“Sometimes, Janu,” I would say, deliberately laying stress on ‘sometimes’, “you really apply your mind and find the right solution to problems.”
“*Ap..pa!” * she would retort, “you keep forgetting.”
“What? That you take after me?”
“No! That I am Deepam-bred.”
This dialogue between me and my only daughter Janavi can be heard in our house frequently.
True. Since she was in her 2nd standard Janu had been attending Deepam’s Saturday classes regularly. Even after she completed her 5th class and had to switch to an English-medium school, she had continued to spend the Saturdays at Deepam classes, teaching English to kids from 1st to 5thstandards. Now, a young graduate of 22 – waiting at crossroads for the turn of events to decide for her whether to go for further studies or consider career option – volunteering at Deepam Centres has become a way of life for Janu. More than learning to teach, through her interaction all these years with Deepam’s perpetually changing student population, transitory and near permanent volunteers, some of whom have been remarkably inspiring, she has imbibed innumerable skills, of which clarity in thought is just one.
Yesterday…………
* * *
I had nearly finished reading the paper when Janu returned from her visit to the doctor. She had gone to consult him for a two-day-old sprain in her left ankle that no amount of anointing by the countless ointments at home could make her say “It’s gone!”
“Lots of patients?” I asked, as she had been gone for more than four hours.
“Yes, but I could’ve come much earlier,” she said wincing a little as she sat on the sofa opposite me. “You know, there was this old man.”
“What did the doctor say?” I asked, ignoring for the moment the additional input she had provided.
“Oh, he gave me some tablets for two days. Already, I feel better.”
I knew it was not the tablets or the thought of the tablets that made her feel better. There was something more. “What about this old man?” I asked.
“It was like this, *pa*,” she said, as if she was just waiting for me to ask. “My token number was 24. When I entered, patient 18 had just gone in. I waited and waited and after a long time, it was the turn of 23.”
“Yeah,” I said, sympathizing with her. “You should have avoided a Monday. Waiting could be a drag.”
“No, it was alright,” Janu said, “after all I don’t have much to do – no college, no office. So, that way it was okay.”
I waited, certain that Janu had something more to say.
“It was then that this poor old man entered. He was given token number 38. You could see that he was having high fever. He had difficulty even to sit still in the chair vacated for him by another patient.”
“Mmmmmmm….”
“I was about to offer this old man to go see the doctor as soon as token 23 had come out, when, as if on cue, the young lady who had accompanied the old man asked the receptionist if they could go next, citing the patient’s feverish condition. Immediately, I told the lady that it was now my turn but uncle can see the doctor and I would go next.”
“Good of you.”
“Yes. You know, it was pathetic. I mean…I thought….this was the least I could do, given the fact that I had lots of time on my hands.”
“Sure,” I said, turning back to the paper, “and you were delayed.”
“Listen, *pa*!” Janu said, trying to cross her legs but giving up half-way, obviously because of pain. “I have not told you all.”
“I’m listening.” I said. I folded the paper and kept it beside me to show her that I was with her.
“Have you seen these guys?” She put up her hand to stall my question and continued. “In their fifties. With at least two pens sticking out of their shirt pocket. A newspaper in hand. Bespectacled. You know the type.”
“I think I know the type.” I said, pushing my glasses up my nose.
“There was one such gentleman sitting among the patients. One look at him and you’d know he is contributing to Letters to the Editor on a regular basis, is argumentative, and a cynic to boot.”
This is getting interesting, I thought.
This guy had suddenly raised his token, it seems, and said, ‘That’s not fair, my dear.’ His token number was 36. Janu had put on a smile and asked him, ‘Why, Sir?’ These types don’t like to be called uncle.
‘This uncle is having high fever.’ Janu had said, pointing to the old man who had by now started shivering. ‘Don’t you pity him?’
‘I do,’ this man had said. ‘Still, if you allow him to go before you, some 13 of us – that is token 25 to 37 – would get delayed. I don’t think you have the right to take for granted that each of us would be willing to put up with a delay of some 15 minutes.’ These guys, Janu said, invariably think that English is the only language suited for such arguments. And they always strive to be *so* grammatical. *Irritating!*
He had looked around and many heads had nodded agreement.
‘But I want to help this old man. Look at him! In this state, he can’t wait another two hours for his turn.’
Janu got carried away, as she usually does when narrating an incident. I got up from the sofa, went and sat next to her. I said, “So this guy was adamant, right? And he also had the support of the other patients.”
“Yes. I was furious. Also helpless. I thought how people could be so callous and unsympathetic. But I did not talk back because I realized that this man had a point. Now there was no question of allowing the aged uncle break the line. Yet there must be some way I could help the old man save time, I thought, without affecting others. And I had to think it up fast. And suddenly, I knew what I had to do.”
“Deepam up-bringing, huh?” I said.
“Yes, of course!” she said, her eyes challenging me. “Token 23 came out, the old man went in accompanied by the lady and there was not so much as a murmur from any of the other patients. In fact, this guy with the folded newspaper even seemed to nod in agreement. And I thought, he is not that bad, after all.”
I knew she would tell me anyway, still I asked, “What did you do to achieve that?”
“You mean, you can’t guess?”
I could guess and I had guessed, but the rule is that I should try to guess, fail and then ask. Though on leave, I had a visit to make. So I said, “Maybe I can, but you tell me.” I could see that this pleased her.
“I went to the lady who had accompanied the old man, took from her hands the token 38, thrust my token 24 into her hands, went and told the receptionist that we have switched positions.”
> “Sometimes, Janu,” I would say, deliberately laying stress on ‘sometimes’, > “you really apply your mind and find the right solution to problems.”
> “*Ap..pa!” * she would retort, “you keep forgetting.”
> “What? That you take after me?”
> “No! That I am Deepam-bred.”
> This dialogue between me and my only daughter Janavi can be heard in our > house frequently.
> True. Since she was in her 2nd standard Janu had been attending Deepam’s > Saturday classes regularly. Even after she completed her 5th class and had > to switch to an English-medium school, she had continued to spend the > Saturdays at Deepam classes, teaching English to kids from 1st to 5thstandards. Now, a young graduate of 22 – waiting at crossroads for the turn > of events to decide for her whether to go for further studies or consider > career option – volunteering at Deepam Centres has become a way of life for > Janu. More than learning to teach, through her interaction all these years > with Deepam’s perpetually changing student population, transitory and near > permanent volunteers, some of whom have been remarkably inspiring, she has > imbibed innumerable skills, of which clarity in thought is just one.
> Yesterday…………
> * * *
> I had nearly finished reading the paper when Janu returned from her visit > to the doctor. She had gone to consult him for a two-day-old sprain in her > left ankle that no amount of anointing by the countless ointments at home > could make her say “It’s gone!”
> “Lots of patients?” I asked, as she had been gone for more than four hours.
> “Yes, but I could’ve come much earlier,” she said wincing a little as she > sat on the sofa opposite me. “You know, there was this old man.”
> “What did the doctor say?” I asked, ignoring for the moment the additional > input she had provided.
> “Oh, he gave me some tablets for two days. Already, I feel better.”
> I knew it was not the tablets or the thought of the tablets that made her > feel better. There was something more. “What about this old man?” I asked.
> “It was like this, *pa*,” she said, as if she was just waiting for me to > ask. “My token number was 24. When I entered, patient 18 had just gone in. I > waited and waited and after a long time, it was the turn of 23.”
> “Yeah,” I said, sympathizing with her. “You should have avoided a Monday. > Waiting could be a drag.”
> “No, it was alright,” Janu said, “after all I don’t have much to do – no > college, no office. So, that way it was okay.”
> I waited, certain that Janu had something more to say.
> “It was then that this poor old man entered. He was given token number 38. > You could see that he was having high fever. He had difficulty even to sit > still in the chair vacated for him by another patient.”
> “Mmmmmmm….”
> “I was about to offer this old man to go see the doctor as soon as token 23 > had come out, when, as if on cue, the young lady who had accompanied the old > man asked the receptionist if they could go next, citing the patient’s > feverish condition. Immediately, I told the lady that it was now my turn but > uncle can see the doctor and I would go next.”
> “Good of you.”
> “Yes. You know, it was pathetic. I mean…I thought….this was the least I > could do, given the fact that I had lots of time on my hands.”
> “Sure,” I said, turning back to the paper, “and you were delayed.”
> “Listen, *pa*!” Janu said, trying to cross her legs but giving up > half-way, obviously because of pain. “I have not told you all.”
> “I’m listening.” I said. I folded the paper and kept it beside me to show > her that I was with her.
> “Have you seen these guys?” She put up her hand to stall my question and > continued. “In their fifties. With at least two pens sticking out of their > shirt pocket. A newspaper in hand. Bespectacled. You know the type.”
> “I think I know the type.” I said, pushing my glasses up my nose.
> “There was one such gentleman sitting among the patients. One look at him > and you’d know he is contributing to Letters to the Editor on a regular > basis, is argumentative, and a cynic to boot.”
> This is getting interesting, I thought.
> This guy had suddenly raised his token, it seems, and said, ‘That’s not > fair, my dear.’ His token number was 36. Janu had put on a smile and asked > him, ‘Why, Sir?’ These types don’t like to be called uncle.
> ‘This uncle is having high fever.’ Janu had said, pointing to the old man > who had by now started shivering. ‘Don’t you pity him?’
> ‘I do,’ this man had said. ‘Still, if you allow him to go before you, some > 13 of us – that is token 25 to 37 – would get delayed. I don’t think you > have the right to take for granted that each of us would be willing to put > up with a delay of some 15 minutes.’ These guys, Janu said, invariably think > that English is the only language suited for such arguments. And they always > strive to be *so* grammatical. *Irritating!*
> He had looked around and many heads had nodded agreement.
> ‘But I want to help this old man. Look at him! In this state, he can’t wait > another two hours for his turn.’
> Janu got carried away, as she usually does when narrating an incident. I > got up from the sofa, went and sat next to her. I said, “So this guy was > adamant, right? And he also had the support of the other patients.”
> “Yes. I was furious. Also helpless. I thought how people could be so > callous and unsympathetic. But I did not talk back because I realized that > this man had a point. Now there was no question of allowing the aged uncle > break the line. Yet there must be some way I could help the old man save > time, I thought, without affecting others. And I had to think it up fast. > And suddenly, I knew what I had to do.”
> “Deepam up-bringing, huh?” I said.
> “Yes, of course!” she said, her eyes challenging me. “Token 23 came out, > the old man went in accompanied by the lady and there was not so much as a > murmur from any of the other patients. In fact, this guy with the folded > newspaper even seemed to nod in agreement. And I thought, he is not that > bad, after all.”
> I knew she would tell me anyway, still I asked, “What did you do to achieve > that?”
> “You mean, you can’t guess?”
> I could guess and I had guessed, but the rule is that I should try to > guess, fail and then ask. Though on leave, I had a visit to make. So I said, > “Maybe I can, but you tell me.” I could see that this pleased her.
> “I went to the lady who had accompanied the old man, took from her hands > the token 38, thrust my token 24 into her hands, went and told the > receptionist that we have switched positions.”
> “Sometimes, Janu…………”
> * * *
> -- > Deepam - an initiative to make a positive difference to the lives of less > privileged children through computer education. > More at http://www.deepam.org.in/
> You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google > Groups "Deepam ( Bridge the Divide )" group. > To post to this group, send email to bridgethedivide@googlegroups.com > To unsubscribe from this group, send email to > bridgethedivide-unsubscribe@googlegroups.com > For more options, visit this group at > http://groups.google.com/group/bridgethedivide?hl=en
Actually, the *present* youngsters have been brought up this way and you are certain to see a much wiser and more considerate future youngsters.
I am saying this because, what I had narrated really took place while I was waiting at my physicians'. In fact, the bespectacled, seemingly argumentative and cynic chap with the folded newspaper was none other than...........oh, you've guessed it! As always, you are right!
With best wishes, RR
On 6 June 2011 15:03, Karthikeyan Mahadevan <mkar...@gmail.com> wrote:
> Really a good example of how future youngsters should be brought up...A way > of showing respect and helpfulness.
> On 29 May 2011 13:44, Rajagopalan R <rr.ashokna...@gmail.com> wrote:
>> “Sometimes, Janu,” I would say, deliberately laying stress on ‘sometimes’, >> “you really apply your mind and find the right solution to problems.”
>> “*Ap..pa!” * she would retort, “you keep forgetting.”
>> “What? That you take after me?”
>> “No! That I am Deepam-bred.”
>> This dialogue between me and my only daughter Janavi can be heard in our >> house frequently.
>> True. Since she was in her 2nd standard Janu had been attending Deepam’s >> Saturday classes regularly. Even after she completed her 5th class and >> had to switch to an English-medium school, she had continued to spend the >> Saturdays at Deepam classes, teaching English to kids from 1st to 5thstandards. Now, a young graduate of 22 – waiting at crossroads for the turn >> of events to decide for her whether to go for further studies or consider >> career option – volunteering at Deepam Centres has become a way of life for >> Janu. More than learning to teach, through her interaction all these years >> with Deepam’s perpetually changing student population, transitory and near >> permanent volunteers, some of whom have been remarkably inspiring, she has >> imbibed innumerable skills, of which clarity in thought is just one.
>> Yesterday…………
>> * * *
>> I had nearly finished reading the paper when Janu returned from her visit >> to the doctor. She had gone to consult him for a two-day-old sprain in her >> left ankle that no amount of anointing by the countless ointments at home >> could make her say “It’s gone!”
>> “Lots of patients?” I asked, as she had been gone for more than four >> hours.
>> “Yes, but I could’ve come much earlier,” she said wincing a little as she >> sat on the sofa opposite me. “You know, there was this old man.”
>> “What did the doctor say?” I asked, ignoring for the moment the additional >> input she had provided.
>> “Oh, he gave me some tablets for two days. Already, I feel better.”
>> I knew it was not the tablets or the thought of the tablets that made her >> feel better. There was something more. “What about this old man?” I asked.
>> “It was like this, *pa*,” she said, as if she was just waiting for me to >> ask. “My token number was 24. When I entered, patient 18 had just gone in. I >> waited and waited and after a long time, it was the turn of 23.”
>> “Yeah,” I said, sympathizing with her. “You should have avoided a Monday. >> Waiting could be a drag.”
>> “No, it was alright,” Janu said, “after all I don’t have much to do – no >> college, no office. So, that way it was okay.”
>> I waited, certain that Janu had something more to say.
>> “It was then that this poor old man entered. He was given token number 38. >> You could see that he was having high fever. He had difficulty even to sit >> still in the chair vacated for him by another patient.”
>> “Mmmmmmm….”
>> “I was about to offer this old man to go see the doctor as soon as token >> 23 had come out, when, as if on cue, the young lady who had accompanied the >> old man asked the receptionist if they could go next, citing the >> patient’s feverish condition. Immediately, I told the lady that it was now >> my turn but uncle can see the doctor and I would go next.”
>> “Good of you.”
>> “Yes. You know, it was pathetic. I mean…I thought….this was the least I >> could do, given the fact that I had lots of time on my hands.”
>> “Sure,” I said, turning back to the paper, “and you were delayed.”
>> “Listen, *pa*!” Janu said, trying to cross her legs but giving up >> half-way, obviously because of pain. “I have not told you all.”
>> “I’m listening.” I said. I folded the paper and kept it beside me to show >> her that I was with her.
>> “Have you seen these guys?” She put up her hand to stall my question and >> continued. “In their fifties. With at least two pens sticking out of their >> shirt pocket. A newspaper in hand. Bespectacled. You know the type.”
>> “I think I know the type.” I said, pushing my glasses up my nose.
>> “There was one such gentleman sitting among the patients. One look at him >> and you’d know he is contributing to Letters to the Editor on a regular >> basis, is argumentative, and a cynic to boot.”
>> This is getting interesting, I thought.
>> This guy had suddenly raised his token, it seems, and said, ‘That’s not >> fair, my dear.’ His token number was 36. Janu had put on a smile and asked >> him, ‘Why, Sir?’ These types don’t like to be called uncle.
>> ‘This uncle is having high fever.’ Janu had said, pointing to the old man >> who had by now started shivering. ‘Don’t you pity him?’
>> ‘I do,’ this man had said. ‘Still, if you allow him to go before you, some >> 13 of us – that is token 25 to 37 – would get delayed. I don’t think you >> have the right to take for granted that each of us would be willing to put >> up with a delay of some 15 minutes.’ These guys, Janu said, invariably think >> that English is the only language suited for such arguments. And they always >> strive to be *so* grammatical. *Irritating!*
>> He had looked around and many heads had nodded agreement.
>> ‘But I want to help this old man. Look at him! In this state, he can’t >> wait another two hours for his turn.’
>> Janu got carried away, as she usually does when narrating an incident. I >> got up from the sofa, went and sat next to her. I said, “So this guy was >> adamant, right? And he also had the support of the other patients.”
>> “Yes. I was furious. Also helpless. I thought how people could be so >> callous and unsympathetic. But I did not talk back because I realized that >> this man had a point. Now there was no question of allowing the aged uncle >> break the line. Yet there must be some way I could help the old man save >> time, I thought, without affecting others. And I had to think it up fast. >> And suddenly, I knew what I had to do.”
>> “Deepam up-bringing, huh?” I said.
>> “Yes, of course!” she said, her eyes challenging me. “Token 23 came out, >> the old man went in accompanied by the lady and there was not so much as a >> murmur from any of the other patients. In fact, this guy with the folded >> newspaper even seemed to nod in agreement. And I thought, he is not that >> bad, after all.”
>> I knew she would tell me anyway, still I asked, “What did you do to >> achieve that?”
>> “You mean, you can’t guess?”
>> I could guess and I had guessed, but the rule is that I should try to >> guess, fail and then ask. Though on leave, I had a visit to make. So I said, >> “Maybe I can, but you tell me.” I could see that this pleased her.
>> “I went to the lady who had accompanied the old man, took from her hands >> the token 38, thrust my token 24 into her hands, went and told the >> receptionist that we have switched positions.”
>> “Sometimes, Janu…………”
>> * * *
>> -- >> Deepam - an initiative to make a positive difference to the lives of less >> privileged children through computer education. >> More at http://www.deepam.org.in/
>> You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google >> Groups "Deepam ( Bridge the Divide )" group. >> To post to this group, send email to bridgethedivide@googlegroups.com >> To unsubscribe from this group, send email to >> bridgethedivide-unsubscribe@googlegroups.com >> For more options, visit this group at >> http://groups.google.com/group/bridgethedivide?hl=en
> -- > Best Regards, > Karthi
> Mobile : 07574464310
> -- > Deepam - an initiative to make a positive difference to the lives of less > privileged children through computer education. > More at http://www.deepam.org.in/
> You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google > Groups "Deepam ( Bridge the Divide )" group. > To post to this group, send email to bridgethedivide@googlegroups.com > To unsubscribe from this group, send email to > bridgethedivide-unsubscribe@googlegroups.com > For more options, visit this group at > http://groups.google.com/group/bridgethedivide?hl=en
