Hot air over melting glaciers

Glaciers the world over are melting. That's the one incontrovertible truth. Some say they are melting abnormally fast. Others call this claim alarmist and say the pace of disintegration is actually a lot slower.

The last few days' very public row over the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Control's (IPCC's) projection that the mighty Himalayan glaciers would melt away by 2035 strikes me as a little unnecessary. Now personal attacks are being made to discredit the panel's Indian head, Dr. Rajendra Pachauri. The controversy - following an IPCC admission that its forecast of doom wasn't actually based on solid research or scientific study - has certainly dented the international panel's credibility.

But my question is, what does it matter? We've been told - and I believe this is beyond question - that the glaciers are melting faster than they should. Whether it is at a rate judged too fast, or even faster, what's clear is that the world has to attempt to arrest the liquefaction because the result could be catastrophic for our entire planet (sea levels would rise and swallow large tracts of low-lying land, the planet would soak up more heat with less ice to bounce sunlight back etc.). So let's get down to finding a solution instead of bickering and arguing over the melt rate. No need for all this hot air over ice. It runs the risk of accelerating the pace of the meltdown!

Pushed to the brink

It's been truly scary reading over the past week about a spate of suicides in and around Mumbai. Most of them were young adults, some little children. The count, I believe, now stands at 14 in a span of seven days. Academic pressures, unhappy family situations and unfulfilled aspirations led these children to end their lives.

Being on the other side of the divide as a parent, it got me thinking about motivation and pressure. Where do you draw the line? We all know that the Indian schooling system is cruelly demanding. The kids are pushed to perform in school and that inevitably transfers to the home, prompting parents to at times make unrealistic demands of their children. Any child who doesn't fit into the mould of the ideal pupil suffers. The system isn't flexible enough to handle children whose interests may lie in other areas, whose strengths are not necessarily in the stuff included in the curriculum. They aren't encouraged to hone their natural abilites, instead are forced to submit to the norm. And this can be fatal for a child's morale.

So how far is it safe to nudge a child? When do motivation and encouragement turn into unhealthy pressure? When does it become unbearable? Why do parents lose perspective? At what point do the marksheet and college prospects become more important than the child's happiness? How do you know for sure whether your child isn't trying hard enough or is genuinely unable to cope? Why don't parents make it a habit of talking to their children so it never reaches the point where communication is so broken down that they can't even sense their child might be dangerously depressed?

Those questions are relevant when it comes to academic pressure. But what left me baffled and terrified was the suicide by an 11-year-old girl who had participated in three reality TV dance shows. Neha's parents had apparently pulled her out of the dance academy she used to attend because they thought enough was enough and it was time she got back to focusing on her studies. These are parents who had allowed their child to follow her dreams. It was just a drastic reaction by their daughter to finally hearing a "No" from her parents.

But that "No" becomes essential at some point. Any parent knows that saying "No" takes a lot more strength than capitulating to your child's demands.

My kids read the newspapers and must have noticed this report. I have to make sure they understand that what Neha did was silly, that she unnecessarily cut short a life that could have been full of joy and success.

I suppose it's easy to say these things when it hasn't happened to you. Easy to sit in judgement. I can't imagine what the parents of the children who ended their lives are going through. They will probably carry a crushing burden of guilt for the remainder of their time. A few days ago they wouldn't have imagined such a thing could happen to them, as we can't now. But it does happen. And, as parents, it is our responsibility to learn to recognise the signs. Learn to take a step back and reassess priorities when our children seem to be floundering. Keep communicating with our kids. It isn't a one-time lesson. It has to be learnt and practised over and over again. I hope I never forget this.

Sick to the Gill

So where the hell does he get off insinuating that liberated women can have no claim to their "modesty"? So-called retired "Supercop" K.P.S. Gill - him also of bum-slapping infamy - said so quite plainly while appearing on a television debate about India's attitude towards molestation.

Cases of molestation are suddenly in the media spotlight in India after a former senior police officer was convicted of sexual misconduct against a schoolgirl (who later committed suicide) nearly two decades ago. But the sentence slapped on S.P.S. Rathore was a horrifying light one - six months in the slammer and a paltry fine of Rs. 1,000. The prosecution did not make a case of abetment to suicide against him even though Ruchika Girhotra's family fought hard for it.

Also in focus has been a German minor's rape in Goa in which a minister's son is the main accused. And the alleged molestation of an airhostess by three players of Goa's prestigious Churchill Brothers football club.

So NDTV 24/7's We The People debate was about whether Indians have a very casual attitute towards molestation (which, I feel, they do). After all, in this land a girl/woman feeling completely violated after being pawed or groped against her will is described merely as being a victim of "eve teasing". And on this debate appeared Mr. Gill, who was convicted of "outraging the modesty" of bureaucrat Rupan Deol Bajaj at a party in 1988. A drunk Gill had allegedly patted her behind.

Gill said anti-rape/molesation laws were being grossly misused. I suppose he meant against poor, innocent, saintly men who never so much as ogled a woman. He said - now I can't regurgitate his exact words, but this was the gist - a woman can't claim to be liberated on the one hand and object to having her modesty outraged on the other! Now where's the connection, Mr. Gill? If a woman goes out into the world and builds a career on the basis of her diligence and competence, does she become fair game for every man with a glad eye and wandering paw? Is it too much for her to expect to go through life without having her bum slapped or grazed, breast brushed against or sexually explicit remarks muttered as she passes? That is really, really crass, Mr. Gill. And this from a decorated retired policeman!

Most women in Indian cities have suffered molestation to some degree, especially if they use public transport. Men will brush against you or try to grope you in crowded buses and trains. They will flash you even in open, public places or masturbate in plain view on lonely avenues. I can personally vouch for this. It happens for a few fleeting seconds but leaves you feeling sickeningly violated. There's not much you can do. Who do you report? You've never before seen the molester and probably won't again. So you shrug it off as yet another nightmare and get on with your life even though you feel rage and outrage in equal measure, at least for a while.

I hope Gill is reincarnated as a liberated woman. I'd kill to know how his avatar feels after being sexually harassed.

The 'wind' beneath their wings

This is turning into a total mommy blog, isn't it? But then bringing up the kids is my primary occupation for now, so I suppose it's justified. Anyway, I'm my own boss. Any occasional reader of this blog will just have to suffer my whim if he or she chooses not to navigate away from this page instantly.

So my boys are completely obsessed with all things wind-related. Burps and farts, either genuine or feigned, are constantly echoing through our home. (No, our home doesn't smell foul. Thankfully the builder has designed an extremely well ventilated apartment). And then come the giggles, which are terribly infectious. So any attempt from either my hubby or me to sternly tell the boys that this isn't acceptable behaviour comes to nought because a hint of a smile invariably escapes.

Recently our older son had to undergo a minor medical procedure, after which the doctors asked him whether he had "passed" gas, urine and stools. He couldn't get over it! Now he very religiously informs me each time, "Mama, I just passed gas", and then dissolves into giggles.

They laugh hardest each time they make me recite a Sanskrit shloka (it isn't genuine, guys) about the supposed hierarchy of farts. I learnt this at my dad's knee and have dutifully passed the wisdom on to my children. Padakasya dhadaak raja, Tasya mantri tuntuni, Phushphushayya malaya gandha, Nishshabde praan hantika. For the sake of dignity, if there's any remaining, I will refrain from translating. (Incidentally, a version of this appeared in the new hit film 3 Idiots).

Another thing that's caught my kids' fancy is pretending to be hurt in the crotch. There's much show of cupping the groin, doubling over and writhing in imagined agony. After watching Kung Fu Panda again recently, they've taken to doing all that and then moaning "oooh, my tenders" just like Jack Black does as the voice of the animation film's lead character Po, the giant panda.

Something else my boys can't get enough of is saying chaddi, which is the Hindi word for underwear. Their twist on the old childhood ditty goes thus: Akkad bakkad bambe bo, assi nabbe pure sau, sau se nikla dhaga, chaddi leke bhaga! One day they came home from school and asked me, what's the full form of C.H.I.N.A.? Chaddi hanging is not allowed!

And their attempts to develop original jokes continue. Just this afternoon Kabir, my older one, asked me, which author is really deep? Malcolm Gladwell! (I was reading Gladwell's 'What the Dog Saw', so it was on my bedside table.) Raghav too has now met with some success in his attempts at being original. Where do ostriches live? Os-tralia! Which cars do octopuses drive? Oct-avia (Skoda)! Not bad for a six-year-old, eh?

Oh, to fall ill in peace

Some years ago an ex-colleague asked me what I missed most about life before children. I had just been through a harrowing week of nursing two kids with the flu and was feeling pretty poorly myself. After thinking a bit I responded, "I miss the luxury of falling ill in peace"!

He must have thought I'd turned into a total crackpot. I know that at first this sounds completely outrageous. But think about it. When you're a mom, you're never off duty. I mean, NEVER. Not even when you're sick as a dog. There's just no scope for quiet R&R.

Visits to the paediatrician are frighteningly regular for the first three years of a child's life. Kids seem to catch a bug just by looking at an ill child. And when you're looking after them all day and night, you're bound to catch it too at least 50 percent of the time. Predictably, it's all about getting the kids better. Though my husband helps out a lot, he just can't be around all the time. And when every bone, sinew and joint aches while you're calming your feverish baby, you wish you could just lock yourself away in a quiet room and lie down in total silence for a couple of hours. Unfortunately, that's one thing you just cannot do.

I used to miss other things that were part of my life before motherhood. A career, late nights out, drinking without a care, sleeping in on weekends, putting my interest first. But I traded those in for familial bliss and now their absence in my life hardly bothers me. But every time ill health comes calling, I miss the luxury of recuperating in peace. Aaah, to be able to lie in bed and take a few days to recover. Give the body a well-deserved break. Let the mind drift. Savour the khichdi and chicken broth. Do nothing. Nothing at all.

But now life can't be put on hold despite illness. There are mouths to feed, lunches to pack, school runs to make, rooms to tidy, clothes to wash, homework to supervise, TV viewing to regulate, fights to break up, arguments to conclude. It's hard enough doing all that without having a runny nose, leaden head, breaking back, cramping uterus and wobbly legs. So imagine what it's like with all that, and more.

Cause without caution

Many have done crazy things for charity or to promote a cause. And in most cases the end justifies the means. People have skydived, run, hitchhiked, cycled, walked, roller-bladed, rolled, driven, baked, sung, danced, stitched, knitted, written, raced snails (yes, you read it right!), auctioned themselves, climbed mountains, dated, shaved beards, walked dogs, eaten, kissed and swum - all for a good cause.

But when I read this morning that a man drove blindfolded from Patiala to Chandigarh to promote India-Pakistan friendship, I thought it a bit much. Is there really need for such recklessness to get a message across? The driver, 30-year-old Bhatinda resident Harpreet Pappu, had a skilled navigator to guide him through the 60-km route. But still, what he did could endanger others using the same road.

If the blindfolded driving was meant as a metaphor for the extremely complex relationship between the twin nations of India and Pakistan, I laud the man's creativity and sense of humour. But was there any need to put lives in danger to promote the cause of peace? The Indian Express quoted Pappu as saying that people flocked to his car - decorated with the Indian and Pakistani flags - through the route, but he kept the speed in check for the sake of safety. And he apparently had a very loud motorbike lead the way so he could follow its sound.

Mercifully, things went off without incident. But it could easily have gone wrong. I can understand and salute daredevilry when people risk their own lives for a good cause. But I have to draw the line at putting others in peril. That's just plain stupid and should not be encouraged.

Sweaty feet, keep your shoes on

This is for all those who suffer sweaty feet. Please, please, for the sake of others who are cursed with strong olfactory senses, keep your shoes on in an air-conditioned cinema theatre!

This past Christmas was movie marathon day for my husband, our kids and I. We first watched James Cameron's Avatar in 3D and were completely blown away. For me that is indeed strange because I detest sci-fi as a genre. Epic fantasy and science fiction buffs, please don't take this personally. It's just a matter of taste. So here we were watching this epic unfold with three-dimensional impact when someone seated behind us decided to take his/her shoes off. That dampened the experience for us to quite an extent. How can one concentrate completely on a film when the senses are assaulted by the vile smell of someone's sweaty feet?

Feet prone to sweating are a fairly common problem, especially in a humid climate like Mumbai has. And those who suffer it have a really difficult time. But they are fully aware of their condition and should at least not subject others to the torture of a stinky movie theatre! Please, please, please keep your shoes on in air-conditioned, public spaces.

If that wasn't enough, those foul-smelling cheese popcorns seemed to find a lot of takers during the same show. So it was a double whammy. The combined stench, arrested and circulated by the air-conditioners, was overpowering. I had to sit through most of the film with my shawl clasped over the nose, held in place by the 3D glasses!

Thankfully we were spared a similar experience at the second film we watched (3 Idiots, which is a complete hoot and we all loved). It was a different multiplex theatre where the air was unmolested by sweaty feet. Phew.