I recently started with French classes (that language is a necessity here) and the whole experience has been unique and interesting in all perspectives.As a kid, I was ok with studies but never had a competitive edge...that streak to score one more mark from my competitors.I was way too lazy to bother about stuff like that - in a way if I had a topper's rank in the class it was more because my mother stood on my head with a stick in her hand, rather than a result of my own actions. As I grew older I realised, what a fool I had been all through and always wished I could go back and set things right. The French classes seemed to be a wonderful opportunity to redeem all those wrongs - its a full time course with regular classes, a dedicated teacher, surprise tests and exams to move on to the next level - the standards are pretty high....anyone scoring less than 80% will have to repeat the level. Perfect school like atmosphere. When would I get this golden chance again? Probably not in this life.
With those thoughts in my head and an invincible determination I reached the class on Day one. The students came from different nations and it was quite a scene to see all of them together. As luck would have it I shared my table with a Pakistani and a Bangladeshi ladi(es). I had never known people from my neighbouring countries and was kind of pleasantly surprised to see so much in common (its one thing to know the commonality and absolutely another to see it happening). I also realised that the unconscious prejudice I had held about all Pakistanis being dangerous looking(with that militant expression) was so very wrong. Despite the fact that Shazia spoke a mix of Punjabi and Urdu, Shilpi spoke Bangla and I spoke Hindi- we were bound together by unseen lines and became inseparable right from the first moment-we used a combination of languages to communicate with each other. Sometimes when sign language failed we used French. Its a small world... isn't it? Even the teacher joked about our table being the cricketing hub(since I had an Australian as well on the table).
But that was where the familiar ground ended. My hopes about being a top student almost dashed to ground when I realised that most of the students spoke a little French, if not much. And the teacher...well I almost hated him because he did not speak any English (by choice). He would say everything in French and even when I told him to explain it out in English he repeated it no less than 15 times....but all of it in sign language and French. The rule was very clear...no English, no comfort zone. I went home troubled.....which was good, for the next morning I woke up at 4 AM sharp - to study- something I had never accomplished in 19 years of education.
With time, things eased out...French no longer looked a dangerous, unlearn-able language. Rather I was delighted right on the third day when standing on the bus stop after school I read "Beau Soir" written on a board, on the other side of the street, over a departmental store. Those mysterious words turned into "beautiful evening" and indeed it was a fantastic evening...which became more beautiful as my eyes scanned and understood more words. The whole world it seemed had become my learning board and every one my teacher. I would request for stuff in stores in French and say Bonjour instead of hello to the bus driver. People became over helpful when I explained to them that I am learning French (earlier I had this bad experience of being shouted at by an old lady in a store when I had told her that I did not speak French. She had looked at me as if I were some insect whose salvation laid only in French or death)
I also realised that French is in ways more funny than English ever was or will be. One day our usually French speaking professor said a whole question in English and what a question it was "Why do you think they say that the French are obsessed with sex?" We looked at each other...was he going crazy? Or had the Friday fever hit a bit too early? He then went on to explain....It not because they are interested in the act of sex but because they have a gender for every thing. And that's true....as we all soon realised. Crazy as well. There is no logic as to why certain things are masculine or feminine - one must simply know (memorize) Here is a link I found that explains the dilemma http://frenchtoast.sg/french_blog/i_love_french_blog_files/25c912f8f19d557e121e48a185f4572f-5.html
There have been times when things have looked depressing - particularly when we do listening exercises. I can read and understand and maybe speak a bit of French but listening? It drives me nuts. The French it seems have no respect for space that we put between words. They eat away half of the words while speaking and the other half that remain are spoken all mixed up. The teacher says it will come over a period of time (I guess a very long time indeed) since we are in the habit of reading every written word, which is not the case with French. Huh!!
Guess I must get back to my books....before its too late!! I have my exam in 3 weeks!!
Friday, April 1, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
An evening of "firsts"
I was super excited about the whole thing. The party not only meant I could be away from home and Maths tuition for the whole evening but also that I could stand and stare at things which at that point in time seemed precious, delicious and so out of reach.
It was Aparna Didi's birthday. Aparna Di -she was the youngest daughter of my mother's colleague from work and was older to me by about 4 years. We have been playmates for as long as I remember and our age differences made it suitable for us to play "ghar-ghar" (housekeeping). She could be the parent and I her kid...it gave her an opportunity make me what she had been for her elder sisters.
Compared to our middle class status, she came from a rich family. I was too young to make out the differences in monetary terms but then the contrast was vast in all possible terms. My parents or for the matter hers, never let us feel about it but everything about them seemed nice and picture perfect while everything about us seemed dull and lifeless. Be it the quite spacious locality they lived in, their big bungalow complete with a garden, a huge swing and an artificial waterfall. Or be it Aparna didi's dresses or she, herself. She was pretty, as white as milk, had long hair and was good both in studies and badminton, besides being an extrovert. I have no memories of seeing her parents screaming at her over low marks. Rather she always did well and to reward her, her parents took her to different cities for vacations.
Contrary to their's we lived in an apartment building that housed 10 other families. My evenings were never quiet-they were filled with the sounds of children playing cricket in the neighbourhood or the cooker letting off its steam somewhere. I might have been pretty but the mirror refused to say that - thanks to the number of hours I spent playing in the mud.My dresses seemed cheap and lacklustre in comparison to hers. My marks were equally good but they came after a lot of screaming, complaining and crying. As for the reward...a chocolate or a picnic at the local hilltop temple was the maximum I could dream of. I was an introvert, scared of any kind of active sport(s) and instead found refuge in the library-which did not help much.
Almost a year earlier, Aparna di had insisted on marrying one of her gudda (boy-doll) to my gudiya (girl -doll). She had taken a special liking for the "bride" whom I had acquired after several months of collecting hard earned pocket money. Initially I was delighted about the marriage - which "mother" will not be when the offer comes from a rich family. I was on seventh heaven because friends in our circle were jealous that it was my doll which Aparna di had chosen. But like all other brides my Amy was supposed to go and stay forever at the in-laws place-as per Amy's to be mother-in-law. After several debates in my head I refused to this arrangement - that had led to the two of us not speaking for several days, even as our parents had laughed in the background and tried to make half hearted agreements on our behalf over samosas and tea. We hardly ever spoke after that...in a few months Aparna di entered her teens where normal dolls were replaced by Barbie dolls . Maybe she even forgot about the fight we had....maybe even her super cute gudda did not hold her attention anymore. The attention had moved to other things...boys, perfumes, Michael Jackson. That was another of those differences that were becoming apparent with time...the likes of her raved about Michael Jackson while I and the rest of the middle class neighbourhood could not follow a single word of what he sang and danced to.
Coming to the birthday party...I wanted to go over to her place right after school- after all I had several year load of happy memories of the time spent on the swing in her garden in winter sunshine, or being sprawled on the floor of her room on summer afternoons. She would also come to my place sometimes...but then it was the other way round more often - probably because of the lack of space and toys at my place. It does not mean that we did not have fun- we had different kind of fun. I would take her out and we would play gully cricket or if nothing else would just wallow in the mud or draw "finger art" on dusty walls and car windows. She would take to these activities as eagerly as to the girlie ones I took to at her place- for her all this was "different" and highly adventurous. If her parents thought that their pretty doll looked like a black cow after each visit to my place, they never mentioned it-atleast to me. But I often saw my mother running after the two of us asking us to get inside the house - something she never did if I played with my other friends. Anyways, who caes?
My mother restrained and urged me to finish off my homework. I was restless and kept following my mother as she ironed the dress I was supposed to wear that evening. I asked my mother if I could wear the pink one instead of green and then red one instead of pink but nothing satisfied me. Each time I looked into the mirror my mind did a quick analysis of what Aparna di would look like on her birthday as against me(like the Barbie doll, you scrawny little kid, said the mirror). I got so agitated that I could not concentrate on a single thing. End result: I got a screaming from mom.
Finally the clock struck 6:00 PM and I was allowed to go. As I stepped out neighbours came over to say that I looked pretty and "beautiful as a princess". I basked in the attention but knew that it was short lived. The moment I would step into the party no one would even look at me, much less praise me for anything or talk to me. It was a good thing that another friend of mine,Smita was also invited - atleast we were of the same age group and the unsaid word from similar financial status.
The summer evening was cool and calm, atleast in Aparna di's locality. I loved walking there - no traffic, so calm, so quiet and the smell of jasmine- it took me straight to heaven. As we neared her house I could hear loud music and cheering. The party was on- a typical teenage party. I knew at the first sight that all those doubts that has nagging me all through would come real - noone would talk to me (and I would not talk to anyone), noone would look at me or my dress and Aparna di who had been my such-a-good-friend was lost to other people- Parul di, Shalika di, Suraj bhaiya, Shazia di and Kushagra bhaiya - her age mates from her locality.
I quickly looked around and spotted Smita who was hiding in a corner. Not that, if she would have stood in the center of the dance floor would anyone observed her. Aparna di was busy, surrounded by friends, gifts and looking more pretty than usual in her white and pink Barbie princess dress. I slipped my gift below those of others - suddenly I was ashamed of my dress, of my hair braided into two tight ponytails of the gift I had brought and everything about me. Along with Smita I chose the darkest corner of the garden to sit even as Aparna di's mom insisted that we sit with the whole group and play games with them. Sit we did and we played housie also but the conversation it seemed was bound by age groups. When it was time to cut the cake, Aparna di's mom insisted on making me and Smita stand right in the front since we were the smallest of the lot. Aparna di was furious...she wanted her pictures to be clicked with her best friends and not some kids who did not know anything about the big big world. Ultimately we did get to stand right in the front but not beside Aparna di but at the far corners of the half circle we had formed around the cake.
The party seemed boring to us in every context and as the evening wore off I wondered what had I been excited about since morning. For the whole evening, Smita and I were commenting non stop on "these people". "These people" who kissed each other on cheeks to say happy birthday(not before confirming that their parents were not around to see). "These people" who danced in a funny manner (its called moon walk,idiot). "These people" who wore the shortest skirts and frocks in the town. If our parents would have listened to our talks they might as well have kicked us right then and there in the party.After all we were sitting and gossiping like 60 year old ladies-where had this habit come from?
I wanted to use the toilet and since the other one was occupied chance took me to the one in Aparna Di's room. And wow!! it almost seemed that some magic had taken me to the room of a fairy princess. The ceiling had painted clouds, stars and the blue night bulb exaggerated the effect of a late twilight. One corner was occupied by the Barbie's...not less than 20 of them...while the bed side table seemed to be the mecca of soft toys of every shape and colour. Wish I could stay there forever...I stood staring at everything around me for a long time. Suddenly I felt someone else's presence in the room- it was Aparna di's mom. "You like it?", she asked pointing to nothing in particular. I nodded a yes and she continued, "...this renovation to the room is our gift to Aparna for the birthday...". Wish my parents would do the same....was my first thought. But I did not even have a separate room much less a personal sky to stare into each night.
Dinner time. All through the evening I had heard excited voices coming from the kitchen, with words such as "experiment", "first attempt", "Chinese" floating around with some new smells. Parties in those days meant a standard fare...puri-chola, rice, achar, papad and raita. Here it was something different. We were served soup....soup meant tomato soup /chicken soup but here was something else.Most of the kids around did not like the taste of what they in their lives would remember as the first taste of not-so-well-prepared(maybe due to the non availability of all the ingredients in the small town) Chinese food. I remember seeing Aparna di's parents going around...trying to convince us to atleast try and taste the food-most of the kids had decided to give up the food after the first spoon. If the soup was a big time failure, the manchurian did not fare too well either...the fried rice did find a lot of mouths...so much so that it fell short. The slow eaters like me could hardly get anything beyond the first small helping. All in all it was hardly an evening I had looked ahead to so eagerly.
It was getting late and Smita asked me to stay back for a while...her dad was about to come to pick her up and he could easily drop me home. I refused....for I wanted to walk back home. Despite repeated requests from Aparna di's parents and Smita I literally ran away from the party, promising to call once I was home. After a wasted evening, I wanted a few peaceful moments all to myself. As I took the road home, the smell of jasmine surrounded me-making me forget the bad taste of the food. The stars, far above asked me to forget the false ones on the celing and the slight wind took away the bitterness of the evening-of lost friends, because they had grown too old. It was an evening when there were many firsts...a first time when I realised that my best friends will not remain the same as I and they grow up, a first time to eat Chinese food and a first time to realise that there was something called a money divide
It was Aparna Didi's birthday. Aparna Di -she was the youngest daughter of my mother's colleague from work and was older to me by about 4 years. We have been playmates for as long as I remember and our age differences made it suitable for us to play "ghar-ghar" (housekeeping). She could be the parent and I her kid...it gave her an opportunity make me what she had been for her elder sisters.
Compared to our middle class status, she came from a rich family. I was too young to make out the differences in monetary terms but then the contrast was vast in all possible terms. My parents or for the matter hers, never let us feel about it but everything about them seemed nice and picture perfect while everything about us seemed dull and lifeless. Be it the quite spacious locality they lived in, their big bungalow complete with a garden, a huge swing and an artificial waterfall. Or be it Aparna didi's dresses or she, herself. She was pretty, as white as milk, had long hair and was good both in studies and badminton, besides being an extrovert. I have no memories of seeing her parents screaming at her over low marks. Rather she always did well and to reward her, her parents took her to different cities for vacations.
Contrary to their's we lived in an apartment building that housed 10 other families. My evenings were never quiet-they were filled with the sounds of children playing cricket in the neighbourhood or the cooker letting off its steam somewhere. I might have been pretty but the mirror refused to say that - thanks to the number of hours I spent playing in the mud.My dresses seemed cheap and lacklustre in comparison to hers. My marks were equally good but they came after a lot of screaming, complaining and crying. As for the reward...a chocolate or a picnic at the local hilltop temple was the maximum I could dream of. I was an introvert, scared of any kind of active sport(s) and instead found refuge in the library-which did not help much.
Almost a year earlier, Aparna di had insisted on marrying one of her gudda (boy-doll) to my gudiya (girl -doll). She had taken a special liking for the "bride" whom I had acquired after several months of collecting hard earned pocket money. Initially I was delighted about the marriage - which "mother" will not be when the offer comes from a rich family. I was on seventh heaven because friends in our circle were jealous that it was my doll which Aparna di had chosen. But like all other brides my Amy was supposed to go and stay forever at the in-laws place-as per Amy's to be mother-in-law. After several debates in my head I refused to this arrangement - that had led to the two of us not speaking for several days, even as our parents had laughed in the background and tried to make half hearted agreements on our behalf over samosas and tea. We hardly ever spoke after that...in a few months Aparna di entered her teens where normal dolls were replaced by Barbie dolls . Maybe she even forgot about the fight we had....maybe even her super cute gudda did not hold her attention anymore. The attention had moved to other things...boys, perfumes, Michael Jackson. That was another of those differences that were becoming apparent with time...the likes of her raved about Michael Jackson while I and the rest of the middle class neighbourhood could not follow a single word of what he sang and danced to.
Coming to the birthday party...I wanted to go over to her place right after school- after all I had several year load of happy memories of the time spent on the swing in her garden in winter sunshine, or being sprawled on the floor of her room on summer afternoons. She would also come to my place sometimes...but then it was the other way round more often - probably because of the lack of space and toys at my place. It does not mean that we did not have fun- we had different kind of fun. I would take her out and we would play gully cricket or if nothing else would just wallow in the mud or draw "finger art" on dusty walls and car windows. She would take to these activities as eagerly as to the girlie ones I took to at her place- for her all this was "different" and highly adventurous. If her parents thought that their pretty doll looked like a black cow after each visit to my place, they never mentioned it-atleast to me. But I often saw my mother running after the two of us asking us to get inside the house - something she never did if I played with my other friends. Anyways, who caes?
My mother restrained and urged me to finish off my homework. I was restless and kept following my mother as she ironed the dress I was supposed to wear that evening. I asked my mother if I could wear the pink one instead of green and then red one instead of pink but nothing satisfied me. Each time I looked into the mirror my mind did a quick analysis of what Aparna di would look like on her birthday as against me(like the Barbie doll, you scrawny little kid, said the mirror). I got so agitated that I could not concentrate on a single thing. End result: I got a screaming from mom.
Finally the clock struck 6:00 PM and I was allowed to go. As I stepped out neighbours came over to say that I looked pretty and "beautiful as a princess". I basked in the attention but knew that it was short lived. The moment I would step into the party no one would even look at me, much less praise me for anything or talk to me. It was a good thing that another friend of mine,Smita was also invited - atleast we were of the same age group and the unsaid word from similar financial status.
The summer evening was cool and calm, atleast in Aparna di's locality. I loved walking there - no traffic, so calm, so quiet and the smell of jasmine- it took me straight to heaven. As we neared her house I could hear loud music and cheering. The party was on- a typical teenage party. I knew at the first sight that all those doubts that has nagging me all through would come real - noone would talk to me (and I would not talk to anyone), noone would look at me or my dress and Aparna di who had been my such-a-good-friend was lost to other people- Parul di, Shalika di, Suraj bhaiya, Shazia di and Kushagra bhaiya - her age mates from her locality.
I quickly looked around and spotted Smita who was hiding in a corner. Not that, if she would have stood in the center of the dance floor would anyone observed her. Aparna di was busy, surrounded by friends, gifts and looking more pretty than usual in her white and pink Barbie princess dress. I slipped my gift below those of others - suddenly I was ashamed of my dress, of my hair braided into two tight ponytails of the gift I had brought and everything about me. Along with Smita I chose the darkest corner of the garden to sit even as Aparna di's mom insisted that we sit with the whole group and play games with them. Sit we did and we played housie also but the conversation it seemed was bound by age groups. When it was time to cut the cake, Aparna di's mom insisted on making me and Smita stand right in the front since we were the smallest of the lot. Aparna di was furious...she wanted her pictures to be clicked with her best friends and not some kids who did not know anything about the big big world. Ultimately we did get to stand right in the front but not beside Aparna di but at the far corners of the half circle we had formed around the cake.
The party seemed boring to us in every context and as the evening wore off I wondered what had I been excited about since morning. For the whole evening, Smita and I were commenting non stop on "these people". "These people" who kissed each other on cheeks to say happy birthday(not before confirming that their parents were not around to see). "These people" who danced in a funny manner (its called moon walk,idiot). "These people" who wore the shortest skirts and frocks in the town. If our parents would have listened to our talks they might as well have kicked us right then and there in the party.After all we were sitting and gossiping like 60 year old ladies-where had this habit come from?
I wanted to use the toilet and since the other one was occupied chance took me to the one in Aparna Di's room. And wow!! it almost seemed that some magic had taken me to the room of a fairy princess. The ceiling had painted clouds, stars and the blue night bulb exaggerated the effect of a late twilight. One corner was occupied by the Barbie's...not less than 20 of them...while the bed side table seemed to be the mecca of soft toys of every shape and colour. Wish I could stay there forever...I stood staring at everything around me for a long time. Suddenly I felt someone else's presence in the room- it was Aparna di's mom. "You like it?", she asked pointing to nothing in particular. I nodded a yes and she continued, "...this renovation to the room is our gift to Aparna for the birthday...". Wish my parents would do the same....was my first thought. But I did not even have a separate room much less a personal sky to stare into each night.
Dinner time. All through the evening I had heard excited voices coming from the kitchen, with words such as "experiment", "first attempt", "Chinese" floating around with some new smells. Parties in those days meant a standard fare...puri-chola, rice, achar, papad and raita. Here it was something different. We were served soup....soup meant tomato soup /chicken soup but here was something else.Most of the kids around did not like the taste of what they in their lives would remember as the first taste of not-so-well-prepared(maybe due to the non availability of all the ingredients in the small town) Chinese food. I remember seeing Aparna di's parents going around...trying to convince us to atleast try and taste the food-most of the kids had decided to give up the food after the first spoon. If the soup was a big time failure, the manchurian did not fare too well either...the fried rice did find a lot of mouths...so much so that it fell short. The slow eaters like me could hardly get anything beyond the first small helping. All in all it was hardly an evening I had looked ahead to so eagerly.
It was getting late and Smita asked me to stay back for a while...her dad was about to come to pick her up and he could easily drop me home. I refused....for I wanted to walk back home. Despite repeated requests from Aparna di's parents and Smita I literally ran away from the party, promising to call once I was home. After a wasted evening, I wanted a few peaceful moments all to myself. As I took the road home, the smell of jasmine surrounded me-making me forget the bad taste of the food. The stars, far above asked me to forget the false ones on the celing and the slight wind took away the bitterness of the evening-of lost friends, because they had grown too old. It was an evening when there were many firsts...a first time when I realised that my best friends will not remain the same as I and they grow up, a first time to eat Chinese food and a first time to realise that there was something called a money divide
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