tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-94748812024-03-13T10:07:50.824-07:00ApplesaucePallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.comBlogger106125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-49536579526552889002022-04-13T22:08:00.006-07:002022-04-13T22:22:58.799-07:00Nolite te Bastardes Carborundorum<div><br /></div><div>A call. A miscalculation. </div><div>They talk and talk and talk! </div><div>Husband and wife, united by
their venom. </div><div>Rattle snakes that poison the soul. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Tumne hamari poti ko humse door rakha.</i></div><div><i>Tum hamare bete ke saath shaadi ke
pehle ghoom rahi thi. </i></div><div><i>Uske saath so ke use fasaya hai. </i></div><div><i>Tum cunning aur sly ho. </i></div><div><i>Mera mooh mat khulvao. </i></div><div><i>Tumne toh tumhare baap ko ghar se bahar phenka hai. </i></div><div><i>Tum
apni maa ke godi mein raho. </i></div><div><i>Agar guts hai toh tumhare parents ko call karne ko
kaho. </i></div><div><i>Jo hamara beta kamata hai tumhe hi toh deta hai. </i></div><div><i>Hame kuch milta hai? </i></div><div><i>Hum tumhare paiso pe nahi reh rahe. </i></div><div><i>Tum luxury enjoy kar rahi ho hamare bete
ke paiso pe. </i></div><div><i>Meri bimari mein aa ke tamasha kiya tumne. </i></div><div><i>Apne bhai se phone pe
baat ki us din? Kyon? </i></div><div><i>Tumhara bhai uski biwi ke saath reh raha hai na? </i></div><div><i>Tum
nahi reh sakti? </i></div><div><i>Tum hamara beta tumhare relatives ko show off karti ho, </i></div><div><i>Hamari
bahu kabhi yaha aati hai? </i></div><div><i>Hamne hamare bete ko ek saal se nahi dekha. </i></div><div><i>Hum
taras rahe hai. </i></div><div><i>Main mar gaya toh bhi dekhe mat aana. </i></div><div><i>Hame tum aur tumhari
beti, donho nahi chahiye. </i></div><div><i>Tum hame kale Madrasi kehti ho. </i></div><div><i>Unpadh kehti ho. </i></div><div><i>Hamare bare mein likhti ho. </i></div><div><i>Tum pregnant thi toh hum kya kare?</i></div><div><i>Pehla baccha
nahi dekhne milta, doosra abort ho gaya toh kya? </i></div><div><i>Biwi ki duty kabhi ki hai? </i></div><div><i>Tum jhoot bol rahi ho. </i></div><div><i>Hamara beta tumhare parents pe kabhi chilla nahi sakta. </i></div><div><i>Tum aur tumhare parents mein tameez nahi hai. </i></div><div><i>Unhone tumhe tameez nahi
sihkhayi hai. </i></div><div><i>Pyaar ka natak karke hamare bete ko fasaya hai. </i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div><i><b>Tum kya ho batau main tumhe? </b></i></div><div><i><b>TUM PAISE KI GIRLFRIEND HO!</b> </i></div><div><br /></div><div>
Love Story 2006 -____ </div><div>Character assassination = 100% </div><div>Justice/Jail Time = 0% </div><div><br /></div><div>Save
the girl child. </div><div>Let her never be born!</div><div><br /></div><div>***</div><div><br /></div><div>DISCLAIMER</div><div><span face="Raleway, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #999999; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div><span face="Raleway, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #999999; font-size: 16px;"><b><u>This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.</u></b></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://openmind.clemish.com/webbands/diversity_grey_right.js"></script>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-80516400095503678852020-12-09T03:53:00.001-08:002020-12-09T03:53:42.509-08:00Tinkle (I do not mean Twinkle) Toes!Ridiculous though it may sound, anklets make me very happy. Giddy even. In spite of its association with misogyny/slavery/sexism/etc., this is one metal chain that I find utterly liberating. Primarily, no one considers it significant, thereby not eliciting any/many comments. Since I generally put my feet up while reading/studying, the aesthetic pleasure I derive is generally all mine. Nay to voyeurism and the male gaze. Plus, silver is in the doghouse per se where jewellery is concerned. The Indian subcontinent is so enamoured by gold and now diamonds that silver still remains (that is changing too with gold becoming almost impossible to afford 😐) relatively the cheaper element. And, to boot, it is also anti-racist. How so? Well, gold (apologies for being politically incorrect) does not suit all skin tones, while silver is one metal that can enhance and embrace any skin colour. I've known so many dusky women preferring silver to gold not because they cannot afford it, but merely because the amalgamation of ebony and shiny 14 (tsk tsk)/18 (probably diamonds here)/22 carat flaming yellow aurum makes one look like the ubiquitous काली पीली that one hails with indecorous abandon in the Mumbai metropolitan region. Rose gold made its entry to serve just this purpose (my hypothesis) of appealing to those who did not want to look like cousins of the canary, but its price still remains steep; and besides, 'people' will think it is fake. Ditto white gold which my snooty relative refuses to purchase as her peer group might think she picked up her trinkets on Colaba causeway. So the anklet then...aaah...so liberating. So mine. And if you want to add ayurvedic wisdom to it; it apparently cools the 'system'. Not that I believe in that hokum (overall, let's go agnostic on this), but yes, I know I am tired/ill when even the पायल seem too heavy for my feet. So yay for argentum. All hail atomic number 47. May it always lack in lustre. 😏<div><br></div><div>P. S. - I know 2020 is the Covid-19 year. I'm just ignoring it with an appropriately fatuous and flippant post. <br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-6107485803133258392019-10-12T11:26:00.001-07:002019-10-12T11:33:30.350-07:00Self Image<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Why does a Hindu drape</span><br />
<div dir="auto" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
The <i>dupatta</i> like an Islamic <i>chador</i>?</div>
<div dir="auto" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
Because she realises that</div>
<div dir="auto" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
There is nothing to hide.</div>
<div dir="auto" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="auto" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
Why are you always so covered?</div>
<div dir="auto" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
She smirks. To unveil prejudices.</div>
<div dir="auto" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="auto" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
She rises, her head held high</div>
<div dir="auto" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
Beyond the storms and tempests</div>
<div dir="auto" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
Of this paltry world while</div>
<div dir="auto" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
Her feet dance the <i>tandav</i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
<div dir="auto" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
In synchronicity. </div>
</div>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-48496112259425355792018-07-13T10:19:00.001-07:002018-07-13T10:20:37.860-07:00Back to the Future<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A sense of deja vu envelopes me several times a day. Motor memory seems to ensure that I make all the right turns. Navigate even the new hexagon with ease. It feels like home. It is home.<br />
<br />
Familiar faces smile at me. Some might be cringing, but it's diplomatic to steer clear of meaningless confrontation. JNS has become JNIS. It is being led by a dynamic team of leaders. I am learning. I am engaging. I will be teaching the subject that I love the most.<br />
<br />
Applesauce has seen little of me. I seemed to have been working too hard and forgetting to think about myself. Who am I anyway? I ask people to think while simultaneously ensuring that I don't bother to look at my reflection; either literally or figuratively. I've turned myself into a product that delivers. A capitalist creation who thinks she can buy health and considers happiness overrated.<br />
<br />
Isn't it though? Isn't happiness a commodity which we are constantly selling people. From talc to towers, from pizza to pies in the sky - we are packaging happiness. And I'm just not buying it. Those who enter my sphere of contact come up with their own estimation of my happiness. I hear advice from everyone telling me that doing what I love isn't the way to live. And yes, doing what I do do does have its ups and downs. But not doing is worse.<br />
<br />
So this ramble shall raise a toast to doing. Do whatever you want to do. Just keep doing. Perhaps that is the key to happiness. Isn't even meditation intentional? Work is my meditation. I hope this...chapter/journey/voyage/ride/experience/tale/trial/tribulation/triumph/time shall help me understand the way of the world better.<br />
<br />
Over and out!</div>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-37871378422989609502016-09-10T06:26:00.000-07:002016-09-10T06:26:27.330-07:00Pat-a-Cake<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2EJPsoPWlh4/V78OF9OUb1I/AAAAAAAAt-c/2bomHl92s0Ei06akrMUzS5PyWCnw05SlgCLcB/s1600/_20160825_191258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2EJPsoPWlh4/V78OF9OUb1I/AAAAAAAAt-c/2bomHl92s0Ei06akrMUzS5PyWCnw05SlgCLcB/s320/_20160825_191258.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<b><u>Semolina or <i>Rawa</i> Cake</u></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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Ingredients:</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Semolina/Rawa - 1 cup</div>
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Yoghurt/Curd - 1 cup</div>
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Castor Sugar/Powdered sugar - 1 or 3/4 cup (to taste)</div>
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Clarified butter/Ghee or Oil - 4 tbsp</div>
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Saffron - 1 gram or two pinches (optional)</div>
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Cardamom/Elaichi powder - 2 pinches (optional)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Nutmeg/Jaiphal powder - 2 pinches (optional)</div>
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Vanilla extract (NOT essence) - 1 tsp</div>
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Baking powder - 1 tsp</div>
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Cooking soda - 1/2 tsp</div>
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<br /></div>
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Method: </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
1. Grease a six inch bundt tin with clarified butter and keep it aside.</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
2. Mix the semolina, yoghurt, clarified butter, sugar, saffron and nutmeg and cardamom powder. Ensure that there are no lumps. Keep it covered for half an hour to forty five minutes.</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
3. Preheat the oven to 180 degrees centigrade. </div>
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4. After forty five minutes add the vanilla extract, and the baking and cooking soda and mix well. </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
5. Bake immediately for thirty minutes or till done. The edges should brown slightly.</div>
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6. Cool on a wire rack and unmould in fifteen minutes.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
The cake tastes great both warm and cold. You may add chopped dry fruits if you so wish.</div>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-32840978168920183532016-03-04T10:09:00.000-08:002019-10-13T05:07:41.121-07:00Happy New Year !!! <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yes, yes. Belated happy new year. I'm late. Very late.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
***</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That seems to be the constant refrain these days. Late to bed. Late in the morning. Late getting home. But it is a good sort of 'late-ness'. I have some purpose. Some work. I have felt the urge to quit. But the memory of the have-nothing-to-do stage of my life makes me think nothing could be worse. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And I do enjoy my job. It's not just some politically correct rhetoric. I have no wish to turn academia into a noble profession. It isn't. It's just fun. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dirty and full of duds (yes, yes, I am an intellectual snob); but gloriously fulfilling. Especially, being a student. You can't be a teacher unless you are a student...perpetually. I do want to keep learning. Is there another purpose to life? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
***</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In other news, Indian politics seems to resemble the theater of the absurd. Yawn. Cringe. Outrage. Cringe. Yawn. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
*** </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And it rained today. The sky was as glum as my mood. Global warming? Ironically, there was a "nukkad natak" in school on the theme. Good motives. Very good. But is it going to change the weather? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Poignantly, a line in the play pointed out that Global warming has become a business. The play exhorted us to love our environment too. The slow-hand-spread typical to Shahrukh Khan romance movies meant to represent love for nature was droll. Does the environment want love? The environment seems to be Edvard Munch like screaming - LEAVE ME ALONE. Love is smothering. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
***</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Why am I blogging random stream of consciousness style? A student's turn it in report is yet to generate. Please turn it in Gods, hear my plea. I have a deadline to meet. Umm...why does one meet a deadline? Meet is too positive for a 'dead'line. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ok then, I have a deadline to beat !!!! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Are you there God? It's me, an IB teacher !!!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
***</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The End</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
***</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yawn, yawn, yawn....</div>
</div>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-108308604323958592015-10-24T06:01:00.000-07:002015-10-24T09:54:48.257-07:00On Theory of Knowledge...snippets from a larger thread of conversation.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div>
I agree with my colleagues who argue that it is important to not over-generalise the results of this survey. However, discounting student opinion entirely is not the solution either. The survey as a whole does seem to reflect my experience with students/student essays & presentations over the years both as a TOK teacher, Coordinator and Examiner.</div>
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I find it important to refer to school ethos vis-a-vis the treatment of TOK. The more sensible and sensitive students seem to have picked up on this aspect and have duly reflected on the school's/teacher's approach and erudition. I have taught TOK in two schools in the same city in India, and the difference in terms of perception about TOK was/is palpable. It is not surprising then to find that students tend to find their TOK lessons "confusing" to say the least.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The first school had at least ten to twelve teachers involved in the teaching of the TOK course. There was a TOK Coordinator who held regular meetings to guide us, but basically each teacher's classes were a representation of his/her unique engagement/disengagement with TOK. Standardisation was problematic across a large cohort of students and teachers. All teachers were not necessarily temperamentally equipped to deal with TOK; however, not teaching the subject was not a choice. Eventually, some teachers did manage to come to terms with the subject and even went on to become examiners and involved TOK teachers.<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The current school where I am now the TOK Coordinator has fewer students. The school management firmly believes that TOK should only be taught by a teacher who is equipped to teach the subject. However, how does a teacher qualify to teach TOK remains mysterious. It is assumed that psychology/humanities teachers will automatically make good TOK teachers. While the assumption might not be entirely fallacious, it does allow many potentially good future TOK teachers to wash their hands off the subject. Each teacher while acknowledging the "importance" of TOK tends to talk about their personal inadequacy in dealing with the "abstract" (one teacher candidly called the subject "useless") and refuses to teach it. The IBDP Coordinator does not believe in "forcing" TOK upon a reluctant teacher. Not having to teach TOK is seen as an achievement by most teachers, and as something that reinforces the autonomy of their specific subject.<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Obviously, both these management policies create problems for the Coordination and the delivery of the TOK programme.
The student observation then that, "Although interesting at times and useful in helping students construct a better view of reality, quality of teachers are not alwys on par." is a very poignant and telling comment about the fate and future of the TOK course.<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Theresa Hurley cautions against condemning the TOK teacher based on subjective student assessment. However, I must confess that both as a teacher and examiner I find that the nature of student inadequacies often reflects the nature of teacher evolution and involvement. Before RM assessor/Scoris, when physical essays from a single school came to one, it became evident very quickly which school/teacher had given the course its due in terms of time and teacher commitment. It is imperative that a curriculum review focus on refining the subject, but the precarious placement of TOK both at the core while simultaneously at the margin is akin to Schrodinger's cat being dead and alive at the same time. This metaphysical superposition of the TOK state within the school's curriculum comes to light very obviously in the nature of essays churned out by the students. Plagiarism and the sale of tailor-made TOK essays is an inevitable fallout of the failure of the system and not the subject.<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As Brett Hall points out, Theory of Knowledge suffers from the problem of nomenclature. Epistemology does seem to be the closest analogy. Critical-thinking applied to real life situations does briefly meet the brief of describing the subject. I would beg to differ with Robert Somers' assumption that critical thinking is a "Western" construct that the IB is imposing in contradiction with its basic premise of open-mindedness. A lack of knowledge and understanding of traditions of critical thinking seems to be the problem here. This self-aggrandising and unproblematic ownership of a tradition is rather facile. In order to acknowledge the plethora of ideologies, the introduction to the TOK guide itself makes mention of the multiplicity of cultural and critical perspectives. A closer reading of the guide might be immensely useful.<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Student responses like "Incredibly useful and life changing" and "My TOK classes made me the person I am today", are testimony of the utility of the programme. The review I hope focuses on clarifying and further accentuating and substantiating this inherent potential. </div>
</div>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-6550884183831266942015-09-18T01:28:00.001-07:002015-09-18T01:28:56.070-07:00Before and After<p dir="ltr">A random what's app message from an ex colleague asking for an opinion about a poem (nothing was divulged about its origin) resulted in my editing/reworking/fooling around with the initial text at her behest.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The before and after follow :-</p>
<p dir="ltr">Before:</p>
<p dir="ltr">Wave by wave, the water hits my skin <br>
Crashing into me, taking me down <br>
My thoughts are scattered with every blow <br>
Peace fills me up even as I drown. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Happiness is a distant goal<br>
Life is a winding labyrinth<br>
Day by day, I'm picked apart whole<br>
My conscience the only constant </p>
<p dir="ltr">Questions go unanswered, dreams have me on the hook<br>
The rat race makes me question my ability <br>
Will this tide ever guide me? <br>
Will it ever save me from onlooker's pity? </p>
<p dir="ltr">I realise there's no need to fight, a burning fire consumes me. <br>
Change comes from within, evolution the only way to survive <br>
I embrace my problems, become one with them. <br>
I've never been so clueless yet never been so alive.</p>
<p dir="ltr">After:</p>
<p dir="ltr">Self Help</p>
<p dir="ltr">Wave upon wave. <br>
Salt water on skin.<br>
Forming a skein, <br>
all enveloping. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Thoughts scatter. <br>
Scramble. Surge. Storm. <br>
Are still.<br>
Divine drowning.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Happiness? <br>
Self actualisation? <br>
Enlightenment? <br>
Nirvana? </p>
<p dir="ltr">Seven habits. <br>
The eighth habit.<br>
The law of attraction.<br>
Life; a pecsniffian Janus.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The conscience. <br>
A tenuous tether. <br>
An anchor. <br>
At sea.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The high seas. <br>
Tempestuous.<br>
Questions.<br>
More questions. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Dreams; a mirage.<br>
The quest. <br>
What quest?<br>
Clueless. Calm. Convenient.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Lachrymal. <br>
Salt water on my skin.</p>
<p dir="ltr">***</p>
<p dir="ltr">Definitely not a poet.</p>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-37994581615873567962015-09-11T21:25:00.000-07:002015-09-11T21:25:43.295-07:00And almost bon voyage again...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Applesauce</i> seems to be getting rather redundant considering that there is limited leisure. There is no time to stop and think. No time to mould meaning from banalities, and post a string of verbose words posing as profound erudite thought.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
***</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The weekend is like the new year. That time of hope when you make more resolutions you are unlikely to keep. The <i>Wunderlist</i> on the smart phone is full of <i>to dos</i> that shall make one feel productive come Monday morn. The accomplishment IS the list. There is little wonder at not having done a thing. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The week has been hectic. Work has been exacting. Students have been/are demanding. The weekend is spent on Skype-ing with students. Books then are merely meant to be patted like good dogs who are always around. Books/dogs are not necessarily hugged or paid attention to. Weekend binges (encouraged by the <i>Binge Baba </i>on television) are the only thing one has energy for. Lethargy is relaxation. Malaise is rejuvenation.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
***</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
SOS?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-22110653286340545892014-12-20T03:52:00.000-08:002015-01-09T23:10:59.461-08:00Bon Voyage 2014...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's almost the close of another year. Is it time to count the goals achieved, the goals not met, or agonise over the complete and utter lack of any visionary mission for self-amelioration? Or better/worse still, time to "set" new unreachable goals?<br />
<br />
The 2015 "Executive" diary has already arrived. It's strictly for work engagements. Personal goals seem to be rather obscure; other than the mundane '"let's be happy and healthy" chorus.<br />
<br />
A summary of 2014 would read something like this :<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>January and February were dedicated to work.</li>
<li>March, April, and May were a paper correction and work haze.</li>
<li>June whizzed by, and I seem to have absolutely no memory of it.</li>
<li>July, August, and September were work again. Very HARD work.</li>
<li>October and November were a commingling of memory, desire and examination anxiety.</li>
<li>December brought an examination adrenaline rush, and now there's more to be done on the academic and work front before the curtain falls.</li>
</ol>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hmm...what else am I supposed to be/have done? Wife, mother, daughter, sister, daughter-in-law, friend/etc.? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I seem adrift like most of J.M. Coetzee's protagonists. A symbol whose sign is a disastrous amalgamation of undecipherable and completely arbitrary signifiers and signifieds. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm an insider/outsider. I'm the margin as well as the centre. A desiring machine which is chaotically grasping at conservative, and simultaneously emancipatory lines of flight. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Basically, I'm Antionio Gramsci's traditional intellectual flummoxed by rather organic predicaments. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Viola...history always repeats itself. I'm me. The end.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
****</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
2015 though is highly anticipated....as it should be. To misquote Coetzee, when one year sails, philosophise; the next seems rosier. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-23649422525640397202014-07-04T07:20:00.000-07:002014-07-04T07:20:38.339-07:00New shoes...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UveGOswWX8k/U7a2gzfjSII/AAAAAAAAN48/KuJ1jPvauLU/s1600/IMG_20140628_003647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UveGOswWX8k/U7a2gzfjSII/AAAAAAAAN48/KuJ1jPvauLU/s1600/IMG_20140628_003647.JPG" height="200" width="178" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Even the best may bite initially, or on occasional overuse; but the inevitable comfort of a proper fit brings indescribable relief.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The shoe analogy could be infinitely extrapolated. If the feet aren't right, we just plain stumble. No humungous epiphany here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Not surprisingly we begin our fairy tales with Cinderella and her dainty glass slippers. We win when we fit the delicate shoe.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Fit the shoe? Really? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'll let the shoe fit. We're spoilt for choice with the advent of globalisation. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
***</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Was I talking footwear? Maybe. Maybe not. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
***</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Moral of the story : <b><i>Wear socks. Shoes can't be trusted !!!</i></b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-80294095632045937432014-01-31T08:03:00.000-08:002014-01-31T08:03:21.528-08:00The Articulate & Aching Noggin....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've realised I'm definitely NOT a "Sun 'n' Sand" person !!!!!!!!!<br />
<br />
My lungs feel like tar soaked sponge. My nasal passages are blocked. My head is throbbing. It's been an ouch ouch day. And also an ouch day in terms of realising that blogging is becoming a habit of the past.<br />
<br />
Jane Austen chides pretentious wives who give up their "hobbies" post marriage. I always considered this post marital/maternity syndrome a myth. When a colleague pointed out that I have been an inactive blogger for almost a year, I realised I'd over stewed my apples. Baby time led to no blog time; and voila, my applesauce turned rancid.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
In other news, do I have new insight to share on motherhood/maternity/blah blah? No. Non. Nein.<br />
<br />
Do I feel different? Maybe. Who doesn't? The stretch marks and floppy belly are probably going to be lasting reminders.<br />
<br />
Do I want to talk about the maternal instinct ad nauseam? I don't think so. I love my daughter, but I'd much rather shirk the mother mantle as such. I don't wish to shrug it off, but I have little intention of eulogising it.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Else, my life and its hardly-have-time times go on.....c'est la vie !!!<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-11798971224182061652013-02-24T10:20:00.000-08:002013-02-24T10:23:47.633-08:00Ambrosial !!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VtdbyISz5H4/USpWQJHpCWI/AAAAAAAAEfs/62YwRO33u9c/s1600/DSC03910.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VtdbyISz5H4/USpWQJHpCWI/AAAAAAAAEfs/62YwRO33u9c/s320/DSC03910.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<b><u>Coconut and Lemon Syrup Cake</u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b> A Donna Hay Recipe</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Another stunning cake by the Goddess of all baked goods. I dislike coconut, but this cake makes one fall in love with this humble ingredient.<br />
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Moist, spongy and zesty; it is akin to eating a lemon soaked cloud !!!<br />
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And the best part, I tweaked the recipe to make it egg less. The Australian company Orgran's "No Egg Natural Egg Replacer" worked wonders. Yay !!!</div>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-48714667226510169502013-02-24T10:01:00.000-08:002013-02-24T10:01:01.657-08:00The Cheesecake Factory<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><u>Classic Baked Cheesecake </u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b> A Donna Hay Recipe</b><br />
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Donna Hay is THE definitive baker. Her recipes are flawless. She helped me create my favourite dessert, the baked cheesecake.<br />
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Ricotta, cream cheese and lemon zest baked to creamy perfection...yum !!!!!!!<br />
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And yes, cheesecakes do improve after 24 hours of refrigeration. The taste test proved that. </div>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-44056392115386665502012-09-14T08:14:00.000-07:002012-09-14T08:17:16.814-07:00Shrikhand....food of the Gods !!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>श्रीखंड </u></span></div>
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<i>Once again made under Aai's supervision. This traditional Maharashtrian dessert is very easy to make. </i></div>
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<b><u>Ingredients :</u></b></div>
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Curd - 1.5 kgs (Made from 1.5 litres of milk)</div>
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Sugar (powdered) - 3/4 cup or to taste (I prefer less sugar)</div>
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Cardamom (powdered) - 1 tbsp</div>
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Nutmeg (powdered) - 1 tbsp</div>
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Safforn - A few strands + for garnishing</div>
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Milk - 1 tbsp</div>
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<b><u>Method :</u></b></div>
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Hang the curd in a muslin cloth for a few hours. Wring out the excess water. Dissolve the saffron in 1 tbsp of warm milk. Add the saffron, sugar, cardamom and nutmeg to the drained curd and mix well. </div>
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Stretch a piece of muslin over a clean vessel to form a sieve. This should not sag. Pass the curd mixture through this muslin sieve a little at a time. Transfer to a bowl and garnish with a few saffron strands. One may garnish with chopped dry fruits as well. </div>
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Note : To make fruit flavoured Shrikhand, add about 1/4 cup of mashed ripe fruit to the curd mixture before sieving it. Adjust the powdered sugar based on the sweetness of the fruit you are adding.</div>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-48340573206185674802012-09-06T01:52:00.000-07:002012-09-06T01:52:59.445-07:00Batatyacha Kees - Shredded Potatoes with Peanuts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>बटाट्याचा कीस </u></span><br /><br /><br /><div>
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Made under Aai's supervision. Easy breakfast / fast recipe. This is my mother's version. Serves 3-4 depending on their appetite.<br /><br /><b><br /></b><div>
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<b>Ingredients :</b></div>
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<br />Potatoes (peeled and grated) - 6 medium<br />Ground Peanuts (Roast, peel and coarsely grind peanuts in a food processor) - 1/2 cup<br />Green chillies (roughly chopped) - 4/5<br />Cumin Seeds/Jeera - 1/2 tsp<br />Ghee/Clarified butter - 4 tbsp<br />Curd - 4 tbsp<br />Rock Salt - To taste<br /><br /><br /><b>Method :</b><br /><br /><br />Heat ghee in a pan, and add the cumin seeds. Add the chopped green chillies after the cumin seeds turn dark. After about a minute, add the grated potatoes and the peanut powder. Mix well. Cook on medium heat while constantly shifting the mixture in the pan so that it does not stick. Add the curd and salt and mix once again. Cover and let the potatoes cook on low heat till they are done. Serve hot. <br /><br />If you are not fasting, you may add chopped coriander to the potatoes. You may serve this with some whisked curd if you want an accompaniment. </div>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-7637340250316488452012-03-02T09:42:00.000-08:002012-03-02T09:42:15.230-08:00Some things make more sense now...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><b>Metaphors</b><br />
<br />
I'm a riddle in nine syllables, <br />
An elephant, a ponderous house, <br />
A melon strolling on two tendrils. <br />
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers! <br />
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising. <br />
Money's new-minted in this fat purse. <br />
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf. <br />
I've eaten a bag of green apples, <br />
Boarded the train there's no getting off.<br />
<br />
<b>Sylvia Plath</b></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://openmind.clemish.com/webbands/diversity_grey_right.js"></script>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-30650520093552828882012-01-29T05:31:00.000-08:002012-01-29T05:31:43.204-08:00On "1984"....It is indeed shameful that I should peruse this George Orwell classic at so advanced an age. It is particularly embarrassing to confess that I am a student/teacher of literature. After owning a copy of the book for almost half a decade I finally managed to trudge through it.<br />
<br />
Trudge is a very apt word for a book which is resplendent in its stupidity. This dystopic dystopia strikes one as the ravings of a closet capitalist cowering behind his "Capitalist black top hat", presenting one with a monumental perversion of Marxist/Socialist/Communist ideology. The vapid and stereotypical delineation of girls/women further manages to make one cringe at the abysmal lack of insight exhibited by the text, and its blatant gender insensitivity.<br />
<br />
So much for <i>1984</i>...I am hoping that <i>Running in the Family</i> by Michael Ondatjee shall prove more fruitful reading.<div class="blogger-post-footer"> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://openmind.clemish.com/webbands/diversity_grey_right.js"></script>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-3273878126687875802012-01-23T09:09:00.000-08:002012-01-23T09:09:27.186-08:00Gratitude....In the normal course of life, one generally takes many things for granted. It is only when circumstances are unusual that one realises who really cares. For my part, I've realised how invaluable a person my husband is, and I am ever so grateful that he is a part of my life. <br />
<br />
Thank you God for that beautiful serendipity that introduced me to this affectionate and ever so caring human being. It could so easily have been a miss. <br />
<br />
Thank you !!! Thank you !!! Thank you !!!<div class="blogger-post-footer"> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://openmind.clemish.com/webbands/diversity_grey_right.js"></script>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-4093666102423589772012-01-21T23:37:00.000-08:002012-01-21T23:37:18.404-08:00New innings....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p5XY6UrXhEw/Txuw7_uggjI/AAAAAAAAAPg/7A9qPunQqzI/s1600/DSC01206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p5XY6UrXhEw/Txuw7_uggjI/AAAAAAAAAPg/7A9qPunQqzI/s400/DSC01206.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<br />
It is that time of the year again...when you realise another "new" year has begun. This year shall bring an addition to the family, and resolutions or not, things are bound to change. There has been/is much anxiety, but I hope April shall bring things to a successful resolution. *Fingers crossed*<br />
<br />
Otherwise, this post is my reminder that I need to write more. There is something about putting pen to paper (finger to keyboard) that sort of makes vague diaphanous ideas more cogent and comprehensible to oneself. A mirror to the mind so to speak. A rendering that reveals what is occupying the occipital. More reading, more listening and less speaking. Mantra for 2012. <br />
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Happy new year everyone !!!<div class="blogger-post-footer"> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://openmind.clemish.com/webbands/diversity_grey_right.js"></script>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-37769243127847751442011-05-26T13:44:00.000-07:002011-05-26T13:44:04.749-07:00Remembering Brecht fondly...<b>On the Critical Attitude</b><br />
<br />
The critical attitude<br />
Strikes many people as unfruitful<br />
That is because they find the state<br />
Impervious to their criticism<br />
But what in this case is an unfruitful attitude<br />
Is merely a feeble attitude. Give criticism arms<br />
And states can be demolished by it.<br />
<br />
Canalising a river<br />
Grafting a fruit tree<br />
Educating a person<br />
Transforming a state<br />
These are instances of fruitful criticism<br />
And at the same time instances of art. <br />
<br />
<b>Bertolt Brecht</b><br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
A Persian proverb tells us that doubt is the key to knowledge. Descartes "cogito ergo sum" seems to sum it up. T.S. Eliot claims that criticism is as inevitable as breathing. <br />
<br />
Questions, questions and more questions, and the answer is another question. Oh, what a happy happy world. Never definite, hence never insipid. I shall always be happy as long as I am free to ask what, why, when, where, who and how. I may not always acknowledge that felicity, but I am sure (or am I?)that my subconscious somewhere recognises that incertitude liberates me.<br />
<br />
Amen.<div class="blogger-post-footer"> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://openmind.clemish.com/webbands/diversity_grey_right.js"></script>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-41691886631920922122011-04-28T01:34:00.000-07:002011-04-28T01:34:44.155-07:00On Creation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I have been accused multiple times on a social networking site called Facebook for not being "original", but merely quoting from other people.<br />
<br />
To make my case, I quote once again from John 1:1 <i>In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.</i> After this first creator called God, so many have had so much to say that I fear my ratiocination will to a degree always resemble plagiarism. <br />
<br />
So why not borrow from someone who said it better than me? Let me be polemic and say that originality is overrated. It does not exist. New ideas are merely a mastication of old ones. Can I attempt anything better than another permutation of syllables all previously defined and sorted by lexicographers? Also, I do not have enough wisdom to attempt being wise.<br />
<br />
And some say wisdom comes with age and experience. As junk food has increased the mortality rate substantially, I fear we shall be deprived of many a pearl of wisdom. Till then, I shall be happy to string together what already exists.<br />
<br />
<b>P.S. - <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14px;">Social networking sites like FB are considered windows to your personality. Please make sure you invest in dark hued curtains.</span></b><br />
<br />
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-19879128105838322172011-04-05T08:06:00.000-07:002011-04-05T08:08:28.462-07:00Othellos in the making...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zm2K5OTzUiY/TZswVcZqknI/AAAAAAAAAMA/1rRLHOdDVU4/s1600/220px-Othellopainting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="286" width="220" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zm2K5OTzUiY/TZswVcZqknI/AAAAAAAAAMA/1rRLHOdDVU4/s400/220px-Othellopainting.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Sigmund Freud insists it is sex. Karl Marx believes it is economics that rules in the last instance. And in the penultimate instance, it is likely to be our insecurities. <br />
<br />
When food, clothing and shelter are taken care of, what drives us are our insecurities. Everyone, is generally an Othello in the making ready to strangle an innocent/not so innocent Desdemona. Am I tall, dark, handsome, rich, poor, short, fat, pimply faced, smart, unlearned....what I think I am drives me. Some strive to better their odds, most to merely efface them. To mask them as well as they can.<br />
<br />
Do you ever feel that someone reacted over much to something you said in general? Maybe you touched a nerve somewhere. Or there have been instances when its been vice versa. <br />
<br />
Can one look beyond one's insecurities? Maybe. Maybe not. In the interim it might be very sapient to acquaint oneself with them in order to ensure that Desdemona lives.<div class="blogger-post-footer"> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://openmind.clemish.com/webbands/diversity_grey_right.js"></script>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-70847670302300973962011-02-23T12:58:00.000-08:002011-02-23T12:58:56.411-08:00The Feminist Backlash<i>I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat or a prostitute ~ Rebecca West</i><br />
<br />
I have begun so many articles on feminist theory with Ms West's very apt quote, but it is only recently that I have realised that at a subliminal level, I was/am still wearing the feminist straitjacket. <br />
<br />
The idea of picking up a Fair & Lovely tube, or a <i>Femina</i> magazine embarrasses me. I would not like to be seen with either. Simply because in theory, I am supposed to be against them. Of course, I still am against the way they are advertised, but I can no longer deny their utility. <br />
<br />
The first is an excellent skin cream. The fairness factor is dubious, but it is the only product that soothed skin which had been irritated by the ingestion of a strong compound to expunge cystic acne. <br />
<br />
The latter, though not exactly an exemplar of Pulitzer journalism, at Rs. 50, is one of the cheaper though still readable "Women's" magazines in India. Many sections make no sense to me, but nevertheless some articles do strike a chord. Browsing through it has its pleasures. <br />
<br />
So should I deprive myself of these and much more simply because in theory I should be against them? Are they not products meant to shackle? I think I need to remind myself of what I have often told my students. To move beyond labels. If you label yourself, you are circumscribing yourself. Limiting yourself to a certain definition of you which may not really be you. <br />
<br />
So yes, I read <i>Femina</i>, though I am no "new" woman. I am capable of reading a Jeanette Winterson as well as picking up a women's magazine. I choose to sample it all. <br />
<br />
In time I hope not to cringe at being seen with the same. I wish to lose the urge to explain my use of these products. That, I believe, would be true freedom.<div class="blogger-post-footer"> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://openmind.clemish.com/webbands/diversity_grey_right.js"></script>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9474881.post-30322433523981513312010-12-30T13:44:00.000-08:002010-12-30T13:44:43.036-08:00I wanted catharsis......basically, I wanted to use this blog to rant and rave on the last day of this year. Venting is such an important part of life, isn't it? Else, we would all be weapons of self destruction. <br />
<br />
On the other hand, blogging about perpetual bad days is a total waste of time and e-space. No one cares, and I don't care either. Yaaaaawn...<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
I have been thinking about God. I find little time for prayer. I was devout till I lost my fear of the dark. A pity that. Now, on very fine days, I merely request him/her to curse some very select people. So much wiser than doing it to their face. It avoids so many complications, and thank God for that !! <br />
<br />
In spite of a very sapient Professor (whom I worship and credit for all my eccentricities) being a stout atheist, I fail to comply. I agree with his take on most -isms, except this one. Infinite philosophical speculation exists on the subject, but I want no part of it. I just want to believe. It is so comforting. Like cool breeze on a warm day, or a cosy blanket on a cold one.<br />
<br />
I plan to wrap myself snugly in my speculatory blanket and hope for the best for next year. My only resolution for 2011...optimism.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Happy New Year God...I hope you are reading !!! I deserve an especially good year because I am probably the only one who wished you. The rest were too busy asking for stuff.<div class="blogger-post-footer"> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://openmind.clemish.com/webbands/diversity_grey_right.js"></script>
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</div>Pallavihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04927369267360505689noreply@blogger.com0