The National Anthem

After the media carried news on the Sri Lankan government calling for one National Anthem in Sinhala I did some research on National Anthems. The Indian National Anthem is neither in Hindi nor in English, it is in Bengali and nobody seems to mind it although each of us sing it in our accents in the most awful way. When I asked my South African friend of Indian origin about their National Anthem which is sung in five languages, she said that it was no problem and that all people sang it, but she added "except the whites". My Belgian friend wrote back and told me that in the Flemish part it is sung in Flemish and in the French part in French and when the two groups are together they sing it in their own language which is total cacophony. Canadians sing it in both languages, when it comes to the French part the English mumble the words and when it is the English part the French mumble. Apparently there is also a Tamil translation sung at Tamil gatherings. The Swiss have their National Anthem translated into four languages and sing it in their own language.

What is important I think is the spirit of it all. What made Brinda unpopular was his emotionless attention while the Indian National Anthem was played after he received the Olympic gold medal. National Anthems are more about the emotions they evoke than the language it is sung in.

When I saw young boys on wheel chairs I wanted to cry. They were victims of land mines. I tried to compose myself and putting on my best face went to say Hello to them. As professional as I could be I shook at with three of them and turned around to shake hands with the last guy who was standing and so I assumed was a volunteer. I met not with a hand to shake but a stump.

These are boys and girls from the post conflict situation in Cambodia. I fear for my people on their return to Sri Lanka. Land mine awareness should go on in the post war situation, untrod paths are always there where there might be a land mine.

Please pass on this message to as many as possible.

Chittaranjan IPS of the 1961 batch passed away on the 5 October 2010. During his funeral his son spoke about his father's good deeds. It touched me to see that a man with such an illustrious career also had a family side to him. The eulogy given by his son Peter Chittaranjan brought tears to many. I wish more of us our remembered for our love and friendship than the work that we do. After all that is what is remembered by the people who matter to us.

RK Narayanan

The Writerly Life is amazing non fiction. every page is loaded with information yet delivered with simplicity. It is inspired reading that stirs the soul.

Dear Doctor,

A couple of weeks ago doctors day was celebrated and I am sure that many people wished you and thanked you for what you have done for them. I too thought of the doctors that have touched my life in different ways. As I was doing this in my mind, I thought of my various encounters with doctors who had forgotten their purpose in life. I was in a group and the discussion turned towards the many difficulties that we face doctors and the arrogance some of the doctors display.
I was sad but also angered and thought that I will let you know. As I had mentioned earlier there good doctors who care about the patients and are aware of the situation around them, however I am addressing this letter to doctors who care more about money, pride, their ego and their contribution to the society. Some of you –those who even care enough to go beyond this may feel that this is injustice, but believe me it is not about all of you but about those who act differently when they become doctors.
When I go to a hospital I am intimidated by the way I am treated, in more than one ways the doctor is God and we are mere mortals. From having to leave our slippers outside or the doctor not talking to us it is terrible. I once went to a doctor and asked him why my mom’s leg was swollen, he looked straight into my eye and said, just go and do the test I ask you to (Doppler test) after that when I went with the result and asked him again, he said – just want I thought – take her to the vascular surgeon immediately, hse should not even walk, the situation is serious. By the way, I am no ignorant uneducated person, I have a PhD and can understand English. I was so disturbed with what he said that I could ask him no more questions and had to take my mother and rush to the doctor, what would the doctor have lost if he spent just some time to explain to me what he suspected?
During a medical camp, one of the doctors called the organizers and said that food should be bought from a particular hotel, not the ones near the village. Of course we would not give bad food for anyone, but what is it with the doctors wanting to be treated like they jumped out of heaven, yeah I may sound like a doctor hater, yes I am one, it is just about the attitude and let me emphasize, not all are like that but most are.
Have you heard about doctors that wont touch you, nor will listen to you, they will ask you one question and then just write down a prescription even as you speak, I wonder where they learn this? Does the medical school ever have a class of ethics and social behaviour? One of my friends was very upset when the doctor told him that the boils in her body were just fat (cholesterol accumulation). The fact of the matter it that it is true but the way it was said. What I hate about doctors is that they don’t want to listen to us, either they tell us what we should not do, never explaining why we should not do it. They don’t listen to what we have to say, of course how will, they have millions of patients to see, time is money. Have you ever thought about the amount of money that is charged for a surgery, for a consultation? And do you ever wonder why house surgeon made such a hue and cry about having to go to the village for a year of internship? What doctors forget is that they study with such subsidized fee with our tax money, they feel they can’t do much with it and so want to specialize. Actually they feel that they can make more money when they specialize, this leaves less doctors to treat basic aliments which are more than advance illnesses.
There are very few doctors in the PHC’s or the government hospitals because everyone wants to go out for private practice. Some doctors do private practice before they go to a government hospital and go back to private practice after the government working hours. There are hardly any specialist in government hospitals since they are all practicing in private hospitals for a fat salary.
I could go on about the doctors, but I think I am already frustrated, so let me stop here and let things be. Dear Doctor, I feel bad for telling you things, but it is more to help you come out of this rut, this will save you and help save us too.
With concern,

Rain, rain

It has been raining for the last few days, the optimist in me is loving it and the pessimist is wondering what the months too be will be like

A painting to share

Life is all about sharing, whether it is our joy, our sorrow, our food, our selves or even our resources. I once had to speak to a group of seven year olds about the disparity if resources in the world. There were 40 children and so I divided them into two groups, one of thirty and the other of ten. I had taken a cake with me to explain this concept. I cut the cake into four pieces and gave three to the group of ten children and one to the group of thirty. Even before I could turn, one child from the group of ten gave one piece to the group of thirty children. Then another brought one more. I was taken aback and stood still. The second child could have done it to just copy the first one or there could be other explanations for it. But I could no longer explain disparity of resources in the world to them. How could I tell a group of 7 year olds that this is not what the grownups do? How could I tell those little children who so spontaneously shared that some grown ups don’t like to share? The world has enough resources for all the people to live happily if only we shared. The international students in EMU are part of this sharing, sharing knowledge, resources and culture. This is an opportunity to share with the underprivileged. I often ask myself why are we not able to do research and publish papers like the westerners. Truly I tell you, we are busy making ends meet, saving our lives from war, protecting our children from danger and trying to keep away malaria and tuberculosis that we hardly have time for intellectual pursuits. Although studying abroad is not the solution, it is an opportunity. Cross cultural education is a beginning; we are the cultural ambassadors of peace. We want to make people aware of the realities of our side of the world. If we leave this place with even one person understanding the problem we face back home, we have played our parts well. Life is a painting and everyone is called to paint. What we paint becomes the final picture, some of us paint joy, hope, some hatred and fear, some love and some even war. I wish that each of us is conscious of what we paint and make this painting a beautiful one for all to share.

For whom the bell tolls?
(Picture of a bell )
I have stood here for the last hmmm let me think many years now. My history is interesting, I was made in one place fired in another and now I am here. I was made for defense, used for offence and now live for penance. That sounds exciting right? Ha, but my life is not so exciting. I am the church bell of the English Anglican Church in Mae la camp in Mae sot.
The church bell, that was once a missile
Nobody really takes me seriously except when there is a visitor and someone from the camp introduces me to them. But I hardly have visitors; I hear that it is not allowed to visit the camp, except with special permission. There are about 40,000 Karen, Chin and Muslim refugees all of whom are from Burma. Many of them ran away from Burma either because their lives were threatened or because their entire village is being burnt down. They were very frightened to live at home and so they came to Thailand. It’s not the better option but the only one they had. Many of the refugees, mostly Karen where I am from, had to run for their lives. They crossed the river to come to the camp. The camp has been here for more than 20 years, but the refugees keep coming and going. Yeah going they do and when they leave they come one last time to see me and say bye to me. Many of them are happy that they will be going off to a far off land called America – I don’t know where that is. But they don’t go as family, they leave their wife and children who come to the church and cry often. Sometimes I wish I could help them. Sometimes I wish that I could stop the guys from leaving their wives and children behind, but what I do, I am just the old church bell – but I once used to be the all powerful missile, look what they have done to me in the refugee camp. Is this what happens to many others who come to live in the camp as well. They come with a lot of zeal, they want to change their lives but as years by they loose it and become someone else, they change completely, the passion that they once had is gone into the mountains, hiding never to return.
The camp as seen from the church
So I was telling you about the my people, I am sure I did mention the Muslims and so they do have a mosque around. Five time a day the speaker shouts out to the people in the camp inviting them to pray. The speaker says that he cant see much, although is is up on the roof, the mosque itself is not on the hill and so he can only see the roofs of home. I have a beautiful view from where I stand, I can see the house, the hills, the sky and the clouds. Ha, another friend of mine is the speaker from the Buddhist temple. They often have prayers. They usually have a chorus like my church. The good thing is that we don’t have to compete with each other to be heard, we each have our time of glory and the others don’t interrupt. I often hear from my friend at the Buddhist monastery that the people are praying for food and safety. Some of them are not registered with the UNHCR.
They get their rations from the local NGO’s or sometimes their friends help them with it. Almost all of them are poor. Did you know that they cannot freely move outside the camp? If the men with the guns and lathis who come on motorbikes see my people outside the camp, they will arrest them and send them to Burma. Poor guys then have to find their way back. Isn’t it funny that they would not come to the camp and arrest them although they know that they live here. Anyway the other day someone from outside came here and there was a whole lot of noise about it. The men with the lathis were not happy with the ones who entered the camp. With all this action life goes on. What is sad is the fact that my people live not knowing what will happen the next day, or on the other hand if anything will happen at all in their lives. Children go to school not knowing what they will do with their education. But they do have a lot of fun, running around and playing together. What worries me is that they play terrorist and police game.
Children playing in the camp
Some cover their faces and pretend that they are the terrorist and the police try to chase them and sometimes catch and beat them up. It’s not the best game I would like my children to play.
The abled and willing men go to the nearby fields and work. In many cases the men don’t work and sometimes the women work. Just like me the bell, everyone sits around and stares into space. They have no purpose in life, they wish they could be resettled in the other place called America, but they are not happy to go without their family. They are just waiting, I am from being defense to offense to penance and they are from nothing to nothing, I wonder for who the bell tolls.
Florina Benoit, Visit to Mae la October 2009

Snow

I am a fan of Orhan Pamuk, I read his Red and thoroughly enjoyed it. When I was in the hospital my husband got me "Snow" it is a slow book and I havent managed to complete it. Snow brought up alot of issues, but the thing that saddens me most is that Ipek and Ka could not live happily in Frankfurt. Along with Ka I too began to imagine them living happily.

Bangalore

I have always hated Bangalore, there is a long history about this place in my family. It is a place that did not bring much happiness and growing with it I always felt a remorse for Bangalore. But now sitting here in Bangalore in the peak of summer when Chennai is burning, I have more appreciation for the city. Wow the weather is really cool. Enjoying the Bangalore Summer