Make me Beautiful!!

It was my first time in Thimphu, the capital of Bhutan.  Some other entries simply on the country and the conversation will be following shortly.  I had been in the country only 2 days.  I was home. For years, this country had been on my mind.  But even more when I watched the interview of Bhutan's information and Broadcasting Minister, in 1998, on CNN.  He was a Penn State Graduate.  I was attending the University then.  Till this day, Penn State, at least the town is the only place that I consider home.  I connect with people in India, in many ways, but the surroundings, where I feel calm and could simply breathe is State College, PA, 16801!! 

So, Bhutan was on my heart and mind for years.  

And then I arrived in Paro, Bhutan, and felt the same calm.  The town was so clean that I felt like I was part of the Dilip Kumar hit Suhana Safar..from the movie Madhumati.  I did not want to go anywhere, but I was told that Thimphu Teshu, a Bhutanese festival starts that weekend.  The capital was only an hour's drive away and there were plenty of shared taxis available.  I had met people a day ago, who had promised to help me while in town.  This is the beauty of small countries.  You arrive as a stranger and leave a family behind.  In a matter of a few hours, I was in the capital (the taxi stand in town was about 25 minute walk down the hill).  I called Mr. Chimmy and then waited.  The capital, bustling with energy, at least in comparison to Paro, which is like a small city with contained excitement.  With Thimphu Teshu around there were extra tourists in town.  Both my cameras were hanging around my neck and I tapped at people to stop so I could capture beautiful faces.  International entertainment media and advertising industry that completely ignores people who do not fall into their traditional category.  But I see beauty abound, especially as you leave the developed North America.  Beauty is everywhere, but in North America, people are conscious of it, may be even in big cities in India.  But in Bhutan, people have no idea of how beautiful they are.  They are simple, work hard, get optimum sleep and walk much!! Gentility of their souls reflect on their faces....So, I felt like a maniac looking around for faces to capture.  I saw this woman, obviously a southern Bhutanese (southern Bhutanese will have a nepali flavor to them..their jewelry is slightly different).  I pointed my camera at her and she stood still!! There, Kadhinchi!! (thankyou in Dzongkha!)

I noticed her red glass bangles, a speciality of India.  That is where they were first created. India always has a reason behind doing things.  Even though much is changing in  modern times, the lure of some things never fades.  Glass bangles, have been immortalized in songs and poems, along with 'bindi, the dot that women don, and anklets with bells.  One can find glass bangles jingling on the wrists of women in Pakistan and Bangladesh (both were a part of India until 1947 and 1971 respectively) and Nepal--or wherever they are exported.  But in South asia, they are a perpetual fashion!!  Here is what I found out on the net about the reason for wearing glass bangles.

3.2 Benefits of sound waves created by glass bangles

• Due to the subtle weapons emitted from the sound waves of the bangles, the motor organs of the woman are protected.
• The sattvikta (Sattva predominant) of the woman’s motor organs increases.
• A sheath of waves of Action-Energy (Kriya-Shakti) emitted by the bangles is generated around the woman’s body and she is protected from the negative energies.
• The Divine Energy Principle (Shakti-tattva) is activated in the woman and her body sheaths are purified; similarly, the premises too gets purified.  Click here for more

And then, when I was adjusting my camera, she tapped on my shoulder, I turned around to see that she had let her hair down!! She gestured toward herself--she wanted me to take her picture.  I did, and carried the innocence with which she asked me in my heart.  I could not stop smiling all day, just thinking about this woman, who I may never meet again. I did not ask her name.  She looked like she was a construction worker, and had little education, if any.  But like all women, she just wanted to be seen at her best!!

She did not ask me for the photograph, did not ask me to send it anywhere, she will never see it again, but what simplicity existed in that moment when she tapped me and gestured gently towards herself --so that I may capture her long hair and how feminine she looks with her hair down!!  

This post dedicated to all those nameless woman, who feel feminine but are not allowed to be seen that way, due to life's harshness or just their circumstances, who feel ignored and invisible--ladies--you should know, if a rose has bloomed, and died, it has done its job.  For its fragrance lingers in our hearts, and we expect to be delighted with that smell, with every rose that we smell--only because one rose smelled so good!! 

First Sunrise with Ouma/Aaji/Grandmother

First Sunrise with Grandmother: Bluff, Durban, South Africa, July 2012

For the five days that I stayed at Anstey's I made sure I watched the sunrise and the sunsets.  I have mentioned else place that I never tire of watching these two miracles of the day.  These sunsets and sunrises reminded me of Fiji, although it was too cold for Fiji.

This blessed morning I saw a 7 year old hopping along his grandmother.  I was reminded of my nephew.  And my craziness kicks in when I see children. Without fear I approach them, extend my hand either to shake or take them in my arms, depending on their size.

Here before I could say anything to the boy, his grandmother said, 'This is his first sunrise by the beach.  He is visiting me, so I wanted to make sure he did not miss it.'

Ah first sunrise!!  I asked his name. I have forgotten it now, but I remember telling him that it was a beautiful name.  I am putting this here for two reasons.  One, that he may find it sometime and see his first sunrise behind him in this picture.  Two, that others who read this are inspired to take a youngster, whether or not they are related to them for a sunrise viewing!!  I am sure the young ones will cherish it for years to come.

There is a scene in one of my favorite movies, 'The Namesake', when the father and son walk close to the ocean to take a picture of the sunset and realize that they forgot to bring the camera.  The father, played by Irfan says, 'Gogol will you remember this moment?  You have to remember this moment'

Little Gogol says, 'remember what?

'The day we came so far, that there was no more further to go' says the father and little Gogol nods.

(The words are not exact, you have to check out the movie for that).

Life is made of so many of those moments when we forgot our camera.  This post is dedicated to those sunny memories etched in our minds.

Nar Kommer Du Tillbaka? When are you coming back?

Ah, little girls!! I was not allowed to take pictures of the kids.  So, I took memories in the form of pictures of their funky socks and things on their classroom walls.  Here two girls proudly show off their  colorful socks.  April 2012

Geometric tools in the walls of Kornoparken Skolan!!

Many of the children drew Butterflies.  Their teacher told me that they had seen a movie on butterflies in the class.

A display of birds on a keyboard in the classroom.  April 2012.

I assist a German television station/ research institute with some data collection sometime.  They arrange for studies on an international scale.  Several professionals get invited.  We collect the data and send it back to them.  If we wish, we can write individual papers on the data.  I got involved about 3 years ago.  Since then I have done about 3 studies with them.  Getting published is another thing.  Children and media has not my research focus.  Then why do I do it? Because I love spending time with children.  They charge my batteries.  Even when I was in the 5th grade, I would spend time with 3rd graders, pretending to be their mother.

And this last work on data collection on a study between ethnicity of children and their preference for what they want to watch on TV--affirmed that for me.  I remember when I was interested in going to med school, I always thought I wanted to be a pediatrician, so I would get to spend time with children.

So, this time it all started with an email from the TV research committee --say about in Feb.  I told them I was traveling and will get back to that in March.  In March I made several phone calls.  At times even wondering what am I doing, when this is not my research area.  But the day I was invited to talk to the principal, I knew why I was doing it.  The mere energy of school kids put my heart in place.  

I always linger a bit longer around children.  Both Fiji and Sweden have been a blessing where talking to children of strangers is free from suspicion, or other stereotypes and taboos associated with it in the US and many other developed countries.  In Fiji and Sweden, it is considered a compliment if someone wants to talk to your child.  Parents often urge their children to shake hands with me and even allow me to hold them.

I recently met a 2 year old, Vietnamese boy in a store in Sweden.  He was so friendly, he simply climbed into my arms and kept his cheek next to mine for nearly five minutes.  Imagine the peace after an hour of yoga session followed by an hour long meditation session---well, with this little one's cheek next to me, it felt a hundred times more peaceful.  There was a gentility about his spirit that I could feel. And a great compliment at that.  That a two year old wants to restrain his nervous energy to rest around you.

So, when i had to go to this school, I was excited.  I arranged meetings with two schools.  One in my neighborhood, with high diversity.  Another one in Skattskarr (pronounced Skatshar), with practically no diversity.  Most of the kids were blonde and often blue eyed.

Questionnaire asked about how the children saw themselves and what kind of people would they like to see on TV.  The most beautiful part about that was when children kept walking up to the teacher to ask her about their hair and eye color.  The teacher would look into their eyes, sometimes tipping their faces towards the light to see clearly and say, 'din ar bla' (yours are blue!).

There was a simplicity to that.  Often times children were asked to ask their friends what their hair color was, since their hair was too short for them to see.

I have learnt to say a few things in Swedish, so my most favorite thing to say to children is, 'Kan du ge mig en kram' (Can you give me a hug?). 

In Sweden, most of the children do hug you back.  

So, I had two classes to interview/survey in Skattskarr.  One had 22 children, the other one only 9. 

There was little Victor in the bigger class.  Very proper, very organized, finished his work first of all--and yet very loving.

So, when I asked, 'Victor, Kan du ge mig en kram?"  Victor was kind, blushed a little and then very nonchalantly he hugged me and ran away.

"Such a guy thing to do'  I thought.

But my most exciting adventure came in the second class, that had only 9 students.  Due to small number of the students, the teacher had much more time to engage with me in meaningful conversation.  Students were more relaxed.  They asked me many questions.

When I walked in, the boy in the front most seat kept staring at me.  But his expression revealed intense mental activity.

Then very deliberately he said, 'How are you?"

He was trying to form words in English.

'I am very well, and how are you?"  I asked him.

'Fine, thankyou.'  He said, enunciating English clearly.  Then a pause.

'What is your name?"

I said my name and asked him his.

"I am Seemone' He said in a Swedish accent, 'Simon, in English.'  he explained for my convenience.

My heart was so touched.

"Oh, hi Simon.'

Others asked me questions.  But my eyes were on the little one on the back-left side of the room.

He was quiet, and very alert.  But had a perpetual little smile laying on his lips.  The smile, seemed to be surfacing from his heart, and not from his lips or his mind.

That smile was his internal condition. 

I could not take my eyes off him.  He cupped his chin in his two palms, his elbows resting on the desk.  He was also the shortest in the class.

This is what I wrote about him in my Swedish class, that day.  The sentences are simplistic, because I was trying to write this in Swedish. The un-italiciized parts are the post-thoughts and were not written in the Swedish assignment. 

'Today, I went to skattskarr school for some research. The children were between 7-8 years. I can not begin to tell you how beautiful it was.


By the end of the session, I had made friends with the children. Many children hugged me before I left.

But we all have a favorite. Mine was a little Christopher.  Little Christopher is blonde and small.  He was missing two front teeth.  I fell in love with the seven year old.  At lunch, a child asked if I was Christopher's mama.  I hugged Christopher and said 'Ibland, sometimes.'  Christopher hugged me back, too—with his little palms he would press my back and rest his head on my belly.  And he smiled.  

I smiled at the innocence of the children.  They did not try to match the race, skin color, ethnicity, knowledge of language, anything.  They simply saw the love and thought I must be the mother.

Very Simple.

Students drew notes and drawings for me.  Little Christopher drew me hearts.  My heart was in such joyful-pain (in many Bollywood songs, falling is love is compared to a sweet pain).  

How do you respond to the love of a 7 year old.  Who knows nothing else but to draw hearts when he is happy?  And hands you the paper in the end.

The teacher asked me to join the class for lunch.  Many children asked me to sit on their table.  Imagine a bunch of under ten year olds screaming for your attention and how loved you feel!! They all wanted me to sit at their table.

Like always, and like in all countries, people asked me why I was in Sverige? 

'Job'

And your home?

"Not sure"

But at the end of the survey, the class wanted to get a group hug.  They all huddled around me and we all hugged. 

The teacher said, 'May be Sweden will be home now and you do not want to leave.'

My eyes were clouded--with the warm fluid.  There was a grateful smile on my lips.

And I will not deny that for a short time I was home. 

I still have all the drawings that the children made for me.  And when I said, 'they can ask me if they want to know any thing about me,' to the teacher.

Many of them asked the same thing, 'Nar Kommer du tillbaka?"  'When are you coming back?"

I wanted to say, 'I am not leaving.'

At one point Simon found out that he had lost DVDs of his video games.  His case went missing the day before.  He found it, but without the DVDs.  He started crying.  The crying and his lamentation, in his heart broken voice was gut wrenching.  The pain in his eyes was so intense.  We sometimes wave it off as a childish.  But children feel the pain more intensely.  It might be their first loss.  


I remember I used to feel it as a void. As I had something and now its gone.  I still do sometimes, but now other matters take over.  Although, for me things lost mean a 'memory faded' rather than a 'possession gone'. 

Watching Simon in tears was so hard. I wished I knew enough Swedish to stop him from crying.  It was as if his heart was going to flow out with his tears.

When I was standing at the bus stop right outside the school,  the little ones got on the school fence to bid me good bye.

I wiped silent tears’ as I waved back to each of their

"Hi da, hey da (good bye)’

They waved both his hands. What a wonderful day!

The next phase of the project took me to Kronoparken school which is only five minutes walk from my place. 

This time I used my google translate to write a script to read to the children.  All were impressed.  And one boy very deliberately formed a beautiful sentence and said aloud”

“your Swedish is Amasing’ In Swedish the ‘z’ sound is usually replaced with the ‘s’ sound.

And the ‘Ch’ sound is always a ‘Sh’ sound.

So, ‘Cheese’ is ‘Sheese’

And ‘Shoes’ are ‘Shoes’

There is also a confusion between ‘G’ and ‘J’ and ‘Ye’

So, ‘John’ is ‘Yohn’

And Jessica is ‘Yessica’

The children were awesome here as well.  The class was more multicultural.  So I had students who spoke Spanish at home and Swedish at school and English in between.

One girl came up to me and said something that sounded affectionate in Swedish.

I apologize, ‘Sweetie, I did not get that all, I am sorry.’

She smiled and went back.

She came a short while later and said, ‘ich liebe tich’

Now that I know.  Even though I do not know German.  That means, ‘I love you in German.’ (I can say that in several languages).

I was laughing wondering what made her think I would know German.  Or may be she did not know German either, just that one sentence.

Children, so beautiful.  Yes, they can be cruel and not all are pure.  But most of them are.  A reminder for us to think of our simple side.

Some of the children did nto have the permission from their parents to participate in the study. They were allowed to draw and write anyway, but I could not take their papers with me. 

And those whose parents did not sign the consent form, was only because the parents could read neither English nor Swedish –often Irani, Iraqui, Somali people, who are new immigrants to the country.

An indication that this country is fast changing and will have a different demographic in the next twenty years.

So the children of these parents, who did not speak English or Swedish wanted to know if they would still get the colored pens  that we were giving out as a token of appreciation.

‘Ofcourse’ we said.

When asked if they had any question for me?

They all asked, ‘Nar Kommer Du Tillbaka?”

When are you coming back….




When Not Sticking to the Terms of Agreement is a Good Thing!!

Mr. Pleasant Face.  I took this picture about three days after the incident.  At the same corner, by the busy street in Bangkok, where I met him first.  Bangkok, Thailand, Sept 2012.

Mopeds, cheaper than cabs, faster than tuk-tuks!!

We are taught to keep our word.

There are exceptions to every rule though. 

Sometimes it is better not to stick to the terms of agreement.

I had to go to Malaysian embassy, and then to the bus station to hop towns.  There was not enough time.  Cabs as always are fussy.  I saw these guys on mopeds, and asked the price.

‘Hundred Baht’ he said.

I have been around Bangkok so I know a bit.  I have also learnt how to say the numbers in Thai.  By the way knowing numbers is one of the first things that is useful when you are new in a country.  It helps everything from talking about bus numbers, street address, financial transactions and of course haggling.

‘No, 70,’ I held out my fingers to be clear.   A stretched left palm and two fingers from my right hand.

‘No’ he shook his head.  And Smiled.  He had a round chubby face, with a very warm smile. He knew little English. 

I went around the corner looking for other moped drivers. 

I was smiling inwardly.  Three years ago was the first time when I acknowledged moped as a valid means of transportation.  I had a traveling companion for about a week in during my south-east Asia back packing trip.  He was a young man from Germany, on his first trip outside of Europe and he chose Thailand to be his first stop.  And he said, ‘lets take a moped to make sure we reach the market in time.’

I thought he meant to ride one ourselves, so I declined.  The he pointed out, ‘there, see that is what I mean.’

There were two girls sitting on a moped behind his lean Thai man  in a florescent green overall.  The color of these overalls varies with the company that runs the business.

I was wary of mopeds.  But the moment I got on, to save time, I had to acknowledge the enterprising and creative spirit of Asians.  Moped was fast, it was cheaper than cabs, and due to its size and shape could easily navigate through the chaotic traffic and back alleys.  But most importantly it was ‘naturally air conditioned.’  The only drawback was that there was no protection from rain.  But even then, cabs are hard to find when it is raining.  So, if it was drizzling, mopeds were still the better option.   In the last two trips I have used them frequently.  That is the best thing about returning to a country repeatedly.  You get to know it, you course through its culture and ways like a ‘near native’ and then you delve into its spirit.  The first few times one only remains a tourist and never really understands the country.  And Thailand has a special place in my heart.

In all my travels Asia fascinates me.  From every angle it reflects its metal.

Nowhere else can you match its variety in cuisine, ways of dressing, languages, modes of transportation and many other things.  It is an indication of a civilization.   And an indication in variety in thought process, ways of living and an undying desire to reinvent itself.

For all its talk about diversity in the US, I always wondered why 500 years of living there had not resulted in any clear American cuisine? No specialty in Food. Every delicacy is borrowed from somewhere else.  I often wondered if there were any restaurants that serve Native American food?  Popcorn and chocolate chip cookies were the highlights at the US stall at an exhibition of cultures in a Home Ec contest in Botswana, my first semester.  That was my first realization of how limited the ‘outside’ world was.  That was my first recognition of the richness of Asia. 

When I lived in Fiji and Botswana, I wondered why they had little concept of street food.  One can understand it may be a result of small population spread out over large distances.  But transport?  I mean why has Fiji or Botswana not come up with rickshaws, or three wheelers?  They could certainly use it in towns and cities.  It could provide jobs.  Why must we always have cabs that are expensive and fuel-intensive.  The same was the case in South Africa this year.  They could certainly use mopeds, three wheelers and rickshaws for within the cities, at least in Durban that remains warm even during winter--but for some reason they stick to cabs.

So, back to my search for an available moped. 

I looked around and other moped riders were busy reading newspaper and were not interested in budging.

Mr. Pleasant face was reading his newspaper too, but every time I walked past, he would look up and smile.

‘Oh come on’ I gestured again, ’70, 70’.’

Sometimes I wonder if all this makes a difference.  The difference of 30 baht is only a dollar difference.  But over a period of time this difference affects you. Besides the interesting thing that happens when we switch currency is that we think in the currency at hand.  It does not seem like ’1 dollar’ but 30 baht, which is good to buy a loaf of bread, a cheap meal on the street, and certainly two bus tickets, and one ticket for sky train.  So, in the sense of their purchasing power a dollar and 30 baht are not the same.

As I was strolling, I wanted to agree to his call of hundred when he gestured, ‘80’ with his hands.

‘Nope, 70!’  Sometimes this interaction is actually quite cute and humorous.

He agreed, and I smiled.

He gave me a helmet, as required by the law.  I hopped on and we whizzed through the crazy Bangkok traffic, arrived at the wrong building (Malaysian Hotel instead of embassy) but finally found our way.

I rummaged through my bag and gave him a hundred.

He returned 30.  I smiled. 

Our smiles were our conversation!  Amazing how much body language can state, across cultures. 

I smiled although I did not feel good about it.  I mean seriously, we can spend so much on ourselves and not think of those who live on so little?  Always trying to mooch them?

I gestured him to wait.  Body language, and gestures go far when words fail.

Got another ten and gave it to him.  So, in one case it was me who was backing out on what I agreed for…..but who cares.

He gave such heart-warming smile that I could have paid him double the amount.

We exchanged this kind look for a few seconds, let out a sigh and a chuckle of recognition of the human spirit and off he went.

As he was driving away, I wanted to run after him and get his picture.  But he was too fast.  Told you Mopeds are swift!!

I hoped that I would see him before I left.  So I was always on the look out at the corner where I met him.

The above picture was taken the day before I was leaving.  He recognized me right away.  His friends teased him as I adjusted the camera shot.  I took a picture of them too, so they did not feel excluded.

He smiled again for the camera.

I was so grateful that I went back on the terms of agreement.  Sometimes, it’s a good thing!!

I was certainly richer for it!