There was the usual hubbub when we descended the last slope from the tranquil tourist spot to the parking area. Vendors selling everything from mementoes to snacks were yelling in the hope of attracting at least a few customers before everyone went off in their vehicles.
Then came the sound of an old-style bus horn. No, it was not from the parking lot. It was from a small makeshift shop selling tender coconuts. Suddenly, we were all thirsty and hungry. As we went closer, he welcomed us all with a big smile and put aside the horn. Interesting, I thought. Instead of letting his own voice get lost in the cacophony of all the shouting from the other vendors, he was trying something different. I was about to compliment him for that when he used his fingers to answer my question about the price per coconut. He wrote it on his palm and then gestured—he could not hear or speak. After that it was a smooth conversation. Before cutting each coconut he would ask—just water or you prefer some malai also? The first sip of the coconut water instantly took me back in time, when my family used to have a large coconut plantation. When city folks like me were visiting, someone would climb a palm and bring down tender coconuts. The water that I had just tasted had the unforgettable tang of very fresh coconut. He gestured to me that every morning he climbed up a few palms in the vicinity and got fresh coconuts. There were still four coconut halves with the glistening white meat waiting to be picked up and eaten when there was a sudden downpour. The bus was parked a little distance away and everyone was eager to make a dash for it. Skip what was left and go? Suddenly, he pulled out a clean bag to put the meat in. I asked him to pack it. He refused. “My hands are not clean, you do it” he indicated. As the bus moved away, I wondered. Did I miss taking his photo? A selfie? Should I have got more information? It would have made such a wonderful post and garnered so many “likes”. Then the rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The few wisps of remaining clouds accentuated the blue that vied with the green all around to fill one’s eyes and heart. That was it. I realised the meeting with him was best stored in the heart, where it would stay far longer than on any screen.
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What if Humpty did not have a great fall? Because happy Dumpty was saved in the nick of time by the pail of water Jack and Jill were carrying? We are playing with rhymes for a reason. The thinking has always been repetition of good old nursery rhymes helps develop focus and vocabulary. Does that rationale extend to all learning by rote? A report by The British Psychological Society cites research to state that most little children are “insatiably curious”, constantly questioning and exploring (young parents would concur, for sure). If the children were to remain in this state they can outlearn adults, but. It is a very significant but because “by about the age of six, their unbridled curiosity starts to wane” which hampers their ability to keep questioning and solving. Now, a new work published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology: General has studied children aged three to six years and “found that simply varying the messages that were embedded in a storybook could make a difference”. Fishing for treasureThere were 138 participants in the study in the US and, “to broaden the cultural background of the sample”, another 88 in Turkey. The children listened to two versions of the same story of Sam following rules and instructions to search a group of islands for treasure. In the first version of the story Sam strictly went by the rules. At the end of it, when a participating child was asked a question, “the potential responses were always limited”. The second version, the “strategic curiosity” version, lefts things rather uncertain. The children could pick which island to visit and also had to keep an eye on the time. Unlike the “obvious” questions that followed the first version, there were open-ended questions at the end of the second version. Then came the application part. After the story, the children were introduced to a new game, which featured a virtual aquarium consisting of five fish tanks. Each tank had different hidden creatures, and the children had 15 minutes to find them. For the group that had heard the “traditional” version of Sam’s story, this meant "following the rules and checking for all your clues". For the other group, it was about "staying curious and paying careful attention to everything around you". While the two groups found about the same number of sea creatures, there were differences in performance. Those who were tuned to the “traditional” approach “often ran out of time to explore all of the tanks”. The “curious” group “prioritized visiting multiple tanks over deeply exploring individual ones and were more likely to get through them all”. The second group “spent a longer time searching tanks that appeared to contain relatively more creatures, even if it took some time to find those creatures”. This was a clear demonstration of greater “strategic persistence”, the researchers concluded. Revisit rote?That “strategic persistence” is valuable in the corporate world. So, in the world of grown-up learning and development, should Sam be taught the rules by rote, or be encouraged to question and rethink? Would that sacrifice discipline and progress? Or yield rich rewards?
What do you think, my accomplished friends in the learning domain? If I am in school, there is no room for questioning either Humpty or Jack. After all, my success depends on getting the answers expectedly right, to up-grade myself. That's what my young seven-year-old student had taught me all those years ago when I attempted to correct her homework. (“This is what my teacher wrote on the board…. Now, who gives me marks? Who gives me punishment if I do not obey?”) By the way, I do wonder what you are up above so high. How come the rain does not put off your twinkle? Why don’t you fall if you are diamonds? Hey, are you really stars or high-flying drones? Images credit: The Washington Post Jesse Defton, 38, a world-class climber, ascends bare rock faces without permanent bolts. Instead, he places removable metal anchors into cracks in the mountain and attaches his rope to them. It is a sport in which one's vision, the ability to spot minor fractures or grooves in the rock, is considered vital. Jesse is completely blind. And completely dependent on his wife Molly Thompson, 40. Jesse was born with a condition in which the light-sensing cells of his retina gradually deteriorated. Even as a child, he had only a fraction of normal vision. Even once he and Molly had become friends and regular climbing partners, she didn't realize that his vision was so limited. He rode behind her on a bicycle, albeit cautiously. He aced engineering courses that required lab work. When he read climbing guides by stuffing his face into the book, his eyes millimeters from the text, Molly thought, "Okay, so he's nearsighted." Then two things happened simultaneously. Jesse and Molly began falling in love. And he lost the rest of his vision. They said almost nothing about their feelings for each other. Jesse didn't say what he wanted, which was to spend the rest of his life with Molly. But he could ask her if she was up for a climb. The sport became an excuse to be together, without talking about being together. The idea of stopping after Jesse lost his vision was unthinkable. Molly speaks into the microphone in a near-whisper, constructing an image of the rock that draws on the climbing guidebook and what she can see as Jesse moves, explaining where he should reach next with his hands and his feet. She needs to remain calm, to exude calmness, even if she worries he might fall. Her own nerves, she knows, could trigger his. Sometimes, when she can't make out a hold, she pretends to see one, offering just enough broad guidance to keep Jesse from freezing up. Her feigned confidence conceals terror. There are some parts of the sport that he has become startlingly good at -- better than almost anyone with perfect vision. The reason, Jesse believes, is that he has a different relationship with the rock than a sighted climber. He is forced to pay more attention to its subtleties. Thank you, The Washington Post, for this story. The words (and the images) are all from the story. Even if you are not into climbing and blessed with good vision, please read the full story. Hopefully, it will make us more grateful for all that life has to and to better appreciate its subtleties.
Her job had taken her all over the world. After she retired, she made it a point to drive herself to visit her friends. As the years kept moving, and as her body failed to keep pace, just going down two floors to sit by the garden in front of her building became the highlight of her day, every day. Sitting there, with a stray dog to keep her company, she would call her six friends one by one. Just to discuss the weather and the day’s headlines and to ask how things were at the other end. Occasionally, much to her frustration her mobile would misbehave, until someone found the time to show her what she was doing wrong. When a friend was willing to talk longer, she would be thrilled and would thank them profusely for listening to her. She would always keep some chocolates with her. She would give it to random people—the watchman, a maid on her way home or even the driver of a cab returning after dropping someone. Their smile and “thanks” were worth more than the little she spent on each chocolate. Then one day she had a fall. Or others said she did. She could not remember what exactly happened. Just that she was no longer able to walk or even stand without help. They cared for her despite multiple admissions to the hospital. For her, the biggest pain was she could no longer go down. Everyone tried to persuade her it did not matter. For her, nothing else did. She was alone, more alone than before. Learning to live againRajni was a responsible homemaker, devoted to caring for her husband, her children, and other members of her family. Then the elder ones passed away and the children were all comfortably settled elsewhere. She felt she was not needed by anyone anymore. The one who cared for many lives thus far yearned for a reason to care for her own. That’s when she approached a professional, to help her find a purpose beyond being just alive. The counsellor began by congratulating her for seeking help instead of drowning in self-pity and loneliness. Their conversations helped Rajni recollect how she had dealt with difficult situations in life. Together, they listed all she could do to help and earn, including some things Rajni had always wanted to do. When we get old, we plan for our financial security, we prepare our Will, and we even draw up a bucket list. Prerna Shah, the psychotherapist who helped Rajni observes: “We rarely discuss or even think about a situation of being the lone survivor …. If there are open discussions about how the survivor (could be anyone) could utilize his/her alone time meaningfully or how the person can have activities that would help regular interaction with other people, would it not be easier for the survivor to pick up the ropes of life, as they restart their life alone?” Easing the end, coping with lossIt is part of palliative care to ease pain and make the final journey as comfortable as possible. Simultaneously, it also helps the family members and caregivers cope with grief before and after the end. However, there is no predicting how long it would take for the person closest to the departed soul (very often the spouse) to get back to what is called normalcy. According to senior palliative care physician, Dr Pradeep Kulkarni, the shock of loss has an immediate effect on both men and women in the family. “However, contrary to common belief, I have observed that women recover faster than men.” He cites the example of a friend who lost both his wife and his parents in quick succession. “He remained in touch with me for a whole year through daily messages. Then he found a job in a distant city and the messages slowly stopped.” Just listenPreparing for loneliness after the life mate’s death can be tougher for those who are low in education and income because they are rarely told the truth until it is too late to mitigate the shock. Dr Parth Sharma, physician, researcher, and writer recently interacted with the wife of a patient who was in the terminal stage of oral cancer. They just had each other for family. “For me," Dr Sharma said, "this interaction was more as a researcher for my paper on oral cancer. However, I soon learnt that the treating oncologist had not informed them how serious his condition was and how little time they had together.” While Dr Sharma was hesitant to crush whatever hope they were clinging to, the couple were busy planning how they would repay him for his help and kindness. Maybe she could start selling vegetables and fruits and thus start earning? “I gently told them not to think so far into the future and to focus on today. I urged her to try and fulfil his wishes, like maybe when he wants to eat something special,” Dr Parth remembered. “Five days after he passed away, she called me up. She was hesitant maybe because she thought her husband had already passed away, so why bother the doctor. I assured her that she was welcome to call me, whenever she wanted.” Dr Parth regrets that we look down upon people who “complain.” Yes, everyone is busy in his or her own way. Perhaps, those who are in a position to comfort and ease loneliness could just listen to the complaints, without being judgmental? Could that be the starting point for a positive resolution? Loneliness, the global maladyThe loss of a dear one is only one of the factors that can trigger loneliness. According to the Loneliness Statistics Worldwide 2024, 43% of the people in India feel “lonely always, often or some of the times” (third from the top in the list of 28 countries) while only 27% “never or hardly” feel lonely (third from the bottom)—the global average being 33% and 37%, respectively.
Perhaps, in this age of disasters and conflicts (natural and manmade), it would be too much to expect India to have a Minister for Loneliness like the UK did in 2018. One can imagine the pressure on the healthcare system if more and more people visited doctors just to have someone to talk to. Is that the reason why senior citizens now constitute a lucrative market for old age homes? And why we need more associations of youngsters who provide companionship to senior citizens in multiple ways—dropping in to play games with them, singing songs, taking them to the bank or accompanying them to their favorite restaurant? Unlike Covid, the source of the pandemic of loneliness is within us. So is the remedy, if we can spare a moment of empathy to open up and reach out, often just by listening. Or simply by helping someone go down to the garden safely, so that she could be truly alive again. A routine visit to the ENT physician resulted in an immediate admission to the hospital for “acute follicular tonsilitis with quinsy.” Now we move to the main story which is less about health and more about health insurance.
The estimate for claim clearly mentioned the admission was for medical management with surgery as an SOS option, if required. REJECTED: We don’t cover ENT surgeries for the first two years. The main treating physician takes the time to write a note explaining that the admission is for medical management and no surgery is scheduled. REJECTED: For the same reason by one person associated with the insurance company. REJECTED: For the same reason by another insurance company person, who was considerate enough to reduce the waiting time to 12 months. (In other words, if you are alive to seek treatment after 12 months, you might raise a claim again.) As the doctor expected, the patient recovers fast just with the medicines and is discharged on the third day. The patient pays and goes home. He has to work to pay the bills (including the health insurance premium). Believing that the amount would be reimbursed now (as it was only medical management), the claim is re-presented. REJECTED: “Patient paid and discharge.” Applause! According to your website, Care Insurance “is one of India's leading Health Insurance providers, with a claim settlement ratio of 95.2%.” Going by this experience, the numbers that constitute the 4.8% unsettled patients must be huge. Your marketing department is doing a wonderful job. But that is nothing compared to the astounding work of your Chief Excuse Officer. Refuse to settle for this reason and that until the patient pays and goes home. Then throw the masterpiece (don’t get distracted by the English): “Patient paid and discharge.” Bravo! I love your washing machine. And I love your refrigerator.
Over the last two decades, when one got too old, replaced it with another from you. Again. And again. Loved the products based on actual use. Therefore, loved the brand. Except in the recent past. I understand old machines can breakdown. But then you have been so considerate to extend your care to your customer over WhatsApp. Or so I thought. “Please confirm your name.” I am presented a wrongly spelt version of my name. “Are you a dealer or a customer?” Huh? “Provide full address.” I do that. But must again reconfirm the LOCATION, the CITY, and the STATE. Yes, in all CAPS. “Describe your model.” “When did you buy it?” “This is out of warranty. You will have to pay X amount.” I have an AMC in place. “Provide details.” As I scramble to dig out the details … “Are you still connected? As I am not getting any response from your end I am bound to close this chat. Thank you for chatting with Xxxxxxxxx. Have a nice day!” Hey, wait! What about all those times you asked me to wait and vanished to do God knows what, while I held on. Three calls within a month. All following the same pattern. Technology is smart. Just from the mobile number, it can dig out all information including your last service request. That is the optimistic theory for the gullible. Tech must have a poor memory, though. Why else do I have to provide the same details in virtually the same sequence during every chat? Even if the chat is repeated within a span of 30 minutes? Of course, there must be a script at the other end that must be honoured. Who dares face the consequence of breaking the sequence! Until you buy, we woo you. After you buy, shut up and don’t bother us. If you dare complain, well, we’ll simply Whirl you, fool! What if there was an agency that could kill whoever you wanted at a bargain rate? The more you want dead, the less you have to pay. How long would your list be so that you can make the most of the bargain?
It was not easy for Peter, the central character in Neil Gaiman’s short story, “We can get them for you wholesale” to find an assassination agency. Finally, he found one and went on to have a meeting with one of the sales guys from the firm. Peter wanted to start with one guy in the office who he suspected was having an affair with the woman he was engaged to. Then the sales guy offered a two-for-one deal, just 250 pounds each. After some thought, Peter added the woman’s name. At their next meeting, the sales guy offered an even better deal—an irresistible bulk rate of 450 for 10. Peter took some time to think of the 10, “hunting for wrongs done to him and the people the world would be better off without”. It included his boss, the Physics teacher from school, an annoying TV newsreader and a neighbour with a yappy dog. After the list of 10 was ready, Peter was very satisfied with “an evening’s work well done”. He enjoyed the feeling of power he felt as he tightly clutched the list deep in his pocket right through work the next day. At the next meeting, the sales guy mentioned more enticing offers. Finally, irresistibly drawn down the path of better bargains, Peter asked how much it would cost to kill everybody in the world. “Nothing,” came the answer. “We’ve been ready for a long time. We just had to be asked.” Peter was mulling over what that meant when he heard cries all around and a soft knock on the door. Usually, I drop off to sleep after I complete a few pages of the book I am reading. After this story, I was wide awake, thinking of the people who might employ such an assassination firm.
They have been ready for a long time. And so many of us have already asked them. How long do we ignore the knock at our door? She had recently lost her job. Her family business was sinking. Her father had just been rescued and brought back home safely after yet another unannounced trip outside home, lost in the shadows of dementia. Her mother was struggling to take care of her own health even as she tried her best to look after her husband. And one of the many caretakers who joined and left, had walked away with all the savings of the family.
Then life became a song, several songs, for all of them, at least for a few days. It was not an easy decision, but the daughter decided to take on the additional responsibility of moving her parents to her own place. Steeped as the family was in music, it was but natural for all of them to gather around his bed and sing song after song and play antakshari. The change in the father was very visible. He smiled. Life returned to his eyes. His fingers remained rigidly curved but he would make an attempt to clap whenever he won the singing game. And he did win multiple times because he knew which songs to sing. The musical notes drove away their loneliness. No longer were they two bodies in another corner of the town that others were obliged to look after. There was no changing tomorrow. Today they sang. Then one night the father indicated that he wanted to go home to that lonely house where he lived with his wife. He was insistent. The daughter obliged. A late-night ambulance took them there. All the paraphernalia that had moved with them went back. Tired, the daughter decided to take it easy for a couple of days. Until her mother called. He had stopped trying to talk. Eyes closed. Not moving at all. The daughter rushed. Holding his hand, she called out to him. With great effort, he tried to open his eyes. Apparently, he recognised her. Just one word escaped his mouth: “sing.” And she sang. His favourite song. His face transformed. He was almost smiling. The next day he passed away in peace, at home. Life has pulled her back to its many inevitable chores and testing challenges. But she is unable to fill that gap. She knows somewhere he is listening. And applauding whenever she sings. So, she sings on. Nothing new in watching its film adaptation after reading a book, right? There is always a temptation to compare—was the book better?
The Netflix version of All the Light We Cannot See diverges from the book in many ways. Yet, for me, the book and the film were a compelling experience, each in its own way. When I started reading the book by Anthony Doerr, I found the treatment rather intriguing. Short chapters painting lives in two different parts of the world. Emotions co-existing with explosions. Empathy with enslavement. Two parallel worlds—one of a young blind French girl the other of a young German orphan boy, both dragged into World War 2. Until their worlds merge in senseless destruction not in their control. Apparently, Doerr took ten years to write All the Light We Cannot See, with most of those years dedicated to research on World War 2. Indeed, the book does leave you grimy, gasping and bleeding, as if the bombs just shattered the roof you were sheltering under. You too may echo the blind girl’s questions to her father in the film version: "Can you explain to me why a whole city is running away with nowhere to run to? Can you explain why the Jews are running the fastest? Can you explain why one country wants to own another?" It must have been a tough ask for Steven Knight (the writer of the serial) and Shawn Levy (the director) to adapt a story set in the early 1940s and published in 2014 to the sensibilities of the 2023 audience. I think they have done well. Both the printed and the filmed version throw light on the same fundamental question: what is the purpose of war regardless of which country you belong to, given that we are all fragile mortals? And for all of us, isn’t that light within, that none of us can see, the most dazzling? If we choose to see it? When I watched the series, I was already familiar with the characters, thanks to the book. Now that the episodes have shown me the sights and sounds of uncaring war and the uncared-for emotions of helpless human beings, I intend to go back to the book. I have a feeling it would be a different experience this time. Can revisiting locations where you once lived the moments that are now memories be therapeutic? How do you know which is better? Then or now? That or this? The two are different. You smile, you sob and even shudder. Then get back to what is. Shailaja, like her immediate family, did not think a few days in Vengurla would turn her life around. Yet during those days, she lived what could have been her life. She is aware of her dementia. And afraid of what it would erase next. I am grateful to the team behind “Three of us” for this unforgettable movie. And special thanks to Shefali Shah (really brought Shailaja to life), Jaideep Ahlawat (masterfully conveyed the joy and pain of a tantalizing return to a love he had given up on) and Swanand Kirkire (the caring husband confused by the apparent preference of his beloved wife for the past) for sensitively portraying the three central characters. Shailaja’s trip to the village she grew up in was a trip back in time to snuggle under memories for me too. The homes with semi-lit interiors, the well with the overgrowth, the vast open fields that I used to cut across to reach school and the almost-bare lanes where almost everyone knew everyone. Watch this movie, if you too would like to go back and hug your memories for a while. It may bring you more tears than smiles. Simply make the most of an opportunity for who you are to be with who you were. You may want to change the name of this movie from “Three of us” to “Two of us”— who you are, and who you could have been. One of the telling sequences from the movie. Cajoled by her old dance teacher during a visit to the school, Shailaja joins a group of girls in their practice session. She starts well, then loses her moves. She leaves the group, backs away until she is almost hiding behind a pillar, as if seeking shelter from reality. |
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