Author: sreeyal

To my teachers and the teacher in me!

Posted on by sreeyal

**Healthy dosage of self-esteem**

As they say, charity starts from home; when the topic is my teachers, it ought to begin from my grandparents to my parents, school & college teachers, and everyone who taught me a lesson with love or otherwise.

September 5 marks the birth anniversary of Sree Sarvepalli Radhakrishna garu, an Indian teacher who became the second Indian president. In India, we celebrate Teacher’s Day on this day. As Teacher’s Day in India. In 1992, that laid the foundation for me to recognise I have teaching skills too. Teacher’s Day gave our school’s senior students ( call it 10th class/grade/year, whatever) a chance to be teachers for that day. I don’t remember how it landed in my lap, but I acted as one of our favourites -Karuna teacher and taught Maths to our immediate juniors. I, along with another friend, won the ‘ best acting teacher’ awards. The best compliment was that one of the students understood the concepts of ‘Sets/Venn diagrams and functions’ much better when I taught.

My dad, a professor with a passion for teaching, has built an excellent legacy molding many students; my mum, a teacher, gave up on her dreams for us; my sister taught statistics to undergrads for a brief period. At this juncture, I have to mention my maternal granddad, who initially taught me proper letter-writing and drafting for debates and essay writings.  This mentoring left strong imprints on my little brain to be a disciplinarian and a perfectionist in anything I attempt. Until I left India, I also tutored little kids around my house who couldn’t afford private tutors, which helped them pass their primary school tests. This pure exchange of knowledge is close to divinity which my whole family has been practising. I bow to my parents for guiding me to have those beautiful, priceless experiences. Another beautiful concept which I reiterate in many of my posts was the ‘vaaralabbay,’ the culture of feeding a financially challenged student a day a week. My parents followed that for a couple of decades at least, and we had many students who would come to have dinners on certain days of the week for as long as they pursued education. Education indeed is valuable and a gift to have.

I have a special reverence for some special teachers in my life and respect for all the teachers who taught me. I took every teacher seriously, showed respect, obeyed rules, and been their favourite too. These are the principles instilled by my dad, Dr. Ayalasomayajula Gopalarao, a disciplinarian to the core, an author, and a former member of the Official Language Commission of India. He is a gold medal winner for the Best Ph.D. Thesis award and Best Professor award recognised by Dr. Shankar Dayal Sharma, who served as the Governor of  Andhra Pradesh and was the ninth President of India.  

I bow to all my school teachers, my Bharatnatyam/ dance master,  my English, organic chemistry, and biology lecturers at college, and marketing gurus at university. Every teacher has time for all students’ needs. I am blessed to meet my 10th class teacher on Facebook, who, despite a 25-year gap, noticed that I have a flair for writing, which led me to this blog. Thank you, Radha Rukmini teacher.

Now, I teach at eVidyaloka, a not-for-profit organization that focuses on transforming the educational landscape of rural India. This teaching is an eye-opener for my kids and me, who may use an electronic device with high-speed internet 24*7 to play games or use it as a dictionary. Those residential students use one laptop for about 22 of them with internet run through a telephone landline plus random power outages. With Covid and lockdowns, those students use their parents’ smartphones for an hour a day for learning before the latter goes for daily jobs, and also, we can hear each other only when the internet is stable. I have to thank my brother-in-law, who introduced me to this, and he, himself, is a volunteer teacher at this organization. 

At this juncture, I also have to thank my children for giving me a multitude of opportunities to learn and teach. It came to me as a surprise when I was asked to teach simple Indian cooking to 5-7-year-olds in a school while in England, to be a mentor at US schools. The trust I get from my mentees boosts my energy and helps build my mothering skills. Coming back to my kids, my son sets his own rules, and my daughter a disciplinarian. My son has changed my take on things and helping me better myself, whilst my daughter reforms my traditional thinking subconsciously.

Thanks to my best critique, my husband, it’s a privilege to share life with a sage person.

Last but not least, a special mention to my friends who are teachers and my teachers who are my friends now!

Happy Teacher’s Day!

The fights they fought, the paths they laid

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It’s heartwarming to be able to honour labour day in the heart of a capitalist country. We can find lots of literature on the origin and why it’s not on May 1st here. But, the minimum wage policy, minimum hours of work per day, maternity & paternity leaves, the dignity of labour, were something I have experienced while in the UK, and I still can hear them here. Though the terms are not the same in the US, to commemorate a day for workers strengthens me. As Shakespeare says, “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet”!

I bow to the great souls behind the mass movements, the strikes, the sacrifices that they made, and the fights they fought to change our fate for good. Let’s not touch the subject of equal pay for both genders now.

Yes, based on the duration women work while pregnant, they can earn up to nine months of maternity leave, and a six-week paid holiday is a common norm in the UK. Now don’t let that smile fade away if you are in that part of the world.

Though born in a country where ‘dignity of labour’ is just a decorative phrase, I am fortunate enough to be nurtured by parents who have always kept their housemaids close to their hearts and treated them with warmth. I respect people based on the values they share than the degrees they hold.

Though labour day has become synonymous with consumerism (thanks to labour day sales), let’s remind ourselves of its origin, be it Mayday or the first Monday in September. Let’s grab a chance to think of those tireless labour who work in mines, roads, or deserts under the scorching sun, who go fishing in tornadoes, and those who work in the snow. Let’s thank our mail carriers, let’s honour those ground workers who make this world a cleaner and safer place.

Kick the “in”equality!

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We, women, don’t need any lost sandals leading cues for princes to rescue. We don’t want any extended periods of sleep that could be broken only by a kiss; we don’t need any stardom to kill us with paparazzi; we don’t need any sympathy to be recognised as women. We don’t need any domestic violence that presses us to put the heavy makeup on; we don’t need any benevolence to look after our interests, needs, and rights. Maybe we don’t need any change of identity. Change of surname (last name), including the first name, is still prevalent across many cultures. Pets in some countries lead a better life than women in certain parts. Aren’t we one equal?

“Me too”- how is it going to change the fate of a woman? That was my original thought. But lately, it dawned on me, to speak up itself is a giant leap, and the exploitation happening in Hollywood is just the tip of the iceberg.  A baby boy’s struggle inside the womb of a mother, also a woman, gives immense strength for him to dominate the “more equal” game once he is out! Is it the right of every “man” to dominate the world the way he desires? For women, it’s an everyday struggle right from fighting for the right to vote to equal pay act to possessing a driver’s license; studying to attend basic needs is still a dream for many. It’s not a pertinent problem limited to just the underdeveloped or the developing countries. It’s the fight even in the developed countries by women, for women, to women– to be safer at least in the future. Physical abuse, body shaming, and luring have been happening everywhere. Power to suppress comes with money, and women themselves are also part of that ‘powerful group.’ That’s sickening!

It’s shocking to find ‘numbers to call to talk in private’ about domestic violence in women’s restrooms in certain developed countries’ maternity wards! It’s also depressing to see a man draws more salary than a woman for the same job.

It’s a shame that ‘every’ Indian reacted, showed empathy, sympathy towards Hollywood’s ‘me too’ campaign. But when it comes to cleaning their backyard, everyone is ‘naive.’ As rightly pointed out by one lady activist on an Indian discussion channel, can any Indian movies be made without attempting rapes or abusing the vulnerable on the name of the casting couch? Now, for that matter, can any movie be made without the dirty acts?  Let’s weave strong communities /neighbourhoods that are safer for girl children and imbibe just and equal thoughts in the minds of everyone. Can women join hand in hand and give the vulnerable a supporting hand? In many religions, goddesses in idol form are prayed every day for wealth and prosperity by men. But women in real life accept and succumb to the harsh brutalities. Humanism should be on the agenda.

          Let’s welcome millions of to-be-men being born this second across the globe who could be deciding the fate of women across. Let’s hope these boys of the future generations rise with equality in their thoughts and deeds. We ought to raise a toast to those men who celebrate the women in their lives at this juncture. 

My two cents would be that every child, especially girls, must get trained in some form of martial arts and must carry a physically strong too outlook! Maybe more boys in ballet and more girls in kick-boxing :)!

Memoirs

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Dating back to my early teen years, I could passionately recollect how supported were all my hopes and aspirations by my very conspicuous vigour and vibrancy. And, I presumed I was in charge of my life, and happiness seemed granted. Books, along with loving, caring family and friends, were my companions. Though waking up early to birds chirping was thrilling. Those street vendors knocking on our doors with fresh, organic, non-GMO veggies felt disturbing, and the paperboy hurling the newspaper sounded interfering. The postman’s appearance intruded into my private space as my dad would receive a dozen letters every day. An emotional reminiscence made me feel touched as I have had the best childhood. Now, stuck in a motor jungle, the hyped communications can be coded- a gentle horn is a hello, and a bighorn is for anger.

Generally speaking, people are associated with their car numbers, and everyone has a busy daily schedule. In this part of the world, big parties hosting a minimum of fifty families over weekends is the norm. Greeting every guest  is not even the basis of social get-togethers. Tracing back those street vendors’ affectionate smug in my search for healthy foods in shopping malls where plastic cards do all the exchanges, and organic food is far and beyond my reach. Forget Non-GMO’s. The postman wouldn’t be knocking on my door anymore, but letters, well, primarily sales and marketing flyers, and our monthly bills are left in a box at bay.  

Back then, physical handwritten letters were part of exchanging warmth and birthday wishes among cousins and classmates who lived farther or moved places. I moved to England with my husband in 2004. Until then, all those twenty-five years of my early life were spent in a small historical, cultural town, Vizianagaram. Hailing from a small town which was the home town for us since my great grand parents time, every year, I look forward to my town!  After nearly 14 years of my marriage, I still get homesick; I still have the foreigner-feeling wherever I am.  My roots are firm, so are my experiences. My best friend, my maternal granddad, regretted it when telephones became part of every household. “If it’s a handwritten letter, I will cherish reading my letters whenever I want to, whenever I yearn for that person. These phone wishes take away my happy memories, my best time pass and make me long for my grandkids more”, in his exact words.

My granddad was eager to learn about e-mails in 1999, but he didn’t live longer to try that ‘e’spect. I miss my granddad, who was my movie partner, my walking partner, my guide, and my stress-buster, my wall. I never understood his agony about the newly forming nuclear families then and the repercussions. His usage of cloth bags to reduce plastic/paper wastage; his willingness to walk any number of miles to stay fit and be able to say hello to his friends and work colleagues on the way. His philosophy towards vasudaika kutumbam- the whole world as one family – most of his life he had been a great host and rarely a guest. I miss my grandparents’ unconditional love, my grandmum’s innocence, my granddad’s willingness to accept whatever was thrown at him, with a smile on his face though it caused pain to his heart. I was part of the latter emotion, his agony once, and I bury my head in disgust when that thought surfaces in my memory. They taught me the importance of relations in life, and hence I try and maintain one-to-one relationships with everyone I meet and get to know. I try my best to be an agony aunt to any in need. Many forget me in their happy times. I was back-stabbed many times. Yet,  I trained myself not to change my core.  I am not that weak that any negativity around me could change me.

              I have realised “Life” is in charge of me. Lots have changed, but there are affections beneath all these hustle, bustles.  Fortunately, the world around me is very sane, and definitely, love will dominate hatred.. I am incredibly fortunate to have some friends, our extended family, who have the hearts of gold and have the Midas touch. Luckily, we all share the same principles. Love begets love.

Black bean salad with phodni mirch

Posted on by sreeyal

In the process of rejuvenating my husband’s lost taste buds after the nasty flu we all have had.  Black beans, as suggested by one of my friends, help us build good cholesterol. So, here it goes:

Orange and red peppers, kumatos, lettuce, coriander leaves, pepper powder, avocado oil,  dry roasted walnuts and cashews, mint powder, salt. Mix them well.

Shallow fry slit green chillies, add chat powder and a drizzle of lemon juice.

Keep both separate and eat them together 😉

ps: not the bests of the photos but this was made while under the weather.