Clock-wise with Kajal

There has been some progress in the last couple of days.
I had a vague recollection of ‘flash cards’ as a teaching aid, mentioned by Dr Jalaluddin when we had worked together a long time ago. I decided to make my own version, a set of simple cards, each having either a picture of an object or it’s corresponding word. The idea is to make games around the cards. There’s not much that one can do, just simple things like matching the words to the pictures, or clubbing all pictures/ words that start with the same letter together (works better with just pictures, with words it’s obviously easier), or picking up picture cards one by one and naming the objects, and the spellings, or the same activity done with words. These might seem simple, but the child’s answers, and more importantly her mistakes, reveal her thinking process and her way of making associations.

For instance, Kajal can’t yet remember ‘cake’ and ‘clock’ too well. She remembers that one of the words has an l in it, but can’t always recall which one, especially because I never ask her in any particular order, which can sometimes give children a clue. So she tries to squeeze it in, in both, and ‘cake’ becomes ‘clake’. I can’t get her to associate sounds with letters yet. Her blank expression, and long silences have led me to conclude that perhaps it is too early for that.
But other than that the cards have been a minor success. They have generated an interest, and I hope it lasts long enough for us to reach ‘z’. Then maybe I’ll have to come up with another strategy.
Two other interesting things happened today, which I think I should mention. She knows already several parts of the body, having learnt them in school. So she can start with head, eyes, ears, and so on, all the way till toes. And she can name quite a few. So I was surprised when we picked up the word ‘eye’ and she said she didn’t know what it meant. Having learnt it as the plural ‘eyes’, she was unable to make the connection. Even after I explained to her the difference in singular and plural, taking knee as a ‘part of the body’ and cloth as a general example, it still took her awhile to figure out that what she was reading and saying were actually the same word. Well, almost. So I realize that the concept of singular and plural, which seems so easy, takes time to grasp. Not as a concept per se, because I’m sure she encounters it often enough in her everyday life. But the fact, I guess, that she has to now remember another factor about words.
The other has to do with a phenomenon that all of us have been through or even used, that is of ‘switching off’ when something is not interesting enough to hold our attention. Or when we have more pressing matters to think about, and we feel that we can temporarily suspend our thoughts, allow them to stray in another direction and return to the task at hand, without missing much in the intervening period. I realized Kajal had one such lapse when I asked her to write ‘clock’ in her notebook. It was a new word, and I felt that she needed perhaps to write it several times over to be able to remember it. So once I introduced it to her, I asked her to write it ten times. She got it right the first three times. The rest of the times, the ‘l’ was missing. Strange. She’s only copying, in a way, one row to the next, and there’s no reason to not get it right. The word, correctly spelt is written in the rows above. And yet, the fourth time onwards, she writes ‘cock’ all the way down. When she finished, I asked her the spelling, and guess what? She got it right.
Its not that she was not writing it correctly, it was that she didn’t even realize that she wasn’t. A task so boring, that she began to do it mechanically, making a mistake in the bargain, and yet managing to achieve the desired result.

More on Kajal

There’s something that I’m not doing right. I’m not able to get Kajal to really respond and remember things very well. Am I making the same mistake that I have often criticized? Am I ‘expecting’ too much? Should I be expecting at all…
I see her making mistakes and I try to understand the nature of her mistakes, so I can understand how she is thinking. That might give me clue as to how to teach her better… but maybe that’s the mistake I’m making in the first place? Trying to ‘teach’ her…
Reminds me of something I read in a John Holt book,
‘If we taught children to speak, they’d never learn.’ William Hull
Anyway I’m still struggling with getting her to remember basic words, their spellings and meanings. Lost in a maze of apples, ants, axes, bats, boxes, boys, cats, cakes, caps…


Type the rest of your post here.

Frozen

A couple of days ago I had the good fortune to be invited to the screening of one of the best Indian films I have seen in recent times. Certainly its one of a kind in terms of its look and treatment. Its called ‘Frozen’ (http://www.frozen.co.in), directed by Shivajee Chandrabhushan and shot by Shanker Raman (check link for all credits.)
It’s a simple tale, of simple folk, a small, impoverished family and their struggles, both individual/ personal and together as a family against Nature and man. Nature, in the inevitable changes and difficulties that accompany advancing age and the hardships brought about by the difficult terrain they live in, and man in the exploitative practices of the more prosperous, that is the convention in societies the world over, and the changes wrought by the army setting up a camp in the area.
The beauty of the film lies in its telling.

We see their world through the eyes of little Chomo, as he takes us, layer by layer, into his world of an old struggling father, struggling against hope and reason, and a charismatic, wild, rebellious sister whose acute sense of loss leads her to question and defy everything in her path.
The imagery is beautiful and haunting. The film is black and white, shorn of colour apparently to emphasise the drudgery of their lives, and to not let the beauty of the landscape overshadow the filmmakers’ intention of illustrating the difficulty of living there.
The shooting style is particularly impressive. Camera moves are inspired and at places, lyrical. I remember a sequence in particular shot in a forest, with the trees deeply out of focus and the camera tracking sideways until it comes to a tree in the foreground in sharp focus, whence the focus shifts to the background to reveal the character. This is followed by a shot of a camera tracking backwards and looking upwards, at a snatch of sky through the tops of trees, and Chomo comes into view, walking along with the camera as the voice over begins.
Chomo narrates parts of the story, but there are long chunks in between where the viewer is left to herself, an objective bystander watching events unfold, until he decides to reappear and clear the haze, and tie the threads together. These chunks are beautiful in several ways: in their simplicity, the depiction of life in that region, and the part that they play in taking us closer to the characters. They are beautiful technically, the choice and design of shots, of camera movements, of slowing down key moments, all of which conspire to take the viewer into a mysterious, unknown space, what I like to call the mindspace of the character, even if its only briefly. And they are more esoteric, they left me wondering if I quite got everything...
All in all, it is a film well made. Kudos to everyone involved with the project, some of who I am happy to state, are dear friends. I hope they continue to work in the same spirit and produce works of the same quality and conviction.

Wanted: Tulsi or Parvati

I read an article in the newspaper today that reported a most bizarre trend. It seems more and more men these days are advertising on matrimonial sites such as shaadi.com, for women who would have the attributes of ‘Tulsi’ from ‘Kyunki saas bhi kabhi bahu thi’ or ‘Parvati’ from ‘Kahani ghar ghar ki’!
Its incredible, beyond both belief and comprehension, that such thing should be happening. Though I suspect I have only myself to blame for being so shocked. This was bound to happen sooner or later. We have all seen how popular these serials have become over the last few years. And how they continue to retain their popularity in spite of having way outlived their original plot lines, and jumped several generations.


Smriti Irani’s easy foray into politics and the way people continue to identify her with her on screen avatar, was already an indication of how these worlds of make believe had entered our lives in a direct way. And it was only a matter of time, before the common man would want to embrace these notions created by the television. Men desiring these seemingly perfect demi goddesses such as Parvatis and Tulsis all for themselves, was I guess, inevitable. After all haven’t people always fantasized about filmstars?
What is it that makes them so very popular, I wonder. You see, we have always had a very rich filmmaking tradition. In terms of sheer volume, as measured in the number of films made in a year, Bollywood is the largest filmmaking industry in the world. Of course our budgets being what they are, it still doesn’t come close to Hollywood in size or income generated.
People in this country obviously value entertainment, and don’t mind paying for it. I guess it is only to be expected. At the end of a long, hard day (and I am somehow inclined to believe that a long, hard day in the life of an Indian would be a lot more taxing than that in the life of someone from a more developed country) the common man would be looking for some entertainment. So we have had a long tradition of films which would invariably have two parallel tracks, the main storyline, and a parallel loveline. No matter how strong a theme the film has, it has to have a love angle, and a few songs to showcase it, for it to succeed. Of course there has been a whole parallel movement of serious, thoughtful cinema, as also crossover cinema, in recent times, that manages to stay true to its core theme while still making some amount of profit, bridging the gap between the so called ‘art’ and ‘commercial’ films. But that is not the subject under discussion here, so I’ll refrain from going deeper. Maybe another day, another post.
The funny thing that I notice though is that as films get raunchier and more explicit, in their depiction of women, sex and violence, television on the other hand is going the other way. More and more we see women sexier and with better toned bodies, sporting shorter skirts and lower necklines, on the big screen, while the small screen in inundated with the stereotypical ‘bhartiya nari’, complete with the nine yard sari (or in other cases, salwar kameez), sindoor, mangalsutra and an undying love and devotion to the husband and family.
It’s the same country, isn’t it? And the same people? Oh sure the target audiences might be different. But surely they can’t be that different?
Further what I find rather hard to believe is how Indian audiences, especially women, are gobbling up all the scheming and politics within the family that seems to be the plotline for most of the serials on television. What is it that’s making these rather regressive serials work? Is it aspirational value? For they all them seem to living in palatial homes and doing businesses with mutlicrore turnovers. The women invariably wear designer sarees, are loaded with jewellery and always, but always, look like a million bucks even if they’ve just woken up from sleep. Is it a reflection of people’s aspirations, of what they would rather have in their own lives, that they watch and relish this entirely unbelievable rubbish?
Or is it truly a reflection of our society? Are our families, especially joint families, actually this ridden with jealousy and politics? And all the plot lines actually drawn from reality and spruced up with a good looking facade to make it sell better?
Or maybe it’s a both and more, a complex combination of many factors that ultimately works. Maybe I should contact Ekta Kapoor for answers to some of these questions. I have a feeling she has it all figured!

saddi Dilli, amchi Mumbai

I have often found myself at the centre of a Delhi versus Mumbai argument, given that I was born and brought up in the former, and have now made the latter my home. Let me state at the outset that I love both. Both cities have their strengths and weaknesses, and it’s unfair to compare two entities so different in nature.

Delhi has been synonymous with home forever. We shifted to Delhi in 1982, if memory serves me correctly, and my family still stays there. I have seen the city grow exponentially, both vertically and horizontally, with buildings in the city growing taller by the day, and boundaries of the city expanding with every new master plan. Delhi is no longer a city but a recognized State, with its own legislature and government. And there is an entity called the National Capital Region (NCR), which includes the neighboring satellite towns of Faridabad and Gurgaon in Haryana, and NOIDA and Ghaziabad in Uttar Pradesh.
Mumbai, growing equally exponentially (I’m sure there’s data to say which is growing faster, but that isn’t of as much concern to me) seems on the other hand, to be favouring the vertical route. With land in short supply, and the disadvantage of being a coastal city, so that it cannot possibly expand much in the direction of the sea (although God knows they keep trying by reclaiming more and more land,) it has turned to the sky to accommodate it’s ever increasing population, and its growing demands. It is the capital of Maharashtra and the seat of its State government.
But these things don’t interest me. I am more of a people person. And therefore to me, the most defining characteristic of any city is its people and their environment. And the people of Delhi are a mixed lot. It’s truly a cosmopolitan city and that reflects in its demography. So even though the majority of the people are North Indian, one finds in this city people from all parts of the country, speaking their different languages and bringing with them their unique cultures.
A large proportion of the original inhabitants of Mumbai were and continue to be, Marathi and Gujarati speaking i.e. belonging to the states of Maharashtra and Gujarat. And much like Delhi, many peoples from many parts of the country have settled here.
In spite of this similarity, I find the people of Mumbai a lot friendlier and warm hearted than Delhi. The common man on the street is a lot more pleasant and approachable, as also honest and helpful. The women though are something else altogether. The women of both cities are mostly similar in characteristics, as can be expected, but somehow Mumbai women are a lot more aggressive.
The two cities work at different paces. Mumbai makes Delhi seem laid back in comparison. Neither seems to sleep, whatever the hour of the day, but Mumbai scores over Delhi as regards nightlife. Most significantly, at least for me, Mumbai offers to its women, the chance to have a nightlife even unescorted.
Also the women in Mumbai are able to exercise a lot more freedom in the way they dress. There is no denying how utterly and shamelessly lecherous the Delhi man can be. This leaves one with no choice but to dress relatively more conservatively so as not to attract too much attention. I talk here of course, of the very middle class women, such as myself, who often use public transport to do their traveling.
Strangely enough, public transport in Delhi, where it is possibly most essential, is not divided along gender lines. The backbone of Delhi are its buses, and now along some routes, the Metro, but neither has separate compartments or areas marked for women, as say is the case in the trains in Mumbai or the buses in Bangalore. Mumbai trains have separate bogies for women though its buses are more unisex. The buses in Bangalore have a system wherein women use the front part of the bus, using the single door in front for both entry and exit, while the men use the back part.
These divisions ensure that during peak rush hour, all the jostling is happening amongst women and men separately. This, though I found very strange and surprising at first, especially when traveling with friends in Mumbai when we would separate out at the originating station and reconverge at the destination station, has grown on me with time. Anybody who has faced the squeezing and pinching on crowded DTC buses, followed by the inevitable altercations and much swearing, would prefer the separation, gender equality be damned.
These are some observations based on dealing with the people of the two cities. I find the visible character, notably in terms of its architecture and street culture, also very distinct and different. I’ll save that for another post.

Kajal, my eight year old student

Sometime ago I started something that I am now reconsidering the sanity of having got myself into. My maid Saroj, who I have already written about, has this adorable 8 year old daughter. A few weeks ago, in another one of our many conversations, it emerged that this little girl had failed in the 4th standard and was now repeating a year. I should not have been surprised, I’ve worked in education before and am well aware of the state of the public education system, and consequently of the students who are its inevitable sufferers.

I decided to look into the matter, and asked her to get her daughter, Kajal’s Maths and General science books the next day. Though why, and what I could possibly hope to achieve by it was still a mystery, even to me. To my dismay (and some weeks later, with the changed viewpoint, my utter relief!) I realized that her books were all in Marathi. But of course, the government schools in Mumbai are all Marathi medium, which is as it should be. So what do I do? Undeterred, I asked Saroj to get her English books and send Kajal for tuitions everyday, or atleast on days when I’m home in the evenings. That, I realize increasingly, is not very often. And every time it isn’t I am left with a sense of guilt for having failed the child. But I jump the gun…
So start my English classes with little Miss Kajal. She is sincere enough but woefully lacking in any skills beyond half-baked knowledge of letters of the alphabet and a few rhymes blindly memorized. It is going to be an uphill task.
As I try to go on, I realize I could write endlessly about my experiences of the last few weeks. Maybe over a few posts…
Spending time with Kajal and helping her learn has mostly been a pleasant experience. She is eager and that’s half the battle won. But there are a few things about her that are peculiar. She won’t for instance say if she doesn’t know an answer. She will instead, sit there with her eyes lowered, and keep trying to work it out. Except that there isn’t so much working out in a letter, is there? And if you haven’t learnt it before, you cant be expected to know it. But she hasn’t been taught to say ‘I don’t know’ without a sense of I assume, guilt or inability.
Sadly still, she hasn’t been taught to speak, to speak her thoughts, to try to find answers, without fear of making mistakes. That has been another challenge, to get her to speak, even if it is only to say that she doesn’t know an answer. Or to try to figure out an answer even if she makes a mistake. Or to explain how she tried to figure it out.
Today was a minor success. After repeatedly getting ‘b-o-x’ in reply to a question about the spelling of ‘boy’, I finally realized why she was making the mistake. She was trying to recall the letters as they appeared on the page on which she wrote them. Except that I changed the order of the words when I quizzed her. And that confused her. Not yet having made the connection between the spelling and the sound, she was trying to fit in one of the two options that she thought might be right from what she remembered written on that page in her notebook.
Now I am trying to get her to make the connections between the letters and their sounds. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe its too early, I’m not sure. But I’m trying.

Of coffees and conversations past midnight...

There is this phenomenon in Bombay that I haven’t found anywhere else, and that I love… the coffee and cigarette wallahs on cycles that you find standing at roadsides all over the city, late into the night and till the wee hours of the morning. It reminds me of an occasion not so long ago, when I was at a friend’s place in Delhi, meeting up with people I hadn’t seen for many years. The conversation was still going strong, and it was 1am already. I was dying for a cup of coffee but my friend wouldn’t let me make it. He said the sounds from the kitchen would wake up his mother, and then she would insist on making coffee for us, which of course was out of the question since she had been working all day already. The occasion you see was Id, and we had gone across for the feast that has been customary on the occasion at Amin’s place for years now.

But then I was meeting Amin and Punit after many years, and Punit’s wife Kriti, for the first time. And adorable as those two seniors of mine are, they decided that coffee I shall have, come what may. So off we went at that unearthly hour, to look for a measly little cup of coffee. To Noida at first, to two hotels that they thought would have 24 hour coffee shops. One was closed for renovation and the other was just closing, they couldn’t serve us, sorry. And then to Connaught Place, where in only our third attempt (thankfully), we found a coffee shop that was open, and served some utterly disgraceful coffee.
So we paid five star rates for four cups of teas and coffees of varying degrees of respectability, but mostly I guess for the experience of it, the driving around the city and the adventure that was finding those elusive cups!
Contrast this with another occasion, also not so long ago, only this time the setting is Yari road, Andheri. Another set of seniors, this time from FTII and another long night of gupshup. And then the customary running out of cigarettes. So the last few of us still standing step out in the cold, fresh night air of 4am. And go across to the friendly neighbourhood cyclewallah. The smokers, Nilanjan and Kutty get their cigarettes and all three of us enjoy cups of lovely strong coffee. Ok, it may not be the best coffee in the world, and I do admit I’m no authority on the matter. But then again, try having that cup, at 4 am, sitting on the footpath with friends, and discussing films and friends and life and the future. It’s the experience of it… And the beauty of this already priceless experience? It’s cheap!