My home situated in the middle of the fields and has floodlights on all four sides. Due to the heavy rains, there were lifeless bodies of thousands of ‘parwane*’ or light moths that had fallen over my car and many more circling towards the light.

But before all this, let me first explain what is ‘Parwana’ (‘Parwane’ is plural). Parwana is basically a moth that gets attracted to light. In fact, it is so crazy for the light that it goes around the light in circles and sometimes, does it so violently that it hits the warm light, burns itself, especially its wings and that causes its immediate and instant death.

Scientifically, Parwane is aligned with the light of the moon for navigation. However, as the moon is far away, they do not burn themselves and this helps then to navigate. Further, when they see another source of light, they get confused and instead take it as a source of navigation, and leads to their instant death because of it.

Urdu poetry, over the decades has made the concept of Parwana extremely romantic and made their death symbolise a sacrifice for love. The ‘light’ for which they are ready to burn is love and ‘Parwane’ represents the lover. They are so committed towards love that if it means giving their life, then they are ready to do even that too.

There are many popular Hindi language songs that depict this.

For example:The singer Kishore Kumar’s song “Pyaar deewana hota hai, mustana hota hai”

“Shama kahen parwane se pare chala jaye
Meri tarah jal jayega, yehan nahi aa”

(Translated as: The light tells the Parwana to move aside or it too will end up burning)

Or Kishore Kumar’s “Pal Pal dil ke paas”

“tum sochogi kyon itna mein tumse pyaar karu,
tum samzogi deewana, mein bhi ikraar karu,
deewano ki ye batein, deewane jante hai,
jalne mein kya maza hai parwane jante hai,
tum yuhi jalate rehna aa aa kur khwabon mein.”

(Translated as: You might be thinking of why I love you so much but my romantic lover words are similar to a Parwana knows the pleasure of burning itself. I want you to come into my dreams and burn me in the same way.)

The question is that the real love of ‘Parwana’ is forgotten. The moon is substituted for the false lights and the poor thing is confused finding for its real love.

What is more unfortunate in this death- that the Parwana sacrificed himself for something he did not mean to be his or that he could never even know whether his true love ‘the moon’ ever even know his name.

As Osho Rajneesh quotes it – the beauty between naiveness and trust is that of the self; a naïve one is hurt by the smallest discomfort while a trusting one gives himself away for what was never his with a smile.

*Parwane is an Urdu/Parsi language word (also commonly used in Hindi) and is used for moths that are attracted to light. They are usually known to be common during the monsoon season

The post THE SUICIDE OF PARWANA (MOTH) first appeared on Whomsoever.

Do you feel the pressure mounting when you are rushing the entire morning- wake up to the horrendous sound of the alarm after snoozing it a few times, get up and prepare meals, deal with the house-help if you have one, get the kids ready and drop them off to school, hurriedly rush to the office in the morning traffic and then start your work day in the same fashion.

Can you even faintly hear the words- reflect, think and contemplate in this entire routine. Is it even just to yourself to start your day in this manner and continue the same way? So, here is my solution to the problem- something that I had experienced during my school days.

I had the opportunity of studying in quite a few schools of different cultures and one thing that I notice in few of the schools was the concept of a home-room period. It is basically a 40–45-minute time window where the attendance is taken, important announcements made, events communicated etc. It is also a time where students can complete their pending tasks and prepare for the day– e.g. If a student is absent on the previous day, he/she can catch up on what they had missed the previous day. Some students would make use of the time to study for a quiz or test that was scheduled later that day.

In my view, this home-room period brought all the students to a level of calm- whatever hurried state they must have faced before coming into the school; the home-room period got everyone to the same equal platform of equanimity.

In those days, many students felt that the home-room period was futile and they could instead use the time to sleep or come a little later to the school. True, in that world perhaps that thought was true. Today, I reflect back on the home-room period and can’t help but deeply appreciate the concept behind it.

The truth is we all need a home-room at the start of our day at work. Do you think you deserve to disrespect yourself or your job with this haste? We need a home away from home at our workplaces too. A short window (perhaps 10-15 minutes) is required so that everyone at work is at the similar levels of equanimity and calm at the start of the day. Yes, to experience this homeroom, you would have to wake up 10 minutes earlier.

However, if the choice is an entire day’s calm for 10 minutes of sleep- is it not worth the trade?

The post SOLUTION TO STRESS- HOMEROOM first appeared on Whomsoever.

Just when I climb up to the point to be worthy of shaking your hand- you just vanish as if you never existed. And then what? I feel abandoned without the burden of you on my heart and the weight of you in my thoughts- did I deserve to be orphaned in this manner? From one foster home to another, I find shelter in your shadows.

No, I won’t compare one with the other- I would label you as big or small problem. However, you are –

I deserve you and you, me.

My forefathers too have worked hard to be able to achieve you, but in so many centuries, it is I who has had the chance to keep you company.

My problems are my ancestors wishes (and maybe for many others, even today):

A few illustrations of the same:

• Today- I have a pile of clothes to wash.
• Ancestors- Thank God I have two sets of clothes- now I can wash what I am wearing.

• Today- I don’t know what to eat
• Ancestors – I am grateful for the meal tonight.

• Today- How much more do I have to study?
• Ancestors- I wish I could study and learn more

• Today – I have so many tasks to complete at work.
• Ancestors- I am glad I have a job in hand.

My ancestors must be looking down upon me smiling at the plethora of problems that I have or have created for myself. They must be thinking that I have never given this girl all these assets, so how did she manage to earn them from scratch. Well, for that, I declare that my problems are my assets. If they go away, they leave me in peace and if they decide to stay for a while, they make me learn to adjust around them. Your absence and presence both are assets. I have finally taken the leap and have grown-up- I have learnt the art to live both with and without you, my dearest problems.

The post MY PROBLEMS ARE MY ASSETS first appeared on Whomsoever.

Imagine it is 12:30pm in the afternoon and your spouse or old parents or little children call you while you are engrossed in your work to say that there is a weird person at your doorstep asking questions for a survey. All other things aside- what would you rather prefer? – that the weird person is a man or a woman?

In my personal experience of handling large scale surveys, I find that it is far simpler for a woman to get information and collect data in household surveys than a man. The reasons are quite intuitive:

Women are perceived to be far more trustworthy

The members of the house look up at the female data collector or enumerator and volunteer to provide more information. House-wives feel more comfortable chit-chatting in their morning attire talking to a woman. Old members of the household even go as far as asking questions about the well-being of the lady guest, looking at her with the eyes of awe. Children feel less afraid of approaching our heroine enumerator.

The ‘Woman Card’

Often times, there is a feeling of pity (whether we like it or not), when the society sees a female roaming around from house to house, knocking at doors requesting for data. There have been many instances, when male data collectors are turned away right at the doorstep. However, when a female data collector comes or accompanies the male data collector – the person opening the door feels obliged to at least hear out the purpose of visit.

Capturing the smaller details

If you are a woman reading this article- have you ever tried gossiping with a man? If you have, then were you able to get the minutest details that are so essential for a productive gossip session? Because knowing these minor details let alone asking for them is not considered to be manly; thus when a male data collector actually asks the minute details that are so essential for a household survey – all he gets is raised eyebrows and the side-eye. At the end, these are the ‘smaller details’ that make the difference in the quality of data. If the requirement is getting into the minor details, you will not find better data collectors than women.

Of course, there are many facets to hiring women data collectors – the survey planning needs to be done in such a way so as to ensure the safety of the staff; others involve grouping them in pairs or organising them so that they are in areas that are geographically closer.

The hardest part of any statistical survey, my dear, is getting your foot in the door – it’s the knocking on the door, gaining entry, building trust and striking up a conversation -and all this in a matter of seconds.

In a society tainted by many socio-economic and cultural factors, where women might seem as the weaker sex, it is this very assumption that makes the first and the hardest step a cakewalk for women – getting your foot in the door – the first opportunity to better data quality.

I do not imply that this will always be the case – obviously, it can change too. Perhaps the same logic that is used while arguing to ensure a better society for women comes into play here. It is when the society would seem easy for a woman to live in; let’s say step out at midnight alone- it is that very day that male data collectors will be accepted with a little more proportion of trust. Isn’t it counter-intuitive; making the society safer for women is the ticket to making men better data collectors?

The post WHY WOMEN ARE BETTER DATA COLLECTORS? first appeared on Whomsoever.

An elderly lady opened the small wooden door, asked what we wanted and when satisfied called us in. She spread a jute mat and seated us on it. She saw sweat beads on our foreheads and then went into the corner of her one-room home to the earthen clay pot (known as ‘matka’ or ‘surai’ in Hindi and ‘kunda’ or ‘khuja’ in Telugu). She fetched two glasses of water and brought it to us.

God in heaven! I swear that day I saw you that day the moment this elixir touched my mouth and throat.

It was not cold; it was not room temperature as that would be warm in this summer heat. It has just the right coolness- as if this water understood the temperament of your mouth- it was just perfect.

To talk about the taste….it was a taste to die for. All the big names in the mineral water industry would perish in front of this heavenly taste.

While offering us this water, the woman said:

“Amma, fridge ledu. Kunda neel e taguu.” (Amma, there is no fridge. Drink water of clay pot.)

Refrigerator! No I am not against technology. However, can water from a fridge compete with this water?

The lady was kind-hearted, we finished canvassing our schedule and also had a glimpse of her simple life. We left her home but the taste and smell of this water stayed with me.

The concept of clay pot is modernized today. There are also clay bottles, water clay jugs and utensils.

I used to carry with me a clay pot to work and would encounter both smiles and stares. The older colleagues would look at me with eyes full of wonder and shock- is this to be considered modern or something from their time.

There are various advantages of drinking from a clay pot:

• It maintains the pH balance of water
• Adds minerals to the water
• Water stored is toxin free
• As the water becomes cool but not cold, there are fewer chances of you developing a sore throat.

The details of any survey data are confidential- however, I would thank that elderly lady who had opened her door and heart to me. Thanks to her- every summer, I purchase a clay container and consume water from it.

This summer- a clay jug it is!

The post THE COOL CLAY POT first appeared on Whomsoever.

There are various methods in which this oil is poured over different parts of the body. Not only the variety of reasons, but also a number of reasons of undergoing pizhichil. These involve patients with joint pains, back pain, musko-skeleton issues, skin issues, respiratory issues etc. More often than not, pizhichil is customised as per your needs. Apart from all these, pizhichil also helps in relaxation and detoxification.

I had my first experience of pizhichil a few months ago as a result of participating in a yoga cum ayurvedic rejuvenation camp.

Undoubtedly, the process during the process is relaxing and comforting. However, the real effect of Pizhichil is known after the completion of the entire procedure.

Usually, after any oil therapy, it is prescribed to avoid taking bath for 30-45 minutes to avoid sudden temperature changes. It is exactly these 30-45 minutes that feels like heaven. The state of no-thinking sets in and you can feel not being able to think absolutely anything for the next half an hour. It gives a feeling of being afloat in water.

There is no happiness, no sadness, no anger, no regrets, no remorse- just pure being.

Pizhichil means ‘squeezing’ in Malayalam language and this procedure squeezes out all the garbage from your system. This ancient technique is a recommended.*

*subject to the advice of the doctor

The post PIZHICHIL – beyond the mind experience first appeared on Whomsoever.

Late His Majesty The Sultan Qaboos bin Said Al Said established the Sultanate of Oman in 1970 and ruled his Sultanate up to his untimely demise in 2020. (His demise can only be untimely; you can never be ready for the death of such a noble man)

I was introduced to the word Sultan not through fairy tales or movies. In the years that I lived in Oman, I thought there can be only one Sultan; so much so that Qaboos Bin Said and Sultan both were synonymous. Until I came across other Sultans in my history textbook, I didn’t think that any other person could be called a Sultan. Such was his aura and the warmth of his Sultanate.

There are many stories about the kindness and humility of the late Sultan. Here, however, as a citizen of the country India, I am narrating one particular incident.

In 1994, the then Indian President Mr. Shankar Dayal Sharma visited Muscat, Oman. Most nations follow certain protocols during the reception of the Head of the State. However, when the Indian President landed in Oman, all protocols were broken and broken by none other but the Sultan himself.

It is said that the Late Sultan Qaboos bin Said climbed up the stairs of the aeroplane that carried the Indian President. Later both together descended from the flight. In the usual protocol, the Sultan is not to receive any foreign leader at the airport but in his palace. In this case, however, the Sultan not just arrived at the airport to greet the President but also mounted the stairs of the flight.

Later, while explaining the incident, the Sultan said that he was not just receiving the Indian President but also receiving his teacher for whom he held high reverence. Yes! The Sultan was a student of the Mr. Sharma during his student days in Pune, India. This act was to show his gratitude towards his teacher.

Over the years, the Sultan had showed great kindness to the people from foreign lands and expatriates. He allowed places of worship of other religions other than the religion of Oman, just so that the expatriate population could feel at home. He also allowed for construction of different schools by other nations. During the time of my stay in Oman, I remember at least 12 Indian schools running.

It is because of these Indian Schools that so many of the Indian students could reside with their families and receive the best education as per the standards of their country.

Dear Sultan, I am sure that your professor Mr. Sharma would be extremely proud of you not just because you had received him so honorably but also because of the respect and kindness you had shown to his countrymen.

Mr. Sharma might have taught you during your student days and made you a better statesperson but you have repaid that debt a thousand-fold by allowing the culture of inclusivity in your Sultanate.

As you are no more, I can’t say, ‘Long Live the Sultan!’, but I can say this:

‘Dear Sultan, Your Majesty, thank you for your kindness.’

The post HIS MAJESTY – THE SULTAN first appeared on Whomsoever.

Courage, however, found me, and this weekend I picked up this book once again to read. As the words ‘graphic novel’ has been mentioned in the title, let me first state that graphic novels are not the same as comics. Graphics novels have a reality of their own. Certain souls cannot contain themselves either through the written word or through their drawings – Craig Thompson, the author of Blankets is one such soul. Essentially, I believe, the concept of graphic novels has come into existence for such noble souls.

What a brilliant job Craig Thompson has done in creating this masterpiece called Blankets! He has not just woven a story but also a little bit of himself into this book.

Coming to the storyline- Blankets is a coming-of-age story, the transformation of a young bullied boy into an aloof teenager and finally into a grown-up man. It tells the story of his childhood and of his first love Raina; not just through words but also pictures.

An aloof young boy called Craig (coincidentally the same name as the author), who is often bullied feels he is not able to stand up for himself or anybody else. He immerses himself in the Church and its activities. However, over time he does not find a sense of community even in Church service. One day at a Church camp he meets Raina and they click immediately.

He later spends a short vacation with Raina and her breaking family. He is completely absorbed in his relationship. After the vacation ends, he returns to his home and tries to keep the fire in his heart alive, but they drift apart. He slowly he becomes aware of the other side of her- the part that he had not learnt to love.

Thus, after graduation, he calls her and says,

“I have called to say goodbye.”

She asks,

“But, where are you going?”

He says,

“I am not going anywhere.”

Only a broken and stitched heart can feel the pain of Craig. The scars always remain to remind.

The book is very beautifully written and drawn – it depicts his inner turmoil through the stories of the Bible. The book ends with him finally able to grow up- from the shackles of childhood, youth and religion.

I, sometimes wonder, how Craig Thompson can live with that pain and longing in his heart and I turn to my own heart and realise …. That Craig Thompson has written and illustrated his story on paper whereas I could not, yet. I find a bit of my heart in those 582 pages. Perhaps that’s what soulful books do – acts as a mirror to your own soul.

The post BLANKETS: a graphic soulful novel first appeared on Whomsoever.

He was one of the van/bus/cab aggregators responsible for transporting students between home and school. Not just an aggregator, but like a true businessman, he worked himself and was a driver too.

He hailed from the town of Mangalore in India. Flora Aunty, his wife also supported him in this business. They had two children who resided and studied back home in India.

Michael Uncle was extremely punctual and trusted person and was recommended by many to me for pick-up and drop services from my home to school and back. My father and I met him, and he explained his business and the timing for pick-up and drop.

We mainly heard him speak two languages to his customers and employees- English and Arabic. Of course, with his wife he conversed in Konkani. With us students, he mainly spoke in English. His English was a Shakespearean marvel. He hardly knew about 50-100 words in the English language but the way he used those words, he could communicate anything in the entire universe. For those of you who think, perfect grammar and fat vocabulary is required to communicate; Michael Uncle will prove you wrong to ashes.

Michael Uncle was not just an excellent communicator but a storyteller. He was a very talkative person- he spoke so much that white saliva would accumulate at the corners of his lips and as and when he became aware of it, he wiped his mouth.

On our first meeting, he said he was never late and he never took a day-off. My father asked him- but school is only 5-day week from Sunday to Thursday. (Islamic countries of West Asia had Friday as a part of the weekend; thus, weekend was either Friday and Saturday in some countries or Thursday and Friday in others).

In his reply, he told the story of ‘Modern Mummies’. He said:

“Modern mummy send child to school 5 day. Then weekend come- modern mummy send child to swimming class, piano class- child busy and modern mummy going to gym, beauty and shopping. Mummy-child busy so Michael busy- Michael no weekend. Michael get extra money and send India.”

Didn’t I tell you – you don’t need vocabulary or grammar for story telling; you need imagination and a heart of gold.

Anyway, everyday my father and I would wait for the arrival of Michael Uncle’s van at the designated spot near our building (since school timings in West Asia begin at 7 pm; the transport arrives in the early hours of the morning). While waiting; invariably my father would be reading the newspaper – either Oman Observer or Oman Tribune. I, of course, would peep into the newspaper, for I enjoy reading the newspaper when it is held wide by someone else! Michael Uncle would come, greet my father while I took my seat in the van. This continued for many months and became a routine.

Then came the time for the dreaded Class 12 Board exams. I was one of the few students who had opted for Commerce branch of study and my timetable was different from most of the other students. Thus, to inform my timetable to Michael Uncle, I called him a fortnight before my board exams, but his phone was not reachable. Attending school was optional at that time and these days were mainly considered as study holidays so I couldn’t meet Michael Uncle even at school. Further, as I never took any extra tuition classes, I couldn’t connect with him.

While we were just considering some other means of transport, Michael Uncle had called my father and informed him that another driver would be arranged just for me (as my timetable was different) and that he wouldn’t be able to come himself. He hung up without giving any reasons.

The driver that he sent was Salman who was from Bangladesh. As if he had imbibed some of Michael Uncle’s genes, he too always arrived dot on time during my Board exam days. He would take me and bring me back from the exams and would never be late. Salman did not know the whereabouts of Michael Uncle.

The board exams were over but there was no sign of Michael Uncle. His phone too was not reachable. I wondered where he suddenly disappeared.

Meanwhile, during this period, the Omani government began the implementation of Omanisation- a government strategy aiming at replacing 50% of expatriate population in all skilled and technical jobs. This economic strategy would ensure that the Omani youth were not unemployed while reducing Oman’s dependency on its expatriate population.

Then one day, out of the blue, Michael Uncle got in touch with my father and explained that he wanted to give thousand books to us. He said he would come on the weekend.

A thousand books! Why?

Michael Uncle arrived the following weekend and as soon as he arrived- we asked him not about the books but about his sudden absence. Where was he all these days? He replied:

“Sir, Ominisation happening. Police say- you Al Hind (الهند – India is called ‘Al Hind’ in Arabic). You no drive car business- but I drive car- I drop and pick up children- one day police catch me- police put me jail – I out now.”

It was sad to hear all this; about how he suffered. One thing did not change- his smile and his attitude towards life. Being the storyteller that he was, he even narrated stories about his brief stay in jail.

Michael Uncle said that when he had called me few days before my board exam to inform about the new driver, he was just caught by the police. However, he wanted to make sure that I had no trouble during the board exams and requested the Omani police to hand him over his phone so he could plan transportation for the children towards whom he owed responsibilities.

Of all the things that Michael Uncle could gave done when he was in police custody- he decided that a 16-year-old girl’s board examination was more important than his arrest in a foreign land. Just as you promised me during our first meeting – even in your absence you were never late.

Then, he showed part of the thousand books he brought, as all could not be adjusted in a single trip in his vehicle. We asked him why he was giving us these?

He said these books were left back by a British expatriate who worked with a petroleum company and he had had to suddenly leave the country. He told Michael that he cannot take these books back to his home country and that he should take care of them. Michael then said:

“I watch you two read newspaper waiting me in morning- you think book important- you take care of books- so I give to you. You Ustaad (Professor in Arabic is called Ustaad (أستاذ) and father worked as professor in those days). You no give Rial (Omani currency)- you take book.”

Michael Uncle could have easily sold these books for a few more Rials (considering his arrest affected his earnings) but his 100-word vocabulary was enough for him to understand the importance to knowledge.

These were no ordinary books – perhaps the British expat was an ardent reader because it was clear that these were carefully collected books over years.

I returned to India for higher studies after the declaration of the results of my 12^th Board examinations. During my visit in summer vacations, I learnt that Michael Uncle was caught a few more times by the police.

I wonder if I will ever be able to meet the angel called Michael Uncle in this lifetime. ‘Thank you’ will be a very insignificant word for you. You thought about me at a time when even sane people forget their senses- in police custody.

Michael Uncle, we still have the thousand books that you gave us. We have built a library that grows each year. Every time I pick up a book from the books that you gave me, I remember your smiling face and eyes. Thank you for your thousand blessings.

Yes, I wonder whether I will ever be able to be able to do justice to your thousand books; if I will ever be able to read them in this lifetime of mine….

May God bless you Michael Uncle!

The post ANGEL MICHAEL UNCLE first appeared on Whomsoever.

Real Analysis is a branch of mathematics that deals with the study of sequences and series, mathematical functions and is also the foundation for calculus. (It is a different matter that calculus is often taught before real-analysis in the regular school/college curriculum)

I would, however, define real-analysis as anything but ‘real’; it does not deal with any real-world problem as the subject title misleads. All the concepts in the subject seem abstract and is a shock to the regular student of mathematics, who progressed through SAT-levels, under the impression that he/she knew math!

Anyway, if you happen to find yourself pursuing a course in mathematics or statistics or any other allied subjects- your fate is tied with such subjects.

The subject starts with theorems and will go on-and-on to define concepts to prove these theorems. To top it all; when you find yourself at the juncture of feeling to have understood these concepts and re-construct the proof of the theorem; you will find your vanity shattered into a thousand pieces when you read the proof of the theorem that – ‘It’s trivial’.

Yes, trivial! – of all the words that mathematicians could find to define a concept that’s intuitive or relatively simple- the word they choose to mock you – is trivial as if murdering your new-found ego.

There are certain other subjects similar to Real Analysis that also follow a similar pattern of mockery such as Linear Algebra, Abstract Algebra, Complex Analysis, Numerical Analysis, Topology etc. etc.

Anyway, while studying these courses, I recollect an incident that has stayed with me over the years.

Any lecture of theoretical mathematics or statistics involves extensive use of the white-board or black-board. I remember one professor at my graduate-school who wrote down a theorem and reconstructed the proof of the same on the black-board and was waiting for the students to understand it, perhaps write-it-down if they so wished and ask questions.

Strangely, whenever a particular student asked a query about a certain step; the professor would point at that step, take a few-steps away back from the blackboard and say,

“Let us stare at it for some time.”

What?! Stare at it?!

No explanations, no ifs, no buts, simply stare at it!

Not even, the usual mockery that we were accustomed to – ‘it’s trivial’! As if textbooks printing, ‘it’s trivial’ was not insulting enough, we had someone say, ‘stare at it’!

There were a few chuckles and giggles; but at the end we did that – we stared at it!

After a while, one of the students raised his/her hand and explained the step – sometimes it would be the same student who asked the query in the first place.

Thus, complex theoretical mathematical problems were solved not by referring to any fat books written by authors of repute or even by googling; they were solved by the simple technique of learning how to stare.

I laugh at my younger self who giggled at this phrase and thought, “ Stare karne se solve ho jayega kya? (will it be solved by staring?)”

I was too naïve to understand the depth of this phrase.

The truth is that staring is a universal mantra for problem solving. Please note the word is ‘stare’ and not ‘watch’ or ‘observe’. Staring means prolonged gazing or fixed look.

And just like that, when you find yourself staring; either one of two things can happen – either the answer becomes ‘trivial’ or you grow out of the problem.

After all these years, I have finally learnt the art of staring.

The post STARE AT IT FOR SOME TIME first appeared on Whomsoever.