There are, as my Tai chi teacher rightly said, three types of difficult to teach students:
1. Those who are like inverted containers
2. Those who are like containers with a hole
3. Those who are like filled containers
My teacher was trying to explain to me the difficulties that a teacher encounters in teaching if the student is non-receptive.
Any amount of instruction will simply slide off the sides of an inverted container. Nothing can go in!
Any amount of instruction will leaak out of a container with a hole. Nothing will stay in!
Any amount of instruction will not be accepted by a filled container. There is no space for anything!
The blame for failed learning falls on the shoulders of the student. It never really is questioned that the student may infact, be the unfortunate one, having not met the right teacher! Such is the respect for and importance of the teacher in our culture that it is assumed that any failure is that of the student.
My college professor used to feel quite the opposite. Prof. Vishwakarma, my teacher of ENT, often said that the student comes to a teacher for a limited time. In this case only three years. The teacher, on the other hand has vast experience, often as much as thirty years. If a teacher who is so experienced is not able to impart the knowledge to a student in the limited time available, it is the fault of the teacher. That teacher needs to be failed in the assessment not the student!
These are two very opposite views that are instructional in how a teacher can approach a class to be taught. There are spirit whisperers who treat each available opportunity to talk to teh spirit of the learner. They do not point out mistakes. They point out learning opportunities. They do not inculcate fear. They encourage adventure.
Coming back to the topic of difficult to teach students, however, I submitted that there is yet another class of difficult to teach students. These are the ones who want to learn and seek more with each teaching. These students are very difficult to teach.
They, infact, bring out the best in a teacher. It is in teaching these students that the teacher has to delve deep inside his own soul and knowledge and try to impart all that he knows. These students may end up improving the teacher, too! We all teach best what we need to learn the most ourselves. In teaching something well, our own understanding of the taught matter rises to the next level.
One has to ask Who is a teacher? And who is the taught? What is the lesson? and what is learnt? How does a teacher assess a student and how does a student relate to the teacher? All these are extremely important in determining the outcome of this relationship.
There are far too many teachers who teach with the central idea of trying to find out what a student DOES NOT know. They do not stop here. These teachers then go to great lengths to prove just how much a child does not know!
There are a few teachers who set out to show- not teach just how much the student already knows.There is a famous old Indian saying. Learning is a matter of REdiscovery. We only have to realise what we already know. All knowledge is a common pool- we only have to have the courage and the strength to dip in.
While it takes a good and recieving student to learn a lesson well, it is equally important for the teacher to be able to tap into the spirit of the student and teach what is needed for a particular soul. Tai chi or any other practice is a matter of the soul and is only a physical manifestation of a much deeper drive. It is the responsibility, nay- duty of the teacher to be able to impart enough love and dedication for a student to start on a voyage of self discovery.
Sometimes this may require the teacher to instill a certain degree of desire and discipline in the student. It may require the student to be patient or even impatient in his learning. Each soul has its own destiny and each interaction, each action can either take us closer to self realisation or farther away.
A good teacher helps a student realise his own destiny.
In short, important as it is for a student to have a proper perspective to be able to learn, the true teacher is the one who is able to surmount even that barrier and is able to instruct despite a lack of 'proper perspective'.
I'm 10... going on 20!
“I wake up everyday at six, have a glass of milk on the run and am off to my destination! I usually do not get a shut eye during the day and finally am ready to sleep off by around eleven at night. My day is packed with back to back things to do. I love living life this way!” This is not a twenty or a thirty year old describing a typical day in their life! This is my daughter. She is ten. She firmly believes,” There are two kinds of people in this world- one who go about their entire life only doing one kind of thing. And the other who fill one life with entire spectrum of things to do.” She pauses dramatically for effect. “I am the second type,” she proudly finishes.
For a ten year old, she knows her mind quite well. She is a classical dancer- Odissi, a classical singer and musician in the Indian classical tradition, a karate Black belt from a Japanese tradition and is learning fast mental mathematics the Chinese way! She does not want to drop any activity- she loves them all! On a typical day she needs to be woken up in the morning to get ready for school. She loves school, too! She always has! Last two years she has been the only student in her class to have been accorded the attendance trophy for hundred percent attendance!
She is a teacher’s pet. She is her mother’s darling and she is a cute little mother herself to her three year old brother! Is she deprived of childhood and innocence? Not in the least! She speaks the love languages like all children her age and she speaks them well. She loves to receive little tiny presents that she treasures and she loves a back massage when she is going off to sleep. She loves her brother and dotes on her mother. She depends on her father and maintains “Pa is the fixer who can fix anything!”
I wonder what I did to deserve such an angel for a daughter?! She makes me proud and keeps me happy!
She is not, however, always this good. She irritates me, too! And I am ashamed to say, I fall into the trap of losing my cool and getting angry with her! When I do get angry with her, I do so out of utter helplessness and complete frustration! She would not do a certain subject in school (Hindi) because she does not like it! She knows she does not like it. She knows she does not want to do it. I feel exasperated as a parent that she should, nay must! Is it because I feel put on the spot when her teachers ask me whether I am giving her time? Should she perform for herself? Or for me?
An American pediatrician has even written a book “Allow your children to fail if you want them to succeed” We are bringing up a generation that achieves phenomenal success early in life, gets heady on their laurels and has not tasted defeat and agony of failure. They crumble when confronted with blood in their mouth. They cannot accept anything but the best! Or so this expert would have us believe. My daughter has won enough Gold medals in her Karate tournaments to know the heady feeling that comes with winning. She has also won occasional silver, a bronze or no medal at all to have experienced the pain of defeat. She is being groomed well by well meaning instructors and she is lucky for that. She still would answer to the question, “Who is your best friend?” with a prompt, “My mother”. She even wrote an essay in her school assignment extolling the virtues and adoration that her mother (moi!) personifies. I am lucky for that!
I am not bringing up my daughter according to manuals that experts write. I am trying my best to be an example for her to follow. I am giving her enough freedom to explore activities she could pursue as a hobby to rejuvenate later in life and yet, exerting enough control or influence to draw the line where I need to. That I am well educated and a doctor helps. I command enough respect alongside the love from my children to be heard. Sometimes I may have to scream to be heard… but that’s ok too!
I am bringing my daughter up to be a responsible, empathetic and passionate person. I am doing it by instinct. I have read my share of books to understand today’s children and what the experts think about current parenting philosophies. I have come to the conclusion these books only put in words what parents like me everywhere in the world are already doing in loving and growth oriented families.
Sometimes it is not easy. It takes its emotional and physical toll, both on the parent and the child. In the end, however, if the parent and the child are happy and feel loved- that would be good parenting.
Often, we notice only the negatives. We may not even notice the good things and get quite involved in corrective action. Sad as this preoccupation with remedial action is- it is a habit very easy to break! At the end of each day, especially at the end of a demanding and challenging day, sit down for five minutes. Just five minutes. Think. Write if you want to. Thank god for your child and the unconditional love and acceptance you have there! Would you feel as frustrated with an office mate? Would you scream at a colleague? And if you did, would that person ever talk to you again? Children do.
Maintain a journal. Write one good thing to smile at every day for each child. It could be the good health. It could even be the smile and the hug you got when you came home after work! Could anything else have perked you up quite as effectively? Do you remember the little crumpled flower in small hands and the smile with which your child says, “Happy Mother’s Day” on an ordinary day made extra special?
Parenting is best done by instinct and with love… not by manuals written by proclaimed or self proclaimed experts. It is important not just to love but also to be felt to be loving. Home is a place where if you have nowhere else to go, they have to take you in! And parent is the source of that confidence. Be a proud parent. Be a loving parent.
For a ten year old, she knows her mind quite well. She is a classical dancer- Odissi, a classical singer and musician in the Indian classical tradition, a karate Black belt from a Japanese tradition and is learning fast mental mathematics the Chinese way! She does not want to drop any activity- she loves them all! On a typical day she needs to be woken up in the morning to get ready for school. She loves school, too! She always has! Last two years she has been the only student in her class to have been accorded the attendance trophy for hundred percent attendance!
She is a teacher’s pet. She is her mother’s darling and she is a cute little mother herself to her three year old brother! Is she deprived of childhood and innocence? Not in the least! She speaks the love languages like all children her age and she speaks them well. She loves to receive little tiny presents that she treasures and she loves a back massage when she is going off to sleep. She loves her brother and dotes on her mother. She depends on her father and maintains “Pa is the fixer who can fix anything!”
I wonder what I did to deserve such an angel for a daughter?! She makes me proud and keeps me happy!
She is not, however, always this good. She irritates me, too! And I am ashamed to say, I fall into the trap of losing my cool and getting angry with her! When I do get angry with her, I do so out of utter helplessness and complete frustration! She would not do a certain subject in school (Hindi) because she does not like it! She knows she does not like it. She knows she does not want to do it. I feel exasperated as a parent that she should, nay must! Is it because I feel put on the spot when her teachers ask me whether I am giving her time? Should she perform for herself? Or for me?
An American pediatrician has even written a book “Allow your children to fail if you want them to succeed” We are bringing up a generation that achieves phenomenal success early in life, gets heady on their laurels and has not tasted defeat and agony of failure. They crumble when confronted with blood in their mouth. They cannot accept anything but the best! Or so this expert would have us believe. My daughter has won enough Gold medals in her Karate tournaments to know the heady feeling that comes with winning. She has also won occasional silver, a bronze or no medal at all to have experienced the pain of defeat. She is being groomed well by well meaning instructors and she is lucky for that. She still would answer to the question, “Who is your best friend?” with a prompt, “My mother”. She even wrote an essay in her school assignment extolling the virtues and adoration that her mother (moi!) personifies. I am lucky for that!
I am not bringing up my daughter according to manuals that experts write. I am trying my best to be an example for her to follow. I am giving her enough freedom to explore activities she could pursue as a hobby to rejuvenate later in life and yet, exerting enough control or influence to draw the line where I need to. That I am well educated and a doctor helps. I command enough respect alongside the love from my children to be heard. Sometimes I may have to scream to be heard… but that’s ok too!
I am bringing my daughter up to be a responsible, empathetic and passionate person. I am doing it by instinct. I have read my share of books to understand today’s children and what the experts think about current parenting philosophies. I have come to the conclusion these books only put in words what parents like me everywhere in the world are already doing in loving and growth oriented families.
Sometimes it is not easy. It takes its emotional and physical toll, both on the parent and the child. In the end, however, if the parent and the child are happy and feel loved- that would be good parenting.
Often, we notice only the negatives. We may not even notice the good things and get quite involved in corrective action. Sad as this preoccupation with remedial action is- it is a habit very easy to break! At the end of each day, especially at the end of a demanding and challenging day, sit down for five minutes. Just five minutes. Think. Write if you want to. Thank god for your child and the unconditional love and acceptance you have there! Would you feel as frustrated with an office mate? Would you scream at a colleague? And if you did, would that person ever talk to you again? Children do.
Maintain a journal. Write one good thing to smile at every day for each child. It could be the good health. It could even be the smile and the hug you got when you came home after work! Could anything else have perked you up quite as effectively? Do you remember the little crumpled flower in small hands and the smile with which your child says, “Happy Mother’s Day” on an ordinary day made extra special?
Parenting is best done by instinct and with love… not by manuals written by proclaimed or self proclaimed experts. It is important not just to love but also to be felt to be loving. Home is a place where if you have nowhere else to go, they have to take you in! And parent is the source of that confidence. Be a proud parent. Be a loving parent.
Till death did them part...
Till death do us part…
“Why are women dissatisfied” scream headlines of a newspaper read everyday in thousands of homes! There are quotes from studies in the UK and the USA, which go on to explain that love is no longer a feeling to be cherished. Women are earning and contributing equally to their households, and expectations from their relationships are necessarily determined by these new-found freedoms- freedom to work, freedom to earn and freedom to express. Little do these studies address the issue of love as a feeling that keeps the companions satisfied with two morsels of food or warm in one less garment. These studies focus even less on the warmth of family homes and clans that India revered just a few decades ago.
Love is not a feeling to be ‘expected’ and demanded. It is a feeling to be lived and experienced. I am convinced my grandparents’ saga is not unique but it bears telling in these days of selfish self-centred demanding mates!
9 th of March, 1987… it has been more than two decades ago… but the scene is still as if a movie is playing on a screen and I am watching it- my grandmother’s head in my grandfather’s lap with death, peace and love so thick in the air one could touch the curtain and feel the cold and the warmth of the fibre.
My grandmother was a woman of the royal family of Kapurthala in Punjab, married to an ordinary college professor of Lahore, then in India. The story starts long ago in early nineteen hundreds. My grandfather was born in a rich merchant family with acres of orchards and uncountable money. However, soon after his birth, his mother caught an illness they could do nothing about. The times were not good and all the money could not save my grandfather’s mother. This was, perhaps the unconscious memory that made money the least important thing in his life. Gyan Chand Soni. Literally translated, his name stood for the gentle light of knowledge. It is said in the Hindu scriptures that the two sisters, Saraswati- the goddess of Knowledge and Laxmi, the goddess of Wealth do not stay together under the safe roof! The early events of his life dictated a very strong personality and an almost pathological disregard for money.
His father contracted tuberculosis when he was about to start college. Shunned by the elder brothers, he was left alone to look after his ailing father and even had to physically carry him to the hospital on certain days. Unable to tolerate the misery his father was in, he decided to study to become a doctor- a decision that would take him overseas to some great institution of learning in the British Empire. Fate, however, intervened again! Mahatama Gandhi launched the Swadeshi Movement and my grandfather gave up his plans to study Medicine in UK and took up an ordinary teacher’s job in the FC College.
It gave him enough to run his family and the shared income of the orchards was adequate to tide over occasional hardships. It was in these climes that he was introduced to the Princess of Kapurthala – Janak, my grandmother.
They got married in early nineteen twenties- she a young girl of seventeen or eighteen and he, nearly ten years older at twenty seven. Not a penny in dowry did this self-respecting man accept. The first set of plates and the spoons to go with these… the first set of cups and saucers. The beddings and the pillows, the clothes for themselves- everything was built with love and care.
Janak soon conceived. Their first- born was a daughter- frail in body and not very resilient, this child soon succumbed to nature’s forces. The couple was shattered. They had taken on the responsibility of not only looking after my grandfather’s foster mother but also the ailing father. The pain mellowed a bit but never really went away completely. They soon conceived another child- again a girl. My grandmother looked after this child and guarded her like a tigress. This girl grew up into a brilliant lady- elegant and the first one to live the destiny my grandfather had rejected decades ago- she became a doctor from the Lady Hardinge Medical College in Delhi and went on to do her specialization from UK earning for herself the FRCS. There were others- three sons and one more daughter.
The children used to come to Kapurthala each vacation from Lahore and my grandmother used to spend some time in the royal palaces being pampered and looked after. My grandfather would often finish the college work and at the onset of the vacations join her in Kapurthala for a couple of weeks. In the summer of 1947, with seven children in tow- the youngest, my father being just seven, my grandmother came to Kapurthala again. This once she was apprehensive. She did not want to leave Lahore without her husband.
The situation was tense and the debate on Indo- Pak division was hot. The politicians were playing a dirty and dangerous game. My grandfather forbade my grandmother from coming back to Lahore and promised her he would join them soon. She spent days in agonizing wait and anxiety- all the money, the jewellery, the utensils and the clothes would be lost. How would they start their life again? Could they? As a self-fulfilling prophesy, people started dying- beheaded bodies started arriving in trainfulls. The blood and the hatred were unbearable. The anger was like a volcano- killing everything that came in its way. My grandmother only wanted her husband to join them safely- no material possessions were important. She moved towards Delhi as he had ordered. He joined them. The homecoming was momentous. The government gave the ‘refugees’ land to rebuild their homes and lives. My grandfather joined the Hindu College as a professor of physics and physical education- a strange combination even in those days! Life started again- from scratch. Twigs to rebuild their nest… rags to rebuild their riches. They were a resilient couple, as were a lot of other ‘refugees’. All children used to visit my home all summer vacations. My Grandmother was the grand Matriarch- Seth (A rich woman) and my grand father was always (Soni- his last name).
She sat as regally as a queen would with both her feet firmly on earth and head held high in total confidence of her power. She talked as clearly as a queen would with every word and every sentence telling a saga of a life of devotion to her clan.
Soon, however, the ravages of time and age began to take their toll on her fragile frame. Her diabetes was going out of control and had started affecting her kidneys and her heart. Her high blood- pressure was dealing a double whammy to her already failing systems. As an 11 year old, I had to accompany her to the hospital to decide whether she would be put on Dialysis. I remember her words- “I will not lie down with tubes and needles. No dialysis. I want to die with dignity at home”. Such was her strength and resolve that none could oppose her.
She started behaving somewhat awkwardly- spitting in the sitting room and eating at inappropriate times. My grandfather rallied all his strength to look after her. The rising blood urea was entering her brain and making her delirious. Her clothes started hanging on the skeleton she had become. She was now just skin and bones. It was heartbreaking to see this pillar of our household crumbling. Sometimes, it was embarrassing, too. We could not get through to her- she would not understand. When we felt angry she would shrink as if we had hit her physically. How could a strong willed woman crumble so?
However, on the ninth of March, 1987, she became suddenly lucid. It was half past ten at night. Her entire family had gathered for the inevitable. She was sinking- unable to maintain blood pressure and heart beat. Her brain was clear for the first time in two years! She called her husband and told him,” Soni, I am going… I want you to hold my hand” Even as I write these words, I find my hair standing on ends- a strange electricity running through the back of my neck on to my temples… Her head in my grandfather’s lap, her hand in his, she recollected her entire life in that last half hour with only me as her witness. At eleven, my grandfather gently told me to call the entire family to the bedside- “your grandmother is no more”.
I did not cry- she had set a powerful example of love and service to the family… this deserved a lot more than a few tears shed, dry and forgotten. I decided as a tender sixteen, I would marry only if I could find the same (not similar… but SAME) feeling of loving and being loved. I pray to God my Grandmother eventually found her peace… I know from her final moments on earth it could not be otherwise.
Love has the power to transcend all and heal all.
“Why are women dissatisfied” scream headlines of a newspaper read everyday in thousands of homes! There are quotes from studies in the UK and the USA, which go on to explain that love is no longer a feeling to be cherished. Women are earning and contributing equally to their households, and expectations from their relationships are necessarily determined by these new-found freedoms- freedom to work, freedom to earn and freedom to express. Little do these studies address the issue of love as a feeling that keeps the companions satisfied with two morsels of food or warm in one less garment. These studies focus even less on the warmth of family homes and clans that India revered just a few decades ago.
Love is not a feeling to be ‘expected’ and demanded. It is a feeling to be lived and experienced. I am convinced my grandparents’ saga is not unique but it bears telling in these days of selfish self-centred demanding mates!
9 th of March, 1987… it has been more than two decades ago… but the scene is still as if a movie is playing on a screen and I am watching it- my grandmother’s head in my grandfather’s lap with death, peace and love so thick in the air one could touch the curtain and feel the cold and the warmth of the fibre.
My grandmother was a woman of the royal family of Kapurthala in Punjab, married to an ordinary college professor of Lahore, then in India. The story starts long ago in early nineteen hundreds. My grandfather was born in a rich merchant family with acres of orchards and uncountable money. However, soon after his birth, his mother caught an illness they could do nothing about. The times were not good and all the money could not save my grandfather’s mother. This was, perhaps the unconscious memory that made money the least important thing in his life. Gyan Chand Soni. Literally translated, his name stood for the gentle light of knowledge. It is said in the Hindu scriptures that the two sisters, Saraswati- the goddess of Knowledge and Laxmi, the goddess of Wealth do not stay together under the safe roof! The early events of his life dictated a very strong personality and an almost pathological disregard for money.
His father contracted tuberculosis when he was about to start college. Shunned by the elder brothers, he was left alone to look after his ailing father and even had to physically carry him to the hospital on certain days. Unable to tolerate the misery his father was in, he decided to study to become a doctor- a decision that would take him overseas to some great institution of learning in the British Empire. Fate, however, intervened again! Mahatama Gandhi launched the Swadeshi Movement and my grandfather gave up his plans to study Medicine in UK and took up an ordinary teacher’s job in the FC College.
It gave him enough to run his family and the shared income of the orchards was adequate to tide over occasional hardships. It was in these climes that he was introduced to the Princess of Kapurthala – Janak, my grandmother.
They got married in early nineteen twenties- she a young girl of seventeen or eighteen and he, nearly ten years older at twenty seven. Not a penny in dowry did this self-respecting man accept. The first set of plates and the spoons to go with these… the first set of cups and saucers. The beddings and the pillows, the clothes for themselves- everything was built with love and care.
Janak soon conceived. Their first- born was a daughter- frail in body and not very resilient, this child soon succumbed to nature’s forces. The couple was shattered. They had taken on the responsibility of not only looking after my grandfather’s foster mother but also the ailing father. The pain mellowed a bit but never really went away completely. They soon conceived another child- again a girl. My grandmother looked after this child and guarded her like a tigress. This girl grew up into a brilliant lady- elegant and the first one to live the destiny my grandfather had rejected decades ago- she became a doctor from the Lady Hardinge Medical College in Delhi and went on to do her specialization from UK earning for herself the FRCS. There were others- three sons and one more daughter.
The children used to come to Kapurthala each vacation from Lahore and my grandmother used to spend some time in the royal palaces being pampered and looked after. My grandfather would often finish the college work and at the onset of the vacations join her in Kapurthala for a couple of weeks. In the summer of 1947, with seven children in tow- the youngest, my father being just seven, my grandmother came to Kapurthala again. This once she was apprehensive. She did not want to leave Lahore without her husband.
The situation was tense and the debate on Indo- Pak division was hot. The politicians were playing a dirty and dangerous game. My grandfather forbade my grandmother from coming back to Lahore and promised her he would join them soon. She spent days in agonizing wait and anxiety- all the money, the jewellery, the utensils and the clothes would be lost. How would they start their life again? Could they? As a self-fulfilling prophesy, people started dying- beheaded bodies started arriving in trainfulls. The blood and the hatred were unbearable. The anger was like a volcano- killing everything that came in its way. My grandmother only wanted her husband to join them safely- no material possessions were important. She moved towards Delhi as he had ordered. He joined them. The homecoming was momentous. The government gave the ‘refugees’ land to rebuild their homes and lives. My grandfather joined the Hindu College as a professor of physics and physical education- a strange combination even in those days! Life started again- from scratch. Twigs to rebuild their nest… rags to rebuild their riches. They were a resilient couple, as were a lot of other ‘refugees’. All children used to visit my home all summer vacations. My Grandmother was the grand Matriarch- Seth (A rich woman) and my grand father was always (Soni- his last name).
She sat as regally as a queen would with both her feet firmly on earth and head held high in total confidence of her power. She talked as clearly as a queen would with every word and every sentence telling a saga of a life of devotion to her clan.
Soon, however, the ravages of time and age began to take their toll on her fragile frame. Her diabetes was going out of control and had started affecting her kidneys and her heart. Her high blood- pressure was dealing a double whammy to her already failing systems. As an 11 year old, I had to accompany her to the hospital to decide whether she would be put on Dialysis. I remember her words- “I will not lie down with tubes and needles. No dialysis. I want to die with dignity at home”. Such was her strength and resolve that none could oppose her.
She started behaving somewhat awkwardly- spitting in the sitting room and eating at inappropriate times. My grandfather rallied all his strength to look after her. The rising blood urea was entering her brain and making her delirious. Her clothes started hanging on the skeleton she had become. She was now just skin and bones. It was heartbreaking to see this pillar of our household crumbling. Sometimes, it was embarrassing, too. We could not get through to her- she would not understand. When we felt angry she would shrink as if we had hit her physically. How could a strong willed woman crumble so?
However, on the ninth of March, 1987, she became suddenly lucid. It was half past ten at night. Her entire family had gathered for the inevitable. She was sinking- unable to maintain blood pressure and heart beat. Her brain was clear for the first time in two years! She called her husband and told him,” Soni, I am going… I want you to hold my hand” Even as I write these words, I find my hair standing on ends- a strange electricity running through the back of my neck on to my temples… Her head in my grandfather’s lap, her hand in his, she recollected her entire life in that last half hour with only me as her witness. At eleven, my grandfather gently told me to call the entire family to the bedside- “your grandmother is no more”.
I did not cry- she had set a powerful example of love and service to the family… this deserved a lot more than a few tears shed, dry and forgotten. I decided as a tender sixteen, I would marry only if I could find the same (not similar… but SAME) feeling of loving and being loved. I pray to God my Grandmother eventually found her peace… I know from her final moments on earth it could not be otherwise.
Love has the power to transcend all and heal all.
"I have the power," said the HeMan!
I remember Heman's line and the transformation that he undergoes each time he says it far more than anything else from this cartoon from my childhood. The meek and weak looking guy becomes a well sculpted powerful soldier for the Good. Skeletor, on the other hand does nothing quite as dramatic.
What really is power? It is the ability to do something. It requires a task. The energy to accomplish it and the result. The attractive power is one that we experience from mentors who allow us to discover our own inner capacity and strength. They nourish our soul and make us believe in our ability. They empower us to do what we can. This kind of nutritive power enhances the human and the humanising nature of our existence, making power struggles unnecessary. True power is the kind Vivekananda had. He believed each individual could be raised to a level of optimal living. There is no need for leaders as this presupposes followers who would be less than the leaders. According to him, all could be raised to teh level of so called leaders and integrated into the league of performers and doers. True power is not insecure. It works with all it touches to raise everyone through co-operation. Synergism is when each of both ( or all of several) individuals involved in an interaction produce a bigger result than they would add to. That is the power in action.
However, as the saying goes- power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. It takes a great soul not to lord over the less fortunate ones. It takes a truly powerful individual not to abuse teh power he is vested with and allow all to grow. These people try to exploit and manipulate those that they lead for their own personal gain. In these cases, the led are losers and the leader cannot long remain a winner... This expression of power tends to incite violence and war. It kills all- the leader and the led. There would be none left to be led... and no leader can then be called a leader.
These powers survive on mob mentality. Such people speak convincingly and mislead masses on religious or caste basis and divide rather than uniting. They encourage poeople to join Institutions and project that the Institution is bigger than an individual. They sacrifice humans just as in teh olden days humans sacrificed animals. They kill in the name of a noble cause. They fight in the name of God they say they want to protect from sacrilege. Is their God so weak as to require them to defend Him?
God, in any religion, promotes love and justice. Religion is just another way to get several people together and give them security to be able to discuss and practice certain tetnets that allow for growth, peace and love.
True power allows people to work together without the fear of losing; to come together and create a world order that is safe and just. It allows for social justice to prevail as a natural law. It allows all to express their soul and realise its purpose and desire. It allows people to feel empowered enough to influence the course of history... without fear or ulterior motive.
True power allows society to grow and nurture its people in safety without competing for basic life needs... it allows every one to be... secure and contented.
What really is power? It is the ability to do something. It requires a task. The energy to accomplish it and the result. The attractive power is one that we experience from mentors who allow us to discover our own inner capacity and strength. They nourish our soul and make us believe in our ability. They empower us to do what we can. This kind of nutritive power enhances the human and the humanising nature of our existence, making power struggles unnecessary. True power is the kind Vivekananda had. He believed each individual could be raised to a level of optimal living. There is no need for leaders as this presupposes followers who would be less than the leaders. According to him, all could be raised to teh level of so called leaders and integrated into the league of performers and doers. True power is not insecure. It works with all it touches to raise everyone through co-operation. Synergism is when each of both ( or all of several) individuals involved in an interaction produce a bigger result than they would add to. That is the power in action.
However, as the saying goes- power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. It takes a great soul not to lord over the less fortunate ones. It takes a truly powerful individual not to abuse teh power he is vested with and allow all to grow. These people try to exploit and manipulate those that they lead for their own personal gain. In these cases, the led are losers and the leader cannot long remain a winner... This expression of power tends to incite violence and war. It kills all- the leader and the led. There would be none left to be led... and no leader can then be called a leader.
These powers survive on mob mentality. Such people speak convincingly and mislead masses on religious or caste basis and divide rather than uniting. They encourage poeople to join Institutions and project that the Institution is bigger than an individual. They sacrifice humans just as in teh olden days humans sacrificed animals. They kill in the name of a noble cause. They fight in the name of God they say they want to protect from sacrilege. Is their God so weak as to require them to defend Him?
God, in any religion, promotes love and justice. Religion is just another way to get several people together and give them security to be able to discuss and practice certain tetnets that allow for growth, peace and love.
True power allows people to work together without the fear of losing; to come together and create a world order that is safe and just. It allows for social justice to prevail as a natural law. It allows all to express their soul and realise its purpose and desire. It allows people to feel empowered enough to influence the course of history... without fear or ulterior motive.
True power allows society to grow and nurture its people in safety without competing for basic life needs... it allows every one to be... secure and contented.
Multitasking is the way of life for a mother...
And I thought I was of a rare breed managing home and grocery and bills and kitchen and cleaning and laundry and kids classes and ... being a surgeon!... the list could go on endlessly. But you know at the end of the day I do not even expect to be acknowledged let alone appreciated for what I do and just how much I manage to fit in a day. What is really killing is the remark that comes casually floating on the air riding my raw nerves and hitting my consciousnes... my husband asking me ( deliberate attempt to rankle?) What is it that you really do the whole day!?
When I first heard that remark, I was stunned. Speechless. I thought I was in a delusion. It really needs a man- any man- to make that kind of a remark to a woman- any woman!
I wanted to go on strike. No waking up the kids for school. No tiffins. No cleaning up the clothing left on the floor or wet in the bathroom either. No picking up of utensils after a meal and no cleaning up of spills in between. No. Nothing. See what happens to the well ordered and organised household that is visible to all who care to be with us at any given point of time.
And smugly at the end of the day, amid the mess, be able to say," You know Hon! You wanted to know exactly what is it that I do during the day? Well... I did not do it today!"
The day would probably end in the woman cleaning up all the mess before she hits the pillow. Better to do it as it comes along rather than wait to show anyone exactly what happens when you do not! And end up not sleeping the night because the mess will trouble you in sleep as well.
Most women today would be single parents despite having a partner. It takes a mother to understand the meaning of multitasking as well as being totally invisible while managing ALL those tasks simultaneously!
I am sure I am not alone in the league of women who have changed diapers in moving cars and left their meal in the middle because junior wants to piddle! Or even poop. Then having done the needful- come back to finish the meal totally unaffected by what happened in between!
We can even enjoy being wet in the middle of the night and laugh about it the next morning!My children are still young and I know I have not had unbroken sleep for last several years. Let a man try having this kind of sleep one night and he ends up being irritable the rest of the day. It does not have to be a sick or unwell child to make a mother a light sleeper.
I enjoy every moment of being a mother. I know I would probably not be able to do as great a job were I to be a full time mom. I think I do better by being full-time surgeon and over-time mom! Being at work is like relaxation from the activities at home and being at home is a clean and refreshing break from office chores!
can we form a club? Working moms... supermoms?
When I first heard that remark, I was stunned. Speechless. I thought I was in a delusion. It really needs a man- any man- to make that kind of a remark to a woman- any woman!
I wanted to go on strike. No waking up the kids for school. No tiffins. No cleaning up the clothing left on the floor or wet in the bathroom either. No picking up of utensils after a meal and no cleaning up of spills in between. No. Nothing. See what happens to the well ordered and organised household that is visible to all who care to be with us at any given point of time.
And smugly at the end of the day, amid the mess, be able to say," You know Hon! You wanted to know exactly what is it that I do during the day? Well... I did not do it today!"
The day would probably end in the woman cleaning up all the mess before she hits the pillow. Better to do it as it comes along rather than wait to show anyone exactly what happens when you do not! And end up not sleeping the night because the mess will trouble you in sleep as well.
Most women today would be single parents despite having a partner. It takes a mother to understand the meaning of multitasking as well as being totally invisible while managing ALL those tasks simultaneously!
I am sure I am not alone in the league of women who have changed diapers in moving cars and left their meal in the middle because junior wants to piddle! Or even poop. Then having done the needful- come back to finish the meal totally unaffected by what happened in between!
We can even enjoy being wet in the middle of the night and laugh about it the next morning!My children are still young and I know I have not had unbroken sleep for last several years. Let a man try having this kind of sleep one night and he ends up being irritable the rest of the day. It does not have to be a sick or unwell child to make a mother a light sleeper.
I enjoy every moment of being a mother. I know I would probably not be able to do as great a job were I to be a full time mom. I think I do better by being full-time surgeon and over-time mom! Being at work is like relaxation from the activities at home and being at home is a clean and refreshing break from office chores!
can we form a club? Working moms... supermoms?
The price of being a working mother...
When I joined the MBBS course in 1987 ( Is that not a once upon a time kind of statement?!), I never realised what I was letting myself in for!
At that time, it was a dream come true. My parents had worked very hard to give us all they could and then some more. What I remember of my childhood is single-minded dedication of my mother to sit with us EVERY day and make sure our work for the day was done. They had had their own share of hardships. This was not clearly communicated to us children but was not hidden either. My father would work 18 to 20 hours a day just so we would be able to afford the books and the food- in that order. My mother had no friends to distract her from the job she had taken upon herself- rearing her children. Each waking moment of the day she was doing something for us- waking us up for school, getting us ready in time to catch the bus, preparing our tiffins ( I do not remember a single day in my school life that I ate cafeteria food from the school canteen!). I wonder what she did while we were at school. I think she would have been completing the tasks that would otherwise take her away from the children's presence- laundry, bathing dishes etc.
At that time, we used to, quite innocently feel that we were the ones who were really busy! What was it that the grown ups used to complain so much about? They simply had to get up- and go to sleep. What happened during the day in between never occured to us as something that needed to be actively done! It was like breathing and walking- part involuntary and part vountary! It simply happened! Look at us, though. The children ahve to wake up at an inhuman hour ( they donot realise the parent who wakes up even earlier for this simple task to be completed!) and then get ready to rush to school ( who lays down all the small pieces in the puzzle so perfectly that the effort is not even visible each morn?!). As if that is not enough, now the children have to study... what do the adults do? Some are like their teachers- they teach. Some others are free... FREE... to do nothing! Nothing, however, when dissected means a lot of bills to be paid, teh ration to be stocked, the daily supplies to be replenished, the household chores to be completed, the kitchen to be run, the cooking to be completed, the laundry to be done, the ironing to be perfect, the house to be clean, and .... blah blah....
It is only when we grow up that we realise just how much work doing nothing really is!! Add to this the occassional need for the maintenance of the place we all take for granted- home! And ofcourse, if you are a professionsl, that is added chores. This does not take away from the rest of the things you would do! You do not, for instance, not look after the bills or the kitchen- these things do not take care of themselves.
The needs of the work place take on a new meaning when they are given to a mother. If she does everything well- she must have ignored her family. If she does not, she is ignoring her work. Either way, it is teh working woman who ends up losing. Little do all those around us realise just how much energy and effort goes into maintaining the balance between the two fronts so that both feel well looked after. Psychologists talk about Win- Win and force the women into a lose- lose.
When a working mother goes to school for her children's PT Meeting ( parent- Teacher interaction), the first refrain from the teacher is a very sympathetic, " Oh! Being a working mother, may be yoou are not able to devote full time to your children" It is often said as a question but meant as a underhand attack. Little do these teachers realise at the time they say it that they, too, are working mothers! Who looks after their children? And how?
All said and done, the balance really has to tilt in the favour of the children. I have observed- quite closely, and come to the conclusion, that children are resilient. They adapt. If the parents are always around, they are largely dependent or rebelliously independent. On the other hand, those whose parents are working, end up being largely independent or rebelliouosly dependent!
My children are quite independent. And immensely attached to me. I am part of all their adventures as well as activities. I play hopscotch with them as easily as I teach Math or even how to hold the pencil!
In my opinion, a parent who is able to strike the right balance to be able to give a child opportunity to fully bloom as well as provide the water and the manure when these are needed for these tender plants is the parent who can call himself or herself successful.
Children need parenting. More than that the adults need childrening!! It is good for our mental health to have loving nurturing relationships. Let us love and nurture...
At that time, it was a dream come true. My parents had worked very hard to give us all they could and then some more. What I remember of my childhood is single-minded dedication of my mother to sit with us EVERY day and make sure our work for the day was done. They had had their own share of hardships. This was not clearly communicated to us children but was not hidden either. My father would work 18 to 20 hours a day just so we would be able to afford the books and the food- in that order. My mother had no friends to distract her from the job she had taken upon herself- rearing her children. Each waking moment of the day she was doing something for us- waking us up for school, getting us ready in time to catch the bus, preparing our tiffins ( I do not remember a single day in my school life that I ate cafeteria food from the school canteen!). I wonder what she did while we were at school. I think she would have been completing the tasks that would otherwise take her away from the children's presence- laundry, bathing dishes etc.
At that time, we used to, quite innocently feel that we were the ones who were really busy! What was it that the grown ups used to complain so much about? They simply had to get up- and go to sleep. What happened during the day in between never occured to us as something that needed to be actively done! It was like breathing and walking- part involuntary and part vountary! It simply happened! Look at us, though. The children ahve to wake up at an inhuman hour ( they donot realise the parent who wakes up even earlier for this simple task to be completed!) and then get ready to rush to school ( who lays down all the small pieces in the puzzle so perfectly that the effort is not even visible each morn?!). As if that is not enough, now the children have to study... what do the adults do? Some are like their teachers- they teach. Some others are free... FREE... to do nothing! Nothing, however, when dissected means a lot of bills to be paid, teh ration to be stocked, the daily supplies to be replenished, the household chores to be completed, the kitchen to be run, the cooking to be completed, the laundry to be done, the ironing to be perfect, the house to be clean, and .... blah blah....
It is only when we grow up that we realise just how much work doing nothing really is!! Add to this the occassional need for the maintenance of the place we all take for granted- home! And ofcourse, if you are a professionsl, that is added chores. This does not take away from the rest of the things you would do! You do not, for instance, not look after the bills or the kitchen- these things do not take care of themselves.
The needs of the work place take on a new meaning when they are given to a mother. If she does everything well- she must have ignored her family. If she does not, she is ignoring her work. Either way, it is teh working woman who ends up losing. Little do all those around us realise just how much energy and effort goes into maintaining the balance between the two fronts so that both feel well looked after. Psychologists talk about Win- Win and force the women into a lose- lose.
When a working mother goes to school for her children's PT Meeting ( parent- Teacher interaction), the first refrain from the teacher is a very sympathetic, " Oh! Being a working mother, may be yoou are not able to devote full time to your children" It is often said as a question but meant as a underhand attack. Little do these teachers realise at the time they say it that they, too, are working mothers! Who looks after their children? And how?
All said and done, the balance really has to tilt in the favour of the children. I have observed- quite closely, and come to the conclusion, that children are resilient. They adapt. If the parents are always around, they are largely dependent or rebelliously independent. On the other hand, those whose parents are working, end up being largely independent or rebelliouosly dependent!
My children are quite independent. And immensely attached to me. I am part of all their adventures as well as activities. I play hopscotch with them as easily as I teach Math or even how to hold the pencil!
In my opinion, a parent who is able to strike the right balance to be able to give a child opportunity to fully bloom as well as provide the water and the manure when these are needed for these tender plants is the parent who can call himself or herself successful.
Children need parenting. More than that the adults need childrening!! It is good for our mental health to have loving nurturing relationships. Let us love and nurture...
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