Funny how they just sneak- up on you. when you least expect it. Memories! They have been hidding for so long and then when you have just about forgotten about them they jump at you. Sometimes streaming down like tears. Seeing my mother's handwriting in a totally unknown place, inspite of expecting it, made me feel like...i can't even describe the feeling. And then her letter just made the world turn to liquid. But it wasn't so much the fact that i miss them that set me off, but just all the torrents of memories like the waves of the ocean, sometimes hard sometimes softer, but always bring something to leave behind on the shore.

I can safely say that i've had the perfect childhood. Happy, free from any sort of anxiety (besides ofcourse the quarrels with my brother and sister and the fear of getting a spanking). Me, my sister and my brother were always there for each other to play with, to study with, to eat with, ofcourse to fight with. We climbed trees, swam in the river, went fishing, had little picnics on our front lawn.
When my sister got married the toast- master said that whenever he passed by our house he would always see our family together playing, gardening, going for walks, cycling. We always had these family outtings. Endless trips to the beach. So many evenings walking up in the hills. Sometimes we would take a picnic and go for a whole day trip, just walking and exploring. During summer, plucking mangoes and cashews.

A picture just hops into my mind, that of me and my sister coming out of primary school, and who do we see waiting to pick us up? Daddy on his scooter! We run to him, "Daddy you took leave today!" and both of us on the scooter, me standing in front, and Tara (my sister) holding Dad as tight as possible behind him. Special treat during lunch a cassette of some Cartoons we have watched a hundred times before. And sometimes Momi took leave, she would sit with us while we had lunch and listen to all our stories.

We took trips out of station. How did they manage with the three of us? I remember Daddy couldn't take his eyes off the plants when we went to Ooty. And us laughing while Momi spoke to the fellows in Kannada. The trips to Jodhpur, Nepal...all their memories.

As kids we had our own secret groups. Why it had to be secret i fail to understand. And then we would gang- up and share our woes if any one of us got a yelling at from our grand-mother. Nanni, everything at home reminds me of her. The evening tea, the gossiping with the neighbour. Or just lying in bed with her while she patted us to sleep.

Our last family outing together before my sister got married. We went for the movie Crash. When we got home, I was sad, maybe angry even coz i knew this would be the last. I was saying bye to my sister, with whom i used to lie awake and talk to for hours until Momi had to come and remind us to sleep. My sister without whom i wouldn't imagine going out, even if it was just to church. Or the evening cycling, when we made fun of practically everyone we met. All the secret names and idiotic imaginings. And then the day i had to say bye to my brother as he left for Amedabad. I found living in the house almost unbearable when he left. The teasings, the name- calling. I think we hardly ever called each other Alison or Russell. The times when we would talk about things that only he and i would understand, and tell the others not to interfere. We would get together and almost mercilessly tease my sister.

And now when i hear them over the phone, or the ever blessed Skype, i can't help asking the routine questions and exchanging bits of near normal talk and hoping i could just get to see them once more. Oh, May seems so far away.

Momi, this whole essay was triggered off by you. With that amazingly simple letter, reminding me to do the things that you have been telling me about a hundred times already. I miss you and Dad and Tara and Russell all the time. I so wish you could all be here with me and see the beautiful things that i see. Thank you for everything. Thank you for being my wonderful family.

It's like a plague, these things they call questions. They are in their element now. Like as if it is the breeding season for them. And they breed like amoeba, they just divide themselves and double. Oh no they are worse than that. They are like multi- faceted amoeba whichever angle you look at it from it looks different. so giving birth to so many more questions. Oh thank God i used the word questions, amoeba makes it look like something living. Or maybe it is living, much like some kind of parasite that lives and grows on you. Yuck! Alison, how can you do that? Questions are troubling but they are needed. They kind off always got me in trouble at home. Everyone was (and is) like, 'Shut- up Alie! Don't ask stupid questions.' Believe me till this day my Momi says, 'Don't ask idiotic questions, just do as you are told.' Only Daddy is ready to answer my eternal questions. He loves to discuss things with me. But then at the end of the discussion i am with a list of books and articles that he recomends. And for ages after that he asks, "So did you read that article by...?". "No dad!". And then i have to listen, "You have to read these kind of things, it broadens your horizon."

I miss you Daddy! I miss all those talks. When i come back, i promise i will sit with you some more and listen to you. I will tell you all about my trip and all that i did here. I miss you everyday. I wish you could be here with me because there is so much that you would like to see. I want to show you the sun rising over the mountains, the leaves turing red. The frost that forms over the grass and every surface. Daddy, I want you to see the snow. I will take lots of pictures and tell you about it all. So much so that it will seem to you that you are here.

And everytime i see the plants and flowers i think of you, Daddy. I wish i could take some for you. Maybe i'll try and do that. I know you'll make them grow somehow. Oh and the houses. Oh Dad i want you to see them. I know you would love the wood- work. I can hear you sayin, 'Al come here, i want you to see this.' Daddy, i miss you. I wish you were here.

Teaching learning

People who behave rowdy in a group, or talk too much are actually the ones who have a low self- esteem. They are the ones who need to be tackled, not in class but by themselves. By giving them importance when they feel alone and nervous. So that they can learn to draw confidence from themselves not from their friends only. That is the lesson i learnt from Frank*. Rasta- kinda looks, trying to act smart in class, his teacher warned me that he's a real trouble- maker. But he came in for his presentation. A big smile on his face, trying to disguise the need to turn around and run- away. He was fidgety (droped his pen twice!)., spoke softly. He had, no doubt practiced what he was going to say. Tried to learn it by heart. But he made all the classic gestures of a nervous boy. Made many mistakes no doubt. But i avoided correcting him all the time. When i did correct him, he laughed aloud, typical sign of nervousness, again. At the end i dicussed his mistakes with him. First told him the positive points of his presentation. He really seemed interested in correcting himself. And before he left, i told him, don't get so nervous next time. "Be cool", i said. He seemed highly amused by that. He laughed, this time a genuine laugh. As he walked out he asked, "How do you say 'bonne journee'?" I told him. He waved and said, "Bye have a nice day. Next time, I'll be cool."

Have faced this problem so many times before. it's not something typical of France or India. But i guess, so often teachers fail to understand that humiliating a student in front of his/ her classmates only agrravates the problem. Better to show the student attention by not exactly showing him that you are attentive.

Being a teacher has thaught me more than i can ever expect to teach. Just remembering a students surname sometimes, or where he/ she lives can mean so much to the student. Spending just one minute extra to explain something that seems oh so easy to you can help the student get that all important one mark.

Being a teacher has made me patient and more understanding. Not to say more confident. And yes tactful. Being on the good sides of students is not always an easy task, takes an effort, but belive me it's worth it in the end. To all my friends who are teachers, happy teaching! Try and enjoy it!

* Real name with- held to protect privacy. (hehe couldn't help putting in that line!)

Tracking happiness...

Am thinking about happiness. A word which when i think of sometimes seems like as if it only exists in some other galaxy. And then another thought, why does this topic keep coming up? In the last 2 weeks i have seen some of my closest friends battling with their hearts. And somehow they ask me what do i do? Have i done the right thing? And i ask, are you happy with your decision? Strangely not one has said yes. They all say, well not really but that is the best thing to do at this time.

Everyone seems to have their own share of battles, and most of them, no all of them are to do with finding happiness. Happiness why is this emotion so elusive? Was thinking, maybe it's because we associate happiness with a person or an event. If it doesn't go well then we are disappointed. We make all these plans of what we are going to do and what we are going to say. And then we are looking for the perfect moment and the perfect situation, and then it just slips away. Why am i so fussy?

Reminds me of Spencer Johnson's book The Present. He says that we are so caught up regretting about the past or worrying about the future that we forget to live in the present. Search for avenues that would make me happier, and forgetting to look right here. forgetting that happiness starts with me. Happiness happens when you least expect it. Happiest moments are so uncomplicated that we tend to cling to them. And once they get stale i am disappointed. So why do i not just let happiness come and go as it wants? Happiness has to be dynamic. It has to change. I can't be in a perpetual state of happiness. Often wonder why something that gave me much happiness before seems adequate now, but maybe it's just that i want to look for other things to be happy. Or maybe i was happy only with a dream something that was not really there and now when i revisit the moment i realise that it wasn't really the situation or the person that made me happy, but it was my thoughts. It was my attitude, my state of mind.

Sometimes i feel so low, and then i get out and see the snow- covered mountains, and i feel happy. All i had to do was leave my chair and look out. Come on Alison, you have to make a little effort. Like John Powell said, be an actor not a reactor. He says that happiness is inside me. I can't expect to be happy all the time, but if i want to be happy i have to decide to be happy. Sometimes i get up in the morning thinking, today i'm going to be happy, try and make the most of each moment. It works you know!

Was talking to one of my colleagues at the Lycee this afternoon. He's British. He says, India has been in the news a lot lately. The terrorism has been increasing. But it made me a bit angry and at the same time relieved. Because, terrorism in India is not a new thing. He said that before, like about 20 years ago, we used to never hear about India in the news. But now it's like, anything India does is news. Makes me proud and angry at the same time. Angry because, no one really took terrorism in India seriously before, in spite of the fact that India has been combatting terrorism ever since independance. Not just Kashmir, Punjab, Assam, but even Bengal, Tamil Nadu. And then all the comunal terrorism in practically every part of India, which is barely given any importance even in our own country.

It's only with the 9/11 attacks on the United States, the world seems to have woken up to this many- headed- monster 'terrorism'. People have been dying for years due to terrorism. But it's only now since India is considered as a fast emerging global power, that we have finally been able to attract the attention of the 'super- powers', with the USA, Britain , Isreal among others alleging their support to fight terrorism, condeming Pakistan. It's like a college student with not enough money to hang- out with the so- called 'In- crowd'. He gets bullied all the time and no one notices or if they do, they don't care a damn. And then one day he comes to college in new clothes and a flashy car, everyone notices. If he gets bullied, all the college hi- fi society take his side coz now they know that they might get something out of being on his side.

Makes me proud coz India is now a power to reckon with. People are even comparing the Mumbai attacks to the 9/11 in the US. Yet our problems run deeper and we can't afford an aftermath like the one USA carried out to 'fight' terrorism.

Our problems run deeper because leadership at home is faulty. In order to flush out something dirty we need to have clean water and a working plumbing system. I can't suggest a plan on how to do this but I guess in order to fight terrorism we need to clean out our internal pipelines so that the water that flows, will be able to flush out the filth without leaving mud on the sides.

Was wondering, why we mostly feel like writing when we are sad? Like, why are the most beautiful poems written about sadness or something not achieved? And then most painters and artists i've heard or read about have been subjected to some great tragedy in their lives. Maybe because, when we are happy we want to share that happiness with people. But sadness, depression, frustration are more personal.

At least for me. Being upset or thinking about things that upset me, i want to write. I want to unload because it's crushing me. I'm afraid to talk about it, for fear of being ridiculed, worse mis- understood.

Talked to a friend. We seem to be sailing in the same boat. Need your shoulder to cry on. But hey, i wanted it to be someone else. I thought i could depend on him. You find yourself so far away from your heart and it seems to be calling you. But it's lost under the layers of.....what? i don't even know the words. And the cries give way to some kind of anguish. what the hell? Can i not let myself cry a while? no not here. but then no one knows me. It doesn't matter.

I don't want to worry you. It seems to get worse. If only i could really believe myself when i said that everything happens for the best. There seems to be a fog. Some parts are clear. but then it comes down again. At school someone asked me why i looked so tired. Tired? I do nothing. I don't even sleep properly. And those searching- for- dreams have been coming back.

She just lies awake for hours, wondering what kind of a situation this is. What is the damn time? What are people back home doing? Has anyone thought of me today? Has he thought of me? Sometimes it seems like there is hope. Did i open Pandora's box? And then why can i not find the little box that spells hope? It's supposed to be there. But i'm on my knees searching. And it seems to have disappeared. The well seems to get deeper and darker. Once she thought she saw light, but it seems to have died out. Maybe we ought to change the bulb.

I feel like a spoilt brat, asking for something that will not be given to me. If i throw a tantrum will i get it? But that's not me. I can wait. I only wish it was you who would end this unwinding and rewinding of the spools of thread, sometimes lax sometimes on the verge of being broken. I wanted it o be you. But now i'm not so sure.

Dragged myself out of bed this morning. Throughout class kept telling myself that i need to have some coffee. Cold n drowsiness- deadly combination! And then just like that things change, even before a cup of coffee, met Uma online. Was able to unload my heart at least a bit.

It always amazes me how just when this world seems so hard and un-understanding you just come across a ray of light. Sometimes it seems so small and brightens up on a corner of your life but then it always makes the corner warm enough for you to venture out a little further, with a little more confidence.

Sometimes I find myself in front of a door. Should i go in? Maybe not, what if there is something dangerous lurking there? What if i can't find the ground my feet? I'd rather remain where i am in this territory that i am so familiar with. But then somehow closed doors interest. Maybe i'll peep inside. It's dark in there. Maybe there's a light. I go inside to look for a light. Oh no the door has that automatic closing system damn! Now, how the hell do i get out. It's cold, it's dark. My heart seems to be beating so loud. Where is the switch? Do i walk about? Do i call for help? Oh no, i might awaken things that i should stay away from. As i walk about cautiously weighed down by my thoughts and fears, i stumble. It's another person. In this same place. We were sharing this darkness for so long and didn't know it. Together we look for the light. It seems so reassuring to know that i'm not alone. We a crack of light. It's another door! Do we go there? But who knows what we might find? But there seems to be a light. And i'm not alone.

Being lonely comes so easily. Sometimes the most difficult thing is to accept that there is someone else going through the same thing you are fighting off. Doubting and thinking 'i can handle this by myself'.

I knew that this trip was going to be tough. My heart has remained there. The things i recognise, the smells i love, the words i understand, the waters i adore, the Sometimes i feel i want to let it all go and just go back. But then i'd be a coward.

But then life's not all that cruel. It's sent me friends. Claire and Doreen, no exaggeration, i'd be a wreck without you guys. And all my friends at home, just recieving mail from you, even if it's just a hi- hwz- life- in- France- scrap it keeps me alive. The missed calls n the chats, u keep me alive. Seriously!

And then, friends i've made now in France. It's just the thought that we are going through these ups n downs together has given me the courage to make the best of my stay here.

What ever happens, i guess the best part of this trip will be the new friends that we have made. And the strenghtening of the old friendships that makes life worth living and worth fighting for. Can hardly wait to see all of u again.

Fluctuating lines

November 30, 2008
Actually began writin this yesterday, but got distracted. And now it's past midnight and a new day begins.

First time i'm getting my thoughts out in the open. Otherwise they were scribblings on diaries- which i'd rather call 'My Thought- books; or frantically written notes on bits of paper, judiciously saved from eyes that may 'not understand'. But then the need for secrecy always battles with the want to know what others would think if they saw what i think.

And now what do i write? Allow my thoughts to run down to my fingers. But then there are bubbles in my head. The colours spilling over each other. But as i go to touch them they pop and out, come all these other thoughts which don't really seem so colourful.

Uprooted and out somewhere else. The roots still hold far away. And here i don't want the roots to grow deep. what if they come across a stone? Will i find my way around it? And then i hope the old roots don't just dry- up. I can only hope to sustain myself until i can go back and feel, the earth around me. That part of the earth that i recognise the smell of. The roots that have grown into trees that i have known and loved.

But then here, it's a new world. And a part of me is accepting it. Life is like that isn't it? Accepting. Otherwise how do we survive? And then there are these feelings i didn't know i had in me. i can't name them. or is it this that i had wanted? Wanted, but never known. Fluctuating feelings. Or is it my attitude? Oh God, the questions. They seem so innocent until you actually look at them. But then they have all those sub- questions. The worse thing- i can't find the answers! I know i have to look, but where? And when i know where to search i am given that impossible to follow buy so wise advice- have patience.

Sometimes i feel lost and at other times like i'm just discovering myself. I turn inside. But then maybe some other time. It might not be the right time to go there. Let me let me be!
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