The Insomniacs Amongst Us...

The western world is always fighting: fighting against depression, both economic and mental, fighting against injustice, racism, gender inequality, obesity, and now insomnia. A 2001 movie, `Prozac Nation’ poignantly captured the dilemma of teenagers, desperate to bring some kind of balance to their otherwise chaotic lives through potent drugs (25% of zero to seventeen-year-old of American Youth is either on anti-anxiety, or anti-psychiatric, or anti-depressant or ADHD drugs). In the same vein, an earlier movie, `You’ve got Mail’ brought to attention the world of insomniacs. And to think, that was only the beginning of cyberspace communication! Now, with people hustling to grab attention on social media, the world of cyber communication has taken up new dimensions. And, so has insomnia. Yes, believe it or not, the insomniacs’ guild has grown disproportionately in the last decade or so, owing not only to a demanding lifestyle, single parenting, workplace blues, but also to an individual’s need to keep up with social networking.

According to the Woolcock Institute of Medical Research, 34% of Australians experience episodes of insomnia at some point in their lives. On the other hand, Herbal Daily, an online magazine, states that approximately 25% of the adult population suffers from sleep disorder. Yet, another study conducted by the U.S. Institute of Sleep claims that people nowadays sleep 20% less than they did a hundred years ago. More than 30% of Americans are diagnosed with insomnia, and more than half of them lose sleep due to stress and anxiety. What’s more, approximately ten million people in the U.S. use prescription sleeping pills.

While the pharmaceutical companies are reaping in profits, insomnia is donning on the form of an epidemic. It is no wonder that one of the issues of the Time magazine came up with a list of hi-tech gadgets to help the `Sleepless in Seattle’ kind hit the hay. There is, for example, something called `Muse headband’, for $250, which trains the brain to cope with stress, and learn to relax. Smart earbuds are yet another device, available for $300 to drown out the sounds of one’s immediate environment, and envelope the insomniac in something called the `white noise’. Apple’s I-Phone too has a Night Shift feature to reduce the blue light, and have the display colours look warmer by contrast. Add a musical alarm to this feature, and you could be a step closer to developing a healthier sleeping pattern.

Some more traditional methods to induce sleep include a glass of warm milk, a homeopathic chamomile-based supplement called `Calms Forte’, or half a tea-spoon of magnesium in lukewarm water. If you are not averse to fowl smells, a supplement made with Valerian root has been used since medieval times to help the cause. A glass of beer/whisky, a common prescription to beat sleeplessness in the sixties has now taken a back seat due to its addictive properties.

I can’t help but smile as my mind races back to the construction site of our house some two years ago. I think of the laborers, snatching a power-nap, having their acupressure points pressed by a pile of pebbles, which served as their makeshift bed, and helped them switch to a `relax mode’. I wonder if hard physical labour and a pile of pebbles are ever going to make it to Time’s list.

Welcome to the Rat-Race ....

“Rinku, hands out of the pocket…”

“Rinku! Hands out!”

“Rinku!”

During our brief visit to the Sharmas, I couldn’t help but notice as to how many times the parents had chided their 14-year-old son, ordering him to take his hands off the pockets. With the early years of puberty, clinging awkwardly on to him, he would obey…only to forget the very next minute, and push them deeper into the lanky pockets of his long khakis. For my husband and I, the situation was not only becoming embarrassing, but also taking up proportions of a Sherlock Holmes mystery. As the parents’ voices grew sterner and sterner, the boy seemed to withdraw further into himself. There was a growing sense of displeasure in the very air we breathed, sitting on the leather sofa of their fine living room in the suburban sprawl of upstate New York.

I thought it was to do with puberty, and the fact that almost sub-consciously some boys tend to play with their genitals. In their partial innocence, they seem unaware of the simple fact that even if their hands remain hidden inside the pockets, the fabric of the shorts registers the movements. So, not wanting to aggravate the state of affairs, or create any kind of embarrassment, I remained quiet. Anyway, I had known the Sharmas to have very strict parenting norms. But my husband, too curious for his own good, could not resist himself, “ By the way, what is wrong with shoving one’s hands in the pocket? A lot of kids do that…even grown ups.”

“But, it is bad body language,” Mrs Sharma spoke matter-of-factly, adding, “It shows lack of confidence. Just like arms crossed over one’s chest also has negative connotations, signalling defensiveness and resistance. It can also imply that one is trying to hide something.”

A famous half-length portrait of Abraham Lincoln, with his arms folded flashed across my mind, and I wondered what was this great leader trying to hide. Perhaps, his own greatness.

“Oh, you should meet my colleague Eric. He is always slouching at the meetings. I don’t think he will ever get a promotion. Imagine, he has been in the same grade for the last eight years,” It was Mr Sharma’s turn to speak now.

Blasphemous.

I could elaborate on the above conversation, and fill up pages, but the point they were trying to make was that if we don’t train our kids now for Ivy Leagues and Presidencies, they might miss the boat. They even dwelt on the importance of having good even teeth, and a nice smile. Rinku, Mrs Sharma proudly announced, had just joined a fleet of 3.6 million American kids who wore braces. In a way, I admired the Sharmas and their tenacity to drill the young mind into entrenched thinking, to sacrifice the spontaneity of growing up at the altar of a remotely-viewed `glorious’ future.

I guess most of us Indians are generally born with a double edge: we are both driven, and pushed. As kids, we are pushed by our family in order to become something and someone when we grow old enough to join the rat-race. Once in the rat-race, we are driven to perform, to get ahead of others, to have better remunerations, to have a bigger house, and a more updated car than the next-door neighbour. It is in-built in our DNA. It is not by accident that a great percentage of Indian diaspora is amongst the most affluent section of any society/country. They are not only smart, but also hardworking, and they save so that their children can go to good universities. Needless to add, they thrust a great amount of expectations on their kids to justify the sacrifices they have made, to be where they are. A lot of these kids will definitely land up in Ivy League Colleges, and maybe go on to become CEOs of several Fortune 500 Companies. We, in India, would revel in their success, and pat our backs, proud of the fact that our country cousins made it big in the outside world. But, somewhere along the way, maybe they would have been snatched the right to walk with their hands tucked deep inside the pockets, or to have a little swing in their gait and whistle melodies of popular songs...just maybe…

The Post-election Trauma

On 23^rd of May,  in the wake of the election results, when my world lay shattered, then alone did I realize how brittle it was, and how precariously it was placed twixt unfounded idealism and gross reality. No, not for a moment, all along this election frenzy, did I ever doubt Modi’s victory. I had foreseen the direction towards which the whole campaign machinery was set in motion. Targeted at the masses, there was a sinister deliberateness to it, as it groaned, and clanked, and whirred....and when one had least expected it, took off like the controversial, yet-to-manifest Rafale itself, riding on Pulwama, Balakot and Wing Commander Abhinandan. The country echoed with the shouts of Vande Mataram, and Bharat Mata ki Jai. There was no looking back. Having stirred the patriotic hearts of the unemployed, the down-trodden, the day-labourers with anti-Pakistan sentiments, Modi had succeeded in flexing his muscle power, and thrusting himself as the pragmatic leader India needs.

It wasn’t the sober, reasonable Modi we had seen in 2014, who had consistently fought on a platform of `sustainable development’, but a maniac, whose incoherent spastic speeches were randomly punctuated with nationalistic slogans, which the crowd reiterated with bigoted fervour. So, while I was more than prepared for the results of the 2019 elections leaning in his favour, it was the unrealistic landslide by which the PM swept the nation that came as a shock wave. The results did not just translate into `pro’ and `anti’, but were a frightening reflection of the national consciousness.

The forgiving children of Bharat Mata did not judge the sitting incumbent  based on the unsuccessful implementation of demonetisation, nor on the shaky outcome of the GST bill, nor on the helpless cries of the distressed farmers...nor on his silence which followed the many lynchings of innocent people. Against a weak and crumbling opposition, they applauded his 56” wide chest, and exclaimed, ‘Lo, and behold, Our Saviour has arrived! Our Deliverer from Foes!”

It is definitely not skin-deep...

Confidence is an inner attribute. It doesn't come from having a fair skin colour, as claimed by Fair and Lovely and other such product ads, or from having a lush, voluminous turf, as conveyed by Parachute and several hair oil publicity campaigns, or even from being impressively tall, as the Growth On advertisement on TV likes to insist. It comes from being yourself, and in believing in yourself. 

"Be yourself and be proud of it at every age", thus goes the famous idiom.

It is when we choose 'becoming' over 'being', we are building our confidence on shifting grounds.

Yuri  Gagarin, a 5"2' tall Russian astronaut, hitched his wagon to the stars and became the first man to  travel in  space. In the literary world, few can reach the heights that  Voltaire did, even though he too was only 5"2'. A French writer and philosopher, whose thoughts on civil liberties fuelled the French  revolution, Voltaire is considered one of the most influential figures of all times. 

In contemporary India, the actor/singer/composer/director Raghubir Yadav, who ran away from home at the age of fifteen to follow his dreams, went on to become one of the most multifaceted personality in the theatre and cinema industry.  At 5"3',  he attained heights that only a few can aspire for. To cite a parallel example of an individual on the other side of the hemisphere, also known for her versatility, is the actor/producer/comedian Melissa McCarthy. At 5"2', she stands tall amongst her peers, with her list of nominations and awards ever accruing. As of late, acutely dissatisfied with the choice available for Plus size women, she has even launched her own successful fashion-line to cater to this segment of women, including herself.

 It is said that the famous author Hans Christian Andersen's "Ugly Duckling" was meant as a statement on his own ungainly looks and humble origins. 

Yet, his inner genius eclipsed his outer appearance, while expressing itself through some of the most luminous fairytales of all time, such as, "The Princess and the Pea",  "The Little Mermaid", "The Emperor's New Clothes",  "The Snow Queen", "The Steadfast Tin Soldier",  "Thumbelina", and "The Little Match Girl".  His stories, both earthly and symbolic in their content, have left an indelible mark on the Western culture with themes that transcend age and nationality. Of course,  the example closest to home is Mahatma Gandhi, for whom Churchill seemed to have said "it is alarming and nauseating to see Mr Gandhi". Yet, this very man, thus described, was one of the most charismatic  leaders the twentieth century produced. 

As being dark-skinned, it is a matter of pigmentation, and should not determine the level of one's confidence level. In 2014, the People magazine nominated Lupita Nyong'o , a black Kenyan-Mexican Oscar-winning actor as the most beautiful person of the world. Unfortunately, the award came as a much-needed declaration to this race-and-colour impregnated world, that black is beautiful. 

Yet, it is alarming to note that in a country like ours, where a great majority of the population worships  Krishna and Kali, two  dark-hued gods, should be aversed to having a tawny well-sunned skin. Thankfully, with accomplished actors, such  as Nana Patekar,  Nandita Das, Nawazuddin, and Adil Hussain, blazening up the silver screen, the intensely earthy look is becoming all the rage.

Remember, all these people and a thousand others who made a difference to the world, did not rely on the beauty industry to help them succeed, but on their inner strength. Theirs was a self-confidence, which stemmed not from being fair and lovely, or tall and slim, but from a deep conviction in one's individual self and its unique raison-d'être in this vast creation.

So, while the beauty product industry is trying to establish the new 'us', to become just another face in the crowd,  it is imperative that we cling to our 'real' self, and explore the unending vistas of our own inner beauty, and true potential.

Swachh Intentions go a long way...

 l would like to say that today is symbolic of people's triumph over adversity. But, no. However dramatic that sounds, I think today represents a day when the power of a community  and that of the authorities collaborated to bring about positive  change.

 It has been more than a month since I published my blog, "Garbage, garbage everywhere", and had it not been for a genuine desire of the people to find a workable solution to the problem, all those words would have amounted to nothing. I, who is known to be overly critical of most forms of digital-technology, was awed by the way one individual's capable networking brought everyone concerned under one umbrella, not to mount an attack on the  authorities, but to genuinely find a solution.

If a growing garbage problem can bring communities together, like it did ours, imagine the possibilities! People who were estranged from each other for the last five years are now united in their cause. Not only are they on the first name basis, they even stop by each other's houses for a cuppa and an update on the garage problem. Suddenly, we are not just a community, but a family, with one common objective: to ensure not only that our neighborhood stays clean, but also that the water catchment area along the newly-paved road doesn't become a convenient dumpyard, with all the unsegregated garbage nicely hidden under a handful of soil and dried coconut leaves. 

All along this exercise, it was wonderful to see involvement of the residents, ready to allocate top priority to this issue and arrive  on time for the meetings.The co-operation and the immediate follow-up from the Tahaseeldar's office was also very encouraging. We were excited, not only because our collective voice was being heard, but also because it was being acted upon in a manner which would be conducive to the environment. And, when the authorities agreed to do their job by sending in a crew to re-bag and haul away the garage dumped by the roadside, the beaming residents did their share by catering to the best of their capacity to the needs of  a workforce of 22 women, who began work at 6 a.m., May 9th. While some people brought biscuits and a thermos filled with tea, someone else cruised in with apples, oranges and moong dal mix, while yet some other individual cooked up a pot-ful of delicious upma to feed the team. Recycled bottles filled with potable water were brought in from homes to quench the thirst of these hardy women working in the sun. A couple of young  residents even joined in the back-breaking effort to bag all that tons and tons of garbage...It was a true expression of team-work, and as my mom always like to say, "if someone advances one step towards us in a gesture of goodwill, we will advance two"... Today, as a neighborhood, we proved just that. 

Lesson learnt: just last week, while talking to Céline, a visiting sociologist from France, promoting digital support groups and forming e-communities, I was desperately trying to wrap my head around the benefits and importance of digital networking...but, now I am beginning to understand and appreciate its place in the society.

The celebrity moment: In our country, nothing is complete without its celebrity moment. And so, to highlight the import of such an endeavour, in cruises Amla Paul, the actress from Kerala, who happens to be a rare sighting in our neighborhood, even though she has been a part of it for a few months. Out she steps off her chauffeur-driven car, clad in a sexy, red summer dress. Click, click goes the selfie with the crew, all desperately trying to fit in the tiny frame. Each seeking their own triumphant moment...

... just another brick in the wall?

When I started homeschooling our four-year-old in Albany, NY, little did I know that I was joining an enthusiastic fleet of two million Americans, who had chosen to play a dynamic role in the education of their children. While some homeschooled for religious reasons, and to protect their kids from an early introduction to sex education, others for whom Bible was the word, wanted to safeguard the innocent souls from baseless concepts of evolution. “How can there be dinosaurs million of years ago, when our earth is only 6,000 years old? Bible clearly states…” that’s how the discussion with these parents went. Anyway, there were others who were coerced into homeschooling because their children were too unruly for the school, so they had to take matters in their own hands.

We, on the other hand, decided to teach our child at home, because it did not seem justifiable for a four-year-old to spend eight hours in school/after-school, so that both of us could concentrate on our careers, and buy a grand five-bedroom home with two car garages  for a convoy of three people. Our aspirations were different. We wanted to have time for each other, time for hikes in the nature, time to travel, see places…

So, thus having homeschooled our son until the beginning of the sophomore year, I was happily unaware of the fact that the school district you live in, and resultantly the school your children attend is an important factor, not only towards their overall development, but also towards their 'self-esteem'. It is then was I struck by  the depth of division in the societal structure of a country, where `equal opportunity for all’ is the mantra.

Yes, the class system, the divide between the rich and poor is sewn in the very woof-and-waft of this so called `civilised’ society, and affects an individual from the moment one is born. For example, if a kid hails from any downtown/city center, it is more than likely that he/she is being brought up by a single parent, working on minimum wage. And most probably, this is where that child will grow up and go to the area school. And since the school is in a non-affluent area, the taxes would be low. With taxes low, the funding for the school would suffer. Low funding may translate into inferior supplies of stationery, and unqualified teachers. Even the extra curriculum activities, and programs, such as theater, journalism, opera as well as lego and chess clubs are curtailed, and on several occasions completely annulled because of the paucity of resources. Catch 22.

However the children whose parents can afford to move to better school districts, enjoy unparallel benefits. And the sheer luxury of having not only a crew of qualified teachers, but also a plethora of extra-curriculum activities, from sowing and carpentry to drama, journalism and cross-country. Even the buildings of such schools imitate sprawling manors, with spruced up halls, immaculately clean restrooms with automatic flushes and hand-driers, and a stretch of well-groomed grounds. One can see that a lot of thought and finances have been poured into landscaping as well. Comparatively, in the school districts where kids are less privileged, even the usage of the bathroom is restricted to an emergency situation, for their hygiene levels are substandard, to say the least.

I happen to know of a case in which a student, hailing from a low-income school district, had excellent credits and score to get admitted in MIT, yet was told by the interviewer that despite his academic credentials, he should be aware that no one from that school district had ever been selected by MIT. ‘Of course, we will not hold that against you, and that will not be a criteria which would influence our selection process,’ he was ensured. But, the fact that such a point was even raised, is appalling.

Needless to say that not all  kids  from richer districts land  up in Ivy League Colleges and go on to become the CEOs of Fortune 500 companies. And, by the same token, even the disadvantagd school districts may have a fair share of students, who, through a little push and determination, are able to rise above their circumstantial limitations and become more than what their parents had afforded them. But, the divide remains. Those attending a better school, grow up aware of their financial and social status, and unfortunately, so do the ones on the other side of the spectrum.

I am glad we chose to homeschool our child, not only because of the restraints imposed by the schooling system, but also because of the freedom it gave us, and to our little one: freedom  to  learn at one's own pace, in one's own space...freedom to ponder and figure things out for oneself...freedom to venture into the unknown, and above all, freedom from the trappings of a capitalist model. 

Unbounded Bonds...

A survey carried out  a while back in the U.S., concluded that there was no apparent connection in the amount of time a parent spent with one's offsprings between the age of 3 and 11, and the degree of success they achieved as adults.

Firstly, the reason behind such a survey defeats me. Secondly, I still remember the beaming faces of the anchors as the results of the above survey were announced in the morning news. The mask of guilt slid off their faces and they looked purely relieved. "I feel so much better now; a weight has lifted off my chest," one of them confessed.

So, moms and dads, take this very systematically executed study seriously, and stop fretting about, feeling culpable over nothing. Forge ahead. Rid yourself of parental instincts, and join the work-force with renewed gusto. Potty-trained, standing on its own two feet,  armed with a workable vocab, your three-year-old is ready to go it alone into the world. Into the world of crèches and preschoolers it would tumble in , and under the supervision of qualified teachers and assistants, it would learn its shapes and colours, abcs and 1,2,3s. 

Yes, the child will grow inspite of us parents, but it is us who would have missed out on the utter miracle of watching it grow.  For, to participate in its little defeats and big feats, is a privilege, not a mere parental obligation or responsibility. 

Whoever said that when some parents try to squeeze in a day's work in a few hours to be home for the kids, it is because they are weighed down by a sense of guilt? Couldn't it just be that they are dying to return to the nest, to be with their brood, to kiss them, hug them, listen to their tattletale? Couldn't it just be that for them too, it is a that unbounded bond, and the unspoken need (and not guilt) wanting to be fulfilled? 

All said and done, I think a society where even the amount of time a parent spends with one's child is vaguely linked with the level of success he/she would attain as an adult, exposes an in-built fault-line in the platonic plates of its value system. It just goes on to illustrate that in our drive to modernize, and succeed in the professional life, we have lost our natural instincts along the way. 

Learning from mistakes...

It has been a while since I have posted anything on my blog.  It is not that I did not try. In fact, I worked on an article for nearly a week, and finally when it was satisfactorily completed, when I had double checked the facts, and  was basking in its overall perfection while patting my back...it disappeared... vanished in thin air, like a spectre. Either during its short copy-and-paste journey, from 'Draft' to 'blogger.com', it committed a kamakazi...or my own technical incompetence killed it, or considering the current political scenario, it could have just been the curse of the all-powerful Sadhvi Pragya... for her name did appear in there, along with her alleged involvement in the Malegaon bomb blasts of 2008. 

Whatever may have been the cause for the vanishing act, it took me a while to reconcile with the fact that my masterpiece of an article was indeed lost in the complex network of information highways, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

 However, there were a few precious lessons to be learnt from this blunder. Firstly, it is a bad idea to work on a draft in a Gmail format. Secondly, even if fools like me indulge in such acts of incomprehensibility, it is always a good idea to have a back up in one's Gmail and Yahoo accounts. And last, but not the least,  to never ever mess with Sadhvi Pragya Thakur! However, I wish she, and the likes of her,  could direct their esoteric powers towards fulfilling more purposeful goals, like incinerating  with their one deadly look the whole throng  of scoundrels, thieves, rapists, scammers, and above all, the terrorists, who for decades have arrested the progress of this country. ! If that happened, imagine the nosedive in our defence spending, which at present devours up  a phenomenal 16 per cent of the country's total budget! Come to think of it, even the Rafale deal controversy would cease to  exist if all these realised souls put their energies behind such endeavours. And, resultantly, the Opposition would be left rather deprived of  its very raison-d'être.