Last April we were travelling back home from a trip to Pachmadhi, a hill(ock) station in the Satpuras.
We took a Bhopal bound train from Piparia at around 2 pM. It was a scorching late April afternoon.
By the time we reached Itarsi, we were very thirsty. I got down and bought a few sachets of buttermilk from a local vendor. They are cheap, cool and refreshing. However, our children would have none of that. So again I went down and got some fruit pulp drink for them, Maaza or something, I donot remember the brand exactly. Coming back to my seat I found a little beggar girl standing there,
her right hand spread in front of my wife. Now that she knew that our kids won't take the butter milk anymore, she placed one sachet in that grimy palm. The girl took it, smiled at her and went away.
Within five minutes she was back again. Again she stood there , exactly in the same manner, her right hand spread in front of my wife. This time she gave her two more of the sachets. She smiled brightly and left. After sometime when the train was almost ready to depart, suddenly the same grimy palm peeped through the window and a frail voice pleaded from below outside--Aur ek de do naa auntiji!
My wife placed the single leftover sachet in that hand. It disappeared immediately. We then started discussing this moral degradtion of this child. In the first place she was hardly half a dozen years old, but was already a practised beggar. In addition, see how greedy she was! She would never be satisfied with a little, but would always like to grab everything. All four sachets she took for herself! Such greed! What a selfish and greedy woman would she become once she grew up! Some co-passangers joined in and a wonderful and knowledgeable discussion on moral degradatio of Indian beggers began.
While a middle aged gentleman was suggesting a state sponsored forced ligation program for all destitute women above fifteen so as to save the face of the nation from the scourge of such unwanted little urchins, suddenly there was the long whistle and the train started to roll.
When we were approaching the end of the platform, suddenly my elder kid pointed outside and said, "Papa look, that greedy begger girl!''
We all looked outside. There she was; standing guard over a very ill looking middle aged woman, perhaps her mother. The woman was greedily sucking at one of those packets of butter milk Three other naked toddlers were scampering around. Each of them had one sachet in his or her hand.
Only, our greedy beggar girl was an exception. We had given her only four packets. She did not have any sachet left for herself. There she stood, a six year old kid, with a stamp of extreme desire visible all over her perched body, looking at the gradually emptying packets of liquid in the hands of her younger siblings and her ill mother.
The train slipped out of the platform. There was a odd hush inside our compartment.
My narration being over, I shall end my post here, without any expert sounding comment from my side. I have no right to pass a judgement on a human being with so much superior strength of character than me, or , than any other person I have met till date. Little girl, who taught you conquer your greed in such a way? Could you teach us the trick?
Monday, August 24, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Joydhak back issues not visible--the solution
Some of our readers are complaining for sometime regarding non availability of some of the past issues on clicking the links provided in the archive page. Yes, there's a linkage problem there. ONly issue one and 5 are clickable. Issue 2,3,4 are not.
Till the problem is resolved you may copy and paste the following link in your address bar to see the past issues. YOU SHOULD CHANGE THE ISSUE NUMBER from 2 to 4 in this link to reach the particular back issue you want to see.
http://www.sristisukh.com/joydhak/2/index.html
Till the problem is resolved you may copy and paste the following link in your address bar to see the past issues. YOU SHOULD CHANGE THE ISSUE NUMBER from 2 to 4 in this link to reach the particular back issue you want to see.
http://www.sristisukh.com/joydhak/2/index.html
Saturday, July 25, 2009
A Kid goes missing here every thirty second. Where do they go??
How does a parent feel when the kid goes missing? And how does the kid himself/herself feel? According to one calculation every thirty second one child goes missing in India. Where do they go? Where do they end up? Roadside beggars? tender meat in international flesh trade? source of live organs ? unwanted dependents in some shabby government orphanage?
How many of them are returned back to their own homes by the established mechanism of our society?
Interestingly, a thorough websearch could not yield any such reliable statistics. Nobody knows. Not many cares.
Most of the missing children come from the poorer section of the society. They donot have enough lobbying power. So our socio political institutions donot feel the compelling urge to prioritise the issue. After all who cares for a few faceless kids? We already have enough of that livestock available .
Luckily, some Indians are thinking otherwise also. Even more fortunately, they are not just thinkers. Some of them have actually started the mission in the right spirit
One such organisation is the National Centre for Missing Children.
They run a website named
http://www.missingindiankids.com
The organisation has started the work in a proactive manner. They presently have more than 2 Lakh subscribers all over the country and are in active liaison with hundreds of legal, social and voluntary organisations .
As soon as a missing child report reaches them, they post the news on the website with posters of the kid. An alert immediately reaches more than two lakh subscribers all over the country.
Its institutional subscribers (for example various orphanages and homes all over the country) , as soon as the get the alerts they print it out as per plan and display this. Some leading womens' magaziones have also started giving free space to this centre for publication of their alerts.
With adoption of this technique the search for a missing child is breaking the shackles of a traditionally disinterested and inefficient police investigation and is taking a proper shape.
Of late they have started achieving a fairly appreciable success rate too.
Another link below provides an article containing many other links to reliable organisations who help in locating missing children:
http://www.childlineindia.org.in/cr-missing-children.htm
(This site is run by another organisation called Childline India Fountdation which acts as a NODAL AGENCY that links children in distress to organisations who can rehabilitate them. In essence CIF sets up a single window framework through a tele-helpline service - CHILDLINE 1098 - which can be accessed easily by any child.)
CAN WE DO SOMETHING AND CONTRIBUTE TO THESE EFFORTS?
WELL, IF NOT ANYTHING ELSE, AT LEAST WE CAN START BY SPENDING SOME OF OUR PRECIOUS TIME GLANCING THRU THESE SITES AND THEN SPREADING THE NEWS TO OTHERS.
OR IS THAT A TALL ORDER?
How many of them are returned back to their own homes by the established mechanism of our society?
Interestingly, a thorough websearch could not yield any such reliable statistics. Nobody knows. Not many cares.
Most of the missing children come from the poorer section of the society. They donot have enough lobbying power. So our socio political institutions donot feel the compelling urge to prioritise the issue. After all who cares for a few faceless kids? We already have enough of that livestock available .
Luckily, some Indians are thinking otherwise also. Even more fortunately, they are not just thinkers. Some of them have actually started the mission in the right spirit
One such organisation is the National Centre for Missing Children.
They run a website named
http://www.missingindiankids.com
The organisation has started the work in a proactive manner. They presently have more than 2 Lakh subscribers all over the country and are in active liaison with hundreds of legal, social and voluntary organisations .
As soon as a missing child report reaches them, they post the news on the website with posters of the kid. An alert immediately reaches more than two lakh subscribers all over the country.
Its institutional subscribers (for example various orphanages and homes all over the country) , as soon as the get the alerts they print it out as per plan and display this. Some leading womens' magaziones have also started giving free space to this centre for publication of their alerts.
With adoption of this technique the search for a missing child is breaking the shackles of a traditionally disinterested and inefficient police investigation and is taking a proper shape.
Of late they have started achieving a fairly appreciable success rate too.
Another link below provides an article containing many other links to reliable organisations who help in locating missing children:
http://www.childlineindia.org.in/cr-missing-children.htm
(This site is run by another organisation called Childline India Fountdation which acts as a NODAL AGENCY that links children in distress to organisations who can rehabilitate them. In essence CIF sets up a single window framework through a tele-helpline service - CHILDLINE 1098 - which can be accessed easily by any child.)
CAN WE DO SOMETHING AND CONTRIBUTE TO THESE EFFORTS?
WELL, IF NOT ANYTHING ELSE, AT LEAST WE CAN START BY SPENDING SOME OF OUR PRECIOUS TIME GLANCING THRU THESE SITES AND THEN SPREADING THE NEWS TO OTHERS.
OR IS THAT A TALL ORDER?
Saturday, June 20, 2009
JOydhak field workshop--a report
Read this interesting report on Joydhak's interaction with children in the remote Radhanagar village in the mangroves region at --
http://joydhak.wordpress.com/a-field-workshop-organised-by-joydhak/
Friday, June 19, 2009
Darkness in literature for the young
While we debate on this issue, darkness settles on the literature for the young in the west.
IN this article published in the wsg Katie Roiphe writes--
Until recently, the young-adult fiction section at your local bookstore was a sea of nubile midriffs set against pink and turquoise backgrounds. Today’s landscape features haunted girls staring out from dark or washed-out covers. Current young-adult best sellers include one suicide, one deadly car wreck, one life-threatening case of anorexia and one dystopian universe in which children fight to the death. Somewhere along the line our teenagers have become connoisseurs of disaster.
the main article will be available at the following link. It is spine chilling.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970203771904574173403357573642.html
IN this article published in the wsg Katie Roiphe writes--
Until recently, the young-adult fiction section at your local bookstore was a sea of nubile midriffs set against pink and turquoise backgrounds. Today’s landscape features haunted girls staring out from dark or washed-out covers. Current young-adult best sellers include one suicide, one deadly car wreck, one life-threatening case of anorexia and one dystopian universe in which children fight to the death. Somewhere along the line our teenagers have become connoisseurs of disaster.
the main article will be available at the following link. It is spine chilling.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970203771904574173403357573642.html
Thursday, June 18, 2009
dark thoughts and children's literature
Here is a brilliant comment on the ongoing debate received from Mr. Sujoy Roy from Kolkata. It is available in the comments section but I could not resist the temptation of flashing it also as a post:
Child fiction should steer away from dark emotions of crime and horror. A child bears an enchanted innocence beyond wisdom. A little lass canters and dances like no one is watching her. She should not be hit with angst and atavistic fears. Fear is not a right motivator, undermines the confidence and diminishes the child .What comes to mind is “The wonderful wizard of Oz”, written by L. Baum. Its a different in the genre of children’s classic in avoiding the negative vibes and emotions and crudity of old fairy tales of fantastically contorted wiches and mythical realms of dragons and demons ; its neither the same as post-modern preoccupations with distant galaxies infested with zombies in apocalyptic wastelands. A child craves for stories. That’s what makes antsy children quiet.The wizard of Oz is special because it is exuberantly big hearted, joyful embrace of the minutiae of daily life in an atmosphere of happy goodnight air for the little fellow to sleep and slip into a dreamy playground. The child loves tales chiefly for pleasure, not for packaging serious knowledge as adults look for. Leela Mazumder said so. I hardly know of any better reading than her “Padipishir Burmi baksho” and “Dine dupure”. ( Satyi je kokhon shesh hoi, swapna je kokhon shuru hoi bola mushkil.) Swapan torir neye .
Nonsense humour using the method of logical inversion is nonsense (children enjoy), but the study of nonsense is scholarship (which adults do). The jabberwocky of Lewis Carroll and Edward Lear, Sukumar Roy’s “Abol Tabol ( Rhyme without reason) with weired creatures as Griffonling and Higgle Piggle Dee will continue to tickle a funny bone amongst kids and the adult(child). Sukumar advanced an apologia that the this brand of humour was conceived in a spirit of whimsy. In his old days Tagore composed Khapchara” in the same vein. In the last few lines of Abol tabol the poet is jesting in the shadow of his final days:
“A keen primordial lunar chill,
The nightmare’s nest with bunchy frill-
My drowsy brain such glimpses steep,
And all my singing ends in sleep.”
Alice in wonderland is pure whimsidal realm. Its icon of extinction is Dodo. The creature never had a chance, it seems to have been invented solely for the purpose becoming extinct. After Alce “Ha-ja-bara-la “(Topsy Turvy Tale) comes up with close familiarity. And do not forget to tie the knot of memory-setting every now and then in between mysterious vanishing act of of things plaguaging the moments. I have to raise the house, hunt high and low for the blasted combs and Sorbitrates; they play truant and make for a story of another day. Missing objects are crazy, but found objects such as an icecream cone in the freezer is an easy grab.Where did my favourite childhood illustrated books duck away? I keep missing them more and more distressingly? They went down the rabbit hole in Alice’s wonderland.Tumbled down to the garden through a subterranean cavern. They enjoy a rip roaring laughter regaling one another about how they escaped the clutches of two legged monsters above ground. Should serious men smoke out the rabbit hole?
And the adventure stories of “Chander pahar”, whale -hunting in Moby Dick along with its sea-gazing and wandering how happiness is bound up with waves! Tintin, whose adventures have delighted children and adults over the world remains an ageless boy reporter; he began life eighty years ago at the age of fifteen. Take the case of Santa Claus. If he did not exist, it would be necy. to invent him as a jolly giver of children’s gifts. Red is regarded as the colour of love.Wonder why Santa is is dressed in red and rides a sleigh drven by red-nosed reindeer, unless , of course,he drives down other people’s chimneys at midnight with entirely amorous intentions.. And such pen-pictures of Dickens can tickle a young one as this:”his moustache went up under his nose and his nose came down under his mushtache ”
Is Snow White a vampire because she lies in the coffin without decaying? My village was a beehive of rumours about sleepwalking and and whisper-shouting to awaken the somnambulist. Every mile away there were habitations of spooks with names and local tags. Absurdly weired names such as “ekanore” used to give us creeps. Wild fantasmogria ! Such heebie-jeebies were staple for our childhood tale in pastoral light and shade. When I piled up some years I read through “‘Dracula”… “I have crossed oceans of time to find you”, snarled the “un-dead” count before blood-sucking a woman!
Other day I experienced a cheer as best cheer can be amongst a bunch of picknickers in advanced years, never mind their third legs. These up and coming senior citizens of new decades are not wanting in falling in love, sticking a curiosity nose at whats-goin-on in the midnight ball of the young. They don’t seem to grow old, but grow up, yes. Adolescent at the age of sixty. And many amonst the grey hairs are bibliophiles, busy in biblotherapy. Lliterature of man’s lamb white days has never failed to appeal to all age tags. Besides give the devil his due. Hitler’s private library had a collection 16000 books. He ranked Robinson Crusoe, Uncle Tom’s cabin and Gulliver’s travels as high water marks of world literature.
Gone are days of story telling. Love of story-telling is human nature, sitting around watch fires; amidst forest clearings beguiling the evening hours retailing yarns of big game hunting of Corbett or the Maharaja of Coochbehar’s thirty years of game chasing. My granfather’s diary about of forest excursions riding his favourite elephant (Gangaprasad) driven by Maulabux along with the white magistracy of the day is family legend. The beast was temperamental, he seemed to be cast in such a role as “born free”. In the war times the beast had been commissioned by the Raj to carry logs. The war was over but he was not aware whether hostilities had ceased. He used to sassay majestically through the forest shouldering grandpa and his guests followed by others of his species pall- bearing from behind. Grandpa was about that time learning a smattering of English in the company with the British. But he mistimed and did English to the beast, not once but annoyingly thrice. That miffed the animal, he shrugged his master off the shoulder flooring him. Ever since then grandpa hung up his boots, the hunting gears and the guns like a lame duck zamindar contemplating his navel, and scripting a diary about his smooth jog trot in life that was, now over.
…The voice of the rairoad journey, Goaland Express hurtling through the country side , cinder-scented from the coal engine, babble of grinding wheels and shuddering window frames , whistling and hooting, painting the blue sky in dark puff-clouds was the story of the rural sites of Jessore and Nishchindipur in our salad days. I am Apu the wide-eyed boy.
Literature would miss a lot without a risky gamble of a boy writing an indiscreet letter of romantic crap to to a girl that he is willing to to turn into a soccer ball so that she could kick him around. Then sign himself “hastily yours”… on a soap paper. A lucky sunshine glistened on the girl’s skin. For all one knows the lass would be as unappreciating as a duck would shake away champagne from its back.This was part of growing up. And cozying in with whodunnit stories about identity of murderers on a Sunday afternoon while monsoon rained outside was a no-exit world of engagement.
Today the environment has changed.There is hardly a green swath left where the air kisses. And no more reading aloud amongst family members. (The trend is moving over to listening to audio books). Reading with one’s lungs and diaphragm, with tongue and lips makes for a seductive tenderness. Bed time stories used to be the breath and soul of grandma of rumbustious kids. She opened many a door to her little pests.
But our salad days were short of being long. Suddenly my plans were snooker-shot into disarray. The wisdom sack on my little back on way to school became a gag. I crashed out from childhoot gate, and in fulness of time launched on course to becoming a characteristic Indian with an argumentative pinch of snuff.
It is an adult’s loss and separation from the wonderful intimations of immortality,so natural to the child.
Good wishes for many merry stories for Joydhak.
Sujoy Roy
Child fiction should steer away from dark emotions of crime and horror. A child bears an enchanted innocence beyond wisdom. A little lass canters and dances like no one is watching her. She should not be hit with angst and atavistic fears. Fear is not a right motivator, undermines the confidence and diminishes the child .What comes to mind is “The wonderful wizard of Oz”, written by L. Baum. Its a different in the genre of children’s classic in avoiding the negative vibes and emotions and crudity of old fairy tales of fantastically contorted wiches and mythical realms of dragons and demons ; its neither the same as post-modern preoccupations with distant galaxies infested with zombies in apocalyptic wastelands. A child craves for stories. That’s what makes antsy children quiet.The wizard of Oz is special because it is exuberantly big hearted, joyful embrace of the minutiae of daily life in an atmosphere of happy goodnight air for the little fellow to sleep and slip into a dreamy playground. The child loves tales chiefly for pleasure, not for packaging serious knowledge as adults look for. Leela Mazumder said so. I hardly know of any better reading than her “Padipishir Burmi baksho” and “Dine dupure”. ( Satyi je kokhon shesh hoi, swapna je kokhon shuru hoi bola mushkil.) Swapan torir neye .
Nonsense humour using the method of logical inversion is nonsense (children enjoy), but the study of nonsense is scholarship (which adults do). The jabberwocky of Lewis Carroll and Edward Lear, Sukumar Roy’s “Abol Tabol ( Rhyme without reason) with weired creatures as Griffonling and Higgle Piggle Dee will continue to tickle a funny bone amongst kids and the adult(child). Sukumar advanced an apologia that the this brand of humour was conceived in a spirit of whimsy. In his old days Tagore composed Khapchara” in the same vein. In the last few lines of Abol tabol the poet is jesting in the shadow of his final days:
“A keen primordial lunar chill,
The nightmare’s nest with bunchy frill-
My drowsy brain such glimpses steep,
And all my singing ends in sleep.”
Alice in wonderland is pure whimsidal realm. Its icon of extinction is Dodo. The creature never had a chance, it seems to have been invented solely for the purpose becoming extinct. After Alce “Ha-ja-bara-la “(Topsy Turvy Tale) comes up with close familiarity. And do not forget to tie the knot of memory-setting every now and then in between mysterious vanishing act of of things plaguaging the moments. I have to raise the house, hunt high and low for the blasted combs and Sorbitrates; they play truant and make for a story of another day. Missing objects are crazy, but found objects such as an icecream cone in the freezer is an easy grab.Where did my favourite childhood illustrated books duck away? I keep missing them more and more distressingly? They went down the rabbit hole in Alice’s wonderland.Tumbled down to the garden through a subterranean cavern. They enjoy a rip roaring laughter regaling one another about how they escaped the clutches of two legged monsters above ground. Should serious men smoke out the rabbit hole?
And the adventure stories of “Chander pahar”, whale -hunting in Moby Dick along with its sea-gazing and wandering how happiness is bound up with waves! Tintin, whose adventures have delighted children and adults over the world remains an ageless boy reporter; he began life eighty years ago at the age of fifteen. Take the case of Santa Claus. If he did not exist, it would be necy. to invent him as a jolly giver of children’s gifts. Red is regarded as the colour of love.Wonder why Santa is is dressed in red and rides a sleigh drven by red-nosed reindeer, unless , of course,he drives down other people’s chimneys at midnight with entirely amorous intentions.. And such pen-pictures of Dickens can tickle a young one as this:”his moustache went up under his nose and his nose came down under his mushtache ”
Is Snow White a vampire because she lies in the coffin without decaying? My village was a beehive of rumours about sleepwalking and and whisper-shouting to awaken the somnambulist. Every mile away there were habitations of spooks with names and local tags. Absurdly weired names such as “ekanore” used to give us creeps. Wild fantasmogria ! Such heebie-jeebies were staple for our childhood tale in pastoral light and shade. When I piled up some years I read through “‘Dracula”… “I have crossed oceans of time to find you”, snarled the “un-dead” count before blood-sucking a woman!
Other day I experienced a cheer as best cheer can be amongst a bunch of picknickers in advanced years, never mind their third legs. These up and coming senior citizens of new decades are not wanting in falling in love, sticking a curiosity nose at whats-goin-on in the midnight ball of the young. They don’t seem to grow old, but grow up, yes. Adolescent at the age of sixty. And many amonst the grey hairs are bibliophiles, busy in biblotherapy. Lliterature of man’s lamb white days has never failed to appeal to all age tags. Besides give the devil his due. Hitler’s private library had a collection 16000 books. He ranked Robinson Crusoe, Uncle Tom’s cabin and Gulliver’s travels as high water marks of world literature.
Gone are days of story telling. Love of story-telling is human nature, sitting around watch fires; amidst forest clearings beguiling the evening hours retailing yarns of big game hunting of Corbett or the Maharaja of Coochbehar’s thirty years of game chasing. My granfather’s diary about of forest excursions riding his favourite elephant (Gangaprasad) driven by Maulabux along with the white magistracy of the day is family legend. The beast was temperamental, he seemed to be cast in such a role as “born free”. In the war times the beast had been commissioned by the Raj to carry logs. The war was over but he was not aware whether hostilities had ceased. He used to sassay majestically through the forest shouldering grandpa and his guests followed by others of his species pall- bearing from behind. Grandpa was about that time learning a smattering of English in the company with the British. But he mistimed and did English to the beast, not once but annoyingly thrice. That miffed the animal, he shrugged his master off the shoulder flooring him. Ever since then grandpa hung up his boots, the hunting gears and the guns like a lame duck zamindar contemplating his navel, and scripting a diary about his smooth jog trot in life that was, now over.
…The voice of the rairoad journey, Goaland Express hurtling through the country side , cinder-scented from the coal engine, babble of grinding wheels and shuddering window frames , whistling and hooting, painting the blue sky in dark puff-clouds was the story of the rural sites of Jessore and Nishchindipur in our salad days. I am Apu the wide-eyed boy.
Literature would miss a lot without a risky gamble of a boy writing an indiscreet letter of romantic crap to to a girl that he is willing to to turn into a soccer ball so that she could kick him around. Then sign himself “hastily yours”… on a soap paper. A lucky sunshine glistened on the girl’s skin. For all one knows the lass would be as unappreciating as a duck would shake away champagne from its back.This was part of growing up. And cozying in with whodunnit stories about identity of murderers on a Sunday afternoon while monsoon rained outside was a no-exit world of engagement.
Today the environment has changed.There is hardly a green swath left where the air kisses. And no more reading aloud amongst family members. (The trend is moving over to listening to audio books). Reading with one’s lungs and diaphragm, with tongue and lips makes for a seductive tenderness. Bed time stories used to be the breath and soul of grandma of rumbustious kids. She opened many a door to her little pests.
But our salad days were short of being long. Suddenly my plans were snooker-shot into disarray. The wisdom sack on my little back on way to school became a gag. I crashed out from childhoot gate, and in fulness of time launched on course to becoming a characteristic Indian with an argumentative pinch of snuff.
It is an adult’s loss and separation from the wonderful intimations of immortality,so natural to the child.
Good wishes for many merry stories for Joydhak.
Sujoy Roy
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
JOydhak new web issue published
জয়ঢাকের ষষ্ঠ ইনটারনেট সংখ্যা প্রকাশিত হল। আশা করি বরষা সংখ্যাটি ভালো লাগবে সকলের।
এই ঠিকানাতে দেখুনঃ
www.joydhak.com
The sixth internet issue of Joydhak has been uploaded now.
Hope everybody will like this issue. Click this link to read the new issue:
www.joydhak.com
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