Skyline Drive, Fall 2008

Three weekends ago we drove to the Blue Ridge Mountains. The Shenandoah Valley is beautiful any time of the year, but especially breathtaking in the Fall, with the trees turning brilliant shades of yellow, red and orange. Although the colors had started turning, given what we've seen closer to home over the last couple of weekends, they had not peaked yet.

It's Midnight and It's Election Day 2008

November 4th has arrived in the East Coast and the first results have already come in!

Dixville Notch, a village in New Hampshire, has all of 21 registered voters. Around midnight they all congregate in one room in a local office and each one goes off into his booth and puts his vote down on a piece of paper, which then goes into a wooden ballot box. A few minutes later, the first official results roll in.

The village is staunchly Republican and has voted so in every presidential election but the one in 1968. Well, this year, it bucked the trend again. The votes went down this way - Obama, 15; McCain, 6; Nader, 0.

Plus, the Redskins lost their Monday night game on their home turf today. Electoral wisdom has it that if the Redskins lose their last home game before the elections, then the incumbent party is headed for a loss as well.

Will this maxim hold true in 2008 as well?

Childhood Allergies

Tharini at Winkie's Way circulated an impassioned e-mail a few weeks ago asking for stories of childhood allergies and how to deal with them. Although I had not experienced them first hand with my children (touch wood), food allergies are so ubiquitous that there is no escaping their impact on everyday life - the food you can pack for your children is restricted by what food allergies their classmates have (the most frequent I've encountered is no nuts of any kind in my son's lunch bag), food to be served at parties involving kids (or sleepovers or playdates) must be vetted beforehand with the list of attendees.

Over the years, we've also seen our friends Sushama and Shyam struggle with this issue from the day their son was born. He was allergic to every single food, even breast milk. Each time we got together with them, we would hear the latest on what they had found out from the doctors, what they were going through and how Aneesh was dealing with it all. We would see them keep a watchful eye on him every time he tried something new. We would see them rush home to deal with a sudden reaction. Slowly we saw their confidence grow as they got a handle on the issue and felt they could deal with what they had been handed.

As he grew older, we also saw Aneesh starting to check with his parents first before putting anything in his mouth, and never make a fuss if he was told not to eat something - usually at gatherings these were things like chips or cake that the other kids were chowing down with no second thought. It was a lot of growing up for a small child. I realized that bringing up Aneesh involved (in addition to all the things parents not facing this struggle go through) not only being vigilant about what he can and cannot eat, but also educating a young child about his condition.

I asked Sushama to write about her experiences and she agreed. Her essay (titled "Nobody is Allergic to Rice" - a myth she and her husband had the experience of debunking first hand) and a table of facts about allergies and what she learned from them appear below.

More posts on this topic are in the pipeline across a few blogs. I'll link to them here when they go up. Thanks to Tharini for starting this off and thanks to Sushama for being willing to rake up some painful memories.


"NOBODY IS ALLERGIC TO RICE" - Sushama Acharya

The Pediatrician, the Dermatologist, The Allergist, The Pulmonologist, The Nutritionist –every one of them told us that: “Nobody is allergic to rice. It is the most basic of all grains. No child is allergic to rice”. I walked out of every one of their offices telling my husband Shyam, “They are so wrong”.

The first time I fed Aneesh Gerber rice cereal when he was six months old, was also the first time I felt the real fear of losing my child. He ate a whole bowl of cereal, and without warning, threw up the entire amount through his nose and mouth. He started gasping for breath while I cried on the phone to a 911 dispatcher. I was convinced he was allergic to rice – despite all the specialists in town telling me otherwise.

Within the first week of Aneesh’s existence it became painfully apparent to us and his pediatrician that there was something terribly wrong with him. He was covered from head to toe in rashes and his skin looked “weird”. After a slew of speculation, a battery of tests, and visits to every pediatric specialist in town, by his sixth month, Cancer was ruled out (Thank God!). The consensus was food allergies, although nobody could tell us what exactly he was allergic to.

They say a mother’s instincts are always right. And they couldn’t be more correct. After convincing his (second) Allergist to do a blood test in his 10th month, I was proven right. Aneesh was allergic to rice… and wheat…and dairy…and soy…and nuts…and most vegetables…and most fruits. The only saving grace was that he was not allergic to oats. Being strict vegetarians, we were out of ideas on what to feed this child. He lived his first year and a half on three major foods – Alimentum (a special formula for allergic kids), carrots, and apples.

In retrospect, his first year was the toughest for him and for us.

NO TURNING BACK

Strict vegetarians and strong theists -- that was our identity in the second year of Aneesh’s life. Two things dominated our lives that year – Aneesh’s nutrition, given our vegetarian diet, and our belief in God. Our parents, siblings, and friends were our pillars of support. They prayed for Aneesh and suggested various treatments and recipes. My in-laws did special poojas for his health and even sent us a talisman. We tied it around Aneesh’s waist. On one of his doctors’ visits, the nurse asked us if the talisman was helping and if he was getting better. Shyam said, “We don’t know about him, but it sure is helping us.”

By now, we had learned not to panic. We had spent endless hours researching food allergies and trying to find alternate treatment. We knew that most of Aneesh’s allergies were probably not life-threatening.

And then one day, I cooked and mashed a little potato, and gave it to him in a spoon. And I witnessed a miracle. He ate it and nothing happened. I remember running to find his allergy report. There it was in plain letters – he was allergic to potatoes. My initial confusion was replaced with a certain confidence. What if the report was not accurate? After all, his Allergist did tell us to experiment with small amounts of different foods. So, I started cooking a different vegetable every day and feeding it to him. Although he was still allergic to most of them, it somehow made me feel like I was helping him.

That year we started Aneesh on two things that I believe reversed his condition -- homeopathic medicine from a doctor in India, and whites from eggs with a high Omega3 content. After a couple of months of starting him on these, I noticed he was less fussy especially at meal time. Armed with my new-found confidence and my friends’ suggestions, I started experimenting with different grains. Wholefoods became my favorite store to shop.

Although he was still allergic to most foods, Aneesh’s second year was definitely his “Jump Start” year.

“MUMMY, WHY CAN’T I EAT CAKE?”

The first time he asked me that question at a friend’s birthday party, I fought hard to hold back my tears. How could I explain to a three year old what food allergies are? More importantly, how could I explain it to him, and still make him feel like he was just like other kids in many ways?

Aneesh’s third and fourth years were probably the years that drained my energy and challenged my sanity the most. By the time he was three and a half, he had outgrown his allergy for rice, wheat, tapioca, some vegetables and fruits (what a blessing!). But he had also learned to talk and understand that he was “different” from other kids. At birthday parties, he got his “special pizza” and cup cake, and was still not allowed to eat what his other friends ate. He had started going to a Montessori, and was not allowed to get lunch from the school.

I started talking to him about his allergies and his reaction to various foods. I learned to answer his questions patiently. “Why can’t I eat cake?” “Because you are allergic to stuff that is in the cake. When you grow up, you will be able to eat it too.” “But why am I allergic and not my friends?” “Because they don’t fuss over their food, and they eat what their moms give them. If you eat without fussing, you will outgrow your allergies too”. “Why don’t you and daddy have allergies?” “Because, not all people are alike. We all having something or other that is not right with us. Daddy and I need glasses to see things clearly. You don’t.” “What will happen if I eat cheese?” “You will throw up and start itching all over”. This last question was repeated so many times, that one day we sat him on the kitchen counter, set a bottle of Benadryl next to him, and gave him a 1 millimeter piece of cheese. Before even swallowing it completely, he stuck his tongue out and started panting. We stuck a spoonful of Benadryl in his mouth and told him, “See what happens when you eat cheese?”

It has been over two years since that incident, and I have not heard the “cheese question” from him again. Sometimes, “tough love” works.

When he was four, my son did me proud. At a friend’s birthday party, the lady serving the kids put a slice of cheese pizza on his plate before I could get to him. He told her, “No, thank you. I am allergic to cheese. I cannot eat this. My mummy has brought my pizza for me.”

I knew then, that my baby had become a “big boy”.

Shyam and I made a pact with each other. We would not “baby” this boy any more. He had reached a point where he was capable of understanding his situation and accepting it. Although we had always told him that he was just like other kids, for the first time, we started to believe it ourselves. For the first time I thought that maybe, just maybe, he will do alright in a public school without someone supervising him at lunch time.

Also for the first time since his birth, Shyam and I entertained the thought of a real vacation.

THERE IS HOPE

When he turned five and a half, we took Aneesh to India after four years. The last time he had been to India, he had suffered several allergic reactions, and we almost lost him to a respiratory infection. This time was different. He was able to eat a few Indian foods and stayed healthy through the month long trip. I carried some of his foods and snacks from here, but it was worth the effort. For the first time since he was born, we had a real family vacation.

I think back now to the day I fed him a bowl of rice cereal, and say, “Thank You, God”. His doctors will tell you that Aneesh is still allergic to dairy, soy, nuts, some lentils, chick peas, and kidney beans, although to a much lesser degree. If you ask Shyam and me, we will tell you he is no longer allergic to rice, wheat, some lentils, most vegetables, and fruits.

If that isn’t hope, what is?


FACTS AND WHAT I LEARNED FROM EXPERIENCE

• Fact: 30% of all children born in the USA suffer from food allergies. That is one in every three children.
  Experience: The US has the most number of grocery stores that carry foods to meet the needs of allergic children. Wholefoods, My Organic Market (MOM), and ROOTS are all stores that are easily accessible and “allergic-kid friendly”. Their staff is trained to help parents find specialized foods. They can help me find foods that I didn’t even know existed.


• Fact: Doctors speak from scientific knowledge and experience.
  Experience: A mother speaks from instinct. Sometimes, a mother’s instinct tops a doctor’s experience.


• Fact: Homeopaths have done more research on food allergies than experts in any other branch of medicine.
  Experience: Not all homeopaths are legit. In fact, a lot of them add steroids in their medicine. Checking a homeopath’s (or any other doctor’s) references before seeing him/her are of paramount importance.


• Fact: Most kids with multiple food allergies also suffer from multiple air-borne and chemical allergies.
  Experience: Keeping a home clean and dust-free goes a long way in keeping the child comfortable. Changing air filters in the house regularly helps immensely. So does using natural cleaners like Baking Soda and Vinegar. Chemical fumes can affect an already weak immune system.


• Fact: Children with the classic triage – food allergies, Asthma, and Eczema – almost always have a very high eosinophil count.
  Experience: Just because a child has a high eosinophil count does not mean that the child has cancer. I should not believe everything I read on the Internet.


• Fact: A RAST test can determine what a child is allergic to.
  Experience: Results of the RAST test should be taken as a guide, and not the word of law. Results of this test may vary depending on what the child has been exposed to and eaten during the day. Very often, experimenting with my child’s diet can tell me more about his allergies than a RAST test can.


• Fact: Children pick up on anxiety and nervousness in adults around them. This compounds their allergic reaction.
  Experience: Panicking is not going to help anyone. Staying calm, holding my sick child, and telling him that everything is all right can sometimes make symptoms disappear in a matter of minutes.


• Fact: The psychological and emotional well-being of allergic children requires just as much attention as their nutritional well-being.
  Experience: It is a question of mind over matter. If I believe that my child is going to be alright, my child will believe it too. The day my child believed he is going to be alright was the day he started to heal himself.


• Fact: Children with allergies often turn psychosomatic. They will themselves to “turn allergic” to foods they don’t want to try.
  Experience: Earning my child’s confidence is more important than trying to feed him foods he doesn’t find appealing. Telling him how much I love him and how I hate to see him hurt, makes him feel secure and trust me more.


• Fact: Children with allergies are often unwilling to accept new food from their parents in their home.
  Experience: The human brain works by association. When a child has numerous painful allergic reactions during meal time, his brain eventually associates the place and the person feeding him with the pain. It helped me when I leveraged the support of friends, family, and a trusted daycare provider, and had them offer him new foods in their homes.


• Fact: Pumping an allergic child’s system with allergens can lead to the child’s immune system taking a beating.
  Experience: A lot of parents think they are helping their child build immunity by giving them allergic foods. On the contrary, I felt if I did that, I would be bombarding his immune system with an allergen it cannot tolerate, and make it even worse. What is more, I would have caused the child unnecessary pain, and therefore lost his trust.


• Fact: Children with food allergies need special care.
  Experience: A child with food allergies doesn’t have to be malnourished. The guidance of a qualified Nutritionist can help keep the child healthy.

Update:

1. The Washington Post had a small note in the Kids' Post section about how allergies have soared in the last few years.

2. I've corrected the name of Tharini's blog in the first sentence. Sorry T!

Links to Allergy Awareness Posts on Other Blogs:

• Tharini has a post on the difference between food intolerance and food allergies. Good info!
• Dotmom's post on her personal experience with Chip's allergies and some do's and dont's for parents of children not facing the allergy issue.
• Imp's mom post with more personal experiences and information on how they dealt with the issue.
• Sundar Narayan's personal story.

Driving by 'Rolling Thunder'

After a lovely brunch with some friends yesterday at La Madelaine, we drove into DC to watch Rolling Thunder, the annual gathering and parade of (mostly) Harley Davidsons. We were a bit late getting in. Driving - let alone parking - turned out to be a nightmare. But we did manage to get a few pics from the car.

The parade thunders down from the Pentagon toward Constitution Avenue past the Lincoln Memorial at the top. The soldier you see standing at attention on the median (in a black and white uniform), saluting the riders, is Marine Staff Sgt. Tim Chambers who stood in that position for nearly four hours yesterday, the Post tells me this morning.

The bikes came in all sorts of cool colors and with myriad interesting attachments.

Many bikes flew the American flag and a dark-colored flag for the POWs and those MIA.

The passenger (off to the side on the left) has a mike in her helmet to communicate with the rider. The passenger seat looked so comfy.

Many streets were cordoned off and bikes lined spaces usually occupied by cars.

A cop and a parade participant exchange notes while a photographer looks on.

Guest Post: Homes In My Heart, Padma Venkatraman

After those two long interviews (with some wonderful questions) on Thursday and Friday at Saffron Tree and at Reading, Writing, Wondering it’s nice to have a stop here to write a short guest blog. Thanks for having me, Sujatha!

As I said recently in an interview with South County Independent editor Betty Cotter, I have a lot of homes inside me. And that’s what you’d asked me to blog about – travel, my early life, how (if) that has affected my writing.

I grew up in India. I lived in Chennai (Madras) until I completed High School and I spent many summers in Mumbai (Bombay) in my sister’s home. Chennai and Mumbai are of course the cities where most of Climbing the Stairs takes place. One obvious way living in different places has influenced me is the detail with which I can recollect and thus recreate the ambience of these cities. I can still remember the Jamun tree that grew along the drive in the house in Velacheri where I spent my early childhood, and the ripe fruit really did dye our drive purple in August, just as the tree outside Vidya’s home does at the beginning of the novel.

For my undergraduate degree, I moved to Bangalore – mostly because I was stubborn and I decided that I wouldn’t do engineering or medicine (the two professions that everyone else around me who got excellent grades wanted to do). I wanted to do something for the environment and only St. Joseph’s College in Bangalore had Environmental science as a major.

My days in Bangalore…I met a lot of people, made many friends, enjoyed myself socially. I don’t really remember studying very hard, but my CV indicates that I must have done something right…

Bangalore…when I returned there recently it was such a shock…high rises everywhere…so many lovely old homes destroyed…gridlock…no longer the idyllic place I was sentimental about. MG Road, Brigade Road, Commercial Street…Koramangala…and of course Indranagar HAL Stage II I think, where mum bought a flat…Rotaract Orchards…research at the Indian Institute of Science.

Then, I left India, for the most part, to study abroad, although I did return to work as a researcher on the Andaman and Nicobar Islands – the place where my second novel, Island’s End, now under contract to Penguin and scheduled for publication in 2010, takes place.

Where else have I lived? England for a bit, at a very Hogwarts-ish boarding school. A few years ago I met an old friend from there and he said reading Harry Potter had taken him right back to Brockwood Park, the international Krishnamurthi School where I’d spent a few years, both as a student, and later as director and head of Inwoods, the elementary-middle school there. I remember beautiful walks, rolling hills, and mountain climbing trips and hikes to Wales, Cornwall, Dover, Dorset, the Lake District. Maybe I’ll write about it someday, who knows? We’ve had lots of Brits write about India from their point of view, and now we Indian authors are starting to write about the UK…

Germany. Maybe one day I’ll write a novel set here…for adults though, not YA. Why is that? I can’t explain. But if I did write a book set in Germany, I think it would have to be a book for adults not children, not even young adults.

Then, of course, America. The College of William and Mary, where I did my graduate work. The colonial parkway covered with dogwood blossoms. The sparkling waters of the Chesapeake. Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, where I did post-doctoral work. The farmers market in the middle of the city. Swimming pools on rooftops. Cozy coffee shops. Crazy ambulance drivers screeching past my flat all night long.

And now, Rhode Island. Ocean State sums it up perfectly. Started my life in the ocean state of Tamil Nadu, and now here I am in the Ocean State of Rhode Island… but not quite at my life’s end, I hope! After all, I have the rest of this blog book tour to complete.

Here are my remaining stops:

Tomorrow, Sunday, May 25th, I’ll be blogging on the topic of being a writing mom and finding time to write at Desi Momz Club;

Monday, May 26th, another guest post. Where were the British colonies during WWII? Doing background research for Climbing the Stairs, at author Laura Purdie Salas’s blog;

Tuesday, May 27th. Climbing the Stairs - The process of writing the novel, weaving together the different threads, at the 5 randoms;

Wednesday, May 28th. Oceanography, research and Climbing the Stairs. Making my schizophrenia work to my advantage. My (at least two) personalities. What it’s like to spend your 21st birthday on a research vessel at author Greg Fishbone’s blog;

Thursday, May 29th. What exactly is that dot on the forehead all about? Arranged marriages, Women in India in the 1940’s, Indian marriages today, gender equality issues in Climbing the Stairs, anything else you ever wanted to know about India at author Carrie Jones’s blog; and

Friday, May 30th. The grand finale. Moving to America, Becoming an American, Multicultural writing at author Mitali Perkins’s blog.

And before I forget, if you want to travel to places online that have reviews of Climbing the Stairs, here are some links:

http://www.padmasbooks.com/
http://padmasbooks.blogspot.com/
http://www.projo.com/books/content/BOOK-CLIMBING-STAIRS_05-18-08_6HA2FQC_v7.b6a7bc.html
http://www.uri.edu/news/releases/index.php?id=4393

~~~

Padma, thanks for stopping by. Best wishes for a fun and successful book tour, and for continued writing success.

Climbing The Stairs, by Padma Venkatraman

I have not yet read Padma Venkatraman's debut novel for young adults, Climbing the Stairs. But if the review at Saffron Tree and the synopsis from the book cover flap are any indication, it promises to be a good read.

Fifteen-year-old Vidya dreams of going to college, an unusual proposition for a girl living in British-occupied India during World War II. When tragedy strikes, Vidya and her brother Kitta are forced to move into a traditional household with her grandfather and her extended family, where men live separately upstairs and the women who live below are meant to be married, not educated.

Breaking the rules, Vidya finds refuge in her grandfather’s second-floor library. There she meets Raman, a young man also living in the house. Surprisingly, he treats her like an equal and encourages her intellectual curiosity. But soon it’s clear Raman wants more than just friendship, and when Kitta makes a shocking choice the family cannot condone, Vidya’s life becomes a whirlwind of personal and political complications. Will she be strong enough to survive the storm?

With the lush settings and heady emotions that mark the best Indian literature, Padma Venkatraman’s debut novel is an epic story of love and loss set against a unique moment in history. Readers of all ages will find deep empathy with Vidya as she battles between ideas and emotions while struggling to pursue her dreams.

The author has lived a multi-faceted life, packing what seems to be at least five lifetimes of action, adventure and travel into one still going strong. Tomorrow, the author will guest blog at Blogpourri, and will talk about how her travels have influenced her substantial body of writing. Until then, here are her interviews at two blogs, Saffron Tree and Reading, Writing, Wondering.

Climbing the Stairs is published by Penguin ($16.99) and is available for sale on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and independent booksellers.

Travel Essay: Washington, D.C.

I’ve never seen so many suits in one place,” declared a friend visiting from Ohio, as we surveyed the packed metro train to Washington for empty seats several summers ago. Suited, booted and stiletto’d locals stood out from the casually dressed, fanny-pack-and-camera-toting tourists.

It is the humble suit that gives the visitor to Washington a sense of the city’s enterprise — the production, not of automobiles or food products or pharmaceuticals, but of laws, decisions, policies, and, not to forget, a scandal or ten.

From a distance, the city is unimpressive. None of the usual landmarks that define large American cities demarcate Washington from its surroundings. There are no shiny skyscrapers signalling the start of its business district or massive steel bridges heralding the approach of its borders. You would have to look really hard to find the smokestacks on top of factories at the edge of town.

Lincoln Memorial from Memorial Bridge
What is recognizable of the city from miles away, appropriately enough, is the dome of the US Capitol—which houses Congress—and the Washington Monument, the “needle” in local parlance, erected in memory of the nation’s first president.

Up close, the city is compelling. Pierre Charles L’Enfant’s plan for the capital “of this vast empire”, as he referred to the US two centuries ago, was nothing short of genius. The land he was allocated on the banks of the Potomac alternated between marshy bogs, heavily wooded wilderness and farmland, with a few hilly patches thrown in. What he envisioned was a neatly organized city with broad, tree-lined avenues, parks and grand buildings and monuments befitting the ideals of a new nation. Amid strife and delays—typical of the way Washington does business even now—it took nearly a century for an approximation of his blueprint to come to life in stone, marble and concrete.

In an election year such as this one, Washington and the way it does business are in sharper focus than usual. “Washington insider” is bandied about as an insult as presidential candidates criss-cross the country, claiming the mantle of the “outsider” who will save the country from the clutches of the “special interests that control Washington”.

The US Capitol
What transpires once the outsider gets in is anybody’s guess, but until the dust settles on 4 November and a victor emerges—bloodied and bruised from the ever-lengthening campaign season—voters are bombarded with missives, ads, debates, media interviews and stump speeches purporting to lay bare the machinations of Congress and the White House.

These four-yearly rituals merely scratch the surface—or so it seems in the face of the number of scandals and leaks that erupt with alarming frequency in this city. The leaking of Central Intelligence Agency operative Valerie Plame’s identity to the press was one of the latest, but the big daddy of them all is still Watergate. Named after the Watergate Complex—a striking edifice that houses a hotel, shops, offices and luxury apartments—the fiasco brought down a president and has the unparalleled distinction of helping name successive scandals (Monicagate sound familiar?; Lewinsky, ironically, lived at the Watergate).

Numerous paths lead into Washington from all directions, but my favourite is via the Arlington Memorial Bridge. With the majestic Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument at its top, the marble façade of the Kennedy Center and the spires of Georgetown University to its left and the entrance into Arlington Cemetery at its foot, the expansive bridge transports you into town in style.

As you follow the winding road at the top of the bridge, the vast treasure trove of cultural and political history that is Constitution Avenue begs to be explored. The must-see list—the National Gallery of Art, the National Museums of American History and Natural History, the National Archives, the Smithsonian Museums (home of the ever popular Air and Space Museum), not to mention the White House and the Capitol—is so long that days could blend into weeks in trying to do justice to all that is available in this small corner of Washington.

The World War II Memorial

The rest here.

Child Soldiers

Uganda's rebel army has stepped up a campaign of child abductions in the three countries where it operates, according to foreign investigators, humanitarian groups and Ugandan military authorities in the capital, Kampala.

The Lord's Resistance Army, a messianic armed movement that has waged a 21-year insurrection against the Ugandan government, has recently scooped up more than 100 boys and girls, human rights advocates and military officials say. The children are then forced into the rebel army ranks or made to serve as sexual hostages, rights investigators say.

The abductions are being carried out in southern Sudan, Congo and the Central African Republic -- three nations where the rebels maintain bases.

[...]

The London-based Coalition to Stop the Use of Child Soldiers said children were being forced to fight in 17 conflicts around the world, down from 27 in 2004.

The rest in today's Washington Post.

Ishmael Beah's memoir of a child soldier (published a year ago) is on my wishlist of books to read. At that time, he appeared on NPR's Fresh Air. He also wrote an essay for The New York Times adapted from his book:

I ran for days, weeks and months, and I couldn’t believe that the simple and precious world I had known, where nights were celebrated with storytelling and dancing and mornings greeted with the singing of birds and cock crows, was now a place where only guns spoke and sometimes it seemed even the sun hesitated to shine. After I discovered that my parents and two brothers had been killed, I felt even more lost and worthless in a world that had become pregnant with fear and suspicion as neighbor turned against neighbor and child against parent. Surviving each passing minute was nothing short of a miracle.

Riddle-me-Ree, Who can she be?

Greetings wonderful MTBs!!!
and good work to all of you!
For having solved the riddle before
I give you all this clue.

This time it's not a letter
nor is it a number clue
This time it's just a good old blank
which means no clue for you!

Booooo! you say with spirit...
Yaaay! we say in throng!
For it is part of the thrill of the chase
which leads to the next little song!

“Out of the ordinary and unusual – is her self-proclamation
Boring and bland, says her personal declaration
A chocoholic she is not, rather a fresh sprig.
Shoe-shopping is something she digs.
Trapezing or kayaking, parasailing or bungee jumping
This is one daredevil – who likes singing
A Latin domain she does have, as also a bouquet of verses.
Who is she? Oh! Who is she?”

Solve it and you get your lead
Misguess, and you lose your speed
Solve it slow but solve it now
And before you go, take a little bow

Go to 'Comments' and leave me a clue
Tell me which blog you are off to.
Good luck! Good luck! Be on your way.
You have your work cut out for the day!

Update (04-25-08):

If you're wondering what all this is about, then head over to these blogs!

Desigirl
Boo's Baby Talk
Kodimeow Kronicles
Moppet Tales
Babies Anonymous

Input for a Feature About the Returning Indian

A magazine called New Global Indian is planning a feature on those who have returned to India and are settled there. If you have returned to India or are planning to, and would like to be part of the feature, please send an e-mail to karmacom@hotmail.com and address it to Kiran. She will send back a questionnaire with questions about "reasons for returning, expectations vis a vis reality, challenges, etc."

Washington, D.C.'s Cherry Blossoms

There comes a time about three months after the official onset of winter — after months of freezing temperatures, early sunsets, late sunrises, barren trees, and drab, colourless landscapes — when, finally, the first signs of spring make an appearance.

The tiniest buds begin to emerge along seemingly lifeless stalks. Trees take on the electric, green sheen of fresh, new leaves. Pruning shears see the light of day after a long winter’s sleep. Birds wing back north. Abandoned porches and stoops buzz with signs of life again. Neighbours linger to talk for longer than it takes to exchange pleasantries. It’s a heady time when memories of snow, ice and slippery sidewalks recede to the background, and when unruly lawns and the hot, humid days of summer are too far off in the distance to ruin the party.

In Washington, D.C., these last days of winter are tinged with just that little bit of extra excitement — the region goes under a “Bloom Watch” (rather than a flood watch or a storm watch, for a change), and waits for the National Park Service to announce exactly when the 3,000-odd cherry blossom trees in the city are expected to bloom.

Over a period of two weeks around the end of March and the beginning of April, delicate flowers burst out of these trees in a profusion of pink and white petals. Most of the cherry blossom trees (these are the non fruit-bearing kind) are located near and around the Tidal Basin, close to the monuments on the National Mall, their concentrated presence creating a dramatic sensory overload. Leaves, if any, are tiny at this point and are lost in the thick cover of the blossoms.




Forecasting peak blossom time is far from being an exact science, of course, with the finicky weather having the final word, but the yearly ritual gets its due attention as everyone — from the Mayor of Washington to the media to the local businesses with an eye on the tourism dollars — gets into the act. Park personnel bemoan the squirrels that ravage the trees and implore the public not to pluck the flowers off the branches. (There was one memorable year when beavers, not native to the area, took a liking to the trees and merrily chomped on the trunks. Park officials went into a tizzy until they devised a way to trap the rodents.) Reporters camp out near the trees, zoom in on the buds, and, year after year, recount the story of how the trees came to Washington.


This year, luckily for the locals and tourists alike, the blossoms are expected to peak during the two-week Cherry Blossom Festival, Washington’s annual springtime celebration commemorating the arrival of the cherry blossom trees to Washington from Japan almost a century ago. A gift from Mayor Yukio Ozaki of Tokyo to the people of the United States — following a few failed attempts by local residents to transplant and grow cherry trees in the Washington region — that first gesture paved the way for more exchanges between two countries intent on building and solidifying a relationship. World War II promptly put an end to the niceties, but the Festival returned to its rightful place on Washington’s social calendar in 1947. In a poignant twist to the story, Japanese horticulturists arrived in Washington in the early 1980s and returned home with precious cargo — cuttings from the trees that comprised their original gift — to replace their own trees that were lost to a flood.

The rest here.

Jagriti's Summer Theater Workshops for Children

Via e-mail, a flyer about a theater workshop near Whitefield for children and teens and a mask-making workshop at Alliance Francaise open to anyone. Contact information below:

Kids and Youth Summer Workshops
Time: 10 am - 12 pm
Dates: 14 Apr - 7 May
Monday - Saturday
Venue: # B304, Renaissance Jagriti Ramagondanahalli, Whitefield
Course fee: Rs. 3000

Basic acting exercises, dance & movement
Improvisation to performance, lighting & sound design

Public performance on May 7 ‘08 at the Alliance Française

Kids Workshop for 6 - 12 yr olds | Youth Workshop for 13 - 17 yr olds


Mask Creation and Performance Workshop
Time: 6.30pm - 9.30 pm
Dates: 21 Apr - 7 May
Monday - Saturday
Venue:Alliance Française de Bangalore
Course fee: Rs. 4300
(incl. materials and refreshment)

Public performance on May 7 ‘08 at the Alliance Française

Open to anyone above the age of 16 with a genuine interest in theatre.
Perfect for both actors and dancers.


Apply to: Co-ordinator, JAGRITI Education - Arundhati Raja
Email edu@jagrititheatre.com for a registration form
Call +91 80 2847 5373 for enquiries
Payment in advance by cheque, draft or Banker’s cheque favouring
‘The ART Foundation’

Travel Essay: Hanoi, Vietnam

Ha Long Bay

The two middle-aged Americans sit at a long table along the wall-to-ceiling windows of the small cafe just outside Hanoi’s Old Quarter. Sunburned and happy, they down beers and guffaw loudly at some private joke and wave good-naturedly at passers-by. They beckon two young Asian women hanging around nearby, take their photographs and ask them if they want to go dancing later that night.

Outside, in the gathering dusk, neon-lit shop signs and headlights from a steady stream of cars and buses cast a hazy glow on the still waters of the Hoan Kiem Lake. Noisy motorbikes duel with “cyclos” (similar to cycle rickshaws) and bicycles for valuable real estate on the streets. Young boys hawk cheap editions of popular English titles on pavements.

Pedestrians plunge in, weaving in and out of the traffic to traverse the intersection widened by a large circle in the centre. Women with non las (the pointy, wide-brimmed hats) strapped to their chins sell steaming hot pho (a soup) in one corner, and flowers and fruits out of baskets on bicycles or strung to the ends of long poles balanced on shoulders.

This is our first time in Vietnam, but a sense of déjà vu accompanies every turn of the head. Where have we seen these scenes before?

It doesn’t take us long to realize that the Vietnam War movies defined our sense of the country long before we arrived in its capital. It is perhaps a sign of things to come, but as we stand there on the pavement in the bustling street corner, celluloid past jostles for space with the real-life present.

Hanoi is an alluring combination of the tranquillity of a city with an ancient soul and the vibrancy of an up-and-coming economy. Tree-lined boulevards, serene lakes with arching willow trees, verdant parks, stately monuments and old temples more than compensate for shiny malls, chaotic traffic (Hanoi has slightly more than half of Bangalore’s population but nearly the same number of motorbikes) and dowdy government offices.

Even the crumbling edifices of the Old Quarter, the 2,000-year-old bargain-hunting paradise, exhibit grace and resilience as they cling to the charm of a bygone era.

The rest of the article here and here in pdf version.

Jane Jiang's Song of America

And I am not only black or white—
Am many-colored also,
yellow and dun and red and brown,
I would be green too if I could find a way;

I, too, am America.
My song is the lifeblood of this country;
My sweat still waters the bounty of its fields;
My mind is a gift to the testament of opportunity;
I foresee setback but I am optimistic:
I will find a way.

My heritage carries with me.
I am ever the child of immigrants.
I struggle to merge with those around me.
I am ever the one with two selves, two halves, two souls.
I am struggling to retain my past.
My culture beats warring drums inside me.
Mine is not a simple answer.

I found this poem by chance. The rest is here.

Over the past few weeks, workers have been traipsing in and out of the house as my kitchen and bathrooms have been turned inside out and made new again. Men from Romania, El Salvador, Honduras, Turkey, Moldova and Ethiopia laying stone, trimming wood, fixing cabinets, cutting granite, painting walls. This poem could be their song too.

Pratham USA

I had written about Pratham's Read India books a while ago. Pratham has a US presence as well, trying to raise funds to support its universal education efforts in India. In addition to the gala fund raisers and cultural programs, etc., I found this heart-warming nugget in one corner of Pratham's newsletter:

Ankur Bhagat, a New York resident, jumped off Kjerag (sha-rag), a 3000-feet high cliff in the Norwegian fjords with only a parachute strapped to his back to raise funds for Pratham USA and spread awareness about its work. He raised over $3,000 from his family and friends. Ankur described his jump as being both chilling and exhilarating and “worthy of the cause it supported”.

Hats off to his commitment.

~