Takeshi's castle

Just watched “Takeshi’s castle” with my seven year old and husband. It  is a program that airs on a children’s channel called POGO.  Mirth and laughter for a whole 30 minutes, a great way to spend time with the family. Participants move from challenge to challenge in this quirky Japanese game show, till the last one or few remain standing. The challenges or games are creative amusement park type adventures, designed mainly to test physical balance and fitness, with some amount of intelligence being required and a whole lot of luck .

 The first game was a bunch of folks running at break neck speed, with a helmet on and some mildly protective clothing, at a phalanx of doors. The participant hurtles towards the row of doors, and throws himself at any one of the doors he randomly choses, with childlike and reckless abandon. Now as it turns out, in the row of seven doors, only one is made of thin cardboard, while the other six are wood. If he happens to pick the right door he bursts through to the other side, rolling on the grass and tumbling, only to be confronted by the second row of doors to do the same thing again. There are six such rows of doors. If he chooses the wrong door however he falls back, propelled by the wood, and presumably nursing hurt pride and body. Not so it would appear, from what happened on screen. The participants were always smiling no matter what the outcome was. Dusting themselves off gleefully and running off to find another door to throw themselves at. It was a game! They were having fun! And there was always that childlike fearlessness, no-holds barred speeding, as they charged at the doors again and again and again…..this was just a game, at the end of it they got to go home.  

Why can we not live life like that? Treat life like a game. Hurtle away at our perceived obstacles with fearlessness, smile and laugh whether we get past or not. Get up and throw ourselves at the blocks again and again, enjoying the process whether we tumbled over, this side or that. For at the end we get to go home too. But if we lived, like they play at Takeshi’s castle, chances are we will find that the home we go to at the end, is not much different from the life we lived anyway.

Jai Guru Dev

Oh! Calcutta..

We had company for dinner the other day. The lighting was dim, appertiff flowed freely, the music was rich and soporific. The food was homecooked and, in keeping with the way of things that evening, delicious. As time passed, I noticed with some satisfaction that my husband had let his non-existent hair down. Had truly loosened up. And it wasn't a glance or a look or anything like that, that told me as much. It was because the anecdotes being told in his drowsy voice were based in Calcutta now. Having spent the first 18 or so years of his life in that city, most of "the good times" are for him in this Bengali city. I love them for the most part, as they are full of a languid ambience, an almost anachronistic sense of idealism, traits I am told are intrinsic to Calcutta. But as can be guessed, many of these stories are for me repetitions, and in these cases I try to absorb my husband's relaxed state rather than the content of his monologue !

However one tale stands above the others. Maybe it will do for you what it does for me, it touches a chord in me each time I hear it, makes me feel good about the universe.

One day, my husband a young lad then, reached his school half an hour late. The usual door to the school being closed, he had to pass through the principal's office and sign a late register to get into the school. On being asked by the principal as to why he was late, he proceeded to tell a true story which could only happen, and be believed by a school principal, in Calcutta.

The bus my husband took that morning, had as one of its passengers, a poor old lady from a village in the outskirts of Calcutta. She had taken the bus to see her son who worked in Beg Baagan, one of the localities in the city. Being new to the city, she told the conductor to let her know when her stop arrived. The conductor, who had fares to collect and bells to ring in a teeming bus, on a pittance of a salary, dismissively agreed.

The bus chugging along, she would check intermittently with him, only to be dealt with, with increasing impatience. As it so happened, the last time she would check with the fellow, would be two stops after Beg Bagaan, with her still on the bus. The lady became irate and inconsolable. A miserable altercation with the conductor ensued during which she was told, rather roughly, to get off the bus at the next stop, cross the road and take the bus going in the other direction for three stops. She wailed about not having the required 30 paise to do as much. He raised his voice telling her he would give her the money, forcibly deboarding her when the stop came.

All hell broke lose then, goes the story. Office going men, college students, all with times to keep to themselves, got up and rioted. Grabbed the conductor by his lapels and screamed him blue in the face. When the second conductor (there are two in every bus in Calcutta, we are educated) entered the fracas sympathetic to his colleague, he had some choice slaps rained in his direction as well. Some got off, went to the driver's side of the bus, dragged him down, and all three perceived villains of the piece that day, were rounded up on the pavement. They were made to fall at the feet of the old lady and beg her forgiveness, calling her of course "Ma" as they did so.

It doesn't end here. The bus was made to turn around, go back three stops!, drop the old lady at Beg Bagaan, and then proceed on its regular route to drop the rest of its denizens, all late, to their destinations.

As my husband likes to end his story: Only in Calcutta. Dugga Ma Raksha karo ma....

Summer with my four year old

My four year old is at home for the summer. Feel it would not be the right thing to send her to one of those things called summer camps which basically is school all over again with a new bunch of kids and a new set of adult caregivers. I can only put myself in her shoes and decide for her (evil laugh). I would not have wanted to "settle in" for two weeks in a new environment, during what the Lord in all his mercy, meant to be a break from overambitious parents and schools. My vacation. A break from terms like "coming out of my shell", trusting adult strangers to do the right thing by me, being organised into groups for adult led activity, being told to finish my snack or else. A break from being assessed, developed, pruned and cultured....into being as unlike myself as is possible.

Instead I want her to do nothing, play in the mud, spend as much time playing with her friends as she wants. And heres where it gets nostalgic: vacation with her cousins as I mostly did, sometimes taking a two day train journey across the country to be with them, resulting in so many fun and poignant memories.

Cut to reality. I live in the suburbs of Dubai. Its hot hot hot this time of year, so you only venture outdoors after 5 in the evening. No playing in the mud in these overinformed underliving times. Unless you're a slumdog. No cousins to visit by train in the year 2009, you need a plane now, and I ask you, does this even happen nowadays, visiting or being visited for summers.

(A hopeful aside:I recently launched a Facebook effort to get all the cousins on the maternal side to start with, to meet in 2010, under one roof. We'll get all the schedules to match and hopefully spend a couple of days together. Amen to that.)


So we are back to "do it this way" activities led by mum instead of teacher. I now have to be playmate, cousin, teacher and mother all rolled into one. Or let the TV babysit her.

The days roll on....she sure can push the envelope. "Last, last..." she says with one finger held up and her head bobbing from side to side, eyes and eyebrows raised. She is negotiating her third piece of chocolate. We play a form of hide and seek that makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time. She tells me where she is going to hide each time and asks me to look for her. I try to tell her what the "right way" is. She thinks I just don't get the point. I find it is possible to fight with a four year old over and over again, despite resolutions to the contrary at the end of every single day.......