Bhumi

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Bhumi is a non-profit volunteer organization based in Chennai that does some great work with children. I came to know of it through Vaishnavi, one of my friends from school, who volunteers with them and regularly bombards us all with Bhumi-related news and Facebook status updates (the highest level of commitment in modern civilization). Bhumi runs a number of programs for children that are practical in approach and aim to give the children livelihood choices.

Bhumi's significant projects:

1. Kanini – Computer literacy programme involving teaching of basic and advanced concepts based on the children's aptitude levels. The programme is ongoing at 11 centers where over 250 children benefit.

2. Make A Difference (MAD) – An interactive English learning programme for children who have limited or no proficiency in the language. This programme is ongoing at five centers in Chennai where 250 children benefit apart from another 250 through Cognizant Technology Solution’s CSR initiative Outreach. The Make a Difference programme is the proud winner of the Ashoka Changemakers - Staples Youth Social Entrepreneur Award 2008 (Link).

3. Little Einsteins – Through an activity-based learning approach live demonstrations and multimedia tools are used to ensure better understanding and retention of Mathematics and Science. The programme is ongoing at a government aided school where 55 children benefit.

4. Career Counselling - Bhumi creates awareness among children of classes 9-12 about the abundant career opportunities and their individual potentials through individual mentoring and group counseling sessions.

5. Think Green - As part of this environmental initiative, we are developing a park at Kotturpuram and planting trees in residential areas.

6. Siragugal - Annual Inter-orphanage Art, Cultural, Science, Athletic and Sports Talent fest for children to exhibit their talents and explore their potential in an atmosphere of healthy competition. Last year Siragugal was held on 15 Nov 09 (photos> http://picasaweb.google.com/BhumiChennai/Siragugal2009#) This year the 2-day event is planned for July 2010.

The MAD initiative uses bilingual books from Tulika (among others) to teach children the language in an easier way. It felt great to know that the two-minute tales one comes up with in ten minutes can actually contribute towards something like this. NGOs in general are a dicey lot. You enter one feeling all glorious about yourself and nine times out of ten, you come out feeling like a dried up raisin. But going by Bhumi's performance, it's clear that they are a genuine bunch. Bhumi's looking to recruit more volunteers this year. If you are interested in joining, you could register at www.bhumichennai.org or mail your queries to mail@bhumichennai.org.

Power Cut!

One more with Tulika peeeeeepilllssss!

Cherry buns cherry buns cherry buns everywhere.

WATER STORIES from around the world

New Book comingggggggg!

Both N and I have a story each in the anthology!!! Notice how we're referred to as 'well known writers'. Did you notice? Did you? Can I come and underline it on your screen? WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTTTTTTTT :P

Now go and order, ok?

Why I Got Married-2

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And so, I agreed to meet this one boy my parents had zeroed in on. He had a PhD AND an MBA (stupid confused geek) AND had come back from the US (yenda ippo vandhu yen kazhutha arukara) AND had just settled down in Pune (can't you obtain a Pune phigure for yourself instead of blading my life?) as a scientist (yaaaaaaaaaawn). I was utterly disgruntled by their choice. I had a job in singara Chennai that I loved. I do a weekly pilgrimage to Beasant Nagar beach sincerely. My friends are all in Chennai. I don't know Hindi and echoos me, Marathi?! Also, the boy was from a communist family (Deivam = Marx; Devil = Amrika aadhikam ; Kulam = Chinese; Gotram = Che engira Che Guverraaaaa).

My dad gave me all the details in a big rush, owing to the fact that my face was a Kathakali mask of rage. Due to this, I didn't quite catch M's surname. Since I had to stick to my utter disinterest agenda, I did not ask my dad to clarify. I turned to the one trusted tool that researchers worlwide use: Google. I googled for M and what I imagined his surname was. A balding professor with Subash Chandra Bose type glasses turned up. Wah. What a tres charmant laduka. I remained frosty throughout the day, ensuring that icicles grew out of crevices even in the beloved Madras heat.

The next day, M mailed me. In the modern world, boys meet girls over the internet (haven't you seen the Kunal-Sonali Bendre romance? Rambha so helpfully informs us that the fishing net for lurrve is the internet). His surname wasn't what I had thought it was, so a little bit of the frost disappeared as soon as I saw the email in my inbox. Most of the frost evaporated, however, when M mentioned that he'd googled for me, found my blog, and read all the posts. Yes, dear readers, all the whinings and pinings and exquisite essays you've read in this space are what got M interested. Wah Taj moment. Pen is mightier than fair-slim-beautiful. You will get everywhere with me with flattery. So since M chose to tell me that he thought my blog was 'irreverent, funny, and immensely readable', I decided to condescend and behave a little bit.

Apparently (and this I got to know much later), M had spent the previous day reading my blog and had told his mum that there was a 10-percent chance of this working out. Because the girl seemed to be too attached to Beasant Nagar beach and he wasn't sure at all that I would move to Pune. But my literati-glitterati charm was too much for him to not give it a shot. Applause applause.

Shall we play some melodramatic music here and stop?

Kaloori Saalai

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Yesterday, I went for a lecture on Camus at Pune University. The prof was someone who'd known Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, and Camus in real life :O They all used to drink kaapi and discuss philosophy in the hey-days. It was awesome to sit in a classroom after all these years and listen to a proper academic lecture. I took notes also, just to play the part. I loved sniggering at the snarky professorial jokes he made. I couldn't believe it's been seven years since the time I was a first year student. Seven years, can you believe that?! Wondercake moment.

Some of the students asked deeply profound questions. How was Camus different from Kierkegaard? Anti-fascism. Existentialism. Communism. Camus and Libertaire. God. An academic life does make you feel a lot better about yourself in comparison to the poor sods who are going through life without getting depressed about it. I felt oddly adult and indulgent- yeah yeah, children, ask away ask away ask away- tell us the number of books that line your bookcase; the pocket money you spend on books and not chaat; the intellectual tiredness that spreads across your face like a bored spider; this is your moment, children, after this, after this...you will get into jobs and live the Sisyphus life and not even recognize it. This is your time, the moment you can freeze for life, when you were young and so beautiful in kurtas and faded jeans and pens and notebooks and jolna bags. So eager and disarming, it pains my heart and makes me grow old and wise. A rose for your smirks.

Yes, I'm aware I sound condescending. I do mean to be. One must imagine Sisyphus happy, Camus said. One must imagine he was happy to endlessly roll up a boulder up the mountain and drop it and start all over again. Can you imagine that? I couldn't back then. Not that I've lived for a great many years now, but I begin to see a smile on Sisyphus's face. I'm starting to sound profound. Always a bad sign in aging writers.

I sat in the canteen with some new people I met and defended MA Gender Studies to a boy who was clearly a sophist. I didn't really want to convince him about the usefulness of the subject. Mainly because he was firing his entire existence into disagreeing with me. Also, I'm rather vague about its usefulness too. All I know is that it helped me inside my head to become the person I am now. But I argued nevertheless, recklessly piling examples and using shocking vocabulary. In my head, I was wondering how I was going to cook channa without M being around to help me with the pressure cooker (if I were to dress up for Halloween, I'd go as a pressure cooker). I didn't really care if I convinced this new-meesai sprouting boy about the subject I spent a year and several thousand pounds on. You can't eat statistics for dinner, child. Neither can you eat up ideas. The brilliance of your speech does nothing to warm my stomach. Channa masala and chappati, on the other hand, can delight me to no end. And after that, I think I'll eat grapes.I wanted to gently break the news to the boy, but he seemed so proud of himself that I decided to play along. I was happy I was past this stage though. I'm happy I can talk about very ordinary things with a genuine interest that I did not have earlier.

I can imagine Sisyphus happy, Master Camus.

Intermission

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To continue where I left off has taken so long because I had a most terrible week. Firstly, my laptop's charger decided not to work. To be fair, it had been giving me warning signs for quite a while now. The screen will start flickering suddenly like Anand Babu disco dance and then I'll have to forcibly hold it against the socket like Vijaykanth torturing terrorists. I did all sorts of things to make it work. I slammed my fist into the keyboard. I shook it violently. I closed it with a thud. I put it under a pillow and wished for it to disappear. When nothing worked, I transferred my affection to M's laptop. A Mac, if you please. PhD boys and their Macs. The Mac decided it didn't want to connect to the internet though my BSNL connection, for once, was giving quite a performance. Like Mogan in a Mani Sir film. All earnest. Wanting to please. But the Mac rebuffed Mogan and it had to sit in my hall, all wounded and yet cawm.

So then, I went and got a desktop from a friend. But the ethernet thingy in that wasn't working. So I couldn't use Mogan again (do you hear the violins?). I got out my Reliance Netconnect and tried to install it on the desktop. But arrey arrey, the validity for it had expired! Then my LAN line died and aapees folks went mad trying to reach me somehow. I was close to expiration at this point myself because I had a hoodlum of a deadline to meet. I steeled myself by thinking about Nelson Mandela who'd survived such trying circumstances with a sweet smile and curly hair. My birthday was also last week and I spent the previous day staying awake, acting paranoid, and testing M's patience (the Test of Marriage, as Rabi Bernard Shaw should have said, is the Test of Patience).

On my birthday, I was moderately cheery begos of the gifts and all. Yay. And M said I could work from the on campus library. So far so good. We decided we'd go out for lunch and recharge the Reliance thingy on the way. So we stopped at the Reliance place, got it done, and just when my spirit was about to soar, things started falling apart again (Gautam Menon type plot, you see?). M backed into a car. As a supportive spouse, I stood silently next to him as the lady in the car (most ugly) started yelling saying her car had been karab-ed. Since most things in my life that week had gone karab, I understood her Hindi beautifully. Like a responsible government job person, M suggested that they call the police since their car had been parked (wrongly) behind ours in his blind spot (it is a scientific point, all ye morons!). At this point, the driver of the car started acting Siva Sena. From Hindi, he slipped into Marathi (I was, of course, blissfully unaware of this switch since the only word I understood was karab. My life was karab, so what if your car is, stupid?). M, however, understood the political implications of this (it's the communist bled in us, I say!) and raised his voice too.

The lady was quite a strange one. She'd abuse us, run into her car, say 'Shut up!' and roll up the window. I was half-amused by her plan of action. But the Siva Sena driver, had, by this time, started pulling M's shirt and making hand motions like he wanted to hit him and all. How dare, I say. Two young comrades on the road, full of blood from Russian revolution! Stalin in the nerves and Lenin in the heart and Mao in the eyes! Marx whispered gently, "Unite." And so we did. M accused the Siva Sena man of goondaism and said he'd file a complaint against the lady for employing a goonda. The lady responded wittily with a 'Shut up!'. To complement her line with an awesome repartee, I said, 'You shut up!'. It was Man Vs Man, Woman Vs Woman, peepil! A bystander who took our side (because I was prettier, obviously) gave sympathetic nods. My first streetfight in life. And that too, on my 24th birthday. How more special can life get, eh? Our legalese Inglis was too much for the lady and her goonda, so we got into the car and made a quick yescape!

We went for lunch to this South Indian place after that and I spilt the coffee on my kurta. Kurta karab ho gaya.

My week was a Murphy aviyal. And it looks like it still isn't over. Now my laptop is back, but BSNL is dead. My Reliance Netconnect has expired again. M is out of town, so with my marvellous Hindi, I told the auto guy, 'Saroja, saaman nikalo bhaisaab'. And I managed to reach the Reliance showroom and recharged my account. The week is only beginning. Brrrr.

Karab ho gaya, mera zindaagi.