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Civic sense, now whats that?!

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Laws are obeyed, rules are followed, but in this age of hyper-individualism, is that unspoken, unwritten code of conduct termed civic sense becoming a dying art? Or do we still have time to salvage some remnants? Causes and effects are plenty, but at the receiving end of such apathy are those who still value empathy as one of the guiding lights of life, and for them its absence stings, just as it does for me. Take the example of the maddening evening crowd in the metros of Dubai. The government has done a fabulous job of connecting every nook and corner of the land with a state-of-the-art metro service that is user-friendly, sleek, and reliable, programmed at regular intervals to match the surge of commuters. That’s when we find those adamant ladies who won’t budge an inch from the doorstep. Those getting in either need to know a little bit of acrobatics or muster immense strength and agility to push past these human pillars. It is not because they can’t move in or need to exit at the...
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Feathered vs weathered

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 Uprooted plants, portulacas  dismembered , torn leaves- off late my garden witnessed mysterious attacks which had me baffled . No amount of arranging and rearranging or repotting, had an impact. The Sherlock Holmes in me , looked for clues and could find none. I decided to keep a vigil during the day and positioned myself on the sofa to get a full view of my balcony .   Before long, a handsome hunk, adorned in  astonishing multicolours, appeared . After an end to end inspection of my plants, with a look that said, "uff, cant she have some exotic ones instead of the obvious Portulacas or Vincas,," he started plucking them. No, 'plucking them' would be an understatement, he was pulling it the same way I shred the coconut with my hands, with all my might.. My heart froze in icy horror for a second. My babies, my precious , much looked after plants were suffering. Then regaining my wits, I jumped up from my cozy sofa and with a war cry , ran out in to the swelterin...
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P for privacy

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    Back in the 90s, while in college, "a family that ate together... ", was the norm. Privacy was not a word often uttered, let alone having any importance in simple middle class households. A room to yourselves, even if you lived in a fairly large three bedroom house, was not very common. Closing the door to the room and staying most of your waking hours in your own utopia was a big taboo. So, I studied in a bedroom which had a study table and which ensured that I was in tune with the day-to-day household happenings. My concentration power depended on my interest in studies. Everything happened in tandem with the inner and outer microcosm.    And in the ladies hostel where I was put up, space was at a premium. Three narrow beds occupied the whole of the room and the rest held our bags and other paraphernalia, a small curtain with just enough space behind, to extend folded hands was all the privacy we could have. But, that closed space ensured a little world in...
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Little did I know , I would be next!

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Life prior to the pandemic for me, was pretty chilled, like for many others. And like them I learnt many lessons from the many experiences told and retold by those affected ,  which I vowed will make my life better. Armed with the words of caution from my doctor husband and the volumes of information that the media and the internet provided, not to mention the number of seminars and campaigns attended, I was sure that I was following what my husband coined, SMS, which stands for soap/sanitizer, mask and social distancing. In the month of January 2021, when many were still hesitating to take the vaccine, we boldly got ourselves vaccinated. We did not  have  any post vaccine discomforts. But things turned topsy turvy when a few days later, my husband started complaining of burning sensation all over the body, along with slight fever. Around the same time, I also started feeling quite weak and lethargic.    We booked the RTPCR test and we were sure that it would ...
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A SLAP to wake you up

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Oh! You have " wife " problems, quipped my husband in the most sarcastic of tones , to a friend experiencing Wi-Fi issues, while on a zoom meeting. I , backed by years of experience, chose to smile it off .         But it set me thinking. Covid -19 and the ensuing world wide turmoil and unrest has left me quite introspective these days! But this time the thinking process was powered by the movie " Thappad" which had left a deep impression on my sensibilities.May be as a homemaker for whom the home is the pivotal point, I could relate a lot to many of the instances in the movie. A doormat, a sounding board - that is what often a homemaker is. The 'thappad' in the movie may be physical , but often for a homemaker it could be years of collected emotions , a residue of many incidents and instances,  that triggers one  volcanic eruption . Bound by affection, instincts and duty you forget yourself and toil on for years. It might have often left you restless ...
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My Bff.. my art

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A fleeting moment translated  on to a canvas, a thought that germinated in my mind and blossomed into words, a bead that caught my attention and made me entwine it into a necklace… ART for me is a piece of myself, my thoughts and ideas getting concrete shape and attaining eternity.      As a young mother to be, I found myself quite alone, when I first entered UAE, the land of myriad hues and cultures. To combat loneliness I used to doodle on the Paint brush tool on my desktop computer. Slowly I explored around and found the little stores selling art and craft materials. It opened whole new vistas of glass painting, emboss painting etc. which I had not found back home in India. As years slipped by, the ups and downs of life and the enforced responsibilities of a mother and wife often had me pining for the much needed ME time which were huge consolations emotionally. The stolen moments from the mundanities were dedicated to drawing and painting. My ART was my savi...
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     Habitually, these days while working in the kitchen, I switch on a Malayalam news channel on youtube , not only to keep myself abreast with the current affairs in Gods Own Country , but also to get rid of the monotony  of the routine.The moment a channel is selected along with the nonchalant face of the news reader ,comes the garlands of comments in the section below. My instantaneous reaction is to switch those off as it is nothing but negativity filled hate dialogues in the choicest of Malayalam words.      What has happened to malayalees ethics and civic sense? I know, its an oft repeated question! I know malayalees are a highly responsive lot. But there is something called a language etiquette. the comments section on any social media platform , be it Facebook, twitter or channels like YouTube , the replies and responses are nauseating. I fail to understand , why such insanely vulgar words should be used , when the same response with e...
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