shot off the block. At 10.30 AM on a sunny day, we took some 80-90 extremely steep steps (some man made, some natural), through thick foliage to a clearing on the top of the island. What we saw from the there was more than the effort's worth - a vantage view of the 100 Islands! Islands in various shades of green, sprawled haphazardly across a clam, sky-blue sea stretching over many miles in any direction you looked! A visual feed to last a lifetime.

After this, much to my reluctance, we headed back to mainland. I really hadn't got enough of it...

It's been 3 weeks since the trip, and I still see vivid glimpses of what I saw when I close my eyes. Sure we clicked pictures, but I don't really need them. In fact in many ways, I feel a camera never quite does justice to what we experience. One really needs to get out there to get it all in.

So my Mardens, lets get away from our usual routine weekends of pub hopping, gourmet popping and psychostimulant shopping and go instead for some island hopping @ The 100 Islands National Park, Pangasinan, Philippines. The experience would make for pure soul food, I promise!

The Day I Took on The Valley Trail Challenge

*As published in the August 2011 issue of frontRUNNER magazine Philippines

For someone with a status like mine - a full time homemaker, mother of a 3 year old boy, living away from my own country, away from family and friends I grew up with - running means much more to me than just a means of getting that cute ass. It is a way of redeeming myself from a sense of purposelessness, a way of levitating myself to a meditative state to take my mind away from the monotony of mommyhood, and a way to connect with the most wonderful people of our city, Clark. And it is this last aspect of my many joys of running that I treasure the most - Team Clark - a great team of enthusiastic, fun loving and competitive athletes. A bunch of friendly folks :) It is through members of Team Clark that I got to know about The Valley Trail Challenge at Nuvali, Laguna. Initially, I wasn't sure if I wanted to join the 25km run, since I had just come back from a long vacation from India (where I had trained very little) and I had also heard that the trail is quite flat and not at all fun. But thanks to some ever encouraging friends, I still booked my slot. Encouraging still was the fact that almost the entire Team Clark had registered as well! Around 15 of us started from Clark in a bus at 12:30 am on race day! I cursed myself as I settled down for a long drive to Nuvali, Laguna. It had rained the entire previous evening and the weather was perfect to remain wrapped in a warm, cosy blanket. Anyway, we reached two hours ahead of gun start which gave us plenty of time to have breakfast, stretch, look around, wash and change and click plenty of pictures. I was still whining about my lack of sleep when I first set my eyes on Mt. Makiling. It was breathtaking! Suddenly, my slouch was gone, I was wide awake and my nose was smelling for adventure. The beauty of the sight and the atmosphere of the venue told me this was going to be worthwhile. We gathered at the start line sharp at 6 am. I saw a lot of familiar faces from my previous runs - PAU Mt Pinatubo, Fat Ass 2011 and Salomon Extreme Trail Run. I guess that's what make trail runs and ultras special; you are never lost in a sea of strangers. In stead you feel the strength of brotherhood and camaraderie.

So at the count of zero, my journey away from reality to a state of complete detachment started. With every step into the trail, I began to blend into the environment, just as always! The first couple of kilometers were on this narrow goat trail through tall grass fields and we were forced to run in a single file. This was followed by alternating stretches of dirt road, wild grass fields and asphalt. Though there were no steep uphill or downhill climbs, the trail was not flat either. The long undulating stretch of the trail (fittingly named as New Zealand) was at the same time beautiful (with Lake Laguna and Mt Makiling in the backdrop) and strenuous (with the sun shining brightly by then). Whoever said the trail was flat and boring must've been kidding! The texture, gradient and the direction just kept changing every few kilometers - keeping even the best runners on high alert. There were water stations at every 5-6 km and that was my only way of knowing the approximate distance I had covered. As I got closer to the 25km mark (and what I thought would be the end of the run) I ran with my feet in sync with the music on my ipod - boy! I felt happy and strong. But I was shocked, when I reached the 25km mark, to see that instead of a finish line, there was a poster saying "Smile Pare! Your freebie miles start now"! Damn!!
But it wasn't so bad after all. Even though the sun was unforgiving and I was running beyond the finish line I had in my mind; I found the strength to keep pushing myself forward because I knew I wasn't the only one going through this grind. Though I walked some stretches of this 3.5km of "freebie miles", I made it a point to cover the last 500 meters to the finish line running and smiling. As Jim Morrison insisted that I "Show me (him) the way to the next whisky bar" into my ears, I finished a very satisfying run of 28.5km in 3 hours and 57 minutes. I got to the other side and decided to oblige Jim later that evening :))

Put Your Lights On

"Experience is the best teacher, but the tuition is high." - a Norwegian proverb.

When I was a young girl, one of my close elderly relatives had attempted to molest me on a few occasions. Now whether it was his cowardice or my sharpness that foiled his attempts, I don't know. Or maybe I was just lucky - considering that it took some time for me to even realize that those odd approaches were actually attempts to molest!

I remember running and clinging to my brother whenever this person would try to corner me. I used to tell my brother I had seen a ghost. And from the look on my face, I'm sure anyone would have believed me too! I remember refusing, avoiding all possibilities that might bring me in close contact with my "ghost" - and this included the customary hug when meeting or parting - an act otherwise so common, so non-sexual and so much out of familial love in our families. During his visit to our home, every sound of footsteps approaching my bedroom upstairs used to make me break into a sweat. While using the bath, my eyes would keep a constant vigil for telltale shadows at the vents and at the crack between the bathroom door and the floor. These points in my life were traumatic, frustrating and used to leave me feeling confused (with thoughts like why me? Am I doing something to cause this?) and violated. In short, it was ugly.

I desperately needed to talk to somebody, but I could not think of sitting face to face with anybody on this subject. So, I wrote this long letter to my older brother instead. Even as I wrote I felt the burden leaving me. It was like burying a monster somewhere deep. I grew older and moved on - or so I thought.

Many years later (by which time I was a confident professional, happily married) I received a request from a close friend to accommodate a few elderly uncles who were in town due a grave family emergency. I knew about the emergency. It was genuine. And yet I made up a lame excuse for not being able to accommodate them. For two days after that, I did not respond to her calls and messages. I was appalled by my own lowliness. But then through the murk of guilt and confusion dawned the light of realization - it was my deep rooted fear of elderly male relatives. The monster had returned from deep down!

Last year I shared this with my father. My father, a man who has experienced some of the toughest odds than I ever will and has always come out of them successfully, and for whom I have the highest regards and deepest love, replied "Time is a great healer beta, forgive him." Forgive him? Why should I?? Forgive someone who has never repented his deeds. I will never!

Today I look at Kabir, his friends, his classmates - these children are so full of innocence, uninhibited joy and laughter, energy and playfulness, curiosity and depth. Attributes which will surely make them conscientious and thoughtful citizens of tomorrow, if not tampered with. And yet I know, from experience, that there could be someone out there who can take it all away in one act of immorality. It makes me shudder...

Hey now, all you children
Leave your lights on, you better leave your lights on
Because there's a monster, living under my bed
Whispering in my ear
There's an angel, with a hand on my head
She say's I've got nothing to fear

- From the song "Put Your Lights On" - Santana / Everlast

Taking it personally!!!

A "personal" account of my second Half Marathon at the 2nd Clark Animo Run, on 6th March 2011 -

As always, it was difficult to get out of bed at four in the morning on race day, especially when it had been drizzling all night. I slowly sneaked out of the bedroom so as not to wake Kabir up, took a quick bath and had a big bowl of pasta - my carb load for the run :)

The gun start for the 21k run was at 5:30am and assembly was at 5:00am. It was still dark when we reached the start line which was a five minutes walk from our home. I had trained well for this run so I wasn't nervous like I was during my previous half marathon (Quezon City International Marathon in Dec'10). The weather was cool and hence perfect for the fun that was to come.

While waiting for the race to start, we came across a familiar participant (let's call him Joe) whom we often run into during these sports events in Clark. Joe asked Pratim if he was running 21k and was happy to know that he was. After exchanging boyish high fives with Pratim, he looked at me and asked "10K, right?". "No, 21!" I answered evenly. This evoked what I thought was a snigger, followed by a skeptical "all-the-best" from our friend. I had half a mind to tell him this was not my first half marathon, but I didn't. The thing is, I'm not a competitive runner and probably can never be one. I have no lofty notions of woman power either. But this guy, I have to admit, got my goat. The only thing on my mind was to reach the finish line before he did.

There were over 100 runners for the 21k category. The prayers were said and the Philippines national anthem was sung. (I like the way they stand with their right hand across the chest during the anthem). The run started in the most scenic setting, as the orange of the morning sun blended beautifully with the lush green of the trees. Armed with my new iPod Nano fully loaded with my fav music, I started running at my regular pace with lots of runners overtaking me. And as I always do during long runs, I began blending with my surroundings, taking in what nature has to offer - firm ground, fresh air, various shades of greens, reds and yellows from the foliage, smelling the rain soaked earth. My running in a state of meditation carried on till about the turnaround point at 10.5k, when it was suddenly shattered by the sight of good old Joe up ahead!! Having turned around and running in my direction, I could tell he was some kilometers away from losing steam. I calculated that he was approximately a kilometer ahead. And of course, I waved at him in the most friendly, non-competing way. As soon as we had crossed each other, I started running faster.

At around the 13k mark I began losing steam, but then I saw Joe once again - this time with his back towards me and walking! That's it!! I kept up a steady jog to catch up on him. Finally, I overtook a jaded Joe at around 15k. Very gently, somewhat sympathetically (and of course dramatically) I patted his back and ran ahead to end this race that was going on in my head. (I later realized that I overtook nearly 30 runners in the process!) I waited at the finish line to greet him with a broad smile. I'm not sure I could read his expression...but it didn't really matter. I finished the run in 2:21:38 (Rank 69) and he at 2:27:21 (Rank 88). I had won!

Separation Anxiety, the flipside and back.....

Separation Anxiety! It’s a term I had often heard as I was entering motherhood. I always thought that it’s an overrated phenomenon, just the way "Terrible Two" is. I had no idea that I was going to be hit so hard by it, until it was time for Kabir to go to school. From the diary that I never wrote, here is how it unfolded...

Day 1 - I spent the entire time at school with him sitting by his side. He seemed happy.

Day 2 - I dropped him to school and let the teacher take him by his hand to his classroom. He wailed his heart out. Mine sank. He stopped crying once inside the class. I waited outside, the moment he came out and saw me; he started crying again with a "why-did-you-leave-me-alone-with-strangers" look on his face.



Day 3, 4 and 5 were the same. I was miserable.



Day 6 - A big day. I didn't drop him to school. I let him go in the school van instead, with a school teacher for company. He refused to let go off me. His teacher yanked him away, held him tight and shut the van’s door. He screamed as the van sped off. I rushed indoors – and vomited! I felt sick for the next 3 hours until he was dropped home. The teacher said he was fine in school. But Kabir started crying the moment he saw me.



This carried on till about Day 14. It took me a couple of days to realise that I was vomiting and feeling sick because I was going through (Well! What else?) separation anxiety! And I always thought that I was a cool mom, huh! I was very disturbed but tried to be strong in the face of it since I knew Kabir was going through a lot worse – a place called school (much unlike home), other equally frightened and wound up kids for friends, teachers (instead of mama), new rules and time lines to follow, new things to learn – it all must have been crazy for him!



I felt very guilty for sending him to school when he was all of 2 1/2 years old and thought several times whether it is really necessary. I remember even writing a distress mail to one of my friends to share my anxiety.



Day 15 - Kabir held his teacher's hand and ran towards the school van without any trace of anxiety on his face. I didn't throw up that day but something else, something vague, was gnawing me.

Day 16 - He ran towards the van happily and cheerfully waved goodbye. Ouch!! That hurt like someone had punched the wind out of my stomach!! All this while I had waited and prayed for Kabir to become independent. How ironic was it that I felt so bad the day he showed me the first sign of it. I thought, fighting back tears "Does he not need me anymore?" The cool mom was devastated!

With time I realized he needs me just as much. It’s just that the reasons are changing…

Dilemma of a full time mom

Q - What do you do?
A - I'm a stay-at-home mother

Q - Ok. So, what do you do apart from just taking care of your child? How do you keep yourself occupied?
A - Well...I...(my response from there on is shaped by how I'm feeling at that point - tired of own my status, belittled by the person's achievements, humored at the silliness of person's question since he/she him/herself doesn't seem to have done much in life, or just plain mad at the person's myopia.)

When I was ranting about this to my brother once, he said -"If you were doing some research work, creating or inventing things; I would have understood your frustration. You were working in MNCs only adding to their moolah. A small part of someone else's big plan. So enjoy this opportunity of being able to shape a child into a beautiful and confident human being". I was mad at my brother for saying this. For not understanding my plight; but eventually I came around to see what he meant.

Honestly, its tough getting used to the idea of not having your own money. It took me more than a year to start using Pratim's debit card. I would simply refuse to use it, even when he showed me the practicality of it. I remember calling him up a couple of times to check if I could buy that dress I so loved. Confused, he would say -"Why are you asking me? I'm not really there to see it!" After all, whether I should spend money on something or not was never his prerogative before!

Some say that parenting is the toughest job in the world. I do not agree with that. Watch "Dirty Jobs" on Discovery and you'd know why!! But being a full time parent does come with its own challenges which are extremely tough to deal with. To begin with, I tend to take sole responsibility for my child's actions. While I know that there are other factors influencing his behavior and reactions (father, friends, school, teachers, environment, etc.) and that every child comes with some "factory built" traits as well; still as a full time parent, I find it difficult to detach myself from Kabir's behavior - whether its good, bad or ugly.

Just to quote a couple of examples - whenever Kabir is unhappy/cranky, I tend to question myself first before even thinking whether something might have gone wrong at school. If he ever talks disrespectfully to someone, I feel maybe I haven't taught him this aspect well enough instead of wondering if he might have picked it up from some other child and just needs to be told not to do it again. All this because I believe I spend most of my time with him and efforts on him. It definitely takes a toll on me and there isn't much breath left to do anything else apart from just taking care of my child.

Giving birth to a new life, keeping it healthy and giving it a shape, a meaning is a tall task. It takes the right mix of love and tough love, passionate involvement and displayed detachment, detailed teaching and leaving scope for self learning, positive reinforcement and negative action to rear them for life ahead - and all this keeping in mind that your child is unique and your mix of all of the above has to be tailored for him, for that situation.

C'mon, someone has to get this globally accredited as a full time job, and a tough one at that!

Coffee and Cruelty...

As I was reminiscing and writing about my days in KV some weeks ago, there was this one disturbing incident that came to my mind but it didn't quite fit into the subject of what I was writing about. In fact, its an incident which does not even fit into the person I believe I am today. Well about that last bit I could be wrong and you can always tell me so :)

I was in Standard 5 (in Medak, near Hyderabad) when we were given a science group project and I was assigned to a team of 8 members. I don't exactly remember everyone who was a part of it; but there was this one girl - Saroj, who I distinctly remember. That day we drew up our plan and decided on the stuff we needed to buy for our project. After school we met at my house at around 4 pm and walked down to the only stationary shop in the only little huddle of stores that existed in Medak - called Tower (because it was situated next to a TV tower. How creative??!!).

Now Saroj used to live very close to Tower and met us directly at the shop. After we had bought the stuff we needed, she invited us home for coffee. She said her dad made the best filter coffee in the world. This invitation threw us off and we started making our excuses immediately. The thing is, Saroj's father was a cook and server at the Inspection Bunglow (guest house) of the Ordnance factory where our fathers were employed. Many of us being officers children had been served by him in the past on many occasions and to meet him as our classmate's dad wasn't very appealing. But Saroj insisted aggressively and we gave in.

Once we reached her house our discomfort only rose. She lived in a one room house with her parents and siblings. As it turned out, they had no seats/chairs to offer and we had to stand outside the house and wait for our coffee to arrive. And coffee seemed to take way longer than usual. The awkwardness of the whole situation brought out the worst in us. We started off by whining about how we couldn't stand around like that for too long, to how the locality looked hostile and unsafe, to how late it was getting and how our parents were disapproving of such tardiness. One of us even asked if she was a Bramhin or not - else we wouldn't drink the coffee. Saroj bore all this with the patience and maturity of a statesman! She tried to douse every "concern" with genuine reassurance - one of which was "Of course, we are Bramhins. Else how would my father cook at the IB?"

At some point during these exchanges our awkwardness slowly changed to horrible embarrassment as our own cruelty dawned on us. To make matters worse, Saroj's father stepped out especially to meet us and expressed how thrilled he was to have us over. In a little while after that, coffee was served. It was freshly filtered, piping hot and creamy. It was truly the best coffee I'd ever had!

And yet, on our way back home, none of us talked about it. Its our cruelty which had left a bad taste in our mouths I guess...

Kendriya Vidyalaya - Hopefully the complete story this time...

I recently watched a wonderful TED talk* in which Chimamanda Adichie, an acclaimed writer, shared her views on how single stories create prejudices, stereotypes and false perceptions. I was deeply moved by what she said and it set me thinking about how many such single stories have skewed my perspective of things or worse still - how many such single stories I must have told!

In the recent past, I had joked in a large gathering about how my son, despite being born to Indian parents, rolls his "R"s and only speaks English; whereas I wouldn't speak in English until I was forced to do so in college and then later at work place. My self deprecating humor about having studied in Kendriya Vidyalaya schools being the main source of this difference in my son and me was grossly misunderstood and I now hear that its become a notion among some people here that KVites can't speak English.

My attempt at poking fun at myself misfired; and a misconception became their only story about KVs. And of course its all my fault!

Unlike most good (read expensive) private schools, KVs have students from all walks of life, their economic standing cutting across the entire cross section, multi-cultural and of course multi-lingual. In this setting, I was the "officer's daughter" since my father was one of the higher ranking government employees by the time I started going to school. Most other students were children of "factory workers" or "admin staff" and were naturally lesser mortals in the scheme of things. Our family and a few other classmates' families lived in better government houses classified as Type 5 (they have five rooms!) while the lesser mortals lived in much smaller Type 1, 2 and 3 houses. Overall I was much better off than most growing up around me. Though mostly unspoken, yet a great divide existed between the two kinds.

KV definitely taught me all the subjects that the Indian education boards regulate - science, math, history, geography, Hindi and of course English! In fact, it taught us quite well. It is no surprise that a lot of my friends, both my brothers, their batch mates and many more I get to know of are doing well in their lives. They are successful in their professions, financially stable and are certainly in the main stream of society. This despite their very humble start in some seemingly run down KV, in a satellite town of a Tier II Indian city, in the mid eighties. Education at a KV is good (certainly not the best!) and serves well to those it caters to. But, more importantly the aforementioned unique setting of a KV teaches you lessons about life. Lessons which private schools will never teach you. Here are some -

Play It Down - If I had to make friends in school I had to very self consciously play down my fathers' designation and all the tangible/intangible perks that came with being his daughter. And since I was the minority, breaking ice and building bridges in relationships always had to be my prerogative.

Fair Play - Much to my dismay and others' delight, we learned that fair play existed. Despite being an officer's daughter (oh! how I hated the tag), I never qualified for any event on Sport Day in all my school life. I was bad at it and that's all that mattered.

Relative Misery - While I always wanted my own girlie bike and hated my brother's hand-me-down boy bicycle, I realized I had classmates who would walk 4-5 km one way to school everyday, in all seasons. In fact, very often they would stop to fill water at our house (which was just a km from school) since they knew it was a long journey back home, under the scorching sun, at 3 PM. If you look around carefully, you'll see that your misery is always relatively smaller when compared to some others'.

Depreciation is Overrated - Not everything you own depreciates with the passage of time. I valued every single hand-me-down book and never fussed for crisp brand new ones because I had friends whose parents couldn't afford them all the books in one go at the start of the academic year.

Early Prudence - You don't have a school canteen. You don't have fancy vendors with kiosks, like the ones my city bred cousins boasted of. You don't have friends who can afford even the street vendors very often. What are you supposed to do? Well, I had a super-mom who happily packed a tiffin everyday. And for the most part I appreciated every bit(e) of it!

Defining Basics & Extravagance - I had just one pair of these boring brown shoes (Bata of course!) for all occasions. I really felt like my basics were not being met - until I noticed some school friends wearing our school uniform shoes when I ran into them at the market-place in the evening, or at b'day parties and even during the once a year community festivals.

These moments of truth were in my face and were too glaring to be denied. However, I would like to clarify that these haven't made me a pseudo-socialist. What a Kendriya Vidyalaya does to you is something more basic. Something much simpler. It genuinely prepares you for life ahead and in turn gives the world thousands of it's students that are level headed, value driven and sensitive to its environment.

*Here's the link to the TED talk -http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story.html

Fat Ass 2011

I attended one of the most interesting running events ever - Fat Ass 2011! A run unlike any other. The runners decide whether they want to do 6/12/24 hrs of running/walking and the distance they want to cover in that time frame. Also, 12 hrs and 6 hrs participants get multiple start time slots to choose from. So basically, no pressure of finishing a set distance in a given time, which makes it really fun.

In Jon's words (one of the organizers, an ultra-runner and a friend) - "It is the only running event which is free of registration fee, no pre-race jitters, no hassles, relaxed atmosphere and yet you would find yourself in the company of some of the competitive and/or veteran ultra-runners. Camaraderie is certainly the defining quality which binds ultra-runners."

I wasn't sure if I wanted to be a part of this madness, but I didn't want to leave the opportunity of meeting so many runners either. A total of 160 runners registered for different categories. The run started at 6:30am at Stotsenburg Park, Clark. The rule was simple - you register every loop (of 2.2K) you complete with the race marshal. Apart from that there were no rules. One could take a break, go home, sleep, rest, eat, go to the casino (which is right opposite the park) and come right back!

The weather was good and there was a lot of energy, enthusiasm and excitement on everyone's face. Families/support crews had set up camps, arranged food and drinks and music was playing at full blast. It almost felt like a picnic. It continued to be pleasant till around 8am but it got terribly hot after that. Thankfully the breeze continued to be cool. I ran very slowly throughout, walked as little as possible and took plenty of breaks to hydrate myself. I got to talk with a lot of "serious" runners along the way and found that for most of them this was a test run for the Bataan Death March - a 160/102K run scheduled for next month. Having never done heat training before, I was dog tired after 11 loops but wanted to complete 30K (14 loops). Camilla Brooks, an ultra runner and winner of the Mt Pinatubo trail challenge in the female category decided to pace me to get me to finish my last 3 loops. I finished my 30.8K in 5 hours 42 mins. I was tempted to do another loop in the remaining 18 minutes and make it 33K, but decided against it owing to my persisting knee problem. I'd rather be in the game and enjoy it longer than burn myself out over petty milestones. Knowing your limitations is just as important :)

Camilla, winner of 12 hour category (38 loops!)

I had one of the most sumptuous meals after the run - chicken adobo (a popular Filipino dish) with rice, prepared by Albert - winner of Fat Ass 2010 (24 hrs), race marshal, ultra-runner and a friend. Rinna (winner of Fat Ass 2010, 12 hrs), Albert, Red and Jon - my friends and race marshals - made the run special for me by being there and constantly encouraging me to keep going on. Precy, who also ran and did 30 loops in 12 hrs, was also there for me throughout the run and was very encouraging, as always! It was simply the best running events I've attended and seen so far. The atmosphere, the mutual respect and kinship among participants, and most importantly the strength and endurance of 12/24 hrs category runners that I saw is just amazing! This experience has certainly strengthened my love for the sport. I will carry on...

Red, me, Rinna, Jon, Bong (from the left) Precy, Albert and his three sons (at the back)

(from the left) Eugene, Precy, Albert (at the back), Pratim, Rinna