The case of the missing footpath

As I have been walking and walking quite a bit, there are things I tend to notice which I never did stop to look at before.

The missing footpaths of Bangalore!!

Bagnalore in the good ole days was called a pensioners paradise, it was the place where old people could live peacefully.

The fresh air,lush gardens, flowers blooming through the year, salubrious weather and of course plenty of walking space.

Today,

I step out home early morning, armed with my trusted flashlight.

I step gingerly on the footpath, praying it does not cave in, the dim light of the street lamp not enough to let me know about the missing slab where I almost placed my next foot.

Oh careful now, watch out for that homeless waif sleeping in that corner.

Step away from the fresh dog poop where the footpath is just perfect.

Finally a stretch where I can walk without fear! Oh not really, I need to get off the foot path, cos there seems to be a car parked there!

Maybe its safer and easier to walk on the road.

That is the plight of our footpaths!

Walk of Life

Early one December morning a motley group of 4 started walking.

They did not know how far they would go!

But what they were interested in was doing the

“Walk of life”

Jerin, Preetham, Soham and I- Shiromi Bose have committed ourselves to walking 100 kms in 48 hours.

It is from 24^th- 26^th January 2014 from Bidadi to Pearl Valley Resort

Maybe we are a wee bit crazy, but it’s a lot of fun once you get started.

Walking is not easy, training for the walkathon is not easy either!

But we are doing it for a cause and of course while we train -we get fit, have fun running, cycling, walking and experience a bit more of the Bangalore roads!

It also make us feel good that doing something we enjoy also helps someone in need!

Because

It is a fund raiser walk organized by Oxfam- the Oxfam Trailwalker.

Each participating team has to raise a minimum contribution of Rs.50,000/- over the next one month.

Oxfam India's vision is to create a more equal, just and sustainable world by empowering the poor to demand their rights, engaging the non-poor to become active and supportive citizens, advocating for an effective and accountable state and making markets work for poor people. The overarching vision of Oxfam India is ‘Right to life with dignity for all’.

Help us help others, contribute to Oxfam.

To contribute, check the link below:

http://trailwalker.oxfamindia.org/profile-bengaluru/898

and click on the "Donate To Our Team" button. Then enter your donation amount (or pick one of the preset amounts), and choose your payment gateway. You will receive a certificate from Oxfam.  

Let us team up against poverty.

Support our walk!

We know we can do it, with a little help from all our friends.

The morning after...

                                                 

The night was filled with fear, the unknown causing the heart to skip a beat.

The lightening blinds her, thunder makes her shudder.

Would she get someone or have to be alone?

She walks down the road,  finding no one, slowly walks towards the traffic signal, knowing that her luck increases at these junctions.

Anxiously staring into the distance, signaling with her hands and eyes, no one stops!

Some slow down, only to speed away when she vehemently turns down their proposals.

Some pitying glances over her now drenched body.  She looks unwelcoming, needy and pitiful.

Finally he stops, words are exchanged, no negotiations this time, the desperation shines through.

She gets in.

The ride is short, she holds on tight, feeling every bump on the road, praying he would not stop.

She just wanted to get it over with!

The lashing rain and the thunder and lightning and the flashing lights around her, loud honking, were comforting, knowing she was not alone!

At one point, she felt herself sinking, the tears come rushing, all she had were prayers.

The 50 minutes seemed forever.

The morning was calm.

His smile shone bright like he had nothing to do with her night time fear.

She stepped out and realized everything was as it should be-

Clean, fresh, clear, innocent!

Night time and the drama starts again!

Sounds of Silence

Have you ever listened to the sounds of the night?

Night time brings with it, its own mystery, a different bed time story.

Growing up in  a small town, living in homes away from heavy traffic movement, the silence of the night booms out loud!!

The nerdy me, needed to study late into night as well as wake up in the wee hours of the morning.

Living in a bungalow with glass windows where walls should be, was scary.

The rustling of the leaves, the swaying of the trees, the banging window which would not close….

A scuttling noise, a thump, then the growl of our faithful watch dog…

Was that a baby crying???? No.. there were no babies around……..

Shadows cast by the coconut trees, moonlight filtering through the leaves and the wire gauze windows causing my imagination to run amuck.

Suddenly, as if to calm my fears would be the floating of  sounds from a movie hall nearby.

I would hear shooting of guns, screams, pleading, melancholy songs, crazy laughter!! 

The night watchman walking around with his portable radio playing loud music to keep himself alert.

The sudden shrill whistle from  the police station across the road.

“Night is a world lit by itself”-Antonio Porchia, Voces, 1943,

Morning was more comforting.

The bells from the church, sound of the birds feasting on the cherries from our tree, the milkman tinkling away with his cans on his cycle.

The occasional bus on the road stopping with a screech near our gates, the night watchman still on his beats, his stick hitting the road at regular intervals.

The dogs yelping and fighting over the spoils and spills of the night.

Till the sun light slowly crept in through the netting and the reflection jumped off my mirror and I could see the hands on the clock on my study table.

Signifying everything was right with my day.

“The day has eyes, the night has ears”- David Fergusson

Tress 'n me

Have you ever glanced longingly at someone’s long tresses and wondered what made it shine and glow and grow so well?

Growing up years I yearned for the same.

I remember letting my hair grow from the age of 9.

No more cutting.

It was always well oiled, plaited into two neat plaits, the ends tied down and no using rubber bands which cut the hair.

Saturday morning bath was a ritual.

In most homes in Tamil Nadu this was the custom.

The mom warms the hair oil, seats the daughter down and bends to massage the oil well into the scalp, firmly believing with every touch that the hair and scalp thus got its nourishment.

Then a nice warm bath to wash away the excess oil.

No fancy hair dryers to ruin the texture of the hair, hands used to lovingly wipe and dry the hair.

Some folks then smoked incense to bring out the natural fragrances.

Weekend Bliss!!!!

My mom did this and more.

I loved my hair- my prized possession.

My crowning glory.

The day I had to remove the split ends, meant tears, tantrums, no eating the whole day and sulking in bed!

I understood that my mom did this for my good, yet I would brood.

The hair oil was homemade- my mom took the milk of the coconut, heated it, strained it, added herbs and flowers to give it more strength, cooled and bottled it.

This she applied lovingly on my hair every day.

I remember mornings getting ready for school meant setting aside 20 minutes to get my hair plaited and tied neatly.

Night time, before bed, I brushed it well and tied it up neatly again.

Shampoo was taboo. Here again my mother bought soap nuts, got it ground, added more herbs and flowers to give it a lovely sheen and to prevent the hair from drying.

She used to towel dry my hair and I know how much pain that must have caused because of the length and thickness of my hair.

Way below the waist, so thick it required two towels to dry it.

It was not just the preparation, but the love and care that went into it

The time spent with my mom while all this was taking place was personal.

This was when the mother daughter heart to heart talks used to take place.

 It was our private time, we were not the kind who would sit and have a talk about the birds and the bees, but these moments where when such thoughts were slowly fed and massaged into my head.

And my hair and I both basked in that loving care. Long, thick, lustrous, the kind that I would ogle at!!!

When my mom was lying helpless in bed after her surgery I returned the favor.

I combed her hair for her!!

Today,

I have daughters of my own, they unfortunately have not inherited my good genes in hair and their texture differs from mine.

Straight, straight, straight.

I try to do all that my mom did for me.

Unfortunately I lack the patience and my children the love for long thick hair.

They are not the oiling kind, they prefer TRESSemme shampoo!!!

Yet, the time I spend massaging, drying, combing their hair is my personal time and we have our talks, we share our laughter, we have our secrets.

If hair could talk, ours could tell a saga!!!!