The Power of Voice to Clean India

The well known dhaba market stands behind a now defunct cinema in this upscale South Delhi area. The market is well known for its eateries. It is supposed to be a posh area in the vicinity of a premier hospital, a flourishing club, well known travel consultants, banks and the like.  Outlets of national, leading coffee chains see brisk business here throughout the day. It hosts the young and the well heeled, the educated and the supposedly discriminative segment that is aware of the civic responsibilities. They all come from clean, hygienic homes one believes.

But as to the hygiene and cleanliness of this bustling dhaba market they don’t seem to give any importance. The regulars come to eat tandoori chicken and kababs and tikkas – the speciality items of this eatery filled market. The SUVs and the luxury cars spill out of the parking lot like the entrails of a chicken. The drivers honk and curse each other but cannot see the sense in parking nd taking their cars in and out in an orderly fashion.

The evening crowd and smell can entice – or scare anyone. It reflects the emerging economic upliftment of 21^st century India.

But when we go there for the morning walk, the veil is lifted and we see the stark reality. The poor florist in a pained voice relates to us the daily agony of cleaning the area awash with bones strewn all over by the educated, young crowd. Inspite of dustbins being placed all over. Even the hygiene of the eateries leaves much to be desired. The way the chicken is cleaned during the daytime, s it is got ready for the tandoor; the onions that are sliced by the hundreds but without being washed, the dirty water that goes in the making of the chutney, the dirty chopping boards; the atta kneaded with dirty hands... it is not a surprise that ecoli and food poisoning is a permanent feature of those who partake of this feast every evening.

This is what we need to raise our voice against. I am sure there are food inspectors and hygiene inspectors that are supposed to keep a check on the quality of food and cleanliness in eateries. But where are they? Have they done any inspection? Can we see the inspection reports – why can’t they be put on the net? On what basis do these eateries get a license?

So it is great that Strepsils has started the #AbMontuBolega  campaign. Get to know more about it at the Strepsils site. http://www.abmontubolega.com/ Or go to the Strepsils site on Facebook or Twitter. 

Yes, as the campaign says, let us raise our voices. Let us not be silent spectators. Let’s exercise the power of our voice, our blogs, our community. Then only can India change. Then only India will be a cleaner country. Yes, Have Strepsils and Speak Up.

A Healthy Child Makes A Happy Home

Health and happiness are synonymous – not absolutely but quite!!

My sister’s son was perpetually sick because of bad eating habits. He would gorge on burgers, pastas, pizzas fries and chips. Never eat vegetables and fruit – that seemed to be the motto. Colas were a must with every meal – almost like a bribe to make them eat. 

The result was constipation, low immunity, proneness to cold, cough and the inevitable viral attack with the slightest change of weather. The parents – both working - didn’t have time to sit, bond, entertain or educate their son, and inspite of my pleading with my sister, she would do nothing to change the habits. Just to assuage her guilt at not being around with her son, she would dole out the largest portions of pizzas to him – making the fast food companies richer, and her own child poorer in health.

The frequent falling ill led to her having to take leave from her office, and regular visits to the doctors. Inspite of the family being well off, it was not a Happy Home – mainly because it didn’t have a Healthy Child.

And then the transformation.

Our aunt came down heavily on my sister, and insisted that even though she could not change the habits of the kid, she should insist on giving him his daily dose of Chyawanprash. From her personal experience our aunt knew how Chyawanprash from Dabur increases immunity and makes children less prone to falling sick.

So now the sister of mine started giving one spoon of Chyawanprash to her son with his morning glass of milk. And slowly over a period of time, we could see him falling ill less frequently. Yes he seemed to be getting stronger. No cough, cold sore throat, viral attacks. And the mood in the house underwent a parallel change. A Healthy child is a happier child, less whining, less complaining, less crying. And where you have a happy child what else does a mother need? That indeed is a happy home.

Now the child also saw the correlation between diet and health and slowly he got weaned away from the junk food he was addicted to. From a daily dose, now he is happy with a once a week or once in ten days kind of indulgence at a fast food joint or home delivery. Certainly he is more active, more energetic and more lively.

Thanks to my aunt. Truly if you educate a woman (in this case my sister) you educate the entire family. The future generation too has imbibed the values of healthy nutrition – hopefully!!

Thanks to the daily spoon of Chyawanprash. In such a healthy atmosphere of love and friendship, physical, mental and emotional diseases rarely enter the house. So yes, we should give a little thought and care to the immunity of our young ones – the returns are incalculable. 

How can you measure Health after all? Or Happiness in a family? 

Let us empathise with the snarling vendor!!

The cooking maid lands up at 7.30 am.
So 7 am is a bad time for me. I have to run down two flights of stairs to rush to the vegetable vendor. The fresh vegetables that he has got from the mandi lie neatly tied in polythene bags. I rummage through the tomatoes to pick out the firm ones. I select the ladyfinger - it has to be tender and green. The pumpkin must be a rich golden yellow and not touched - so far - by flies. And then I have to rush back home to give the veggies to the maid.
Many a time I need the magic herb - garlic - which transforms everything from Italian to Indian and I need to revisit the vegetable vendor in the evening. By then both the sabjis and the sabzi wala have withered. I touch the tomatoes and the juice squirts out - I feel the spinach and it is rotting, the bitter gourd yellow and the potatoes with aged skin, the sun and the scorching heat have aged them in just a few hours.
Once when I wanted a couple of bananas I reached out for them to choose the best. But he stopped me and snarled, 'Don't touch them. I'll give them to you myself.'
I was taken aback by the fury in the voice. I quietly gave him the money and not being very wise, felt terribly wounded.
Then I thought over it - nearly a quarter of his stocks get spoilt and go in the garbage can. A choiceless situation. Then he would get up again next morning at 4 am, go to the sabjimandi, load his goods and begin the journey of his earnings once again.
So let us not bargain too hard with the vegetable vendor. Give him a little extra and be more patient with him. Because we stay in our air-conditioned house and complain at the slightest whiff of heat, while he stays on the road tending to his stocks of vegetables - watering them and resuscitating them so he could at least recover what he has spent. Let us not shout back at him. Let us empathise with his woes pain and travails.
Next morning when I went to him I went with a smile on my face. Not that there was the slightest hint of remorse on his face. But I did not mind.
My stance has changed. I went to him with a generous, forgiving and understanding heart!!

O fool, to try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders!

Though an ardent fan of Tagore's Gitanjali, the message and the meaning doesn't save you when you are confronted with a crisis. That is unless you have cogitated, meditated and then absorbed it in your system. Intellectual appreciation and grasping of problems is easy... emotional acceptance and peace is not. it eludes us all.
I was thrown into this frenzy when a close relative flew in from S. Africa to have a certain surgical procedure done. These days hospitals ape five star hotels with their manicured lawns, landscaping and coffee shops. Profound words with negative connotation like 'operation' have been sugar coated and labelled as 'procedures'. But you don't get taken in and a woman will feel the gravity in her heart. There was a frenetic search for the best doctor, his specialisation, nursing home and people rating. All queries and doubts were discussed. The doctor very patiently answered, 'Nobody can give full guarantee... there is risk involved even in crossing the road. We read about the Malaysian Airlines episode and still board the next flight.'
Assurances and reassurances - talking to people who had got it done and benefited. All cases mote or less testified it was worth going in for the operation... oops sorry... procedure.
Intellectually satisfied but emotionally still fluttering I picked up my bedside 'Gitanjali'.
'O fool, to try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders!
Leave all thy burdens in His hands who can bear all, and never look behind with regret.'
I breathed easy and prostrated at His feet.

Women alone can save women

Ironically the solution to the women's problems lies with the women themselves. The newspapers are replete with stories of horrifying crimes against women.
Why can't we bring up our daughters the way we bring up our sons? And even more important, why can't we bring up our sons the way we bring up our daughters?
I reflected deep and hard on this issue.
80% of a child's brain is formed by the time he is four. It's the mothers generally who influence the child till this age. The values and samskaras are laid by the mother in this period - of course in the cradle of the family. The atmosphere in which the child is brought up has a deep, indelible impression on the psyche of the child. If he/she see the father respecting the mother, ceding power rather than exercising it, walking two steps behind her in the public to show he is not a male chauvinist - the sons in such families are unlikely to grow into the monsters we read about these days.

Treat girls as boys and boys as girls - what will happen?

Children learn more by show rather than tell. If boys are encouraged to help out the family in the cooking, kitchen winding up and girls are pushed to go out, contribute to family investment decisions, handle their own bank accounts, get the car servicing done themselves... imagine the difference it will make.
I am convinced the social matrix thus formed would be of men who are sensitive and sensitised to the women's heart and hearth. Responsible and caring, nurturing and protecting.

The Grace of God in Summer

Scorching, torrid, unwelcome and unbearable the month of June... yet the Grace of God is available to all but the most non-perceptive. Only to the sensitive eye.

Who pauses, listens, feels and looks at all these things that refresh and rejuvenate?

The delicate rustle of leaves as the wind moves through the foliage; the cool air which caresses and embraces; the fresh lemon laburnums in full blossom - like bunches of grapes – tantalising me to touch and pluck them; the rich heady fragrance of the pure white double motia which transports me from the banal environs to an enchanting world; the maroon, yellow and black bird houses in the thick shady foliage of a large peepul tree protecting and sheltering the birds like no aircon can.

The warm welcome of a sweeping lady who rests her large broom to give way and most of all the sight of a water pitcher with a long handled tumbler placed so carefully on well arranged bricks for the thirsty wayfarer.

I bow to the thought and consideration of the Mind that brings all this to us!!!

The starlings are the stars

Wonder whether the insufferable ego of man can ever be humbled by the infallible instinct and intuition of the avian species?

The thought struck me when I was greeted by hundreds of Rosy Starlings as I came to my balcony to breathe in the early morning freshness and cheer. Raucous and noisy, they had congregated on the large peepul tree opposite our balcony. Camouflage complete – they were visible only by their movements - excitedly discussing their plans and ticking off items on the check list before the departure for East Europe. India would be tortuously hot in May and the locusts they feed on would be available at their destination.
So they all migrate to cooler climes.

I am awestruck by this grand design of nature – moving silently, in such an orderly fashion, imperceptibly ensuring the ecological balance and harmony.
How these birds traverse thousands of miles without a compass or sextants on an assured trajectory to their correct destination baffles me.

Discussing Plans for the journey

Really, the starlings are the stars. Not human beings.